For as she clung to Leslie, Pradelle, with a bullying look, planted himself before the door to arrest Leslie's progress, and then shrank back as he saw the grim smile of satisfaction upon the young Scot's face. It was the work of moments, and the action seemed like to that of one of his own country deerhounds, as Leslie clashed at him; there was the dull sound of a heavy blow, and Pradelle went down with a crash in one corner of the room. "Mr Leslie! Mr Leslie! for pity's sake stay!" cried Louise as she made for the door; but Uncle Luke caught her hand, and retained it as the door swung to. "Uncle, uncle!" she moaned, "what have you done?" "Done?" he cried. "You mad, infatuated girl! My duty to my brother and to you." "All right," said Pradelle, rising slowly. "Let's have in the police then. I can clear myself, I dare say." "Mr Pradelle, if you have a spark of manliness in you, pray say no more," cried Louise, as, snatching herself free, she ran to him now. "Oh, I'm not going to be made a scapegoat!" he cried savagely; but as his eyes met hers full of piteous appeal, his whole manner changed, and he caught her hands in his. "Yes, I will," he whispered. "I'll bear it all. It can't be for long, and I may get off. Promise me--" He said the rest of the words with his lips close to her ear. "Your wife?" she faltered as she shrank away and crossed to her uncle. "No, no, no!" There was a sharp rap on the panel, the door yielded, and Sergeant Parkins stepped in. "Mr Pradelle, eh?" he said with a grim smile. "Glad to make your acquaintance, sir, at last. You'll come quietly?" "Oh, yes, I'll come," said Pradelle. "I've got an answer to the charge." "Of course you have, sir. Glad to hear it. Sorry to put a stop to your pleasant little game. Shall I?" "There's no need," said Pradelle in answer to a meaning gesticulation toward his wrists. "I know how to behave like a gentleman." "That's right," said the sergeant, who, with a display of delicacy hardly to have been expected in his triumph at having, as he felt, had his prognostication fulfilled, carefully abstained from even glancing at the trembling girl, who stood there with agony and despair painted on her face. "It ain't too late yet, Miss Louie," said Pradelle, crossing towards her. "Keep that scoundrel back, Parkins," cried Uncle Luke. "Right, sir. Now, Mr Pradelle." "Stop a moment, can't you?" shouted the prisoner. "Miss Louie--to save him you'll promise, and I'll be dumb. I swear I will." Louise drew herself up as a piteous sigh escaped her breast. "No," she said firmly, "I cannot promise that. Uncle dear, I have tried to save him to the last. I can do no more." "No," said the old man, "you can do no more." "Mr Pradelle," she cried, "you will not be so base?" "Will you promise?" he cried. "No." "Then--here, just a minute. You, Mr Luke Vine, will you give me a word?" "No," roared Uncle Luke. "Take him away."