"My father begs you will come to him. I am his ambassador. You will not refuse?" "I cannot meet him," said Vine in a faint voice full of despair; "and," he added to himself, "I could not bear it." "He would come to you, but he is weak and suffering," said Madelaine as she laid her hand upon the stricken man's arm. "`Tell him I beg he will come to me,' he said," she whispered. "You will not refuse, Mr Vine?" "No, I will not refuse. Louise, dear?" "Yes, father, I will go with you," she said slowly; and in a few minutes she returned, ready for the walk, and crossed to where her father sat holding Madelaine's hand. As she entered he rose and met her. "Louise, my child, must we go?" he said feebly. "I feel as if it were almost more than I can bear. Must we go?" "Yes," she replied gravely; "we must go." Vine bowed his head. "Come, my child," he said, turning to Madelaine, and he was half-way to the door when Aunt Marguerite entered. "Going out?" she said, shrinking from the sombre figure in black. "Yes, aunt." "You must attend first to what I have to say, Louise. Miss Van Heldre can, I dare say, wait." Madelaine bent her head and drew back. "I have business with Mr Van Heldre, Marguerite," said Vine more sternly than he had ever spoken to her before. "You must wait till our return." Aunt Marguerite's eyes flashed an indignant look at Madelaine, as the cause of this rebuff, and she drew back with a stiff courtesy and walked slowly before them out of the room. George Vine gazed wildly round him as he walked slowly down the steep way toward the town. It seemed terrible to him that in such a time of suffering and mourning, sea, sky, and earth should be painted in such lovely colours. The heavy rain of the previous days seemed to have given a brilliancy to leaf and flower that before was wanting; and as, from time to time, he glanced wildly at the rocky point, the scene of the tragedy of his life, the waves were curling over, and breaking in iridescent foam upon the rocks, to roll back in silvery cataracts to the sea. He turned away his eyes with a shudder, fighting hard to keep his thoughts from the horrors of that night; but he was doomed to have them emphasised, for, just before reaching the foot of the steep way, the little party came suddenly upon the great burly fisherman, who had undertaken to sail across to St Malo with the fugitive that night, "Mornin', master," he said. Vine turned ghastly pale, and his brain reeled; but he soon recovered himself. "Louise, Madelaine, my children, go, and I will follow." Louise looked at him appealingly; but he was perfectly firm, and she went on with her friend. "I fear, in the midst of my trouble, Perrow, that I had forgotten my engagement with you." "Like enough, master, and no wonder. There was no hurry." "Yes, but there is," said Vine slowly. "Will you come to my house to-night or to-morrow morning? and I'll give you my cheque to take to the bank."