The Master of the Ceremonies

dreadfulMephistopheles, half killed?"

  Sir Harry Payne screwed up his face, shook his head, took snuff loudly,and, raising his hat, walked away.

  "How tantalising!" cried Lady Drelincourt. "Now, Bray, do tell me. Isit true that he was carrying off that Miss Dean, and her mother sentColonel Mellersh and Mr Linnell to fetch them back?"

  "Mustn't tell. Can't say a word, dear Lady Drelincourt.Brother-officer, you see. But--"

  Sir Matthew Bray blew out his cheeks, frowned, rolled his eyes, pursedup his lips, and looked as if he were fully charged with importantinformation which honour forbade him to part with, ending by shaking hishead at her ladyship, and then giving it a solemn nod.

  "I knew I was right," said her ladyship triumphantly. "Now, didn't youhear the same version, Denville?"

  "Well, I--must confess, your ladyship--that I--er--did."

  "Of course. That's it. Well, Rockley's a very, very wicked man, and Idon't think I shall ever speak to him again. I've quite done with him.Yes, you may stay a little while, Bray, but not long. People are soscandalous. Good-bye, Denville. Is your little girl quite well?"

  Denville declared that she was in the best of health; and, as LadyDrelincourt was wheeled away in one direction, so much fashionablelumber, the Master of the Ceremonies went mincing in the other.

  Saltinville boasted of about a dozen versions of the scandal, one of themost popular being that which was picked up at Miss Clode's. In thisversion Cora Dean had no part, but Claire Denville had.

  For a whole week these various accounts were bandied about and garbledand told, till the result of the mixture was very singular, and it wouldhave puzzled an expert to work out the simple truth. Then somethingfresh sprang up, and the elopement or abduction--nobody at last knewwhich, or who were the principals--was forgotten, especially as Rockleywas seen about as usual, and the proprietor of the chaise and the killedhorse was fully recompensed by the Major. How he obtained the money, heand Josiah Barclay best knew.

  But Stuart Denville was disappointed with respect to his daughter'sprospects. It was sheer pleasure to her to be able to stay quietly athome; but her father bitterly regretted the absence of invitation cards,while he, for one, remained strangely in ignorance that it was his ownchild who was nearly carried off that night.

  Volume Two, Chapter XXX.

  A TERRIBLE RESURRECTION.

  "A gentleman to see you, ma'am."

  "To see me, Isaac?" said Claire, starting in terror, and with a strangeforeboding of ill. "Who is it? Did he give his name?"

  "No, miss; he would not give any name. Said it was on importantbusiness. He asked for Miss May first."

  "For Miss May?"

  "Yes, ma'am; and I told him she was married, and did not live here now;and he smiled, and said `Of course.' Then he said he would see you."

  Claire had risen, and she stood listening to the man, clutching thechair tightly, and striving hard to seem composed.

  "Where is he, Isaac?" she asked, hardly knowing what fell from her lips.

  "In the dining-room, ma'am."

  "I will come down."

  Isaac left the room, and Claire drew a long breath.

  Who could it be? Some one who had forgotten that May was married, andthen recalled it! What did it mean?

  She stood with her hands tightly clasped, gazing straight before her,and then walked quickly to the door, and down into the dining-room, soquietly that the short, slight man gazing out of the window did not hearher entrance.

  Claire was puzzled while for the moment she gazed at the attitude of hervisitor, whose long black hair fell over the collar of histightly-buttoned surtout, as he stood with one hand resting upon hiship, the other holding his hat and tasselled cane.

  She drew a breath of relief. It was no one she knew, of that she feltsure. Perhaps it was no fresh trouble after all.

  As if divining the presence of some one in the room, the visitor justthen turned quickly, displaying handsome aquiline features, with theolive skin and dark eyes of a young man of about thirty, who threw downhis hat and cane and advanced smiling.

  "My dear Miss Denville--my dear Claire!" he exclaimed, speaking with aforeign accent.

