easilyenough till Frank began to grow so stingy, when I've often had no end oftrouble to get it together. But I always have managed somehow. Oh,dear me! This is a wearisome place, this world."
Claire stood gazing down at her, and May went on:
"Then all went smoothly enough till that stupid Anne's mother took acold or something, and died; then Anne sent me word that she was goingto be married, and I must fetch poor baby away."
The sisters' eyes now met as May continued:
"So, as I didn't know anyone else, I went to Mrs Miggles out there onthe cliff, and told her how I was situated. She wouldn't help me atfirst. She said I was to tell you; but when I told her I dared not, andpromised her I'd pay her very regularly, she came round, and she went upto London by the coach and fetched baby, and a great expense it was tome, for she had to come back inside. Do open the window, Claire; thisroom is stifling."
Claire slowly crossed the room and threw open the window and thenreturned to stand gazing at her sister.
"And your little innocent child is there at that fisherman's hut on thecliff?"
"Yes, dear," said May calmly; and then, for the first time, her face litup, and she showed some trace of feeling as she exclaimed:
"And, oh, Claire dear, she is such a little darling."
Claire looked at her in a strangely impassive way. It was as if thestory she had heard of her sister's weakness and deception had stunnedher, and, instead of looking at her, she gazed right away with wistfuleyes at the past troubles culminating in Fred's enlistment, and thenthat horror, the very thought of which sent a shudder through her frame.
And now this new trouble had come, one that might prove a terribledisgrace, while the future looked so black that she dared not turn hermental gaze in that direction.
"Well," said May, at last, "why don't you speak--though you need not, ifyou are only going to scold."
"Why have you come to tell me this now--this disgraceful story of deceitand shame?"
"Do you wish to send me back broken-hearted, Claire--crying my eyes outso that Frank is sure to know?"
"I say, why have you come to me, May?"
"Because I am in dreadful trouble at last, and don't know what to do. Idaren't communicate with those people or go near the cottage, for I'msure Frank is watching me and suspecting something."
"You will have to confess everything, May; he loves you and will forgiveyou."
"But he doesn't love me, and he never would forgive me," cried Mayexcitedly. "You can't think how we quarrel. He's a horribly jealouslittle monster, and I hate him."
"May!"
"I don't care: I do. Now, look here, Claire, it's of no use for you toboggle about it, because you must help me. If it were to come out itwould be social ruin for us all, and I've had quite enough poverty,thank you. I dare not go and see the little thing again, and if someone does not take the Miggleses some money regularly, likely as notthey'll turn disagreeable and begin to talk. I shall bring you money,of course, and as some one must go and see that my poor darling isproperly cared for, why you must."
"I?"
"Yes, dear, you. The poor little thing shall not be neglected, I'mdetermined upon that; and as my situation prevents me, why it is yourduty, Claire."
"Who knows that this is your little girl, May?" said Claire coldly.
"Nobody."
"Not even the fisherman's wife?"
"Well, I dare say she thinks something; but those people never sayanything so long as you pay them regularly. But there, I dare not stayany longer. There's a guinea, Claire; it's all I have to-day. Takethat to Mrs Miggles, and see how the darling is. I must be off. I'llcome in to-morrow and hear."
"May, I cannot--I dare not--try to cloak this shameful story."
"But you must, I tell you. Now, don't be so silly. Why, I'd do as muchfor you."
"I tell you I dare not do this. I must tell papa--or, there, I'll beyour help in this; I'll come with you, and you shall confess to Frank."
"Why, he'd kill me. I know it has been a surprise to you, and you are abit taken aback, but think about it, and you will see that it is yourduty to help me now. Good-bye, Claire dear," she continued, as shekissed her sister. "Nobody knows anything about this but you, and it isour secret, mind. Good-bye."
Claire hardly heard the door close as May rustled out of the room, hotand excited by the confidence she had had to make, but evidently quiteat her ease, as her bright eyes and smile showed, when she looked upfrom her carriage and nodded at her sister.
Claire looked down at her, drawn involuntarily to the window; and as thecarriage drove off, and she still remained gazing straight before her,an officer passed and raised his hat.
Claire had an instinctive feeling that it was Major Rockley, but sheneither looked nor moved, for the face of a tiny child seemed to belooking up at her, smiling, and asking her sympathy.
Then she started into life as there was another footstep on the boulderpath, and another hat was raised, and an eager appealing look met hers,making her shrink hastily away, with her erst blank face growingagitated as she drew back trembling and fighting hard to keep down thesobs that rose.
For all that was past now for her. With the secrets she had held withinher breast before, how dared she to think of his love? Now there wasanother--a secret so fraught with future trouble that she hardly dareddwell upon all that she had heard. It had come upon her that morninglike a thunderclap--this new trouble, known only to herself and thefisherman's wife. So May had said: for she had gone to her sister todemand her aid in happy ignorance of this part of her miserable storybeing known, beside much more, to little library-keeping Miss Clode.
Volume One, Chapter XXVI.
THE MONEY-LENDER AT HOME.
"Who is it?"
"It's that Major Rockley, Jo-si-ah, and he's walking up and down,switching his riding-whip about, and he'll be knocking down some of thechimney if you don't make haste."
"Let him wait a minute," said Barclay, finishing a letter.
"I do 'ate that man, Jo-si-ah--that I do," said Mrs Barclay.
"I wish you wouldn't talk so, old lady, when I'm writing."
"I can't help it, Jo-si-ah. That man, whenever I meet him, makes mebegin to boil. So smooth, and polite, and smiling, andsqueeze-your-handy, while all the while he's laughing at you for beingso fat."
"Laughing at me for being so fat?"
"No, no. You know what I mean--laughing at me myself for being so fat.I 'ate him."
"Well, I don't want you to love him, old lady."
"I should think not, indeed, with his nasty dark eyes and his long blackmustarchers. Ugh! the monster. I 'ate him."
"Handsomest man in Saltinville, my dear."
"Handsome is as handsome does, Jo-si-ah. He's a black-hearted one, ifever there was one, I know."
"Now, you don't know anything of the kind, old girl."
"Oh, yes, I do, Jo-si-ah. I always feel it whenever he comes anigh one,and if I had a child of my own, and that man had come and wanted tomarry her, I'd have cut her up in little pieces and scattered them allabout the garden first."
"Well, then, I suppose I ought to be very, very glad that we never hadany little ones, for, though I should be very glad to get rid of you--"
"No, you wouldn't, Jo-si-ah," said Mrs Barclay, showing her whiteteeth.
"Yes, I should, but I shouldn't have liked to see you hung for murder."
"Don't talk like that, Jo-si-ah. It gives me the shivers. That wordmakes me think about old Lady Teigne, and not being safe in my bed."
"Stuff and nonsense!"
"It isn't stuff and nonsense, Jo-si-ah. I declare, ever since thatdreadful affair, I never see a bolster without turning cold all down myback; and I feel as if it wasn't safe to put my head upon my pillow of anight. There: he's ringing because you're so long."
"Then I shall be longer," growled Barclay, putting a wafer in his mouth.
"How that poor Claire Denville can stop in that house of a nig
ht I don'tknow."
"Ah, that puts me in mind of something: I wish you wouldn't be so fondof that Claire Denville."
"Why not? I must be fond of somebody."
"Be fond of me, then, I'm ugly enough."
"So I am fond of you, Jo-si-ah, and you are not ugly, and I should liketo hear anyone say you were to my face."
"I don't like that Denville lot."
"No more do I, Jo-si-ah, only poor dear Claire. Her father ain't bad,but she's as
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