Chapter VIII: Part 8

Sir Harry Payne looked at the stony face before him, and read fierce, implacable determination written plainly there. He felt that his companion was a soldier who would face death without a moment's hesitation, and that there was not a tremor in any pulse.

He had but little time for thought, for there were salutations to make, everything being carried out in the most cold-blooded style; after which Sir Harry took an oblong box from the Major's servant.

"You can go now," he said.

"Not stay with my master, sir?"

"I said go, fellow," cried Sir Harry sharply; and, in spite of his jaunty manner, he looked cold and pale.

"Back, Sir Harry?"

"No--anywhere. There, up the cliff. Be within call."

The man saluted, turned on his heel, and, walking to where a roughly-cut path of steps led up the cliff into the little ravine, began to mount as quickly as he could.

About half-way up he turned, saw that he was out of sight, and then, following Fisherman Dick's steps as if he were familiar with the way, climbed right into the rough cavern, and came suddenly upon the man, who started round in surprise.

"Hullo!" he growled. "What are you doing here?"

"Same to you," said the young dragoon, in a low voice. "What are you going to do?"

"See the fight, if you must know," said Fisherman Dick. "Like my place, p'raps."

"Yes," said the young soldier quickly, "I should;" and, stepping forward, he looked down cautiously on the group below.

"Why, it's Fred Denville, sure_ly_," cried Fisherman Dick.

"Hush, man!" said the young soldier, catching him by the arm; "James Bell now. Not a word to a soul about me."

"What, not to your young brother, Master Fred?"

"Hist! I'm only a common soldier now, Dick. You won't betray me, I know."

"Not I, lad. Troost me."

"I will, Dick, with my name, and--"

He placed his lips close to the fisherman's ear, and whispered.

Fisherman Dick brought a broad hand down softly on his knee, and laughed a silent laugh. But the next moment he turned preternaturally solemn, and whispered:

"It wouldn't be fair."

"Fair!" whispered back Fred: "is it fair for that poor fellow to stand and be shot down by a man who can snuff a candle at a dozen paces? I've seen him do it."

"I've done, my lad, and you're safe with me. I'm closer as you used to know."

Meanwhile the preparations had been going on below, and were so far advanced that the preliminaries had been all settled, the pistols charged, the ground stepped out, and the men were standing back to back, twelve paces apart.

Rockley was deadly pale, but not with the pallor of fear, as he stood exactly below the hollow where the two men were looking down. There was a savage look of rage in his eyes, and his lip was white where he pressed his teeth upon it firmly, longing the while to receive the weapon that was to be the minister of his vengeance upon the man he hated with an intense and ardent hate.

The doctor had drawn aside, walking down towards the sea, and the two seconds were together, every step in the progress of the drama being taken with a cold formality that was awful.

At last the seconds parted, each bearing one of the loaded weapons, and walking firmly towards his principal.

"Here you are, Rockley," said Sir Harry, in a voice that was husky, and not quite firm. "You'll wing him, won't you, or give him a ball through one of his legs?"

"If I can shoot straight," said Rockley coldly--"and my arm is pretty firm this morning--there shall be a funeral in Saltinville next Sunday."

"No, no. Gad, man, don't do that. Think of yourself if you killed him."

"I could get over it," was the reply. "The Prince would help me; and if he wouldn't--curse that Linnell, I'd sacrifice anything to pay him back his debt."

"Yes, you're firm enough, Dick. Mind: as Payne gives the word, raise your pistol and fire at once. You will not hit him, but the quick flash will spoil his aim. I will not consent to another shot. If he wants another it shall be at me. Now then; you understand?"

"Yes," said Linnell firmly, "I understand, Mellersh. I shall not fire at him. If I fall--badly hit--tell Claire Denville I sent her my dear love."

"Be firm, man. You will not fall," said the Colonel, pressing his hand. Then, glancing at Sir Harry Payne, who was waiting, he walked away towards a certain prearranged point, where he and Sir Harry stood together in the grey morning light; while, back to back, there were the principals, each grasping his heavy duelling pistol, with the chalk cliff towering above, and, fifty yards away, the waves uttering their low, whispering sound.

Just then a couple of gulls floated by, grey and ghostly in the dull mist, uttering their faint and peevish cry, and a few drops of rain began to fall.

"Are you ready, gentlemen?" said Sir Harry Payne hoarsely.

No one spoke, but the principals bowed their heads.

"When I say `three,'" said Sir Harry, "you will turn round and fire. _One_--_two_--three!"

As the last word left Sir Harry Payne's lips, the principals turned quickly round, and almost simultaneously came two sharp echoing reports following the faint puffs of smoke that shrouded the duellists for the moment.

Then, as the seconds were starting forward, Mellersh saw that Rockley was looking up at the face of the cliff. Then he looked down at Richard Linnell, who, as the shots were fired, twisted himself sharply round, dropping his pistol, and now stood with one hand pressed to his temple.

Mellersh saw a curious smile on Rockley's face, and a hoarse gasp came from his throat.

"It is my fate to shoot another man--dead!" he muttered; and he was just in time to catch Richard Linnell as he reeled and was about to fall.

The doctor was coming up quickly, and Sir Harry had run to his principal.

"You've killed him," he whispered.

"I hope so," was the cool reply. "I'm not sure, though. That cursed piece of chalk fell from the cliff as I fired, and spoiled my aim. Go and see where he is hurt."

As Sir Harry ran off, Rockley stooped and picked up a piece of chalk rock as big as his fist, and then threw it down, dusting his hand afterwards, and then removing the mark of the chalk where it had struck him upon his right shoulder.

