"Well, for a time. You are weak and ill. Perhaps you will go away for a change--perhaps I shall. Next time we meet, time will have softened all this trouble, and you will have forgiven one whose wish was to serve you, all his weakness, all his doubts. Good bless you, Louise Vine! Good-bye!" He held out his hand again, but she did not take it. She only stood gazing wildly at him in a way that he dared not interpret, speechless, pale, and with her lips quivering. He gave her one long, yearning look, and, turning quickly, he was at the door. "Mr Leslie--stop!" "You wished to say something," he cried as he turned towards her and caught her outstretched hand to raise it passionately to his lips. "You do not, you cannot say it? I will say it for you, then. Good-bye!" "Stop!" she cried as she clung to his hand. "My brother's message?" "Some day--in the future. I dare not give it now. When you have forgiven my jealous doubts." "Forgiven you?" she whispered as she sank upon her knees and held the hand she clasped to her cheek--"forgive me." "Louise! my darling!" he cried hoarsely as he caught her up to his breast, upon which she lay as one lies who feels at peace. Seconds? minutes? Neither knew; but after a time, as she stood with her hands upon his shoulders gazing calmly in his eyes, she said softly-- "Tell me now: what did Harry say?" Leslie was silent for a while. Then, clasping her more tightly to his breast, he said in a low, deep voice-- "Tell Louie I have found in you the truest brother that ever lived; ask her some day to make it so indeed." There was a long silence, during which the door was pressed slowly open; but they did not heed, and he who entered heard his child's words come almost in a whisper. "Some day," she said; "some day when time has softened all these griefs. Your own words, Duncan." "Yes," he said, "my own." "Hah!" They did not start from their embrace as that long-drawn sigh fell upon their ears, but both asked the same question with their eyes. "Yes," said George Vine gravely as he took Leslie's hand and bent down to kiss his child, "it has been a long dark night, but joy cometh in the morning." Volume 3, Chapter XXIII. UNCLE LUKE HAS A WORD. John Van Heldre sat in his office chair at his table once more after a long and weary absence, and Crampton stood opposite scowling at him. The old clerk had on one of his most sour looks when Van Heldre raised his eyes from the ledger he was scanning, and he made no remark; but looking up again he saw the scowl apparently intensified. "What's the matter, Crampton? Afraid I shall discover that you have been guilty of embezzlement?" said Van Heldre, smiling. "Not a bit," said the old clerk, "nor you aren't either." "Then what is the meaning of the black look?" "Oh, nothing--nothing!" "Come, out with it, man. What's the matter?"