“Now tell me more about Harry.”
“There is very little to tell,” replied Leslie. “As I went down-stairs that day, I found him just about to enter the house. For a moment I was startled, but I am not a superstitious man, and I grasped at once how we had all been deceived, and who it was dealt me the blow and tripped me that night; and in the reaction which came upon me, I seized him, and dragged him to the first cab I could find.
“I was half mad with delight,” continued Leslie, speaking, in spite of his burning words, in a slow, calm, respectful way. “I saw how I had been deceived that night, who had been your companion, and why you had kept silence. For the time I hardly knew what I did or said in my delirious joy, but I was brought to myself, as I sat holding your brother’s wrist tightly, by his saying slowly,
“‘There, I’m sick of it. You can leave go. I shan’t try to get away. It’s all over now.’”
“He thought you had made him a prisoner?”
“Yes; and I thought him a messenger of peace, who had come to point out my folly, weakness, and want of faith.”
Louise covered her face with her hands, and he saw that she was sobbing gently.
“It was some time before I could speak,” continued Leslie. “I was still holding his wrist tightly, and it was not until he spoke again that I felt as if I could explain.
“‘Where are you taking me?’ he said. ‘Is it necessary for Mr Leslie, my father’s friend, to play policeman in the case?’
“‘When will you learn to believe and trust in me, Harry, Vine?’ I said.