"Pah!" he exclaimed, pressing his handkerchief to his lip, which was cut; "the thing bounced up. I hope it has not saved Mr Richard Linnell's life."

Judging from appearances it had not, for Richard Linnell lay upon the sand with his eyes half closed, and the blood trickling from a wound over the right temple, just where the hair began to grow.

"Is he much hurt?" whispered Sir Harry.

"Don't know yet," said the doctor sharply, as he examined the fallen man. "Not Rockley's fault if he is not."

"He's a perfect devil," muttered Sir Harry, as, looking very white, he gazed from one to the other, while the Major slowly walked down towards the sea and back.

"Well?" said Colonel Mellersh, as the doctor ceased his examination.

"Had my man better be off at once?" said Sir Harry. "Give him a chance to get away."

"If you do get him away, Sir Harry Payne, let me know where he is gone. I may have a few words to say to Major Rockley."

"I can't tell what may supervene. There may be concussion of the brain," said the surgeon. "Yes, he is coming to now. The bullet has only scored his head. It was a marvellous escape."

"Blast!" muttered Major Rockley, as the news was conveyed to him. "Here, let's be off back, I want my breakfast. Curse him, I've not done with him yet, Payne. There are other ways to touch the heart of a greenhorn like that, than with bullets. I'd got him dead as a hammer. My arm felt like steel, and my shot would have had him right in the chest if that piece of chalk had not struck me and jerked my arm. Come along."

"Hadn't I better go and see if I can be of any help?"

"Hadn't you better go and nurse the scoundrel, and read to him a bit? Bah! Come along, man. He has his second, and they can fetch help from the fishermen's cottages if they want it."

Sir Harry followed him up the cliff steps and along the Down path without a word.

"So, I shall not want a post-chaise," said Rockley, with a laugh. "No rushing up to town and hiding for a while in chambers in St. James's, or running over to Boulogne. Good job, too. Save the money. I'm fearfully short. Why, man, you look white."

"Do I? It's cold. I'm glad that the affair has terminated so well."

"Terminated?" cried the Major, grasping him by the arm, "It has only begun. I tell you there are other ways than bullets to touch a man's heart, and I'll pierce his, curse him! so that he shall rue the day he ever crossed my path."

Sir Harry looked at him uneasily.

"Payne," he continued, "I'm a firm friend to those who help me--and lend me money," he added, with a laugh--"but I never forgive an insult, or a woman's slight."

Down on the beach, Colonel Mellersh was kneeling with the great drops of perspiration standing on his face, holding Richard Linnell's hand, while the surgeon was looking on anxiously at the returning signs of knowledge of his position on his patient's part.

The other principal and second had been gone some minutes when footsteps were heard, and James Bell and Fisherman Dick came quickly down the cliff.

"Is he much hurt, sir?" said the former, with real signs of trouble in his face.

"No, my man: you may tell the Major that it was a narrow escape."

"Poor lad!" muttered the soldier, going down on one knee, and making Colonel Mellersh look at him with surprise, as he took one cold hand, to hold it between his own for a few moments.

"Can we carry him to my house, gen'lemen," said Fisherman Dick roughly. "'Taint very far."

"No, my man, no," said the doctor; "he has only been stunned. Narrow escape, though. He'll walk home."

"Do you mean it, sir?" cried James Bell. "Beg pardon, sir. Only glad the Major won't have to go. I'll get back to barracks now. He'll be wanting me."

"All right, my man. Take those confounded pistols with you. There: be off."

The soldier placed the pistols in the case, and, saluting both gentlemen, hurried away by the shore, while Fisherman Dick touched his hat again, and said in a whisper:

"I've got a drop of right Nantes sperrit at my cottage, gentlemen, if you can bring him in there."

"No, no," said the doctor. "There, he's coming round fast now," and he pointed to Linnell's staring eyes.

The doctor was right. Half an hour later, with no worse trouble to combat than a fierce headache, and the wound smarting under its strapping, Richard Linnell was able to take the Colonel's arm and walk home, a warning to other young men not to attempt to climb up the cliff to the Downs, and risk falling and cutting their heads!

For that was the version of Richard Linnell's mishap that ran through the town.

Volume Two, Chapter VII.

MISS CLODE IS OVERCOME.

It was a vain effort, for such an event was sure to be known to others besides the parties concerned.

Sent on a special mission by her aunt that morning, to see whether Mr Miggles had any fish, and with a basket to obtain a small bottle of a peculiar water that Fisherman Dick secretly supplied to a few friends whom he could trust, simple-faced Annie picked up some news.

"You don't want any more brandy, aunty," the girl had said; "there are two bottles not opened, and you said you wouldn't have any more fish for ever so long."

"Oh, Annie!" cried Miss Clode, "I thought you were beginning to be of a little use to me."

The girl's mouth opened wide, and her nose turned red; but directly after a cunning smile came in her face, and her eyes nearly closed.

"Oh, I say, aunty," she said softly, "I know what you mean now. You mean go and make that an excuse for getting to know about pretty Miss Denville going to see about the little girl."

"Worse and worse, Annie," cried Miss Clode. "Don't you understand that a still tongue makes a wise head?"

"Oh, yes, aunty, I know now;" and nodding her head very knowingly, Annie went off on her mission.

She returned very quickly, with a face quite scarlet with heat and excitement, full of the news she had picked up from Mrs Miggles, who had determined not to say a word of what she knew, and ended by telling all.

