His face was from her, and he was so intent upon his task that he did not turn his head. "Breakfast?" he said quietly. "I shall not have any. Yes," he added hastily; "bring a cup of tea, Liza--no sugar, and a little dry toast." A pang shot through Madelaine's heart, and for a few moments she strove vainly to speak. "It is I, Mr Vine," she faltered at last in a voice she did not recognise as her own. "Madelaine, my child!" he cried, starting and dropping his pencil as he turned. "How rude of me! so intent upon this beautiful preparation of mine here. Very, very glad to see you," he continued, as he took her hands in his. "How is your father this morning?" "I--I have not seen him this morning," faltered Madelaine, as she gazed upon the pale, lined face before her, to note the change thereon, in spite of the unnatural calmness which the old man had assumed, "I--I came on at once, as soon as I had heard." He drew in a long breath as if her words were cutting him. Then raising her hands to his lips he kissed them tenderly. "Like you," he said gently, "like you, my child. There, I have nothing to say, nothing to hear." "But dear Mr Vine," cried Madelaine, as she clung to him, and her tears fell fast, "I am sure--" He smiled down at her lovingly, as he kissed her hand again. "Spare me, my child," he said. "Never mention her name again." "But, Mr Vine--" "Hush, my dear! It is like you," he whispered. "Good, gentle and forgiving. Let the whole of the past be dead." "But, Mr Vine, Louise--" "Hush!" he said sternly. "There, come and sit down and talk to me. No, my dear, I had a nasty fainting attack last night, but I am not mad. You need not fear that. Let the past be dead, my child. Will you bring me some tea?" Madelaine's face worked pitifully, as she clung to him for a few moments, and then as he resumed his place at the table, she felt that the hour was not opportune, and turned to leave the room. At that moment there was a gentle tap at the door. "See who that is, my child," said Vine, quietly; "and do not let me be interrupted. If it is my mother, ask him not to speak to me to-day." Madelaine crossed quickly to the old man's side, bent over him, and kissed his forehead, before going to the door, to find Uncle Luke waiting. "Maddy," he whispered, "tell my brother that Margaret wants to see her. Ask him if she may come in." Madelaine took the message, and felt startled at the angry look in the old man's face. "No," he cried peremptorily. "I could not bear to see her Maddy, my darling, you are almost like a daughter to me. You know all. Tell her from me to keep to her room, I could not trust myself to see her now."