“Yes; quick! what do you mean?” Leslie stood looking at her for a few moments, his mind dragged two ways, and shrinking from giving his news as he gazed into her dilated eyes.
“Why do you not speak?” she said passionately. “Do you not see the pain you give me?”
“I must speak,” he groaned. “Where is your brother? There is a horrible rumour in the town. Mr Crampton—”
“Crampton!”
“Accuses your brother of having robbed and struck down Mr Van Heldre.”
“It is a lie!” she cried fiercely, as she snatched away her hands, gazing at him with flashing eyes and burning cheeks. “My brother a thief—almost a murderer! Oh!”
“It cannot be true,” said Leslie; “but—”
“Weak and reckless and foolish; but—oh, why have you come up to say these things?”
“Because I love you!” he cried passionately; and he caught her hands in his, and held them tightly. “Because I knew that the horrible charge must soon reach your ears, and that it would be better that it should come from me—when you were in trouble—when you wanted help.”
“It is not true—it is not true!” cried Louise, excitedly.