Only a minute before, and Harry Vine had determined that with the power given by Leslie's evident attachment to his sister, he would make that gentleman open his cash-box or write a cheque on the Penzance bank for a hundred pounds. The scene before him altered Harry Vine's ideas, and sent the blood surging up to his brain. He stepped right up to Madelaine, giving Leslie a furious glance as that gentleman turned, and without the slightest preface, exclaimed-- "Look here, Madelaine, it's time you were at home. Come along with me." Madelaine flushed as she rose; and her lips parted as if to speak, but Leslie interposed. "Excuse me, Miss Van Heldre, I do not think you need reply to such a remark as that." "Who are you?" roared Harry, bursting into a fit of passion that was schoolboy-like in its heat and folly. "Say another word, sir, and I'll pitch you off the cliff into the sea." "Here, steady, old fellow, steady!" whispered Pradelle; and he laid his hand on his companion's arm. "You mind your own business, Vic; and as for you--" He stopped, for he could say no more. Leslie had quite ignored his presence, turning his back and offering his arm to Madelaine. "Shall I walk home with you, Miss Van Heldre?" he said. For answer, and without so much as looking at Harry Vine, Madelaine took the offered arm, and Pradelle tightened his hold as the couple walked away. The grasp was needless, for Harry's rage was evaporating fast, and giving place to a desolate sensation of despair. "Look here," said Pradelle; "you've kicked that over. You can't ask him now." "No," said Harry, gazing at the departing figures, and trying to call up something about the fair daughters of France; "no, I can't ask him now." "Then look here, old fellow, I can't stand by and see you thrown over by everybody like this. You know what your prospects are on your own relative's showing, not mine; and you know what can be done if we have the money. You are not fit for this place, and I say you shall get out of it. Now then, you know how it can be done. Just a loan for a few weeks. Will you, or will you not?" Harry turned upon him a face that was ghastly pale. "But if," he whispered hoarsely, "if we should fail?" "Fail? You shan't fail." "One hundred," said Harry, hoarsely. "Well, I suppose so. We'll make that do. Now then, I'm not going to waste time. Is it yes or no?" Harry Vine felt a peculiar humming in the head, his mouth was hot and dry, and his lips felt parched. He looked Pradelle in the face, as if pleading to be let off, but there was only a cunning, insistent smile to meet him there, and once more the question came in a sharp whisper, "Yes or no?" "Yes," said Harry; and as soon as he had said that word, it was as if a black cloud had gathered about his life. Volume 1, Chapter XV. MY AUNT'S BETE NOIRE.