“Mr Leslie, you are mistaken.”
“I am not.”
“Indeed—indeed!”
“Prove it then,” he cried, in stern judicial tones. “I am open to conviction. You love this man?” Louise was silent. “He was begging you to accompany him in flight.” Louise uttered a low wail. “Hah!” ejaculated Leslie, “I am right.”
“No, no; it is all a misapprehension,” cried Louise, excitedly. “Mr Leslie, this—”
“Hold your tongue,” whispered Harry hoarsely, and she moaned as she writhed in spirit.
“There are reasons why my father should not know of this visit.”
“So I suppose,” said Leslie sternly; “and you ask me to be a partner by giving way to a second blow to that true-hearted, trusting man. Louise Vine, is it you who are speaking, or has this man put these cruelly base words in your mouth?”
“What can I say? What can I do?” wailed Louise, wringing her hands, as with every sense on the strain she listened for her father’s step.
Harry, who now that the first shock had passed was rapidly growing more calm and calculating, bent down over his sister, and whispered to her again in French to go quickly, and get her hat and mantle.