  Claire stood as if frozen, gazing at him in horror.

  "M. Gravani!" she cried at last in a hoarse whisper.

  "Say Louis," he said eagerly, taking her hands and kissing them. "Whynot? Surely my dear May told you--that she is my wife. No, no, do notbe angry with me. It was wrong, I know. But you--you were always sosweet and good and kind, dear Claire!"

  He kissed her hands again, and she stood as if in a dream while he wenton--speaking fervidly.

  "You, so tender, and who loved dear May so much. You will forgive me.We were so young--I was so poor--I dared not speak. What would theSignore Denville have said? That I was mad. May must have told you--she did tell you we were married?"

  "Yes--yes," said Claire slowly, "she told me."

  "That is well. And the old man--the good father, she told him, too!"

  "No," said Claire, still in the same slow, dreamy way, as she strove tolisten to her visitor, and at the same time work out in her own mind themeaning of the horrible situation in which her sister was placed.

  "She did not tell him? She promised me she would. But the servant toldme he knew that May was married."

  "Yes," stammered Claire; "he knew."

  "I ought to have spoken, but I dared not. I was younger then and sopoor. I was obliged to go back to my Italia to try if I could not winfame there and fortune for my little flower of beauty--my May-bud.Claire--dear sister--no, no, you frown--you must forgive us, for we wereso young, and we loved so much. Ah, you are not well. I frighten you.I came here so sudden. But my news is so good. I have succeeded so inmy art, and I have possessions too. My poor father is dead. I am not arich man--what you English call rich; but I have enough, and you willforgive me. But, May? She is not here?"

  "No, no," said Claire, with her lips turning ashy pale.

  "She is not far away?"

  "Not far away," said Claire, "but Louis, Monsieur Gravani--"

  "No, no, not Monsieur--not Signore. I am Louis, your fratello, yourbrother. Now tell me. My heart beats to be with her once again. Sheis not changed, I know. The same little angel face that Raffaellopainted, and that I have had ever in my heart."

  "No, she is not changed," sighed Claire.

  "No, she could not change. La mia fiorella!"

  "But Louis--"

  "Yes? What? Why do you look at me so? She is ill!"

  He raised his voice to a wild cry, and his handsome face grew convulsedas he seized Claire's hands.

  "No, no," she cried. "No, no; she is quite well."

  "Then take me to her now. I can wait no longer. I must see her now."

  "No, no, you cannot. It is impossible," cried Claire.

  "Then there is something that you do not tell me. Speak; you arekilling me."

  "She--she--my poor sister--she thought--she heard--she had news, Louis--that you were dead."

  "Dead?--I?--dead? Oh, my poor little flower!" he cried, with a ring oftender pity in his voice, but changing to a fierce burst of anger on theinstant. "But who told her? Who sent her those lies?"

  "I don't know--I never knew. But she grieved for you, Louis--becauseyou were dead."

  "My little tender flower! Oh! oh! it is too cruel. But I am here--here, waiting to press her to my heart once more. You shall take me toher now."

  "It would be impossible. I could not. It would kill her. No, you mustwait till to-morrow."

  "No, no; I could not wait," he cried excitedly. "I love her. I amhere. I must see her now."

  Claire felt beside herself, and her hands dropped helplessly to herside, as if she despaired of averting the catastrophe that was to come.What was she to do?--say something to deceive this man and keep himwaiting until she had seen and prepared her sister?

  The task was hateful to her in the extreme
; and it seemed as if her lifewas to be made up of subterfuges and concealments, all of which causedreflections upon her.

  "You love May still?" she said at last.

  "Love her still!" he cried, with all the impassioned manner of a youngItalian. "I tell you it has been desolation to be separated from herall this time; but it was our hard fate, and I have suffered, as shehas, poor child. But the thought of seeing her again has comforted me,and I have waited, oh, so patiently, till I could come to her again.Now, tell me, good sister, I must see her--quick--at once."

