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diff --git a/9879-8.txt b/9879-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ca5af73 --- /dev/null +++ b/9879-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,25890 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Amateur Gentleman, by Jeffery Farnol + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Amateur Gentleman + +Author: Jeffery Farnol + +Illustrator: Herman Pfeifer + +Posting Date: November 3, 2011 [EBook #9879] +Release Date: February, 2006 +First Posted: October 27, 2003 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE AMATEUR GENTLEMAN *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Robert Prince, and the +Project Gutenberg Online Distribulted Proofreading Team + + + + + + + + + + + +THE AMATEUR GENTLEMAN + +BY + +JEFFERY FARNOL + +AUTHOR OF "THE BROAD HIGHWAY" + +WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY + +HERMAN PFEIFER + + + + + + + +TO MY FATHER WHO HAS EVER CHOSEN THE "HARDER WAY," +WHICH IS A PATH THAT CAN BE TRODDEN ONLY BY THE FOOT OF A MAN + + + + +CONTENTS + + +CHAPTER + + I In which Barnabas Knocks Down his Father, though as Dutifully as + may be. + + II In which is Much Unpleasing Matter regarding Silk Purses, Sows' + Ears, Men, and Gentlemen. + + III How Barnabas Set Out for London Town. + + IV How Barnabas Fell In with a Pedler of Books, and Purchased a + "Priceless Wollum". + + V In which the Historian Sees Fit to Introduce a Lady of Quality; + and Further Narrates How Barnabas Tore a Wonderful Bottle-green + Coat. + + VI Of the Bewitchment of Black Eyelashes; and of a Fateful Lace + Handkerchief + + VII In which may be Found Divers Rules and Maxims for the Art of + Bowing. + + VIII Concerning the Captain's Arm, the Bo'sun's Leg, and the + "Belisarius," Seventy-four. + + IX Which Concerns Itself, among Other Matters, with the Virtues + of a Pair of Stocks and the Perversity of Fathers. + + X Which Describes a Peripatetic Conversation. + + XI In which Fists are Clenched; and of a Selfish Man, who was an + Apostle of Peace. + + XII Of the Stranger's Tale, which, being Short, may perhaps Meet + with the Reader's Kind Approbation. + + XIII In which Barnabas Makes a Confession. + + XIV Concerning the Buttons of One Milo of Crotona. + + XV In which the Patient Reader may Learn Something of the Gentleman + in the Jaunty Hat. + + XVI In which Barnabas Engages One without a Character. + + XVII In which Barnabas Parts Company with the Person of Quality. + + XVIII How Barnabas Came to Oakshott's Barn. + + XIX Which Tells How Barnabas Talks with my Lady Cleone for the + Second Time. + + XX Of the Prophecy of One Billy Button, a Madman. + + XXI In which Barnabas Undertakes a Mission. + + XXII In which the Reader is Introduced to an Ancient Finger-post. + + XXIII How Barnabas Saved his Life--because he was Afraid. + + XXIV Which Relates Something of the "White Lion" at Tenterden. + + XXV Of the Coachman's Story. + + XXVI Concerning the Duties of a Valet--and a Man. + + XXVII How Barnabas Bought an Unridable Horse--and Rode it. + + XXVIII Concerning, among Other Things, the Legs of a + Gentleman-in-powder. + + XXIX Which Describes Something of the Misfortunes of Ronald + Barrymaine. + + XXX In which Ronald Barrymaine Makes his Choice. + + XXXI Which Describes some of the Evils of Vindictiveness. + + XXXII Of Corporal Richard Roe, late of the Grenadiers; and Further + Concerning Mr. Shrig's Little Reader. + + XXXIII Concerning the Duty of Fathers; more Especially the + Viscount's "Roman". + + XXXIV Of the Luck of Captain Slingsby, of the Guards. + + XXXV How Barnabas Met Jasper Gaunt, and what Came of It. + + XXXVI Of an Ethical Discussion, which the Reader is Advised to Skip. + + XXXVII In which the Bo'sun Discourses on Love and its Symptoms. + +XXXVIII How Barnabas Climbed a Wall. + + XXXIX In which the Patient Reader is Introduced to an Almost Human + Duchess. + + XL Which Relates Sundry Happenings at the Garden Fête. + + XLI In which Barnabas Makes a