The Master of the Ceremonies
Page 28
servant."
There was a contemptuous look in his eyes as he said this last.
"And that makes it so much worse," sighed Claire with a sad smile. "Ifyou were only the King's servant--a soldier--I would not so much mind."
"Perhaps it is best as it is," he said sternly.
"Don't say that, Fred dear."
"But I do say it, girl. If I had been brought up differently--Bah! Ididn't come here to grumble about the old man."
"No, no, pray, pray don't. And, Fred dear, you must not stop. Do youwant a little money?"
"Yes!" he cried eagerly. "No! Curse it all, girl, I wish you would nottempt me. So you are not glad to see me?"
"Indeed, yes, Fred; but you must not stay. If our father were to returnthere would be such a scene."
"He will not. He is on the pier, and won't be back these two hours.Where's Morton?"
"Out, dear."
"Then we are all right. Did you expect me?"
"No, dear. Let me make you some tea."
"No; stop here. Didn't you expect this?"
He drew a note from his breast.
"That note? No, dear. Who is it from?"
Fred Denville looked his sister searchingly in the face, and itsinnocent candid expression satisfied him, and he drew a sigh full ofrelief.
"If it had been May who looked at me like that, I should have said shewas telling me a lie."
"Oh, Fred!"
"Bah! You know it's true. Little wax-doll imp. But I believe you,Claire. Fate's playing us strange tricks. I am James Bell, MajorRockley's servant, and he trusts me with his commissions. This is a_billet-doux_--a love-letter--to my sister, which my master sends, and Iam to wait for an answer."
Claire drew herself up, and as her brother saw the blood mantle in herface, and the haughty, angry look in her eyes as she took the letter andtore it to pieces, he, too, drew himself up, and there was a proud airin his aspect.
"There is no answer to Major Rockley's letter," she said coldly. "Howdare he write to me!"
"Claire, old girl, I must hug you," cried the dragoon. "By George! Ifeel as if I were not ashamed of the name of Denville after all. I wasgoing to bully you and tell you that my superior officer is as big ascoundrel as ever breathed, and that if you carried on with him I'dshoot you. Now, bully me, my pet, and tell your prodigal drunkendragoon of a brother that he ought to be ashamed of himself for eventhinking such a thing. I won't shrink."
"My dear brother," she said tenderly, as she placed her hands in his.
"My dear sister," he said softly, as he kissed her little white hands inturn, "I need not warn and try to teach you, for I feel that I mightcome to you for help if I could learn. There--there. Some day you'llmarry some good fellow."
She shook her head.
"Yes, you will," he said. "Richard Linnell, perhaps. Don't let the oldman worry you into such a match as May's."
"I shall never marry," said Claire, in a low strange voice; "never."
"Yes, you will," he said, smiling; "but what you have to guard againstis not the gallantries of the contemptible puppies who haunt this place,but some big match that--Ah! Too late!"
He caught a glimpse of his father's figure passing the window, and madefor the door, but it was only to stand face to face with the old man,who came in hastily, haggard, and wild of eye.
Fred Denville drew back into the room as his father staggered in, andthen, as the door swung to and fastened itself, there was a terriblesilence, and Claire looked on speechless for the moment, as she saw herbrother draw himself up, military fashion, while her father's facechanged in a way that was horrible to behold.
He looked ten years older. His eyes started; his jaw fell, and hishands trembled as he raised them, with the thick cane hanging from onewrist.
He tried to speak, but the words would not come for a few moments.
At last his speech seemed to return, and, in a voice full of rage, hate,and horror combined, he cried furiously:
"You here!--fiend!--wretch!--villain!"
"Oh, father!" cried Claire, darting to his side.
"Hush, Claire! Let him speak," said Fred.
"Was it not enough that I forbade you the house before; but, now--tocome--to dare--villain!--wretch!--coldblooded, miserable wretch! Youare no son of mine. Out of my sight! Curse you! I curse you with allthe bitterness that--"
"Father! father!" cried Claire, in horrified tones, as she threw herselfbetween them; but, in his rage, the old man struck her across the facewith his arm, sending her tottering back.
