“Uncle! surely you will not let Mr Leslie pay.”
“Not let him? I did let him. He has plenty of money, and I have none—handy.”
“But, uncle!”
“Oh! it pleased him to pay. I don’t know why, though, unless, like all young men, he wanted to make ducks and drakes of his cash.”
Louise’s brow seemed to grow more contracted.
“Bit of a change for him to run up to town. I suppose that’s what made him come,” continued the old man; “and now I’ve found you, I suppose he feels free to go about where he likes. I never liked him.”
If Uncle Luke expected his niece to make some reply he was mistaken, for Louise lay back with her eyes half-closed, apparently thinking deeply, till there was a tap at the door.
“Hah! that’s Leslie,” cried the old man, rising.
“You will come back and tell me if there is any news of Harry, uncle,” whispered Louise. Then, with an agonised look up at him as she clung to his hands, “He will not help them?”
“What, to capture that poor boy? No, no. Leslie must feel bitter against the man who struck him down, but not so bad as that.”