“Not a sign. I sent one of the fishermen up to the police to see what he could find out, and—”
“Uncle!” panted out Louise, as she left her father to cling to the old man.
“Poor little lassie! poor little lassie!” he said tenderly, as he took her and patted her head. “No news, and that’s good news. They haven’t got him, but they’re all out on the watch; the man from London and our dunderheads. All on the watch, and I fancy they’re on the look-out close here somewhere, and that’s what keeps him back.”
Louise uttered a low moan.
“Ah, it’s bad for you, my dear,” said Uncle Luke, whose manner seemed quite changed. “You come with me, and let me take you home. We don’t want another trouble on our hands.”
“No, no,” she said firmly, “I cannot leave him.”
“But you will be ill, child.”
“I cannot leave him, uncle,” she said again; and going back to her father, she locked her fingers about his arm.
“Hi! hoi! look out!” came from a distance; and it was answered directly by a voice not a hundred yards away.
A thrill of excitement shot through the little group as they heard now the tramp of feet.