The Master of the Ceremonies Part 88

"What! going in here?"

"Yes; will you come?"

"No," said Mellersh, giving him a curious look. "Expect a letter?

Tut-tut, man, don't eat me. You would not be the first man who made a post-office of Miss Clode's circulating library. What is it, then-- fiddle-strings?"

Linnell nodded.

"Go in, then; you can join me presently. I shall be on the pier. I say, d.i.c.k, the fair directress of this establishment ought to put up on her sign, 'Dealer in heart-strings and fiddle-strings.' There, good-bye for the present."

The Colonel went on, keeping a sharp look-out for Cora Dean's pony-carriage; but it did not meet his eyes; and Richard Linnell turned into the library, meeting Lady Drelincourt, who smiled and simpered as she pa.s.sed out, thrusting a book into her reticule.

Miss Clode was just disappearing into the inner room, leaving round-eyed Annie in charge; but as soon as that young lady caught sight of Linnell, she darted back to whisper loudly:

"Auntie, auntie: here's Mr Richard Linnell."

The latter saw no reason why little Miss Clode should flush and turn pale, and then look up at him in a wistful manner, almost with reproach in her eyes.

"Why, it's quite a month since I've seen you, Mr Linnell," she said, "and--and you look quite pale and thin."

"Do I, Miss Clode?" he said, smiling. "Ah, well, it's a healthy sign-- of robust health, you know. I want some--"

"But you don't look well, Mr Linnell," she said hastily. "Annie, my dear, take this book to Mrs Barclay's, and make haste back."

"Yes, auntie," said the girl, in an ill-used tone.

"And make haste," cried Miss Clode. "Will you excuse me a minute, Mr Linnell?"

"Oh, of course," said the young man listlessly. "Give me the case with the violin strings, and I'll select some."

Miss Clode did not appear as if she heard him, but went to the back of the shop to hurry her niece away, to that young lady's great disgust, for she wanted to stare at Richard, whom she greatly admired, and hear what was said. Consequently, he was left turning over the books for a few minutes before Miss Clode returned, and, to his surprise, stood gazing up at him wistfully.

"Well, Miss Clode," he said with forced gaiety, "suppose somebody were waiting for me to join in a sonata?"

"I--I beg your pardon," she cried, flus.h.i.+ng, and turning her back, she obtained the tin case that held the transparent rings, and placed it before him with a deep sigh.

"Not well, Miss Clode?" said Richard cheerfully.

To his astonishment she caught his hand in hers, and burst into tears.

"No, no, no," she cried, sobbing violently, "I am ill--heart-sick. Mr Linnell, please, pray come in, I want to speak to you."

"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 pa.s.sionately, 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 hus.h.!.+ 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 pa.s.s 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?"