The Master of the Ceremonies

“No, no; I tell you he will kill me.”

“He loves you, May; and I must appeal to him to act like a gentleman in this terrible strait.”

“Don’t I tell you that he is a passionate Italian, and that he would kill me. He always used to say that he felt as if he could stab anybody who came between us. Oh, Claire, what shall I do? My poor life’s full of miserable troubles. I wish I were dead.”

“Hush, May, and try and help me, instead of acting in this childish way.”

“There, now you turn against me.”

“No, no, my poor sister. I want to help you, and give you strength.”

“Then you will help me, Claire?”

“Help you!” said Claire reproachfully. “Did I spare my poor reputation for your sake?”

“Oh, don’t talk of that now, only tell me, what shall I do?”

“You must come with me.”

“With you, dear? Where?”

“Home, to your father’s roof; and we must tell him all. He will protect you.”

“Come – home – tell poor papa? No – no – no, I cannot – I dare not.”

“You must, May. It were a shame and disgrace to stay here, now that you know your husband is alive.”

“My first husband, Claire dear,” said May pitifully.

“Oh, hush, May; you’ll drive me mad. There, go and dress yourself, and come home.”

“I will not – I daren’t,” cried May; “and, besides, this is my home.”

“And Louis? Am I to tell him where you are?”

“No, no. I tell you he would kill me. I must have time to think. Didn’t you tell me he was going to wait, Claire? Look here, I dare not see him. No, everything is over between us. You must see him, dear.”

“See him?” said Claire.

“Yes, dear, yes. Oh, Claire, Claire!” she cried wildly, going upon her knees to her sister, “pray – pray, save me. Tell Louis I am not married to Frank. Tell him he must go away, and not come back till I write to him.”

“May, how can you be so childish?” cried Claire piteously.

“I am not childish. This is not childish. I know – I know – tell him this, and he will go away.”

“Tell him this?”

“Yes, yes; don’t you understand? He is very stupid; tell him I am dead.”

“May!”

“Stop a moment; you said he was going to wait.”

“Till I can give him news of you.”

“Yes; then you must keep him quiet for a day or two, till I have had time to think.”

“There is no time.”

“Give me till to-morrow, Claire. Don’t you see I am all confused, and mad with grief?”

“Till to-morrow?” said Claire, gazing at her, for it was like a respite to her as well, in her horrible doubt and confusion of intellect.

“Yes, till to-morrow. I will shut myself up in my room till then, and try and think out what will be best. There, go now. I can’t talk to you; I can’t think; I can’t do anything till you are gone; and I must have time.”

Claire left her at last unwillingly, but with the understanding that May was to stay in her own room till the next day, and await her return.

“It will all come right at last, Claire,” said May, at parting. “It always does, dear. There, don’t fidget. It’s very tiresome of him to come now; but I don’t know: perhaps it’s all for the best.”

She kissed Claire affectionately at parting; and the latter sighed as she hurried home, struggling with herself as to how she should make all this known to her father.

“He must know,” she said; and she entered the dining-room at once, to find that he was absent, though he had been home while she was away.

“Master said he had some business to transact, ma’am, and would have a chop at the Assembly Rooms. You were not to wait dinner.”

Claire went to her own room to think.

May had, in accordance with her promise, gone to hers; then she had written a brief note, ordered the carriage, and gone for a drive, closely veiled. One of her calls was at Miss Clode’s, where she entrusted her note, not to some volume to be sold, but to Miss Clode’s round-eyed, plump-cheeked niece, who promised to deliver it at once.

End of Volume Two

Volume Three – Chapter One.

Miss Clode is Mysterious

Richard Linnell had left his quiet, patient-looking father busily copying a sheet of music, and joined Colonel Mellersh, who was waiting at the door ready for a stroll.

Cora Dean’s ponies were in the road, and that lady was just about to start for a drive.

Somehow, her door opened, and she came rustling down, closing her ears to a petulant call from her mother, and – perhaps it was an accident – so timed her descent that it would be impossible for the gentlemen to avoid offering to hand her to the carriage.

They both raised their hats as they stood upon the step, and she smiled and looked at Richard Linnell, but he did not stir.

“Come, Dick,” said Mellersh, with a half-sneer; “have you forgotten your manners?”

Linnell started, offered his arm, which was taken, and he led Cora down to the little carriage, the ponies beginning to stamp as the groom held their bits, while the bright, smiling look of their mistress passed away.

“The ponies look rather fresh,” said Richard Linnell, trying to be agreeable. “I should have their bearing reins tightened a little.”