Uncle Luke's hand trembled now as he took the missive, and slowly tore open the envelope; but as he drew out the letter it was snatched from his hands by his brother, who held it beneath the lamp-shade and bent down to read. He raised himself lip quickly and passed his hand across his eyes, as if to sweep away some film which hindered his reading, and the silence in that room was terrible as he bent down again. A strong pang of suffering shot through Duncan Leslie as he saw the old man's lips quivering, while he read in a slow, laborious way the few lines contained in the note, and then, after once more making an effort to clear his vision, he seemed to read it again. "George--brother--why don't you speak?" said Uncle Luke at last. George Vine looked up in a curiously dazed way. "Speak?" he said huskily; "speak?" "Yes; is that from Louise?" He bowed his head in assent. "Well, what does she say, man? What does it mean?" George Vine looked in his brother's eyes once more--the same curiously dazed look as if he hardly comprehended what was taking place. Then he slowly placed the note in Luke's hands. There was no slow, dazed manner here, for the old cynic was full of excitement, and he seemed to read the note at a glance. "Gone!" he said. "Then she has gone?" "Yes," said his brother slowly; "she has gone." "But this man, George--this man, Leslie. Don't stare, man, speak." "What do you wish me to say, sir?" said Leslie, hoarsely. "Who was he? What was he like?" "I could not see his face, he kept it averted. I can tell you no more, sir. I tried to force him to stay till Mr Vine's return, as I before told you, and you saw the result." "A Frenchman?" "He spoke in French." "George, had you any suspicion of this?" "No." "You never heard a word?" "I never heard a word." "But it must have been going on for long enough. And you knew nothing whatever?" "And I knew nothing whatever," said George Vine, his words coming slowly and in a voice which sounded perfectly calm. "Then you know from what black cloud this bolt has come?" "I--I know nothing," said Vine, in the same slow, strange way. "Then I can tell you," cried Luke, furiously. "If ever man nursed viper at his fireside, you have done this, for it to sting you to the heart. Hah!" he cried, as the door opened and Aunt Marguerite sailed in, drawing herself up in her most dignified way, as she saw who was present, and then ignoring both strangers, she turned to her brother. "What is the meaning of these inquiries?" she said sternly. "Where is Louise?" "Ask your own heart, woman," cried Uncle Luke, furiously. "Gone--gone with some wretched French impostor of your introduction here." Aunt Marguerite gazed at him angrily. "I say where is Louise?" she cried excitedly. "Mr Leslie," said George Vine, after drawing a long breath, his sister's shrill voice having seemed to rouse him; "you will forgive a weak, trusting old man for what he said just now?"