"Forgive you, Mr Vine!" "I was sure of it. Thank you. I am very weak." "But Louise?" cried Aunt Marguerite. "Read her letter. Gone!" cried Uncle Luke fiercely, as he thrust the note in the old woman's face. "Gone!" said George Vine, staring straight before him with the curious look in his eyes intensified, as was the stony aspect of his face. "Gone! Thank God--thank God!" "George, what are you saying?" cried Uncle Luke excitedly. "I say thank God that my dear wife was not spared to me to see the blow that has fallen upon my home to-night." Brother, sister, Duncan Leslie stood gazing at the silvered head, dimly-seen above the shaded lamp. The face was unnaturally calm and strange; and weak as he was, Duncan Leslie sprang forward. He had seen what was coming, and strove vainly to save the stricken man, for George Vine seemed to have been robbed of all power, and fell with a weary moan senseless at his brother's feet. CHAPTER FIFTY ONE. BROKEN WITH THE FIGHT. "Better stop where you are, man," said Uncle Luke. "No," said Leslie, as he stood gazing straight before him, as one who tries to see right on into the future along the vista of one's own life. "But it is nearly one o'clock. Sit down there and get a nap." "No. I must go home," said Leslie slowly, and in a measured way, as if he were trying to frame his sentences correctly in carrying on the conversation while thinking of something else. "Well, you are your own master." "Yes," said Leslie. "How is he?" "Calmer now. He was half mad when he came to, and Knatchbull was afraid of brain fever, but he gave him something to quiet the excitement. Better have given you something too." "What are you going to do?" said Leslie, turning upon the old man suddenly, and with a wild look in his eyes. "Do nothing rashly," said Uncle Luke. "But time is flying, man." "Yes. Always is," said Uncle Luke, coolly, as he watched his companion with half-closed eyes. "But--" "That will do. I cannot discuss the matter to-night, my head's in a whirl. Do nothing rashly is a capital maxim." "But we are wasting time." "Look here, young man," said Uncle Luke, taking Leslie by the lappet of the coat. "I'm not blind. I daresay I can see as far through you as most people can. I am an old man, and at my time of life I can be calm and dispassionate, and look on at things judicially." "Judicially?" said Leslie bitterly; "any child could judge here." "Oh, no," said the old man; "big child as you are, you can't." "What do you mean?" "That you are only a big stupid boy, Duncan Leslie." "Don't insult me in my misery, man." "Not I, my lad. I like you too well. I am only playing the surgeon, hurting you to do you good. Look here, Leslie, you are in pain, and you are madly jealous." "Jealous!" cried the young man scornfully, "of whom?" "My niece--that man--both of them." "Not I. Angry with myself, that's all, for being an idiot."