“And Aunt Marguerite?”
“In her room. But, Harry!”
“Be quiet. Don’t talk. Let me get my breath.”
Louise stood before him with her hands clasped, and a flow of agonising thoughts seemed to sweep her reason away. All was confusion, but above the flood there was one thing to which she clung—Harry was innocent. In spite of everything in the way of appearance, he was innocent; nothing should turn her from that.
“Well,” he said suddenly, “haven’t you anything to say?”
There was a savage vindictive tone in his voice which startled her more than his previous threatening way.
“Yes; where have you been? Why do you come back like this?”
“Where have I been? Up on the cliffs, wandering about among the rocks, and hiding till it grew dark and I could come home. And why did I come home like this? You know. Of course you have heard.”
“Mr Leslie came, and—”
“Mr Leslie!” cried Harry with a mocking laugh. “Save us from our friends.”