“But, Mr Vine—”
“Hush, my dear! It is like you,” he whispered. “Good, gentle and forgiving. Let the whole of the past be dead.”
“But, Mr Vine, Louise—”
“Hush!” he said sternly. “There, come and sit down and talk to me. No, my dear, I had a nasty fainting attack last night, but I am not mad. You need not fear that. Let the past be dead, my child. Will you bring me some tea?”
Madelaine’s face worked pitifully, as she clung to him for a few moments, and then as he resumed his place at the table, she felt that the hour was not opportune, and turned to leave the room.
At that moment there was a gentle tap at the door.
“See who that is, my child,” said Vine, quietly; “and do not let me be interrupted. If it is my mother, ask him not to speak to me to-day.”
Madelaine crossed quickly to the old man’s side, bent over him, and kissed his forehead, before going to the door, to find Uncle Luke waiting.
“Maddy,” he whispered, “tell my brother that Margaret wants to see her. Ask him if she may come in.”
Madelaine took the message, and felt startled at the angry look in the old man’s face.