Surprising Discovery, that may not + Surprise the Reader in the Least. + + XLII In which shall be Found Further Mention of a Finger-post. + + XLIII In which Barnabas Makes a Bet, and Receives a Warning. + + XLIV Of the Tribulations of the Legs of the Gentleman-in-powder. + + XLV How Barnabas Sought Counsel of the Duchess. + + XLVI Which Concerns Itself with Small Things in General, and a + Pebble in Particular. + + XLVII How Barnabas Found his Manhood. + + XLVIII In which "The Terror," Hitherto Known as "Four-Legs," + Justifies his New Name. + + XLIX Which, being Somewhat Important, is Consequently Short. + + L In which Ronald Barrymaine Speaks his Mind. + + LI Which Tells How and Why Mr. Shrig's Case was Spoiled. + + LII Of a Breakfast, a Roman Parent, and a Kiss. + + LIII In which shall be Found some Account of the Gentleman's + Steeplechase. + + LIV Which Concerns itself Chiefly with a Letter. + + LV Which Narrates Sundry Happenings at Oakshott's Barn. + + LVI Of the Gathering of the Shadows. + + LVII Being a Parenthetical Chapter on Doubt, which, though + Uninteresting, is very Short. + + LVIII How Viscount Devenham Found him a Viscountess. + + LIX Which Relates, among other Things, How Barnabas Lost his Hat. + + LX Which Tells of a Reconciliation. + + LXI How Barnabas Went to his Triumph. + + LXII Which Tells How Barnabas Triumphed in Spite of All. + + LXIII Which Tells How Barnabas Heard the Ticking of a Clock. + + LXIV Which Shows Something of the Horrors of Remorse. + + LXV Which Tells How Barnabas Discharged his Valet. + + LXVI Of Certain Con-clusions Drawn by Mr. Shrig. + + LXVII Which Gives some Account of the Worst Place in the World. + + LXVIII Concerning the Identity of Mr. Bimby's Guest. + + LXIX How Barnabas Led a Hue and Cry. + + LXX Which Tells How Barnabas Rode Another Race. + + LXXI Which Tells How Barnabas, in his Folly, Chose the Harder Course. + + LXXII How Ronald Barrymaine Squared his Account. + + LXXIII Which Recounts Three Awakenings. + + LXXIV How the Duchess Made up her Mind, and Barnabas Did the Like. + + LXXV Which Tells Why Barnabas Forgot his Breakfast. + + LXXVI How the Viscount Proposed a Toast. + + LXXVII How Barnabas Rode Homewards, and Took Counsel of a Pedler + of Books. + +LXXVIII Which Tells How Barnabas Came Home Again, and How he Awoke + for the Fourth Time. + + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + +Barnabas frowned, tore the letter across in sudden fury, and looked +up to find Cleone frowning also. + +"Man Jack, 't is proud you should be to lie there." + +"Oh, sir, I grieve to disappoint you," said she, and rose. + +"Let me pass, I warn you!" For a minute they fronted each other, eye +to eye. + +"But this is murder--positive murder!" cried Mr. Dalton. + +Sir Mortimer paused, and with a sudden gesture tore the rose from +his coat and tossed it away. + +"So you meant to buy me, sir, as you would a horse or dog?" + +All at once, Sir Mortimer was on his feet and had caught up a heavy +riding-whip. + +Barnabas espied a face amid the hurrying throng + + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +IN WHICH BABNABAS KNOCKS DOWN HIS FATHER, +THOUGH AS DUTIFULLY AS MAY BE + +John Barty, ex-champion of England and landlord of the "Coursing +Hound," sat screwed round in his chair with his eyes yet turned to +the door that had closed after the departing lawyer fully five +minutes ago, and his eyes were wide and blank, and his mouth (grim +and close-lipped as a rule) gaped, becoming aware of which, he +closed it with a snap, and passed a great knotted fist across his +brow. + +"Barnabas," said he slowly, "I beant asleep an' dreaming be I, +Barnabas?" + +"No, father!" + +"But--seven--'undred--thousand--pound. It were seven--'undred +thousand pound, weren't it, Barnabas?" + +"Yes, father!" + +"Seven--'undred--thou--! No! I can't believe it, Barnabas my bye." + +"Neither can I, father," said Barnabas, still staring down at the +papers which littered the table before him. + +"Nor I aren't a-going to try to believe