“I forget everything but the fact that Louise loved you, Duncan Leslie, with all her heart.”
“No, no,” he cried with an angry start.
“I tell you it is true,” cried Madelaine. “De Ligny?—a French nobleman? Absurd! A fable invented by that poor old half-crazy woman to irritate you and scare you away.”
“I might have thought so once, but after what I saw last night—”
“A jealous man surrounds all he sees with a glamour of his own,” cried Madelaine. “Oh where is your reason? How could you be so ready to believe it of the truest, sweetest girl that ever lived!”
“But—”
“Don’t speak to me,” cried Madelaine, angrily. “You know what that old woman is with her wild ideas about birth and position. Louise, deceive her father—cheat me—elope! Duncan Leslie, I did not think you could be so weak.”
“I will not fight against your reproaches,” he said, coldly.
“No. Come with me. Let us go down and see Uncle Luke.”
“But you really think—” he faltered.