Mr Vine read his twice, then dropped it upon the table.
“Papa!—father!” cried Louise, starting from her place, and running round to him as he stood up with a fierce angry light in his eyes, and the table was in confusion.
“Tidings at last of the French estates, Mr Pradelle,” whispered Aunt Margaret.
“Papa, is anything wrong? Is it bad news?” cried Louise.
“Wrong! Bad news!” he cried, flashing up from the quiet student to the stern man, stung to the quick by the announcement he had just received. “Van Heldre, old friend, you know how I strove among our connections and friends to place him where he might work and rise and prove himself my son.”
“Yes, yes, old fellow, but be calm.”
“Father, hush!” whispered Louise, as she glanced at Leslie’s sympathetic countenance. “Hush! Be calm!”
“How can I be calm?” cried the old man fiercely. “The Des Vignes! The family estates! The title! You hear this, Margaret. Here is a fine opportunity for the search to be made—the old castle and the vineyards to be rescued from the occupiers.”
“George—brother, what do you mean?” cried the old lady indignantly, and she laid her hand upon her nephew’s shoulder, as he sat gazing straight down before him at his plate.
“What do I mean?” cried the indignant father, tossing the letter towards her. “I mean that my son is once more dismissed from his situation in disgrace.”