“No? Louise, what are you saying?”
“That you have not been to blame. My dear, patient, indulgent father.”
“Indulgent?” he said hoarsely. “Yes; indulgent. I have been indulgent, and yet heaven knows how I have striven to make ours a happy home for all.”
“And you have, father,” sobbed Louise, “till Harry proved so wilful and went astray.”
“Yes; went astray. But he must go, my child; he must not be taken. I have a little money with me, and will send him more. I want to do that which is just and right, but I could not bear to see him taken off to gaol.”
Louise uttered a low moan as they hurried on down the path.
“Where will he hide? where will he hide?” whispered Vine excitedly. “He could not escape by the road, the railway station is certain to be watched, and there is the telegraph.”
“Stop!” said Louise, holding one hand to her head, as in the terrible confusion of conflicting thoughts she tried to recall something her brother had said.
“Yes, I recollect now,” she said. “He told me he meant to escape across to France, and that he would ask one of the fishermen to sail with him to Saint Malo.”
“Hah! yes. Then he will escape. Whom did he say?”