"Oh, this is too much," cried Fred, dropping his stolid manner. "Youcowardly--"
"Cowardly! Ha! ha! ha! Cowardly!" screamed the old man, catching athis stick. "You say that--you?"
As Fred strode towards him, the old man struck him with his cane, asharp well-directed blow across the left ear, and, stung to madness bythe pain, the tall strong man caught the frail-looking old beau by thethroat and bore him back into a chair, holding him with one hand whilehis other was clenched and raised to strike.
Volume One, Chapter XXIII.
FATHER AND DAUGHTER.
"Strike! Kill me! Add parricide to your other crimes, dog, and set mefree of this weary life," cried the old man wildly, as he glared in thefierce, distorted face of the sturdy soldier who held him back.
But it wanted not Claire's hand upon Fred Denville's arm to stay theblow. The passionate rage fled as swiftly as it had flashed up, and hetore himself away.
"You shouldn't have struck me," he cried in a voice full of anguish. "Icouldn't master myself. You struck her--the best and truest girl whoever breathed; and I'd rather be what I am--scamp, drunkard, commonsoldier, and have struck you down, than you, who gave that poor girl acowardly blow. Claire--my girl--God bless you! I can come here nomore."
He caught her wildly in his arms, kissed her passionately, and thenliterally staggered out of the house, and they saw him reel by thewindow.
There was again a terrible silence in that room, where the old man,looking feeble and strange now, lay back in the chair where he had beenthrown, staring wildly straight before him as Claire sank upon thecarpet, burying her face in her hands and sobbing to herself.
"And this is home! And this is home!"
She tried to restrain her tears, but they burst forth with sobs morewild and uncontrolled; and at last they had their effect upon the oldman, whose wild stare passed off, and, rising painfully in his seat, heglared at the door and shuddered.
"How dare he come!" he muttered. "How dare he touch her! How--"
He stopped as he turned his eyes upon where Claire crouched, as if hehad suddenly become aware of her presence, and his face softened into apiteous yearning look as he stretched out his hands towards her, andthen slowly rose to his feet.
"I struck her," he muttered, "I struck her. My child--my darling! I--I--Claire--Claire--"
His voice was very low as he slowly sank upon his knees, and softly laidone hand upon her dress, raising it to his lips and kissing it with acuriously strange abasement in his manner.
Claire did not move nor seem to hear him, and he crept nearer to her andtimidly laid his hand upon her head.
He snatched it away directly, and knelt there gazing at her wildly, forshe shuddered, shrank from him, and, starting to her feet, backedtowards the door with such a look of repulsion in her face that the oldman clasped his hands together, and his lips parted as if to cry to herfor mercy.
But no sound left them, and for a full minute they remained gazing theone at the other. Then, with a heartrending sob, Claire drew open thedoor and hurried from the room.
"What shall I do? What shall I do?" groaned Denville as he rose heavilyto his feet. "It is too hard to bear. Better sleep--at once and forever."
He sank into his chair with his hands clasped and his elbows restingupon his knees, and he bent lower and lower, as if borne down by theweight of his sorrow; and thus he remained as the minutes glided by,till, hearing a st
ep at last, and the jingle of glass, he rose quickly,smoothed his care-marked face, and thrusting his hand into his breast,began to pace the room, catching up hat and stick, and half closing hiseyes, as if in deep thought.
It was a good bit of acting, for when Isaac entered with a tray to laythe dinner cloth, and glanced quickly at his master, it was to see himcalm and apparently buried in some plan, with not the slightest trace ofdomestic care upon his well-masked face.
"Mr Morton at home, Isaac?" he said, with a slightly-affected drawl.
"No, sir; been out hours."
"Not gone fishing, Isaac?"
"No, sir; I think Mr Morton's