The Master of the Ceremonies Part 102

"Ah, well, I suppose he would not come. He felt that I was not his wife, and he was glad to cut himself clear from such an unhappy family.

Has Sir Harry sent?"

"May! dear May!"

"I only wanted to know, Claire," said May quietly. "Don't be angry with me, dear. It's all over now. Is he better?"

"I believe so. He has gone away."

"Thank G.o.d!" said May fervently.

Claire turned upon her with wondering eyes.

"Yes," she said again. "Thank G.o.d! I should not have liked to see him again, nor to know that he had been to ask for me. I am so weak, Claire. I always--I was so different to you."

Claire sighed, and bent down and kissed the white forehead, beneath which the large eyes look unnaturally bright.

"That's nice," said May, with a sigh of content. "I wish I had been born such a girl as you. Always so calm and grave. I was so different.

I used to feel, and I am sure of it now, that I was like one of the pretty little boats out there at sea, with the great white sails, that are blown over sometimes for want of ballast. I never had any ballast, Claire, and that made me giddy."

"Had you not better be silent now, May dear?" whispered Claire.

"No. Perhaps I may not be able to talk to you again, and I should like to tell you everything that is in my mind."

"May, dear!" cried Claire, kissing her lovingly.

"You forgive me, then?" sighed May. "I'm glad of that, for I want a deal of forgiving--here--and there," she added, after a pause.

"Which may come the easier, dear, for a life spent in repenting what is past."

"Yes; that would be easy, Claire, easy enough; but it is better as it is with me. I should be so weak and foolish again if I got well.--Claire."

"Yes, dear."

"Has poor Louis been seen again?"

"No: not since that night."

May lay silent for a few minutes, and then said softly:

"It seems very cruel of him to strike me like that, but he had been true to me, Claire, and I was so weak I couldn't be true to him, and he is not like us; he is foreign, and loves and hates so pa.s.sionately. It made him angry and mad against me. As soon as I saw him in the street, after I had written to ask Sir Harry to take me away, I knew there was danger, and I tried so hard to escape. I felt obliged then. Sir Harry had often before begged me to go, but I never would."

"Hush! May, I beg of you."

"No: I must talk," said May. "I will speak softly so that it shall not hurt me much; but I want to be made happy by telling you everything and getting you to freely forgive me."

"I do--I do freely forgive you, everything, May, dear sister," whispered Claire, "and you must get well quickly, so that we may go far away from here, and begin life afresh."

"Yes," said May, with a peculiar smile, "far away, and begin life afresh."

Claire saw her peculiar look, and held her tightly to her breast.

"Yes," said May softly, "it means that, dear. I've always been like a spoiled child. Poor papa has made me his idol, and I've been so weak and foolish. I can see it all now, since I have been ill. Claire, I hope they will not take poor Louis and punish him for this."

"No, no, dear; he has gone far away; but pray, pray, say no more."

"I must," she said smiling. "I have wasted so much time that I cannot spare a moment now. Ah, Claire, if I had been like you!"

"I wish you had been happier than ever I have been," said Claire sadly.

"Now try and sleep."

"I want to talk to you about baby, Claire dear," continued May, without heeding her sister's words.

She laughed softly, and her sister gazed at her in wonder, thinking that she was wandering again, as in the days of her long delirium.

"I was laughing about baby," she said. "Such a droll little soft thing.

I laughed when I saw it first, for we both seemed to be such bits of girls, and it seemed such nonsense for me to be the poor little tot's mother. I have never been like a mother to it, though, leaving it always to strangers; but you, Claire, you will see to it, and be a better mother to her than ever I could."

"You shall get better, May, and make your little one a blessing to you when we are far away from here."

"Yes," said May with the same peculiar look, "far away from here. Poor little baby! Does my father know?"

"Yes: everything now, dear."

"Oh, yes, I had forgotten: he kissed me as if he did, and forgave his weak, wilful child."

"How is she?" whispered Denville, entering the room softly a few minutes later.

"Asleep," said Claire in the same tone.

"Is she--do you think she--"

He trailed off in his speech, and ended by looking imploringly in his daughter's face.

"I dare not say," said Claire mournfully. "Father, she is very ill."

"Then you must nurse her, Claire," said the old man excitedly, as he caught her hand to hold it tightly. "You must get her well, so that we can go--all go--far away--where we are not known. We cannot stay here in misery and debt and disgrace. Everything is against us now. My old position is gone. I dare not walk to the a.s.sembly-Room, for fear of some insult or slight. I am the Master of the Ceremonies only in name.

I am disgraced."

"Then we will go," said Claire sadly; "but it cannot be yet. Have patience, dear."

She laid her hand upon the old man's shoulder, and bent forward and kissed his cheek.

He caught her in his arms.

"You do not shrink from me?" he said bitterly.

"Shrink? No, father; I am your child. Now, tell me--about money--what are we to do?"

Denville shook his head.