Miss Clode was in a state of excitement, for she had heard from a customer that young Mr Linnell, of the Parade, had fallen from the cliff that morning and cut his head, and the news turned the little woman pale, and she staggered and felt sick. When Annie came back she had recovered, but only ready on hearing her niece's news to faint dead away and lie insensible, just as stout Mrs Barclay came in about a new account-book, and to purchase a couple of pounds' worth of bill-stamps.

"Poor little woman!" cried Mrs Barclay sympathetically. "Here, don't make a fuss, my dear; I'll help you. Let's get her on the sofa. It's only fainting, and the smelling-salts will bring her round. That's the way," she panted and puffed as she helped to carry the slight little woman into the inner room. "Worse disasters at sea. Not so bad as Mr Linnell tumbling off the cliff this morning and cutting his head."

"He didn't tumble off the cliff," said Annie, round-eyed and trembling with eagerness, as she whispered in Mrs Barclay's ear.

"Oh, yes, he did, my dear."

"No, he didn't," whispered Annie, as Miss Clode lay quite senseless. "Hearing about it all upset aunty."

"Did it? What, his fall?"

"No, no, it wasn't a fall; but I mustn't say anything."

"You don't know anything," said Mrs Barclay contemptuously.

"Oh yes, I do," whispered Annie. "It's very horrid. Major Rockley shot him in a duel this morning for horse-whipping him after Major Rockley had insulted Miss Denville. There!"

"Hush!" whispered Mrs Barclay, whose face was now as red as Annie's. "Your aunt is coming to."

"Don't say I told you. She would be so cross."

Mrs Barclay nodded; and, after saying a few comforting words to the sufferer as she came to, contented herself with buying the bill-stamps, and left the shop, while, as soon as she had recovered sufficiently, Miss Clode wrote a few hasty lines to Colonel Mellersh, and strictly enjoining her to hold her tongue, sent her niece off to deliver the note on the Parade.

Colonel Mellersh was not within, but Cora Dean and her mother were alighting from the pony-carriage, and Annie greeted them with a smile and a curtsey, which made Mrs Dean tap the girl on the shoulder with a formidable fan.

"Here, you come in, and walk upstairs. I want a word with you."

"No, no, not now, mother," said Cora hastily.

"Now, just you let me have my own way for once in my life, please, Betsy," said Mrs Dean; and to avoid having words in the hall, where they could easily be overheard, Cora gave way, and in due time, to her intense delight, Annie was seated in one of Josiah Barclay's gilded easy-chairs, with a piece of cake in her hand, and a glass of ginger wine before her.

"Which is quite good enough for her," Mrs Dean had said to herself.

Cora had not taken off her things, but had gone to the window, to stand looking out, and biting her lips with shame and rage, as she heard her mother's words to the girl.

"Trust me, ma'am?" Annie said, with her mouth half full of sweet Madeira cake, "that you may, ma'am, as much as you would aunty. Oh, yes, I'm sure aunty gave his lordship the notes, and he only laughed."

Cora's beautiful white teeth gritted together as, ill-bred as she was, she knew well enough that had she wished Lord Carboro's openly-manifested admiration to ripen to her profit, her mother's open invitations to him to call would have destroyed her chance.

Then she tried to shut her ears to what was going on, and stood there wondering whether Richard Linnell would go out while she stood there-- why it was the house had been so quiet that morning, for she generally listened for an hour to him playing duets with his father.

Then she wondered rather bitterly whether he would ever care for her, and his coldly polite way be changed. He was always civil and pleasant, and chatted with her when they met, but that was all, and at times it mortified her, as she thought how beautiful she was, making her vow that she would be revenged upon him, while at other times all this made her sit down and sob by the hour together.

"Why should I trouble about him?" she was asking herself just then, as she gazed from the window, and ignored the low buzzing of Annie's voice, which came huskily through Madeira cake, "I, who might accept almost any man I like. I've good looks, and money, and there are hundreds of men who would be only too glad of a smile. As for--"

"Mr Linnell, ma'am? Oh, yes, it's quite true," Annie was whispering, and the name sent a thrill through Cora.

"But he lives downstairs, girl, and we should have known."

"Oh, yes, ma'am, I learn by heart--aunty makes me--where all the fashionable people live. I know Mr Linnell--two Mr Linnells--live downstairs. It's in our visitor's list, along with you, and Colonel Mellersh, and it's quite true."

What was quite true about Richard Linnell? If it was about Claire Denville, she would tear him from her; she would crush her. How dare she presume to think of her idol--the true, brave fellow who had dashed into the sea and saved her when she was drowning?

Poor Fisherman Dick, like many more, not being young and handsome, was forgotten after that ten-pound note.

Cora's eyes flashed, her cheeks burned, and she looked as beautiful as an artist's idea of Juno, listening now with all the concentration of her passionate nature.

"I oughtn't to talk about it, ma'am, and I wouldn't tell anyone but you," Annie went on. "They said he fell over the cliff this morning and cut his head."

Cora Dean saw blood upon a white forehead, and she clutched the back of a chair, for the room seemed to be turning, and she felt sick.

"But he didn't, ma'am."

"Isn't he hurt, then?"

"Yes, ma'am, badly. I wonder you didn't know. You see, he met Major Rockley--you know him, ma'am?--handsome dark gentleman with mustachios."

"Yes, yes, I know," said Mrs Dean, revelling in the bit of gossip. "Have some more cake."

"Thank you, ma'am. Major Rockley was out walking with Miss Claire Denville out on the Downs--"

Cora's faintness passed away, and the room ceased to glide round as her eyes brightened, and she felt as if she could have embraced that handsome _roue_, who always, bowed to her with such a look of insolent contempt.

