"I am not afraid," said Louise, hanging on his shoulder for a few moments, and then kissing his wrinkled, careworn brow. "Thank you, my darling, thank you. You will not mind being left? Harry ought to be here." "Oh, no, dear; but you will come back soon and tell me all. Harry will be here before then." "Of course, my dear, of course." "And you will give my dear love to Madelaine," Louise cried, as her father moved away from the door. He nodded, and with bended head went off down the path, while, after watching till he had disappeared, Louise stood gazing out to sea as the evening began to close in, and a soft, melancholy breeze came whispering among the trees. She could not tell why it was, but everything seemed to wear a different aspect, and a profound sense of dejection came upon her, which brought the tears to her eyes. Where could Harry be? It was hours since she had seen him, and as she felt how much she required help and counsel at that time; her thoughts strayed to Duncan Leslie, and she looked across an intervening depression to the steep cliff-path, which led up past Uncle Luke's den to the Mine House, where a faint light twinkled, and away beyond, like a giant finger pointing upward, the great chimney shaft towered. She stood gazing at that faint light for some minutes, with her eyes growing dim, and the troubled feelings which had often assailed her in secret increasing till, with cheeks burning and an angry ejaculation, she turned into the house, where she fetched her work from the study, and was soon after seated by the window trying to sew. At the end of a few minutes she rose and rang for the lamp, which was brought in by the cook. "Where's Liza?" said Louise. "Gone down into the town, ma'am," said the cook, looking at her uneasily. "What for? She did not ask leave." "She said she would not be long, ma'am," said the woman evasively. "Tell her to bring in the tea the moment my father returns. Let everything be ready." "Yes, ma'am." The woman hurried out, and Louise sat gazing at the door, thinking that the woman's manner was strange. "I am upset," she said with a sigh, "and that makes things seem different." She had been dreaming over her work for a few minutes when she started, for she heard voices talking loudly. She sat up in her chair with her senses on the strain, trembling lest there should be bad news from the Van Heldres'. She was not kept long in suspense, for there was a quick step in the hall, a sharp rap at the door, and Liza entered, scarlet with excitement and exertion, her shawl over one arm, her hat hanging by its strings from the other. "Liza!" "Yes, miss, it's me. Can I speak to you a minute?" "Have you brought news from Mr Van Heldre's?" "Which I have, miss, and I haven't." "How is he?" cried Louise, paying no heed to Liza's paradoxical declaration.