The Master of the Ceremonies Part 121

She hardly started as a firm hand gripped her arm, and she was drawn sharply back, to be held tightly by him who had followed her below, watching her every action and standing close behind her in the darkness with outstretched hands.

"Miss Denville--Claire--for heaven's sake, what does this mean?"

She did not struggle, but turned round slowly, and looked in the dimly seen face.

"Richard Linnell!" she said, as if wondering at his presence.

"Yes, Richard Linnell," he cried, panting with emotion. "Claire, my love, has it come to this?"

She did not shrink from him as he drew her closely to his side, and his arm clasped her waist, but gazed up at him in the same half-wondering way.

"Why are you here?" he said hoa.r.s.ely. "Surely you were not thinking-- oh, it is impossible."

Still she did not answer, but in a slow, dull way extricated herself from his grasp, and pressed her hands over her face, covering her eyes for a few moments till she felt his touch as he laid his hand upon her arm.

"Claire," he whispered, "you do not speak to me. Why do you not say something to drive away these horrible thoughts. You here--at this hour--alone? Is it my fate to be always misunderstanding you?"

She shuddered slightly, as if his words were reviving memories of other meetings, and now she spoke.

"I don't know why I am here," she said in a dazed, helpless way. "I have had so much trouble. I was tired!"

"Trouble!" he whispered. "Claire dearest, if you only knew how I loved you. Let me share the trouble--help you through everything."

"Hush! Don't speak to me like that, Richard Linnell," she said slowly, as if she had to think deeply before she uttered a word. "I cannot talk to you now. My head!"

She paused and gazed at him helplessly, laying her hand upon her brow.

"You ought not to have been alone," he said, earnestly. "But tell me-- you were not thinking of that--"

He pointed with a shudder to the sea that whispered and hissed below where they stood.

"I don't know," she sighed, still in the same dazed way. "I came, and it seemed to draw me towards it. I am so weary--so tired out."

He caught her in his arms, and held her head down upon his shoulder, as he whispered in a voice deep with emotion:

"Weary, my poor girl, weary indeed. Now rest there, and, heaven helping me, half your trouble shall pa.s.s away. For I love you, Claire, love you with all my heart, and I too have suffered more than I can tell."

She made no resistance to his embrace, but sighed deeply, as if he was giving her the support she needed in her time of weakness; but his heart sank within him as he felt how helpless and dazed she was. She yielded to him, but it was not the yielding of one who loved, neither was there a suggestion of caress in her words. He knew that she was half distraught with the suffering that had fallen to her lot; and holding her more tightly for a moment, he pressed his lips once reverently on her forehead, and then drew her arm through his.

"I will take you back," he said.

She looked up at him, and a pang shot through his breast as he realised how weak she had become.

"Yes," she said at last, "you will take me back."

"And, Claire, are the clouds between us to pa.s.s away for ever now?" he whispered, as he held her hand.

"Clouds?" she said, as she seemed to comprehend him now. "No: they can never pa.s.s away. Mr Linnell, I am ill. I hardly know what I say."

"Then trust me," he said. "I will take you back."

"Yes--if you will," she said vacantly. "I have been so ill. I hardly know--why I am here."

"But you understand me, Claire?" he said softly.

"Yes: I think I understand you."

"Then remember this," he said. "You have shrunk from me, and there has been a terrible estrangement through all your troubles; but, mark this, Claire Denville, I love you. Let me say those simple words again, and let their simplicity and truth bear them home to your heart. I love you, as I always have loved and always shall. You will turn to me, dearest, now."

"It is impossible," she said gravely, and she seemed moment by moment to be growing clearer.

"But I love you," he pleaded.

"And they ask for my love and help," she said, with a sudden flash back into the full power of her intellect. "My poor suffering father--my sister--my wounded brother. Can you not see that there is a social gulf between us too?"

"No," he said, drawing her to him, and once more kissing her brow. "I only see the sweet, true woman who has been a martyr--I only see my love."

She did not speak for a few moments: and then the vacant manner returned somewhat, as she said to him, laying her hand upon his arm:

"I seemed drawn here. I could not help it. That would be too horrible.

Take me back."

He drew her arm once more through his, and led her up the steps and back to the Barclays' house, where he paused upon the steps.

"Always yours, Claire. I am going to work again in your service. I am yours, and yours alone."

She shook her head sadly as the door was opened by Mrs Barclay, who shrank back with a smile to let both enter; but Claire glided in, and Richard Linnell remained.

"I am glad," whispered Mrs Barclay. "Why don't you come in?"

"Hush!" he whispered. "Poor girl! she is half mad with her misery.

Mrs Barclay, you must not let her go out of your sight. Good-night.

Good-night."

He walked rapidly away, and Mrs Barclay followed Claire into the dining-room, where the poor girl was kneeling by a chair and weeping bitterly for the lost love that she felt could never be hers; but as she wept the tears seemed to give rest and lightness to her over-taxed brain, and at last she sank fast asleep like a weary child, her head upon her old friend's lap, and her breathing coming more regularly and deep than at any time since the night of the murder.

Volume Three, Chapter XXIII.

A REVELATION.

"Don't, pray don't talk to me, Mrs Barclay," said Claire piteously.

"Let me lie back here and think and rest for a few minutes, and then I must go up to May."

"No, no, no, my dear; you let poor May alone a bit. She's getting on right enough, and you want more attention than she does. And don't think, my dear. Have patience. Things may turn out all right."

"No," said Claire, with a sigh. "There is no hope now."

"Oh, yes, there is!" said Mrs Barclay decisively. "Jo-si-ah says a reprieve may come at any moment, for Lord Carboro is trying might and main, and Mr Richard Linnell--ah, does that touch you?"