What was I to do? I couldn't getanything to eat here. I nursed the little girl for Mrs Miggles whileshe cooked, and Dick has laughed at me to see me nurse the little thing,and said it was rum. But I don't mind; she's a pretty little tit, andDick has taught her to call me uncle."
Volume One, Chapter VIII.
THE FIRST MEETING.
It was the next morning that the Master of the Ceremonies made hiseffort, and went down to the breakfast-room, where he sat by the table,playing with the newspaper that he dared not try to read, and waiting,wondering, in a dazed way, whether his son or his daughter would come into breakfast.
The paper fell from his hands, and as he sat there he caught at thetable, drawing the cloth aside and holding it with a spasmodic clutch,as one who was in danger of falling.
For there was the creak of a stair, the faint rustle of a dress, and heknew that the time had come.
He tried to rise to his feet, but his limbs refused their office, andthe palsied trembling that had attacked him rose to his hands. Then heloosened his hold of the table, and sank back in his chair, clinging tothe arms, and with his chin falling upon his breast.
At that moment the door opened, and Claire glided into the room.
She took a couple of steps forward, after closing the door, and thencaught at the back of a chair to support herself.
The agony and horror in his child's face, as their eyes met, galvanisedDenville into life, and, starting up, he took a step forward, extendinghis trembling hands.
"Claire--my child!" he cried, in a husky voice.
His hands dropped, his jaw fell, his eyes seemed to be starting, as heread the look of horror, loathing, and shame in his daughter's face, andfor the space of a full minute neither spoke.
Then, as if moved to make another effort, he started spasmodicallyforward.
"Claire, my child--if you only knew!"
But she shrank from him with the look of horror intensified.
"Don't--don't touch me," she whispered, in a harsh, dry voice. "Don't:pray don't."
"But, Claire--"
"I know," she whispered, trembling violently. "It is our secret. Iwill not speak. Father--they should kill me first; but don't--don't.Father--father--you have broken my heart!"
As she burst forth in a piteous wail in these words, the terribleinvoluntary shrinking he had seen in her passed away. The stiffangularity that had seemed to pervade her was gone, and she sank uponher knees, holding by the back of the chair, and rested her brow uponher hands, sobbing and drawing her breath painfully.
He stood there gazing down at her, but for a time he did not move.Then, taking a step forward, he saw that she heard him, and shrankagain.
"Claire, my child," he gasped once more, "if you only knew!"
"Hush!--for God's sake, hush!" she said, in a whisper. "Can you notsee? It is our secret. You are my father. I am trying so hard. Butdon't--don't--"
"Don't touch you!" he cried slowly, as she left her sentence unspoken."Well, be it so," he added, with a piteous sigh; "I will not complain."
"Let it be like some horrible dream," she said, in the same low, painfulwhisper. "Let me--let me go away."
"No!" he cried, with a change coming over him; and he drew himself up asif her words had given him a sudden strength. "You must stay. You haveduties here, and I have mine. Claire, you must stay, and it must be toyou--to me, like some horrible dream. Some day you may learn thehorrible temptations that beset my path. Till then I accept my fate,for I dare not confide more, even to you. Heaven help me in thishorror, and give me strength!" he muttered to himself, with closed eyes."I dare not die; I cannot--I will not die. I must wear the mask. Twolives to live, when heretofore one only has been so hard!"
Just then there was a quick step outside, and the tall figure of MortonDenville passed the window.
The Master of the Ceremonies glanced at Claire, who started to her feet,and then their eyes met.
"For his sake, Claire," he whispered, "if not for mine."
"For his sake--father," she answered, slowly and reverently, as if itwere a prayer; and then to herself, "and for yours--the duty I owe youas your child."
"And I," he muttered to himself, as he stood with a white hand restingupon the table. "I must bear it to the end. I must wear my mask as ofold, and wilt Thou give me pardon and the strength?"
Morton entered the room fresh and animated, and his eyes lit up as hesaw that it was occupied.