it, Barnabas." + +"And yet--here it is, all written down in black and white, and you +heard what Mr. Crabtree said?" + +"Ah,--I heered, but arter all Crabtree's only a lawyer--though +a good un as lawyers go, always been honest an' square wi' +me--leastways I 've never caught him trying to bamboozle John Barty +yet--an' what the eye don't ob-serve the heart don't grieve, +Barnabas my bye, an' there y'are. But seven 'undred thousand pound +is coming it a bit too strong--if he'd ha' knocked off a few 'undred +thousand I could ha' took it easier Barnabas, but, as it is--no, +Barnabas!" + +"It's a great fortune!" said Barnabas in the same repressed tone and +with his eyes still intent. + +"Fortun'," repeated the father, "fortun'--it's fetched me one in the +ribs--low, Barnabas, low!--it's took my wind an' I'm a-hanging on to +the ropes, lad. Why, Lord love me! I never thought as your uncle Tom +'ad it in him to keep hisself from starving, let alone make a fortun'! +My scapegrace brother Tom--poor Tom as sailed away in a emigrant +ship (which is a un-common bad kind of a ship to sail in--so I've +heered, Barnabas) an' now, to think as he went an' made all that +fortun'--away off in Jamaiky--out o' vegetables." + +"And lucky speculation, father--!" + +"Now, Barnabas," exclaimed his father, beginning to rasp his fingers +to and fro across his great, square, shaven chin, "why argufy? Your +uncle Tom was a planter--very well! Why is a man a planter--because +he plants things, an' what should a man plant but vegetables? So +Barnabas, vegetables I says, an' vegetables I abide by, now an' +hereafter. Seven 'undred thousand pound all made in Jamaiky--out o' +vegetables--an' there y' are!" + +Here John Barty paused and sat with his chin 'twixt finger and thumb +in expectation of his son's rejoinder, but finding him silent, he +presently continued: + +"Now what astonishes an' fetches me a leveller as fair doubles me up +is--why should my brother Tom leave all this money to a young hop o' +me thumb like you, Barnabas? you, as he never see but once and you +then a infant (and large for your age) in your blessed mother's arms, +Barnabas, a-kicking an' a-squaring away wi' your little pink fists +as proper as ever I seen inside the Ring or out. Ah, Barnabas!" +sighed his father shaking his head at him, "you was a promising +infant, likewise a promising bye; me an' Natty Bell had great hopes +of ye, Barnabas; if you'd been governed by me and Natty Bell you +might ha' done us all proud in the Prize Ring. You was cut out for +the 'Fancy.' Why, Lord! you might even ha' come to be Champion o' +England in time--you 're the very spit o' what I was when I beat +the Fighting Quaker at Dartford thirty years ago." + +"But you see, father--" + +"That was why me an' Natty Bell took you in hand--learned you all +we knowed o' the game--an' there aren't a fighting man in all +England as knows so much about the Noble Art as me an' Natty Bell." + +"But father--" + +"If you 'd only followed your nat'ral gifts, Barnabas, I say you +might ha' been Champion of England to-day, wi' Markisses an' Lords +an' Earls proud to shake your hand--if you'd only been ruled by +Natty Bell an' me, I'm disappointed in ye, Barnabas--an' so's Natty +Bell." + +"I'm sorry, father--but as I told you--" + +"Still Barnabas, what ain't to be, ain't--an' what is, is. Some is +born wi' a nat'ral love o' the 'Fancy' an' gift for the game, like +me an' Natty Bell--an' some wi' a love for reading out o' books an' +a-cyphering into books--like you: though a reader an' a writer +generally has a hard time on it an' dies poor--which, arter all, is +only nat'ral--an' there y' are!" + +Here John Barty paused to take up the tankard of ale at his elbow, +and pursed up his lips to blow off the foam, but in that moment, +observing his son about to speak, he immediately set down the ale +untasted and continued: + +"Not as I quarrels wi' your reading and writing, Barnabas, no, and +because why? Because reading and writing is apt to be useful