The Master of the Ceremonies

Claire shrank more and more as they entered the gates and crossed the barrack-yard, but Morton had screwed himself up to the sticking point, and he would have died sooner than have turned tail now.

Dragoon after dragoon saluted him, and he caught sight of Sir Harry Payne, but that officer had the grace to turn off, and they reached the Colonel’s quarters without an unpleasant encounter.

They were shown in at once, and without taking chairs Morton stood defiant and proud awaiting the entrance of the Colonel, and supporting his sister.

They were not kept waiting long before the Colonel entered, Morton meeting his eyes with a fiercely independent look.

He was armed against an unarmed man, for the old Colonel’s first act was to place a chair for Claire, bowing to her with chivalrous deference, while directly after, in place of treating his subaltern with freezing distance, he held out his hand and shook Morton’s warmly.

The young officer had truly said that he was only a boy, for this kindly act and the old Colonel’s sympathetic look threw him off his balance, and his lip began to quiver and his face to change.

“You’ve come to ask for a pass to see your brother, Denville,” said Colonel Lascelles. “Yes, of course, of course. Very sad – very painful business, my dear lad. No fault of yours, of course. Don’t scruple to ask me for any assistance I can give you, my dear boy. As far as my duty will allow me, you can count upon me. There: that’s it,” he said, blotting a sheet of paper, and handing it promptly to the young officer, while he chivalrously refrained from even glancing at the sorrow-burdened figure at his side.

“By-the-way, Denville,” he whispered, calling the young fellow aside, “you can take what leave you like now.”

The flush came back to Morton’s face, and he was drawing himself up, but the Colonel took one hand, while he laid his left upon the lad’s shoulder.

“No, no, no: I don’t mean that, my dear boy. You have behaved uncommonly well, and I never respected you half so much as I do now. No gentleman in the regiment, I am sure, will think otherwise than I do. Yours is a very painful position, Denville, and, believe me, you have my sympathy from my heart.”

Morton grasped his hand firmly, and then hurried away, for he could not trust himself to speak.

Another encounter had to be gone through, though, and that was with a tall, dark officer who came upon them suddenly.

Morton flushed up again as he felt Claire start, and saw Rockley stop suddenly, as if about to speak eagerly to the shrinking girl; but he found Morton’s eyes fixed upon him, and returning the look with an angry scowl he passed on.

A minute later and they were in the infirmary, where, looking white and pinched of aspect, Fred Denville lay, with a regimental nurse at his side.

The man rose, and left the side of the bed, for Claire to take his seat.

“He is to be kept very quiet, ma’am. Doctor’s orders,” said the man respectfully. “I shall be just outside if you want anything.”

Fred was lying with his eyes half closed, but he heard the voice and opened them, recognised his visitors, and tried to raise his hand, but it fell back upon the coverlid.

“Claire?” he said in a voice little above a whisper. “An officer?”

He smiled sadly, and then seemed half choked by a sob, as Claire threw herself on her knees by him and Morton went to the other side, bent over, and laid his hand upon that lying helpless upon the coverlid.

“Fred, old fellow,” said Morton in a husky voice.

He could say no more, but stood looking down upon the prostrate figure, awe-stricken at the ravages caused by the wound.

“Fred – dearest Fred,” whispered Claire, kissing the hand she held.

The wounded man groaned.

“No, no,” he said faintly. “You should not be here; I am no fit company for you now.”

“Oh, Fred, dear Fred,” cried Claire passionately, “how could you charge yourself with that dreadful crime?”

“How?” he said faintly. “Because it must have been true. The poor old man saw me there, and found my knife upon the carpet.”

“It is impossible,” sobbed Claire.

“I thought so once,” replied the wounded man, “but I suppose it’s true. I often used to think of the old woman’s jewels, and how useful they’d be. It seemed so easy, too, the way up there – eh, Morton?”

“Yes, yes; but don’t talk like that. Some scoundrel must have seen me climb up, and have gone there that night.”

“Yes,” said Fred feebly, “some scoundrel who knew the way, but who, in his drunkenness, did not know what he did, and that scoundrel was I.”

“No, no, Fred!” cried Claire.

“If you did it,” said Morton quickly, “what became of the diamonds?”

“The diamonds, lad?”

“Yes. Did you have the jewels and sell them?”

“Never a stone,” said Fred slowly. “No, it’s all like a cloud. It always is like a cloud over my mind when I’ve been having the cursed drink. It sends me mad.”

Claire gazed at him wildly.

“You ought not to be here, Clairy. Take her away, lad. I’m no fit company for her. But tell me – the old man? They have set him free?”

“No, not yet,” said Morton sadly.

“But he must be set free at once. Poor, weak old fellow! He has suffered enough. Morton, lad, go to him and try to get him out. Him kill the old woman? He hadn’t it in him.”

Fred Denville turned so faint that he seemed to be losing his senses, but Claire bathed his face, and he recovered and smiled up at her.

“It’s hard work to tell you to go, Clairy dear, but you mustn’t stay here. Say one kind word to me, though, my dear; I haven’t had much to do with kindness since I left home. I’m sorry I disgraced you all so. Ask the old man to forgive me, and tell him I should like to shake hands with him once, just once, before it’s all over.”

“Fred, my dear brother,” whispered Claire, pressing his hand to her breast, while Morton held the other.

“Ah!” sighed the wounded man, “that’s better. Morton, lad, it will soon be over, and people forget these things in a few days. I’m only in the way. I always have been. You’ll get on better when I’m gone.”

“Hush, Fred!”

He turned his head to Claire, who was gazing at him with burning eyes that seemed drained of the last tears.

“You always were a good, true girl to me, Clairy,” he whispered faintly, “and I want you to think well of me when I’m gone. I did this horrid thing, but I swear I have no recollection of it, and I never reaped a shilling advantage from the theft.”

The same feeling animated father and son in this time of peril – the desire to stand well in the eyes of Claire, who seemed to them as the whole world.

“Think the best you can of me, my little girl,” he whispered. “It will soon be over, and – there’s one comfort – I shall die as a soldier should – do you hear, Morton? No hangman’s rope to disgrace us more. I fell under fire, my lad, and I shall laugh at the judges, and prison, and scaffold and all.”

“Hush! for heaven’s sake, Fred!” cried Morton.

“Yes, I will. It’s too much – to talk. I was in a rage with them for shooting me. It was that bully – Bray; but I forgive him, for it saves us all from trouble and disgrace. Morton, lad, don’t stop in the regiment. Exchange – do you hear? Exchange, and get them away – Claire and May and the old man – to somewhere else when I’m dead.”