“No, no, my lad,” said Uncle Luke; “we only think you are suffering from your fall, and distrust what you have, or think you have, seen.”
“Think!” said Leslie angrily.
“You say some man was with my niece—a Frenchman.”
“Yes; I am bound to tell you for her sake.”
“It is not true,” cried George Vine fiercely.
They looked at him with surprise, for he seemed transformed from the quiet, mild-looking man to one full of fierce determination as he stood there with flashing eyes.
“My daughter knew no Frenchman.”
Leslie winced as if stung, for the mental suggestion was there that Louise had hoodwinked her father and kept up some clandestine engagement with this man.
“Do you hear me?” cried Vine angrily.
“I say it is not true. Mr Leslie, you have been deceived, or you have deceived yourself. I beg your pardon. You are not yourself. It is useless to discuss this further. Luke, all this seems mysterious because we have no key to the puzzle. Pish! puzzle! it is no puzzle. Louise will be here shortly. Mr Leslie, be advised; lie still for an hour, and then my brother and I will see you home. Or, better still, let me offer you the hospitality of my house for the night.”