"And then Mr Linnell came up and took Major Rockley's whip away and beat him."

Cora's cheeks burned with jealous rage now. How dare Richard Linnell do that? And yet she liked him for it. He was so brave. But for Claire Denville! Her eyes flashed again.

"Then they met this morning, ma'am, down on the sands, and fought a real duel, and Major Rockley shot Mr Linnell."

"It is not true!" cried Cora excitedly, and once more the room began to turn.

"Yes, ma'am, it's quite true," said Annie, with her mouth now full of cake.

Shot!--injured by Major Rockley! and she--she could not go down to him to wait upon him, and show him by her every act how she loved him.

A minute before she had been ready to bless Major Rockley. Now, curses were in her heart, as she thought of him raising his hand against Richard Linnell to strike him down.

"No, ma'am, he isn't very bad," Annie went on, in answer to a question of Mrs Dean.

"It can't be true," Cora said to herself, as her brain seemed to become a chaos of love, jealousy, hatred, and pride in the brave young fellow who had saved her life, and, civilian though he was, showed himself ready to meet such a notorious fire-eater as the Major.

Just then she gave a gasp, for she saw a stiff, military-looking man, whom she knew to be the regimental surgeon, come up to the door.

It was true, then; and it was all she could do to keep from bursting into an hysterical fit of sobbing.

But a thought came directly that gave her strength, and she felt joy and elation together as she said to herself:

"He found them together, and horsewhipped the Major. Well, so much the better. He can never think of Claire Denville again. If he did--"

She uttered a low unpleasant laugh, as Annie found that she must go back, for she could eat no more cake; and as soon as they were alone Mrs Dean exclaimed:

"Don't, for goodness' sake, laugh like that, my dear; it gives me the cold shivers all down my back. It's just like Metalina in `The Haunted Vampire,' where she takes an oath as she'll kill her rival or perish in the attempt."

Volume Two, Chapter VIII.

MRS BARCLAY IS PUZZLED.

"Oh, my dear, and do you know how they're all a-talking about you?" cried Mrs Barclay, as she sat panting beneath the florid portrait of May Burnett in the MC's shabby drawing-room.

Claire looked up appealingly in the pleasant, plump face, and her brow knit.

"You see, it all comes to me, my dear, and it worries me because I like you so."

"You were always very kind to me, Mrs Barclay."

"Not half so kind as I should like to be, my dear. I wanted to have you home when the mur--"

"Oh, hush!"

"Of course, my dear. That's my way. So vulgar and thoughtless. Think of me now bringing that up to you who live here; and us sitting in the very next room."

"Mrs Barclay!"

"Yes, I won't say another word, my dear. Not that I believe in sperrits or anything of that kind. But you were saying about me being kind. Why, you won't let me be, my dear. I'm sure the dresses I'd buy you, and the things I'd give you, if you'd let me, would make some of them stare."

"But I could not let you, Mrs Barclay," said Claire, smiling.

"No; you're so proud, my dear, that's it. You see, Josiah lets me have so much for housekeeping, that I've always plenty to spare; and as to jewellery, why, I might wash in diamonds if I liked, but I don't."

"Let us be as usual, Mrs Barclay," said Claire, with more animation, "and never mind about what people say, or fashion, or dress, or any of the nonsense."

"I'm sure I should like to be, my dear; but you being a motherless girl, I don't like to hear people talking about you."

Claire's face grew flushed.

"Don't look like that, Claire, my dear. I'm not cross with you, but when people talk about you being out walking with that horrid black Major Rockley, it hurts me."

"I could not help it, Mrs Barclay," said Claire.

"Then it's all true, then, about young Mr Linnell horse-whipping him?"

"Yes, yes; but this is so cruel to me. He did beat him for insulting me."

"Bless him then. I always liked him, my dear. How he must love you!"

"Oh, hush, hush!" cried Claire, in agony.

"I don't see why. I'm sure he's everything that's good and brave; and you need not sob like that, my dear, for, from what I can hear, he isn't very badly hurt."

Claire started. A dread that had been hanging over her was beginning to assume form.

"But they say it's a mercy that the Major's bullet did not go an inch lower."

"Bullet? The Major! They have had a meeting?"

"Yes, my dear. I thought you must know, and I came to talk to you about even speaking to--there--there, what a woman I am. I came to do good, and I'm doing nothing but harm. Now, she's going to faint."

"No, no!" cried Claire agitatedly; "it is nothing. I am not going to faint, Mrs Barclay, indeed. There, you see, I am quite calm now."

"Yes, and I am sorry, my dear; but I am such a thoughtless woman. Barclay's quite right; I haven't no head at all."

"No head?" said Claire, smiling, as she sat down close to her visitor and laid her hands upon her arm. "Perhaps it is because you have so much heart."

"Heart, my dear! why--no; I declare I'm most afraid to speak, for fear of saying something that may hurt your feelings."

"If you will not speak about--about--"

"Mr Linnell, my dear?"

"Yes, but only to tell me that he is not much hurt--you said so, did you not?" cried Claire.

"Yes, my dear; he's not much hurt. But, Claire, my dear, wouldn't it be better if you--so pretty and young as you are--did care very much for some one as nice and good as he is?"

"No, no," cried Claire excitedly. "Pray, pray say no more. It is impossible."

"Well, you know best, my dear," said Mrs Barclay sadly; "and you want me to talk about something else. Well, I'll talk about you, only you must not mind if I say something stupid. It's my way."