  "No," cried Claire, "it is impossible. You must wait."

  "Wait?--I?--wait?"

  "Yes," said Claire desperately; and there was so much firmness anddecision in her tone that the weak, impassioned young Italian wasmastered, and yielded to her will.

  "Not long, sweet sister, not for long?"

  "No, not for long," said Claire excitedly. "It is for May's sake. Youwould not wish to harm her?"

  "I? Harm her? Heaven! no. I would die for her," cried the young manenthusiastically. "You little think how we love."

  "Then wait till I have seen, and broken the news to her."

  "Broken the news, when my arms are throbbing to embrace her once more?"

  "Go to where you are staying, and wait patiently till you hear from meor from May, arranging for an interview."

  "Go?--and wait?"

  "Yes," cried Claire; "for May's sake."

  "I? Go and wait!" sighed the young man. "Well, it is for her. But theold father? Let me stay and embrace him, and tell him how rich I am,and of my joy. He was always kind to me, even when I was so poor."

  "Impossible!" cried Claire, trembling for fear that her father shouldreturn.

  "Impossible? Well, I will go. Addio--addio. I shall be at the hotel.You will hasten to her, sweet sister, and tell her my heart has beenalways filled with her sweet image; that her dear face is in a dozenpictures that I have painted in Rome. You will tell her this?"

  "Yes, yes," cried Claire desperately. "I will go and tell her you arehere."

  "Addio, cara mia!" he said, as he bent over and tenderly kissed herhands, and then her cheek. "Addio, sweet sister, I am dying till I oncemore hold her in these arms."

  Claire led him to the door, as if she were in a dream; and, as shelistened to his departing steps, her hands involuntarily clasped herthrobbing head, and Isaac confided to his fellow-servants theinformation that there were strange goings-on in that house, and thatwhen he liked to speak--well, they would see.

  "What shall I do?"

  Volume Two, Chapter XXXI.

  CLAIRE TAKES STEPS: SO DOES MAY.

  "What shall I do?"

  The low wild cry of agony that escaped from Claire Denville's breast washeard by none, as she stood motionless, listening to Louis Gravani'ssteps till they died away.

  Then, trembling violently in an agony of terror and despair, she rushedup to her bedroom, and threw herself upon her knees, with her handsstill clasping her temples.

  What should she do? To whom could she go for help and counsel? MrsBarclay? Impossible! Cora Dean! No, no: she could not tell her! Herfather? She shivered at the thought. It would nearly kill him. Hebelieved so in poor, weak, childish May. She could not--she dared nottell him.

  If she had only gone to him at once and shared her secret with him whenMay had confessed her marriage, and told her about the little child, howeasy all this would have been now!

  No! Would it? The complication was too dreadful.

  Claire knelt there with her brain swimming, and the confusion in hermind growing moment by moment worse.

  She wanted to think clearly--to plan out some way of averting a horribleexposure from their family; and, as she strove, the thought came uponher with crushing force that she was sinking into a miserable schemer--one who was growing lower in the sight of all she knew.

  She pressed her hands over her eyes, but she could not shut out RichardLinnell's face, and his stern, grave looks, that seemed to read herthrough and through, keeping her back from acting some fresh deceit,when something was spurring her on to try and save poor weak May.

  The horror of Lady Teigne's death: the suspicion of her having made anassignation with Sir Harry Payne; the supposed elopement with MajorRockley--all these clinging to her and lowering her in the sight of theworld. There were those, too, who had noted her visits to thefisherman's cottage.

  It was terrible--one hideous confusion, to which this fresh trouble hadcome; and she asked herself, in the agony of her spirit, whether itwould not be better to wait till the dark, soft night had fallen, andthe tide was flowing, lapping, and whispering amongst the piles at theend of the pier. She had but to walk quietly down unseen--to descendthose steps, and let the cool, soft wave take her to its breast and bearher away, lulling her to the easy, sweet rest of oblivion.

