The Master of the Ceremonies Part 128

"You do know, sir. Speak out."

"I can't, Master Mort'n, sir. I dursn't. It would get me into no end of trouble," said Miggles desperately. "I can't tell ye. I won't, there!"

He threw Morton off and folded his arms upon his breast, looking at all defiantly.

"I suppose you know, my man," said Barclay sternly, "that you will be summoned as a witness before the judge, and forced to speak?"

"No judge won't make me speak unless I like," said Miggles defiantly.

"I tell you all I won't say another word and get myself into trouble, so there!"

Just then Claire took a step or two forward, laid her hands upon d.i.c.k Miggles' broad breast, and looked up in his great bronzed, bearded face.

The fisherman winced, and his wife hugged the child to her, and uttered a low sob.

"My poor dear father is lying in prison under sentence of death--my poor grey-haired old father," she said softly. "Perhaps a word from you will save his life--will save mine, for--for my heart is breaking. I could not live if--if--I cannot say it," she sobbed in a choking voice, as she sank upon her knees and raised her clasped hands to the great fellow.

"Pray, pray, speak."

Fisherman d.i.c.k's face worked; he stared round him and out to sea; and then, with a low, hoa.r.s.e sob, he roared out:

"Don't, Miss Claire, don't; I can't abear it. I will speak. It was that big orficer as fought the dool with Mr Linnell here."

"Rockley!" cried Morton wildly.

"Ay! Him. Master Mort'n. I see him plain."

No one spoke, but Linnell involuntarily took off his hat, and Barclay did the same, while Morton stood for a few moments looking down at the rapt countenance of his sister, as with eyes closed and face upturned to heaven she knelt there, apparently unconscious of the presence of others, her lips moving and slowly repeating the thanksgiving flowing mutely from her heart.

No one moved as they stood there in the broad sunshine at the edge of the chalk cliff, with the clear blue sky above their heads, the green down behind, and the far-spreading glistening sea at their feet. Then Morton Denville softly bent his knee by his sister's side, and to Richard Linnell the silence seemed that of some grand cathedral where a prayer of thanksgiving was being offered up to G.o.d.

"And may I be forgiven, too," he muttered, as he looked down on that worn upturned face with the blue veins netting the temples, and the closed eyes, "forgiven all my cruel doubts--all my weak suspicions of you, my darling! for I love you with all my heart."

Claire rose slowly from her knees, taking her brother's hand, and a slight flush came into her cheeks as she saw the reverent att.i.tude of all around.

She looked her thanks, and then turned to Miggles, catching his broad rough hand in both of hers, and kissing it again and again.

"May G.o.d bless you!" she whispered. "You have saved my father's life."

She let fall the hand, which Miggles raised and thrust in his breast, in a strange, bashful way. Then, turning quickly to Morton, she took his arm and looked at Barclay.

"Mr Barclay, will you do what is necessary at once? My brother and I are going over to the gaol."

Volume Three, Chapter XXVI.

BROUGHT HOME.

"Gentlemen," said Colonel Lascelles, "I am going to ask you to excuse me. You know my old fashion--bed betimes. Rockley will take the chair, and I hope you will enjoy yourselves. Good-night."

The grey-headed old Colonel quitted the mess-room, and the wine was left for the card-tables, after the customary badinage and light conversation that marked these meetings.

It had been a special night, and a few extra toasts had been proposed, notably the healths of Sir Matthew Bray and his lady, it having leaked out that the young baronet had at last led the fair Lady Drelincourt to the altar, with all her charms.

Sir Matthew, prompted a great deal by Sir Harry Payne--who had but lately rejoined the regiment, looking pale and ill--had made his response, and he was a good deal congratulated, the last to speak to him about his n.o.ble spouse being Sir Harry.

"Why, Matt," he exclaimed, "you look as if you were going to be hung.

Aren't you happy, man?"

"Happy!" said Sir Matthew, in deep, melodramatic tones. "You speak as if you had not seen my wife."

Sir Harry stared him full in the face for a few moments, and then burst into a hearty laugh, but winced directly, and drew in his breath sharply, for the knife Louis Gravani had used struck pretty deep.

Card-playing went on for a time, the stakes being light, and then succeeded a bout of drinking, when, with a contemptuous look at Mellersh, Rockley, who had been drinking hard, and was strange and excitable, called upon the party to honour a toast he was about to propose.

"Claire Denville," he cried in a curious, reckless tone which made Sir Harry stare.

Mellersh involuntarily glanced round, as if fearing that Richard Linnell was present.

"Well, Colonel," said Rockley mockingly, "you don't drink. Surely you are not trying to steal away my mistress."

"I? No," said Mellersh. "I did not know you had one."

"Hang it, sir!" cried Rockley, "I have just given her name as a toast.

Do you refuse to drink it?"

"Yes," said Mellersh coldly. "It seems to me bad taste to propose the health of a lady whose father is under sentence of death, and whose brother is dying not many yards away."

"Curse you, sir! who are you, to pretend to judge me?" cried Rockley furiously. "Gentlemen, I protest against this sort of thing. What was Lascelles thinking about to invite him, after what has taken place between us?"

"Here, Rockley, be quiet," said Sir Matthew.

"I shall not," cried Rockley. "It is an insult to me. The Colonel shall answer for it, and this Mellersh too."

"Nonsense!" cried Sir Harry. "Nonsense, man; you can't quarrel with a guest. Never mind the toast. Sit down, and let's have a rubber.

Rockley's a bit excited, Mellersh. Don't take any notice of a few hot words."

"Silence!" cried Rockley, whose voice was thick with the brandy he had been imbibing day by day. "I want my toast drunk as it should be-- Claire Denville."

"Sit down, man," cried several of his brother-officers. "Here, let's have a rubber. Sit down, Rockley, and cut. Come, Mellersh."

The latter shrugged his shoulders, and allowed himself to be drawn into a game, cutting, and finding himself Rockley's adversary.

He was singularly fortunate, and in addition he played with the skill of a master, the consequence being that he and Sir Harry Payne won.

Rockley rose from the table furious with suppressed anger, and, catching up a pack of cards, he would have thrown them in Mellersh's face had not Sir Harry struck at his arm, so that the cards flew all over the room.

Mellersh turned pale, but a couple of the most sober officers drew him aside, Sir Matthew joining them directly.

"Don't take any notice, Mellersh," he said. "We're all sorry.

Rockley's as drunk as an owl. They're going to get him off to bed."