“No,” he cried peremptorily. “I could not bear to see her Maddy, my darling, you are almost like a daughter to me. You know all. Tell her from me to keep to her room, I could not trust myself to see her now.”
Madelaine clung to him, with the tears gathering in her eyes. From her earliest childhood she had looked up to him as to some near relative, who had treated her as he had treated his own child—her companion, Louise; and now as she saw the agony depicted in his face, she suffered with him, and in her womanly sympathy her tears still fell fast.
“But, dear Mr Vine,” she whispered, “forgive me for pressing you at such a time, but there is some mistake.”
“Yes,” he said sternly; and she shivered as she saw how he was changed, and heard how harsh his voice had grown. “Yes, Madelaine, my child, there has been a terrible mistake made by a weak, infatuated man, who acted on impulse, and never let his mind stray from the hobby he pursued—mine.”
“Mr Vine!”
“Hush, my child, I know. You are going to say words that I could not bear to hear now. I know what I have done, I see it too plainly now. In my desire to play a kindly brother’s part, I let that of a father lapse, and my punishment has come—doubly come.”
“If you would only let me speak,” she whispered.
“Not now—not now. I want strength first to bear my punishment, to bear it patiently as a man.”
It seemed to be no time to argue and plead her friend’s cause, but she still clung to him.
“Bear with me,” he whispered. “I am not going to reproach you for what you have said. There, my dear, leave me now.”