“Do you think I could believe it of Louise?” said Madelaine, proudly.
Uncle Luke held her hand in his, patting it softly the while.
“No,” he said, “I don’t think you could. Go to him now. Tell him it will all be cleared up some day, perhaps sooner than we think.”
“Where is he?” she said quietly.
“In his study.”
She nodded her head with a confident look in her eyes, crossed the hall, and tapped at the study door.
“Come in.”
The words bidding her to enter were uttered in so calm and matter-of-fact a way, that Madelaine felt startled, and Uncle Luke’s words, “I am uneasy about George,” came with a meaning they had not before possessed.
She entered and stopped short, for there before the open window, close to which was a glass vessel full of water, stood George Vine, busy with a microscope, by whose help he was carefully examining the structure of some minute organism, while one busy hand made notes upon a sheet of paper at his side.
His face was from her, and he was so intent upon his task that he did not turn his head.