No one moved; and in the midst of the nervous strain a sharp puff of wind came sweeping up from the sea, like the avant-garde of a storm, and the casement window was blown to with a loud clang.
Harry started as if he had felt that his retreat was cut off, but he kept his face averted, and dragged his rough hat down over his eyes, though the action was unnecessary, for the darkness was too great for him to be recognised.
As he started Louise clung to him, and for the moment he struggled to escape from her, but he clung to her the next instant, and quivered with fear as the silence was broken by Leslie’s voice, so cold, deep, and harsh that it seemed as if a stranger was speaking.
“I suppose I have no right to interfere,” he said; “but there are times when a man forgets or puts aside etiquette, and there are reasons here why I should speak. Miss Vine, where is your father?”
Louise made an effort to reply, but there was only a spasmodic catching of her breath.
“Send him away. Tell him to go,” whispered Harry.
“I said, where is your father, Miss Vine?” said Leslie again more coldly.
“At—at Mr Van Heldre’s,” she murmured at last. “Mr Leslie—pray—”
“I am your father’s friend, and I should not be doing my duty—Ah! my duty—to myself,” he cried angrily, “if I did not speak plainly. Does Mr Vine know that this gentleman is here?”
“No,” said Louise, in an almost inaudible voice, and in the contagion of her brother’s fear she seemed to see him once more hunted down by the officers of justice; and the terrible scene on the pier danced before her eyes.