"I am sure you would not say anything to wound me," said Claire, kissing her.

"Indeed I wouldn't, my dear: and, do you know, ever since I found out how you people here were situated, through Mr Denville coming to see my Josiah, who is the real best of men, I seemed to take to you like. I went home and had a good cry after I'd been here the first time, and seen you managing your poor father, and your sister and brother so well."

Claire's brow grew troubled, but her visitor prattled on.

"You had another brother, hadn't you, my dear, who couldn't agree with your father like, and then went away?"

"Yes," said Claire, bowing her head to hide her face.

"Ah, my Josiah told me so. Well, well, there's troubles in every family, my dear; and so long as pa has got you he has not much cause for complaint."

Claire looked up, trying to smile, but it was a sorry attempt; and soon after her guest rose, assuring her that she need not be uneasy about Mr Linnell.

"One word before I go, my dear, though, just as a secret. It isn't that I'm curious, because I don't care who it is marries, or whom they marry; but I've no girls of my own, and I do take an interest in you. Now, just in a whisper like. I am an old friend."

"Yes, yes--indeed, you are. The only dear friend I have."

"Then tell me now; put your lips close to my ear--it is to be Mr Linnell, is it not?"

"Never!" said Claire firmly.

"Oh, my! And I told you to whisper. I won't believe it's that horrible Major."

"Mrs Barclay," said Claire, putting her arms round her homely friend's neck, "they say that every woman has her duty in life: mine is to watch over and help my father, and to be such protection as I can to my sister and brothers."

"What, and not get married at all?" cried Mrs Barclay, in a tone of disappointment.

"And never be any man's wife," said Claire sadly. "Oh!"

"Stop one moment, Mrs Barclay," whispered Claire, in a strangely hesitating manner, "you do like me, I know."

"Indeed, I do, my dear, though I must say you disappoint me horribly."

"Then I want you--whatever comes to pass--whatever people may say of me--to try and think the best of me."

"Why, my darling!"

"Yes: I know you will; but your confidence may be sorely tried, and I want you to think well of me always. I cannot do all I wish, and--and-- I cannot explain myself; only think the best you can of me. Good-bye, good-bye!"

"She is the strangest girl I ever did meet," said Mrs Barclay, as she panted away in her thick silk and enormous open bonnet. "Think well of her, whatever comes to pass! Why, of course I will, poor girl!"

Volume Two, Chapter IX.

AN INTERESTED PATRON.

"Well, Denville," said Lord Carboro', "I wanted to see you."

"In what way can I serve your lordship?" said the MC, with his best bow.

"A pinch of your snuff."

The pinch was taken, and the box snapped and returned.

"Your arm."

Denville's breast swelled as he offered his arm to the elderly beau, and a flush of hope rose into his cheeks. The sun must be coming out at last.

It was a pleasant thing to be seen walking along the Parade in so familiar a way with Lord Carboro', and to his great delight Denville saw that the Parade was well filled.

He expected that this would be only a temporary condescension from the wealthy old nobleman; but Lord Carboro' held on tightly, made a few very nasty remarks about some of the people they passed, and then said suddenly:

"Drelincourt has been asking me to interest myself with the Prince to get your boy a commission."

"Indeed, my lord?"

"Yes, indeed. 'Nother pinch of snuff."

The box--_sniff--snuff--snap_.

"Like to know what I said to her?"

"My lord, I am a father."

"Yes, Denville, I know it. Well."

The old man changed the conversation to make another remark or two about some visitors, and then said, suddenly returning to the subject:

"Drelincourt asked me to get the lad a commission."

"Yes, my lord."

"You don't think of letting that old harpy claw up the boy?"

"Oh, my lord!"

"Of course, it would be madness. I told her I'd see her ladyship made a mummy first."

The MC's heart sank.

"She means to marry fat Matt Bray. I hope she will. I said I'd see her ladyship made a mummy first, Denville; and--he, he, he! she showed real colour. It came up in her cheeks, all round the rouge. Poor old girl! she is as bad as her sister was: hates to hear about dying. Doosid awkward thing, old Teigne being killed in your house. I wonder who got her diamonds."

Denville's hands began to tremble, and the beads of perspiration to stand upon his forehead.

"Must all die some day, I suppose. Great nuisance to think about if the weather's fine, Denville; but when it's a cold, easterly wind, or one's gout's bad, I often feel as if I shouldn't mind being tucked up comfortably. How do you feel about it, Denville? You're not a chicken."

"My lord, I feel sometimes as if, once I could see my boy settled, and my daughter well married, it would be a relief to lie down and take the long sleep," said the MC solemnly.

"Denville," said Lord Carboro', after a pause, during which he held on tightly to his companion's arm. "I've gone on for years calling you an artificial old humbug, with your deportment and niminy-piminy ways. I hadn't the common sense to see that they were like my wig and stock, sir--put on. I beg your pardon, Denville. I do, sir: I beg your pardon. You've the right stuff in you after all, and, sir--I'm very proud to tell you that what I wouldn't do for that old harpy, Drelincourt, I would do on my own account."

"My lord!"

"Yes, sir; asked His Royal Highness, myself, and he said nothing would give him greater pleasure. Denville, your son has a commission in the Light Dragoons."

"My lord, I--I--"

"Don't, don't, Denville," said the old man, pressing his arm. "Hold up man, or some of these idiots will be seeing that you are moved. Take a pinch of snuff, man--of mine, and let's walk out upon the Downs, out here beyond the fishermen's cottages, and my sight isn't what it was, or I should have said that was Miss Claire going into yon fisherman's hut."

