The Master of the Ceremonies

He gazed in her eyes with his lip quivering, and a terrible look of despair in his face.

“Forgiveness for those who seek?”

“Yes, from a merciful God. Oh, father, if I wring your heart in what I say it is because I love you as your child.”

“Ah!”

A piteous sigh escaped his lips, and his head sank down upon his breast.

“You are silent,” she cried reproachfully, “silent, when the time is so short. I shall be dragged from your side directly, and you have not advised me what to do. I must have money. I must get counsel for you and advice.”

He drew a long breath and raised his head, his lips parting but uttering no sound.

“Yes!” she cried, “yes! Speak, father. Shall I go to Mr Barclay?”

“No.”

“Then tell me what I shall do, dear. Pray rouse yourself from this despair. Speak – tell me. What shall I do first?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? Oh, father!”

“They say I committed this murder – that I crushed out the life of that miserable old woman. So be it.”

“Father!”

“I say – so be it,” he repeated firmly. “The law says one life must answer for another. Well – I am ready.”

Claire wrung her hands, as he rose from where he had knelt, and gazed at him in pitying wonder and awe.

“God is merciful,” said the old man mournfully. “He readeth all our hearts. Claire, my child, I am not afraid to die. I am sick for the rest that is to come.”

“But, father!” wailed Claire.

“My child, I know. I have thought of all. I have seen everything in the silence and darkness of this cell; but it is only a passing away from this weary life to one that is full of rest and peace. There is no injustice there.”

“Father, you madden me,” whispered Claire hoarsely. “You must not give up like this. Tell me what to do.”

“Think me innocent, my child,” he said softly – “innocent of that crime. And now let us talk of yourself and your brother Morton.”

She noticed that he did not mention May’s name.

“It is very bitter,” he said. “I had hoped to provide for my child, but I was not able. But there, you are stronger of mind than I, and you will be protected. That woman, Mrs Barclay, loves you, my child. But Morton, he is a mere boy, and weak – weak and vain, like his father, my child – as I have been. Watch over him, Claire. Advise him when he is falling away.”

“Oh, yes, yes, yes, father; but you – ”

“I shall be at rest, my child,” he said sadly. “Do not think of me. Then there is – ”

He paused for a few moments with his lips quivering till he saw her inquiring eyes, and with a heavy sigh he went on.

” – There is May.”

He paused again, to go on almost lightly, but she read the agony in his eyes, and clung to his arm and held it to her breast.

“This is like my will,” he said, “the only one I shall make. There is May. I have not been fair, my dear. I have given her all my love – to your neglect. I have made her my idol, and – and – like her brother Morton, she is very weak. Such a pretty child, beautiful as an angel. Claire dearest, I loved her so well, and it has been my punishment for my injustice to you.”

“Dearest father!”

“Yes, I was unjust to you, but that is past. I pray your forgiveness, my child, as I say to you, I leave you the legacy of that boy and girl – that child-wife. Claire, you must forgive her, as I pray Him to forgive me. Ignore the past, Claire, my child, and in every way you can be ready to step between her and the evil that she goes too near. You will do this?”

“Oh, father, yes. But you? What shall I do now?”

“Claire, only a few short weeks, and I shall be in my grave. Don’t start, my child. To you, in your sweet spring of life, it is the black pit of horror. To me, in the bitter winter of my life, there is no horror there: it is but the calm, silent resting-place where tired nature sleeps and life’s troubles end. There, there, my little one, to whose sweet virtues and truth I have been blind, I am almost content with my fate for the reason that you have awakened me from a trance into which I had fallen. Claire, my child, can you forgive this weak, vain, old man?”

She leaned forward and kissed his white forehead, and, as he drew her closer to him, she nestled in his breast, and clung to him, sobbing convulsively.

“Hah!” he sighed, “I did not know I could be so happy again. Think of me as an innocent – an injured man, my child, as of one whose lips are sealed. Pray for me as I shall pray for you.”

“But, father, I may see Mr Barclay?”

He was silent for a few minutes.

“Yes,” he said at last.

Claire uttered a sigh of relief.

“You shall ask him to come here. I will appeal to him to watch over you. He is rough, Claire, and his wife is vulgar – coarse; but, God help me! I wish I had had such a true and sterling heart. There, hush! I have made my will,” he said, smiling. “It is done; I have but to seal it with my death, and I see its approach without a shade of fear.”

“But, father! my dearest father!”

“My own,” he said tenderly, as he kissed her and smiled down upon her. “Ah! you do not shrink from me now. Sweet, true woman. Oh, that I could have been so blind! You were going to ask me something.”

“Yes, dearest,” she whispered; “I want you to forgive – ”

“May? Yes: she is forgiven. I forgive her, poor, weak child. Tell her that I had but tender words for her even now. I would send her messages, but of what avail would they be, even as the words of a dying man? No; she has not the stability. It is more her failing than her sin. You were asking me to forgive her.”

“I knew you forgave her, dearest, but I want you to forgive poor Fred.”

He started from her as if he had been stung.

“I saw him last night, and he begs and prays of you to forgive him and let him come. Father, he loves you in spite of all this estrangement.”

“Silence!” cried the old man furiously. “Have I not said that I would not hear his name?”

“Father dearest, what have I done?” cried Claire, as she gazed in terror at the convulsed features, at the claw-like hands, extended, clutching, and opening and shutting as the old man gasped for air.

“Father! Oh, help!”