The Master of the Ceremonies

“Why, Miss Clode!” he exclaimed.

“Yes, you are surprised,” she exclaimed, “greatly surprised. You, so young and handsome, an independent gentleman, are astonished that a poor insignificant woman in my humble position should be always anxious about you – should – should – there, I can keep it back no longer,” she cried passionately, as she held with both hands tightly that which he tried to withdraw. “I must speak – I must tell you, or you will wreck and ruin your dear life. Mr Linnell – Richard – I love you. I love you so that I cannot bear to see and hear what I do – you are breaking my heart.”

“Miss Clode!” cried Richard Linnell, amazed, filled with contempt, sorrow, pity, all in one. “Think of what you are saying. Why, what madness is this?”

“The madness of a wretched, unhappy woman, who has known you so long, and whose love for you is a hundred times stronger than you can believe. But hush! Come in here. Some one may call at any moment, and I could not bear for them to see.”

She loosed his hand, made a quick movement towards the little door at the end of the counter, and held it open for him to pass in.

It was a painful position for one so full of chivalrous respect for women, and the young man stood trying to think of what to say to release himself in the best way from a situation that he would have looked upon as ludicrous, only that it was so full of pain.

“You are shrinking from me!” she exclaimed. “Pray, pray, don’t do that, Mr Linnell. Have I not suffered enough? Come in; let me talk to you. Let me try and explain.”

“It is impossible,” he said at last sternly. “Miss Clode, believe me that I will never breathe a syllable about this to a soul, but – ”

“Oh, you foolish, foolish boy!” she exclaimed, bursting into an hysterical fit of laughter. “How could you think such a thing as that? Is there no love a poor, weak, elderly woman like I am, could bear for one she has known from a boy, but such as filled your mind just then? There, there!” she cried, wiping her eyes quickly. “I have spoken wildly to you. Forgive me. I am a poor lonely woman, who fixed her affection upon you, Richard Linnell, farther back than you can imagine. Listen, and let me tell you,” she said in a soft, low voice, as she came round to the front of the counter, and laid her little thin hand upon his arm. “You lost your mother long ago, and have never known what it was to have a mother’s love; but, for years past, your every movement has been watched by me; I have suffered when you have been in pain; I have rejoiced when I knew that you were happy.”

“My dear Miss Clode!” he exclaimed, in a half-wondering, half-pitying tone.

“Yes – yes,” she panted; “speak to me like that. You pay me for much suffering and misery; but don’t – pray don’t despise me for all this.”

“Despise you? No!” he said warmly; “but you do surprise me, Miss Clode. I know you have always spoken very kindly to me.”

“And you have always thought it almost an impertinence,” she said sadly. “It has been. This is impertinent of me, you think, too, but I shall not presume. Mr Linnell, I have something to say to you, and when that is said, I shall keep my distance again, and it will be a secret between us.”

“Why, Miss Clode,” said Richard, trying to smile cheerfully, “you are making up quite a romance out of one of your own books.”

“Yes,” she said, looking wistfully in his eyes, “quite a romance, only it is all true, my dear. Now, will you come in?”

He hesitated for a moment, and then walked right in to the parlour, and she followed him, wiping her red eyes with her handkerchief.

“You will sit down?” she said, drawing forward an elbow-chair.

He took it from her and placed it so that she could sit down, while he took another.

“No,” she said softly, “I will stand. Mr Linnell, please sit down.”

He smiled and looked at her, full of expectancy, while she stood wringing her handkerchief, and puckering up her forehead, her lips parted, and an eager look of pride in her eyes as she gazed at him.

“It is very good of you to come,” she faltered. “I will say what I have to say directly, but I am very weak, my dear – I – I beg your pardon, Mr Linnell. Don’t – don’t think me too familiar. You are not angry with me for loving you?”

“How can I be angry?” he said quickly. “I am surprised.”

“You need not be,” she said. “You would not be, if you knew more of human nature than you do. Mr Richard Linnell, it is in a woman’s nature to desire to cling to and love something. Why should you be surprised that a poor lonely woman like me should love – as a son – the handsomest and truest gentleman we have in Saltinville?”

“It is fortunate for me that we meet but seldom, Miss Clode,” said Richard, smiling, “if you hold me in such estimation as this.”

“I do not see why,” she said gravely. “You are handsome. You are brave. Do you think I do not know how you fought that duel below the cliff?”

“Oh, tut-tut,” he said quickly; “let that rest.”

“Or how bravely you followed that Major Rockley the night when he carried off Miss Dean?”

“My dear Miss Clode,” said Richard quickly, “we shall be drifting into scandal directly.”

She looked at him pityingly, as she saw the flush upon his cheeks, and it seemed to be reflected in hers, as she spoke out now eagerly and quickly, as if she thought there was a risk of his taking offence and hurrying away.

“I will not talk scandal,” she said, standing before him with her hands clasped; “I only want to talk of you – of your future, and to try and stop you before you go wrong.”

“Miss Clode!” he exclaimed warmly.

“Yes,” she said; “be angry with me. I expect it, and I’ll bear it; I’ll bear anything to see you happy. If I had seen you taking the downward course – gambling, or drinking, or intriguing, I should have tried to stop you – tried fiercely, and braved your anger, as I do now. For I must – I will speak.”

“I have neither been gambling, drinking, nor intriguing, Miss Clode,” said Richard laughingly, “so I have not deserved your wrath.”

“You are mocking at me, boy,” she said, with spirit.

“You think me a foolish, eccentric little woman – half mad, perhaps. Think so,” she cried, “and, maybe, you are right; but, with all my weakness and folly, I love you, Richard Linnell, as a mother loves her offspring, and it is to save you from future misery that I have nerved myself to risk your displeasure, and perhaps your future notice, for I am not so vain as to think I can ever be looked upon by you as anything but what I am.”

There was such warmth and sincerity in her words that Richard hastily took her hands.

“Forgive me,” he said; “I am serious, and respect you for all this, Miss Clode.”

She bent down quickly and kissed his hands, making him start, and then look down on her pityingly, his wonder increasing as he saw how moved she was, her tears having fallen on the hands she kissed.

“There,” she cried, “I will not keep you, but I must say what I have on my mind, even if I offend you and make you angry as I did before.”

Richard Linnell looked at her sharply, with his eyes kindling; but, without speaking, she joined her hands together and stood before him as if pleading.

Volume Three – Chapter Two.

Miss Clode Feels that she has done Right

“The woman is mad,” said Richard Linnell, with a pitying look, and he made a movement as if to leave, but she caught his hand.

“Pray – pray stay,” she whispered, “and let me – let me speak.”

“Well, speak,” he said, in a low, angry voice, “but be careful of what you say.”

“It is for your sake,” she whispered. “You do not know what I do. It is my lot to hear and see so much. I only want to take the veil from before your eyes.”

“If it is to blacken some one whom I respect – ”

“Whom you love, boy, with a foolish, insensate love. It is to save you from misery that I speak.”

“To tell me some vile scandal that I will not hear,” he cried.

“That you shall hear, if I die for telling you, boy,” she cried, catching his wrist with both her hands. “Strike me if you like. Crush me if you will, but you shall hear the truth.”