"Impossible, my lord. Will you allow me to express my--"

"No, no, no. Not a word, Denville. Why, man, you are husky with emotion now, real emotion. Don't say another word about it. Only make the boy do us justice."

"He shall, my lord," said the MC in a broken voice.

"And now, look here, Denville; I'm about one of the most selfish old fellows that ever breathed, and I want to see if I can't have a little recompense for all my miseries and disappointments."

"Yours, my lord?"

"Yes, sir, mine," said the old beau. "Do you think because I'm rich I'm happy? Not a bit of it. I haven't long to live though now, and I want to make the best of the time left."

"My lord!"

"Hold your tongue and listen. I heard all about Rockley meeting Miss Claire and young Linnell thrashing him."

"It was a most unfortunate affair, my lord."

"I don't know that either. Pity young Linnell couldn't shoot and pop off that scoundrel Rockley. By the way, he looked daggers at me for getting your boy appointed to his regiment; but the boy shan't disgrace the corps, if I find him money myself."

Denville paused where they stood upon the Downs and gazed wonderingly at the old Earl.

"I make you stare, Denville. Well, I'll be frank with you, and you shall be frank with me."

The MC bowed and wiped his streaming face.

"Of course she does not care for Rockley."

"Good heavens, my lord; no!"

"Nor for young Linnell?"

The MC hemmed twice before he spoke.

"I, too, will be frank with you, my lord," he said. "It was in dead opposition to my wishes, but I'm afraid there was something between my daughter and Mr Richard Linnell."

Lord Carboro' looked at the speaker searchingly.

"It was an unspoken attachment, my lord, nothing more; and since that terrible event at my house--I am obliged to name it," he said, with quivering lip--"whatever intimacy existed has been broken off."

"Humph! Sure, Denville?"

"I have my daughter's word, my lord. That duel set me thinking; and like another father, my lord, of whom we read, I bespoke her roundly."

"Oh! come, Denville, don't compare yourself to Polonius, man. He--he-- he!"

"Only to that extent, my lord. As I say, I spoke to her, and she assured me that there was nothing whatever between her and Mr Linnell, but gratitude towards a gentleman who saved her from insult."

"Denville, that Mellersh is his friend; he ought to have shown the boy how to shoot the scoundrel."

The MC was trembling with excitement. He was between hope and dread, for he could not but divine what was coming, and in spite of the glittering future it held up to his view he shrank from it with fear.

Volume Two, Chapter X.

AN ELDERLY SUITOR.

"Gratitude, eh?" said Lord Carboro' suddenly.

"Yes, my lord," said the MC, who was perspiring profusely.

"Deuced dangerous thing, Denville. Are you sure?"

"My lord, I have my child's word, and that is sacred."

"Hah!" ejaculated Lord Carboro', "you are right. Bless her! she is as sweet and true as she is beautiful. She stands alone here in her youthful dignity. Damme, Denville, I always look upon her as some beautiful Greek goddess, and I would have sooner gone to her funeral than seen that _roue_ Rockley win her. I would, damme."

"My lord, so would I," said Denville huskily.

"And you would sooner go to her funeral than see her my wife, eh?" said the old beau abruptly.

"My lord, I did not say so."

"Nor think it?"

Stuart Denville, MC of Saltinville, stood there out on the hazy Downs, trembling, obsequious, tossed by his emotions. It was so dazzling, this suggestion of an offer for his child's hand. May had married a rich man; but for Claire, his beautiful child, to become the wife of a wealthy nobleman--to become Countess of Carboro'! It was such an exaltation--greater than his highest dreams. But before him stood that withered old man, scanning him with his sharp eyes, and ready to probe him with his bitterly venomed tongue. He, to be the husband of his beautiful child. It was sacrilege.

"We agreed to be quite frank," said Lord Carboro' sharply.

Denville drew a long breath, and biting his lip, called up before his mental vision the sweet soft face of his child wearing a new horror as he bore her this news, and trampling down, as it were, the great temptation, he cast off his mincing ways, his servile politeness, and in a quick, firm voice exclaimed:

"Will your lordship commence and set me the example? What do you mean?"

"Come, I like that, Denville. Spoken like a man. Well, I'll be frank. I have long been thinking of your child, and watching her, and as I have watched her I have loved--no, that is absurd at my age--my liking for her has grown. I have put it off and it has come back, and I have put it off again as I have heard some bit of scandal, but she has always come out of it so spotless and well that I have grown more--well, infatuated."

He paused for a minute, and then went on speaking earnestly.

"Then came that horror at your house, just as I had made up my mind to speak to you; and I said no: it was impossible; but the feeling grew. Yes, man, even at my age."

Denville bowed, and drew himself up very stiffly.

"I waited, Denville, and was about to speak to you when this affair with Rockley and the duel took place, and I stopped at home and swore horribly; but the feeling still grew and grew, and as that has all passed away, I now ask you if you will give me your consent. I ask you as a gentleman, Denville, to address her and ask her if she will be my wife."

Denville did not answer, for a tremendous struggle was going on within his breast, and it was hard to say which side would win.

"Hah!" said Lord Carboro', speaking quickly; "you say I am very old. Granted. That I ought to think of my coffin instead of a wife. Granted. That I am an old fool; but there I join issue."

Denville had raised his hands deprecatingly.

"I am not an old fool, Denville."

"No, my lord, you are not."

"I'll tell you why. I have said to myself that if this beautiful young creature swore to be my faithful wife I could trust her. She would be a sweet companion for my declining years; and, God bless her! if she consented, I would repay her for the sacrifice. In a few years I should leave her young, rich, titled, and free to choose some more suitable companion than the old man she had tended to his grave."

