There was an earnest, loving embrace, and then Madelaine turned to Vine, laying her hands upon his breast, and kissing him as a child would its parent.
“So much better,” she said, in answer to the wistful, inquiring look directed at her. “I have come to fetch you both.”
“To fetch us?” faltered Vine with a horrified look.
“My father begs you will come to him. I am his ambassador. You will not refuse?”
“I cannot meet him,” said Vine in a faint voice full of despair; “and,” he added to himself, “I could not bear it.”
“He would come to you, but he is weak and suffering,” said Madelaine as she laid her hand upon the stricken man’s arm. “Tell him ‘I beg he will come to me,’ he said,” she whispered. “You will not refuse, Mr Vine?”
“No, I will not refuse. Louise, dear?”
“Yes, father, I will go with you,” she said slowly; and in a few minutes she returned, ready for the walk, and crossed to where her father sat holding Madelaine’s hand.
As she entered he rose and met her.
“Louise, my child, must we go?” he said feebly. “I feel as if it where almost more than I can bear. Must we go?”