"That's better!" he cried. "Morning, father," and he clasped the oldman's hand.
"Good-morning, my dear boy," was the answer, in trembling tones; andthen, with the ghost of a smile on the wan lips, "have you been--"
Morton had boisterously clasped Claire in his arms, and kissed her witheffusion; and as he saw the loving, wistful look in his child's face, asshe passionately returned the caress--one that he told himself wouldnever again be bestowed on him--a pang shot through the old man'sbreast, and the agony seemed greater than he could bear.
"So--so glad to see you down again, my dear, dear, dear old Sis," criedMorton, with a kiss at almost every word. Then, half holding her still,he turned to the pale, wistful face at the other side of the room, andexclaimed:
"Yes, sir. Don't be angry with me. I _have_ been down again, catchingdabs."
Volume One, Chapter IX.
WEARING HIS MASK.
"Really, ladies, I--er--should--er--esteem it an honour, but my powershere are limited, and--"
"Rubbish!"
"You'll pardon me?"
"I say--rubbish, Denville."
"Mamma, will you hold your tongue?"
"No, miss; if it comes to that, I won't! Speaking like that to your ownmother, who's always working for you as I am, right out here on the opencliff, where goodness knows who mayn't--"
"Mother, be silent!"
"Silent, indeed!"
"Ladies, ladies, you'll pardon me. I say my powers here are--er--verylimited."
"Yes, I know all about that, but you must get invitations for mamma andme for the next Assembly."
"I'll try, Miss Dean, but--you'll pardon me--"
"There, don't shilly-shally with him, Betsy; it's all business. Lookhere, Denville, the day the invitations come there'll be five guineaswrapped up in silver paper under the chayny shepherdess on mydroring-room mantelpiece, if you'll just call and look under."
"Really, Mrs Dean, you--you shock me. I could not think of--er--really--er--I will try my best."
"That you will, I know, Mr Denville. Don't take any notice of mamma Ihope Miss Denville and Mrs Burnett are well."
"In the best of health, Miss Dean, I thank you. I will--er--do my best.A lovely morning, Mrs Dean. Your humble servant. Miss Cora, yours.Good-morning."
"A nasty old humbug; but he'll have the invitations sent," said MrsDean, a big, well-developed, well-preserved woman of fifty, with brightdark eyes that glistened and shone like pebbles polished by the constantattrition of the blinking lids.
"I wish you would not be so horridly coarse, mother; and if you don'tdrop that `Betsy' we shall quarrel," said the younger lady, who bore asufficient likeness to the elder for anyone to have stamped them motherand daughter, though the latter was wanting in her parent's hardness ofoutline, being a magnificent specimen of womanly beauty. Dark andthoroughly classic of feature, large-eyed, full-lipped, perhaps rathertoo highly coloured, but this was carried off by the luxuriant blackhair, worn in large ringlets flowing down either side of the roundedcheeks they half concealed, by her well-arched black brows and long darklashes, which shaded her great swimming eyes. Her figure was perfect,and she was in full possession of the ripest womanly beauty, as shewalked slowly and with haughty carriage along the cliff, beside theelder dame.
Both ladies were dressed in the very height of the fashion, withenormous wide-spreading open bonnets, heavy with ostrich plumes,tightly-fitting dresses, with broad waistbands well up under the arms,loose scarves, long gloves and reticules ornamented with huge bows ofthe stiffe
st silk, like Brobdingnagian butterflies.
"Horrid, coarse indeed! I suppose I mustn't open my mouth next," saidthe elder lady.
"It would be just as well not," said the younger, "when we are out."
"Then I shall open it as wide as I like, ma'am, and when I like, so nowthen, Betsy."
"As you please; only if you do, I shall go home, and I shall not go toAssembly or ball with you. It was your wish that I should be Cora."
"No, it wasn't. I wanted Coral, or Coralie, miss."
"And I preferred Cora," said
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