"No, no," she whispered, "don't do that. No; you and I will do what is to be done. Don't send to him, uncle, pray." "Too late, my dear; the deed is done." 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. "Louie, 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. She was seated in the darkening room, holding tightly by the old man's hand, as a frightened child might in dread of punishment. As the hours had passed she had been starting at every sound, trembling as the hollow rumbling of cab-wheels came along the street, and when by chance a carriage stopped at the hotel her aspect was pitiable. "I cannot help it," she whispered. "All through these terrible troubles I seem to have been strong, while now I am so weak and unstrung--uncle, I shall never be myself again." "Yes, and stronger than ever. Come, little woman, how often have you heard or read of people suffering from nervous reaction and--Thank God!" he muttered, as he saw the door softly open behind his niece's chair, and his brother stand in the doorway. "I did not catch what you said, dear," said Louise feebly, as she lay back with her eyes closed. Uncle Luke gave his brother a meaning look, and laid his niece's hand back upon her knees. "No; it's very hard to make one's self heard in this noisy place. I was only saying, my dear, that your nerves have been terribly upset, and that you are suffering from the shock. You feel now afraid to meet your father lest he should reproach you, and you can only think of him as being bitter and angry against you for going away, as you did; but when he thoroughly grasps the situation, and how you acted as you did to save your brother from arrest, and all as it were in the wild excitement of that time, and under pressure--" "Don't leave me, uncle."