  And May?

  She started to her feet at the thought.

  And Richard Linnell?

  He would go on believing ill of her, and she would never stand up beforehim, listening as he asked her forgiveness for every doubt, never to beher husband, but ready then to look up to her as all that was pure andtrue.

  May! She must save May. How, she knew not, but she must go to her.Something must be done.

  Hurriedly dressing, she went out, and walked swiftly to herbrother-in-law's house, where the servant admitted her with no greatshow of respect, and she was shown into the drawing-room.

  "I'll tell my mistress you are here," said the footman; and he went out,closing the door behind him rather loudly.

  The effect was to make a little man jump up from the couch where he hadbeen sleeping, with a loud exclamation.

  "What is it? Who the--. Oh, it's you, is it? Well, what do you want?"

  "I came--I called to see May, Frank dear," said Claire, trembling.

  "Well, then, I just wish you wouldn't," he said testily. "It's badenough to have to bear the relationship, without having you come here."

  "Frank!--dear Frank!"

  "There, don't `dear Frank' me. I should have thought, after what hadoccurred, you would have been ashamed to show your face here again."

  "Frank dear, we are brother and sister; for pity's sake, spare me. Isit the duty of a gentleman to speak to me like this?"

  She looked at him with a pitying dread in her eyes, as she thought ofthe horror hanging over his house. His allusions were keen enough, butthey were blunt arrows compared to the bolts that threatened to fallupon his home; and, in her desire to shield him and his wife, ifpossible, from some of the suffering that must come, she scarcely felttheir points.

  "Gentleman, eh? You behave like a lady, don't you? Nice position wehold in society through you and the old man, don't we? I'll be offabroad, that's what I'll do, and take May away from the old connection."

  "Yes, do!" cried Claire excitedly. "Do, Frank, at once. No, no; youmust not do that.--Heaven help me! What am I saying?" she sighed toherself.

  "Best thing to do," said Burnett. "Shouldn't have you always coming inthen."

  "Frank dear," said Claire deprecatingly, "I have not been to see Maysince--"

  "You disgraced yourself on the night of the party," he said brutally.

  "Frank!"

  "Oh, come: it's of no use to ride the high horse with me, my lady. I'mnot a fool. I repeat it: you haven't been since the night you disgracedus by inviting that little blackguard, Harry Payne, to see you; and itwould have been better if you had not come now."

  Claire winced as if she were being lashed, but she uttered no word ofcomplaint. It was her fate, she told herself, to suffer for others, andshe was ready to play the social martyr's part, and save May and Burnettif she could.

  As she debated in her mind whether Burnett had not proposed the solutionof the difficulty in taking her sister away, the thought was crushed bythe recollection that May was Gravani's wife, and that she would besaved and made happier could she leave with him.

  Then the f
eeling came that all this was madness, and the positionhopeless, and she said imploringly:

  "Let me see May, Frank."

  "What do you want with her? To beg for more money? You've kept hershort enough lately."

  "Frank! indeed--"

  "No lies, please," he cried. "I know you've had at least a guinea aweek from her for long enough past."

  It was true, but the money was for Gravani's child; and Claire's facegrew hollow and old-looking as she felt that she dared not defendherself.

  "I suppose you have come for more money, haven't you?" said Burnettspitefully.

  "No--indeed no!" cried Claire.

  "I do not believe you," he said brutally; "and--"

  "Ah, Claire, you here!" said May, rustling into the room, all silk, andscent, and flowers.

  "Yes, she's here," said Burnett; "and the sooner she's gone the better.I'm going out."

  "Very well, dear," said May. "But don't pout and frown like that at hislittle frightened wife."

  "Get out!" said Burnett, "and don't be a fool before people."

  He shook her off as he said this, and strutted towards the door, wherehe turned with a sneering grin upon his face.

  "I say," he cried, "I