The Haute Noblesse: A Novel. Fenn George Manville

stamps,” said Leslie, laughing.

      “No; I should just get hold of that fellow some night, and walk him to where the coach starts.”

      Leslie’s face looked warm.

      “And then I should say, ‘Jump up, and when you get to the station, book for London; and if ever you show your face in Hakemouth again I’ll break your neck.’”

      “You must excuse me, Mr Luke; I’m busy this morning,” said Leslie; and he walked on and began to descend the steep path.

      “Touched him on the tender place,” said Uncle Luke, with a chuckle. “Humph! wonder whether Louie will come and see me to-day.”

      Duncan Leslie went on down the zig-zag cliff path leading from the Wheal Germains copper mine to the town. It was a picturesque way, with a fresh view at every turn west and east; and an advanced member of the town board had proposed and carried the suggestion of placing rough granite seats here and there in the best parts for resting those who climbed, and for giving others attractive places for sunning themselves and looking out to sea.

      The plan was a great success, and these seats were largely patronised by the fishermen in the case of those nearest the shore, where they could follow out their favourite pastime to the full, and also by the towns-people, especially by the invalids and those young folk who had arrived at the billing and cooing stage of life, when there are only two people in the world – themselves.

      About half way down Leslie passed an invalid, who had taken possession of a seat, and was gazing right away south, and dreaming of lands where the sun always shone – wondering whether the bright maiden Health could be found there.

      Lower still Leslie was going on thoughtfully, pondering on Uncle Luke’s hints, when the blood suddenly flushed into his cheeks, his heart began to beat rapidly, and he increased his pace. For there unmistakably were two ladies going down the zig-zag, and there were no two others in Hakemouth could be mistaken for them.

      He hurried on to overtake them. Then he checked himself.

      “Where had they been?”

      His sinking heart suggested that they had been on their way to visit Uncle Luke, but that they had caught sight of him, and in consequence returned.

      His brow grew gloomy, and he walked slowly on, when the blood flushed to his cheeks again, as if he had been surprised in some guilty act, for a sharp voice said —

      “No, Mr Leslie; you would not be able to overtake them now.”

      He stopped short, and turned to the warm sheltered nook among the rocks where Aunt Margaret was seated; her grey lavender dress was carefully spread about her, her white hair turned back beneath a black velvet satin-lined hood, and a lace fichu pinned across her breast.

      “You here, Miss Vine?” said Leslie, hiding his annoyance.

      “Yes; and I thought I would save you a thankless effort. I know these paths so well, and they are very deceptive as to distance. You could not overtake the girls unless you ran.”

      “I was not going to try and overtake them, Miss Vine,” said Leslie coldly.

      “Indeed! I beg your pardon; I thought you were. But would you mind, Mr Leslie – it is a very trifling request, but I set store by these little relics of our early history – Miss Marguerite Vine, if you would be so kind?”

      Leslie bowed. “Certainly, Miss Marguerite,” he said quietly.

      “Thank you,” she said, detaining him. “It is very good of you. Of course you are surprised to see me up here?”

      “Oh, no,” said Leslie quietly. “It is a delightful place to sit and rest and read.”

      “Ye-es; but I cannot say that I care much for the rough walking of this part of the world, and my brother seems somehow to have taken quite a dislike to the idea of having a carriage?”

      “Yes?”

      “So I am obliged to walk when I do come out. There are certain duties one is forced to attend to. For instance, there is my poor brother up yonder. I feel bound to see him from time to time. You see him frequently, of course?”

      “Every day, necessarily. We are so near.”

      “Poor fellow! Yes. Very eccentric and peculiar; but you need be under no apprehension, Mr Leslie. He is quite harmless, I am sure.”

      “Oh, quite harmless, Miss Marguerite. Merely original.”

      “It is very good of you to call it originality; but as friends, Mr Leslie, there is no harm in our alluding to his poor brain. Softening, a medical man told me.”

      “Hardening, I should say,” thought Leslie.

      “Very peculiar! very peculiar! Father and uncle both so different to my dear nephew. So you were going to overtake the girls?”

      “No, Miss Marguerite; I had no such idea.”

      “Indeed! They walked with me as far as here; and then I said, ‘My dears, it is impossible for me to go up to Uncle Luke to-day, so I will sit down and rest, and go back alone.’ I believe the air will refresh me.”

      “I am sure it will. It is so fresh and sweet up here.”

      “Ye-es,” said Aunt Marguerite. “Have you seen my nephew to-day? No? Poor boy! He is in very bad spirits. Ah! Mr Leslie, I shall be very glad to see him once more as a des Vignes should be. With him placed in the position that should be his, and that engagement carried out regarding my darling Louise’s future, I could leave this world of sorrow without a sigh.”

      Leslie winced, but it was not perceptible to Aunt Marguerite, who, feeling dissatisfied with the result of her shot, fired again.

      “Of course it would involve losing my darling: but at my time of life, Mr Leslie, one has learned that it is one’s duty always to study self-sacrifice. The des Vignes were always a self-sacrificing family. When it was not for some one or other of their kindred it was for their king, and then for their faith. You know our old French motto, Mr Leslie?”

      “I? No. I beg pardon.”

      “Really? I should have thought you could not fail to see that. It is almost the only trace of our former greatness that my misguided brother – ”

      “Were you alluding to Mr Luke Vine?”

      “No, no, no, no! To my brother, George des Vignes. Surely, Mr Leslie, you must have noted our arms upon the dining-room windows.”

      “Oh, yes, of course, of course: and the motto, Roy et Foy.”

      “Exactly,” said Aunt Marguerite, smiling, “I thought it must have caught your eye.”

      Something else was catching Duncan Leslie’s eye just then – the last flutter of the scarf Louise wore before it disappeared round the foot of the cliff.

      “I shall bear it, I daresay, and with fortitude, Mr Leslie, for it will be a grand position that she will take. The de Lignys are a family almost as old as our own; and fate might arrange for me to visit them and make a long stay. She’s a sweet girl, is she not, Mr Leslie?”

      “Miss Vine? Yes: you must be very proud of her,” said the young man, without moving a muscle.

      “We are; we are indeed, Mr Leslie; but I am afraid I am detaining you.”

      “I will not call it detaining me, Miss Marguerite,” said Leslie, mockingly assuming a courtly manner in accord with that of his tormentor. “The Scotch had so much intercourse with the French years ago that they gave us a little polish, and I hope we have some trace of the old politeness left.”

      He smiled and bowed before passing on, and Aunt Marguerite watched him till he disappeared down the zig-zag path, her own smile remaining so fixed that it seemed to be frozen on her lip, the more so that it was a cold, cruel-looking smile, verging on the malignant as she said softly – “That will be something for you to think about, Mr Duncan Leslie; and you shall find I am not a woman to be despised.”

      “It is curious,”