“Harry!”
“No; not all true. I did not steal that money.”
“Ah!” ejaculated Louise; and she reeled to her bed, and would have fallen but for the post she grasped.
“I’ve no time to explain, but you must know. Yes; I did knock old Van Heldre down.”
“Harry!” she groaned.
“And Crampton saw me come away; he has sent for the London police; and, unless I can get off, I shall be taken and tried.”
Louise literally tottered towards him.
“No, no,” he said angrily. “You are going to talk and preach. You don’t want to see me disgracing you all by being cast in gaol?”
Disgracing them! Louise’s first thought was of Duncan Leslie, and a pang of agony shot through her. How could she ever look him in the face again? A chill that seemed to paralyse shot through her. The hope that she had nursed was cast out, and her brother’s words seemed to open out a future so desolate and blank that she turned upon him angrily.
“Harry!” she cried, “this is not—cannot be true.” He paid no heed to her words, but stood biting his nails, evidently thinking, and at last he turned upon her like one at bay, as she said, after a painful pause: “You do not answer. Am I to believe all this? No, I cannot—will not believe it. Harry. It can’t—it can’t be true.”