There were no marks lying on the ground as those two elderly men stood face to face alone on the short turf of the Downs; but it seemed as if they must have dropped a tear.

Neither spoke for some minutes, and then it was the Master of the Ceremonies.

"My lord," he said firmly, "you have given me this commission for my son as a bribe."

"No, no, Denville, I swear I have not."

"Take it back, my lord, for what you ask is impossible."

"Impossible?"

"Fate has been very hard to me, my lord, and the burden has been too heavy at times to bear; but I cannot do this thing. I love my child too well."

They stood gazing out to sea for some minutes, and only the rushing of the wind was heard, or the wailing cry of the gulls, but at last Lord Carboro' spoke.

"Denville, I did not know you," he said gravely. "I thought I had to deal with a different man; but don't let us be hasty. As to the commission, it is your boy's, and may he deserve it. As to what we have said, let us wait. Don't refuse me absolutely, and don't say a word to Miss Denville. Give me leave to visit at your house, and let matters slide for a few months. Things may shape themselves so that you may change your mind; do you consent to this?"

"It would be like buoying your lordship up with false hopes."

"That is my look-out, sir; do you consent?"

"I am your lordship's obedient, humble servant."

"You are the man I offer to make my father-in-law? Answer me, sir, like a man."

"I consent."

"That's better. Denville, your hand. In future I shall know you as the man I have seen to-day. I never respected you one half so much before."

Volume Two, Chapter XI.

JAMES BELL'S DECISION.

It was in honour of Morton Denville's reception into the regiment that the Master of the Ceremonies received. There had been some difficulty in the matter, but on the very first night that the young man dined at the mess, when, urged by Major Rockley, his brother-officers had decided to send him to Coventry, it so happened that "a certain gentleman" was at Saltinville and had expressed his intention to Colonel Lascelles of looking in.

Consequently, it was decided not to transport the young subaltern to the Midlands that night; and as it happened His Royal Highness asked the Colonel who the tall youth was, ordered him to be introduced, and shook hands with the young man.

"Devilish gentlemanly fellow, your father, my lad. Always looks a gentleman, and carries a devilish good pinch of snuff. My compliments to him, and tell him I was glad to oblige Carboro'."

"They were all as civil to me as could be, after that, Clairy," said Morton, relating the meeting at home. "Even Rockley shook hands after dinner, when we'd had a lot of claret, and he apologised about being carried away, he called it, and said we were brother-officers now, and must be good friends. I don't like him, though."

Claire turned pale.

"I say, though, Clairy, I haven't said a word to the dad, but what am I to do? I turned cold and hot, and queer as could be yesterday. Whom do you think I met?"

Claire knew what was coming, but she did not speak.

"Fred. I'd half forgotten about him, and he's in my troop."

"Did--did Fred speak, Morton?"

"No; he cut me dead, and of course he is James Bell in the regimental books; but, I say, isn't it awkward? I can't know him, you see, as my brother: what shall I do?"

"Fred has shown you," said Claire huskily, as her troubles seemed to be on the increase. "I will try and persuade him to leave the regiment. We must buy him out."

"Yes, to be sure," cried the boy. "Oh, I say, what a clever old girl you are, Sis! Why, you're better than a mother."

Claire smiled sadly as he kissed her and left the house.

That night she wrote to Private James Bell about the difficulty--a long sisterly letter, offering to get the money to buy his discharge, and alluding to everything as tenderly as the subject would allow.

In due time a crisp short reply came back:

"Dear Claire,

"No, I shall not leave the regiment. I want to keep my eye on the Major. Tell Morton not to be afraid. I am only James Bell, and I shall never presume. I am too well disciplined for that. Take care of your dear self.

"Good-bye, F."

Claire wept over the letter, and hid it with her treasures. The difficulty seemed to have passed away, and she felt lighter at heart.

She had to prepare too for the evening that the Master of the Ceremonies had determined to give, not because he could afford it, but nominally, as intimated, in honour of his son's receiving a commission, more especially because Lord Carboro' had wished it, and said that he should come.

With such a visitor to give _eclat_ to the proceedings, the difficulty was how to arrange to issue invitations, for Denville, with throbbing breast, felt that no one would decline.

He was in a tremor for days, as he thought the matter over, and was swayed by his ambition and his true manhood, to and fro.

At times he raised his eyes to find that Claire was watching him, and her cold candid look made him shrink within himself, as he thought of the past, and he shivered in dread lest she should display that terrible repugnance again, instead of the sad, half despondent distance that had become her manner and her bearing towards him.

She never kissed him, but, when he took her hand, she suffered him to press his lips to her brow without flinching as she had at first, and he sighed and accepted his fate.

There had been times of late when the entanglement of his younger son's position in the regiment, with an elder brother a private in the ranks, had half driven him mad, keeping him awake night after night; and Claire had lain weeping despairingly as she had heard him pace his room, but the horrible difficulty he had been anticipating did not seem to come home, and he waited for the Nemesis that would some day arrive, hoping that he might be allowed time to complete his plans before the bolt fell.

He sat one morning, deciding with Claire to whom invitations were to be issued. Lady Drelincourt would come of course, as Lord Carboro' would be there, and several other notables had been invited.

"Then the officers of the regiment, of course."

Claire half rose and looked in her father's face.

"We must forget that, my child," he said imploringly. "Major Rockley is a gentleman, and he has in some sort apologised to Morton. He told me so. To leave him out would be to insult him. He must be asked. His good sense will keep him away. You must ask Colonel Mellersh, too. He is a great friend of Colonel Lascelles."

