Just then the waiter re-entered.
“Telegram, sir.”
Louise turned if possible more pale.
“Tut—tut!” whispered Uncle Luke. “It can’t be an answer back. Hah! from Madelaine.”
“Your news seems too great to be true. Mr George Vine started for town by the first train this morning. My father regrets his helplessness.”
“Hah! Come. That’s very business-like of George,” said the old man. “Louy, my dear, I’m going to turn prophet. All this trouble is certain to turn in the right direction after all. Why, my child?”
She had sunk back in her chair with the cold, dank dew of suffering gathering upon her forehead, and a piteous look of agony in her eyes.
“How can I meet him now!”
The terrible hours of agony that had been hers during the past month had so shattered the poor girl’s nerves, that even this meeting seemed more than she could bear, and it called forth all the old man’s efforts to convince her that she had nothing to fear, but rather everything to desire.
It was a weary and a painful time though before Louise was set at rest.