"You will ask Mr and Mrs Barclay, father?" said Claire.

"Oh, yes, we must. Dreadfully vulgar people, but it is a necessity."

Claire sighed as she thought of what was behind Mrs Barclay's vulgarity, and the note was written.

A couple of days passed, and everyone without exception had expressed his or her intention of being present, when, as he was on the Parade, Colonel Mellersh met the MC, and said:

"By the way, Denville, I want you to invite my young friend Linnell to your party."

"I shall be charmed," said Denville, with a smile, for he could not refuse; and in due course Richard Linnell received an invitation and replied.

A little farther on, Denville came upon Lady Drelincourt in her chair.

"Ah, Denville, bad man," she said, tapping him with her folded fan. "I feel as if I could not come to your house. My poor dear sister!"

The houses on the Parade seemed to reel before the MC's eyes.

"But one cannot grieve for ever. I shall come. Have you asked that wicked Rockley?"

Denville bowed.

"And Sir Matthew Bray?"

"All the officers whom duty will allow are coming."

"That's well; and now, Denville, you must send an imitation with apologies to Mrs Pontardent."

"Lady Drelincourt!"

"I can't help it. She wishes to come, and I have promised that she shall."

The result was that Mrs Pontardent was invited, and in turn she expressed a wish that her dear friends the Deans, whom Mr Denville had introduced to her, should not be left out.

The Master of the Ceremonies had the deciding who should be in society, and who should not; and here he was making a stand when Lord Carboro' came up--it was on the pier--and was appealed to by Mrs Pontardent.

"Oh, yes, Denville," he said good-humouredly; "ask Mrs and Miss Dean."

The Master of the Ceremonies ruled the roost, but he was everybody's slave; and, in this case, the only way out of the difficulty after they had been neglected so long was to call with Claire and invite them personally.

"If you wish it, papa," Claire said, when spoken to on the subject.

"I do not, my dear," he replied, with a sigh. "My position compels it."

They went trembling: Claire in agony lest she should encounter Richard Linnell; her father about the expenses into which he was drifting, for the tradespeople were giving him broad hints, especially the confectioner, that money must be forthcoming if the refreshments were to be supplied.

Cora Dean's eyes flashed with pride and jealousy as the visitors were shown in, but she received Claire courteously, and the wonderfully different pair were left together by the open window, while Mrs Dean drew the Master of the Ceremonies aside.

"I am pleased, Mr Denville," she whispered. "This is real good of you. I knew you would get us into society at last. Mrs Pontardent has been very kind, but she ain't everybody. I wanted my Bet--my Cora--to meet my Lady Drelincourt and the other big ones. After this, of course, it's all plain sailing, and we shall go on. I say, just look at 'em."

Denville turned with a sigh towards the bay window where Claire and Cora were seated, talking quietly, but with eyes that seemed to fight and fence, as if each feared the other.

"You go into a many houses and don't see such a pair as that."

"Your daughter is a beautiful woman, Mrs Dean."

"_Lady_," said the latter correctively; "and so's yours, only too cold and pale. And now, look here, Denville, as friends--I know what's what."

"Really, Mrs Dean, you puzzle me."

"Hush! Don't speak so loud. Look here, you've done me a thoroughly good turn, and I'm a warm woman, and not ungrateful. As I said before, I know what's what--Parties ain't done well for nothing, and expenses comes heavy sometimes. If you want to borrow thirty or forty pounds-- there, stuff! you must have your fees. I'm going to put half a dozen five-pound notes under the chany ornament in the back room. You can look round and admire the rooms and get it."

His spirit rebelled, but his breeches pocket gaped horribly, and wincing in spirit, he rose and went forward to talk to Cora in his society way, starting, in spite of himself, as he heard the chink of china on marble, while, after a time, he began in the most graceful way to gaze through his eyeglass at the pictures and china from Mr Barclay's ample store, ending by securing the notes in the most _nonchalant_ way.

After letting a sufficient time elapse, the Denvilles took their leave, and Mrs Dean broke out in ecstasy:

"There, Betsy, at last. You'll be a real lady now."

"Yes, mother," said Cora dreamily.

"I say, Denville isn't a bad one, only he has to be paid."

"It's the custom, mother."

"Oh, yes. You know what 'Amlet says, as your poor father used to make jokes about, and call breeches; but I say, isn't she a milk-and-water chit beside you, my gal? Didn't you feel as if you 'ated her?"

"No, mother," said Cora thoughtfully. "She's different to what I expected. I don't think she'll live."

"Don't talk like that. Now, let's see what about your noo dress."

"And yours, mother?"

"Of course. And feathers."

And as this conversation went on, Stuart Denville and his daughter Claire walked homeward, the latter with the gloom deepening, so it seemed, over her young life, the former with the six crisp notes riding lightly in his pocket, and the load of misery and shame growing heavier day by day.

Volume Two, Chapter XII.

IN SOCIETY.

It was a proud time for the MC, and he knew how it would be canvassed in Saltinville. All the principal people would have honoured his little home, and in the future he saw his fees and offerings doubled, and Claire well married--to Lord Carboro'. No, he could not say that, though the bait was glittering still before his eyes.

He was in the drawing-room waiting, with pretty May smiling out of her curls, hanging in her tawdry frame upon the wall; but Claire was not yet down.

If she would only forget that night and not avoid him as she did, how much less difficult this burden would be to bear.

He rang, and Isaac, in a new suit of livery, appeared.