now an' +then, and because it were a promise--as I made--to--your mother. +When--your mother were alive, Barnabas, she used to keep all my +accounts for me. She likewise larned me to spell my own name wi' a +capital G for John, an' a capital B for Barty, an' when she died, +Barnabas (being a infant, you don't remember), but when she died, lad! +I was that lost--that broke an' helpless, that all the fight were +took out o' me, and it's a wonder I didn't throw up the sponge +altogether. Ah! an' it's likely I should ha' done but for Natty Bell." + +"Yes, father--" + +"No man ever 'ad a better friend than Natty Bell--Ah! yes, though I +did beat him out o' the Championship which come very nigh breaking +his heart at the time, Barnabas; but--as I says to him that day as +they carried him out of the ring--it was arter the ninety-seventh +round, d' ye see, Barnabas--'what is to be, is, Natty Bell,' I says, +'an' what ain't, ain't. It were ordained,' I says, 'as I should be +Champion o' England,' I says--'an' as you an' me should be +friends--now an' hereafter,' I says--an' right good friends we have +been, as you know, Barnabas." + +"Indeed, yes, father," said Barnabas, with another vain attempt to +stem his father's volubility. + +"But your mother, Barnabas, your mother, God rest her sweet +soul!--your mother weren't like me--no nor Natty Bell--she were +away up over me an' the likes o' me--a wonderful scholard she were, +an'--when she died, Barnabas--" here the ex-champion's voice grew +uncertain and his steady gaze wavered--sought the sanded floor--the +raftered ceiling--wandered down the wall and eventually fixed upon +the bell-mouthed blunderbuss that hung above the mantel, "when she +died," he continued, "she made me promise as you should be taught to +read an' cypher--an' taught I've had you according--for a promise is +a promise, Barnabas--an' there y' are." + +"For which I can never be sufficiently grateful, both to her--and to +you!" said Barnabas, who sat with his chin propped upon his hand, +gazing through the open lattice to where the broad white road wound +away betwixt blooming hedges, growing ever narrower till it vanished +over the brow of a distant hill. "Not as I holds wi' eddication +myself, Barnabas, as you know," pursued his father, "but that's why +you was sent to school, that's why me an' Natty Bell sat by quiet +an' watched ye at your books. Sometimes when I've seen you +a-stooping your back over your reading, or cramping your fist +round a pen, Barnabas, why--I've took it hard, Barnabas, hard, +I'll not deny--But Natty Bell has minded me as it was her wish and +so--why--there y' are." + +It was seldom his father mentioned to Barnabas the mother whose face +he had never seen, upon which rare occasions John Barty's deep voice +was wont to take on a hoarser note, and his blue eyes, that were +usually so steady, would go wandering off until they fixed themselves +on some remote object. Thus he sat now, leaning back in his elbow +chair, gazing in rapt attention at the bell-mouthed blunderbuss +above the mantel, while his son, chin on fist, stared always and +ever to where the road dipped, and vanished over the hill--leading +on and on to London, and the great world beyond. + +"She died, Barnabas--just twenty-one years ago--buried at Maidstone +where you were born. Twenty-one years is a longish time, lad, but +memory's longer, an' deeper,--an' stronger than time, arter all, an' +I know that her memory will go wi' me--all along the way--d' ye see +lad: and so Barnabas," said John Barty lowering his gaze to his +son's face, "so Barnabas, there y' are." + +"Yes, father!" nodded Barnabas, still intent upon the road. + +"And now I come to your uncle Tom--an' speaking of him--Barnabas my +lad,--what are ye going to do wi' all this money?" + +Barnabas turned from the window and met his father's eye. + +"Do with it," he began, "why first of all--" + +"Because," pursued his father, "we might buy the 'White Hart'--t' other +side o' Sevenoaks,--to be sure you're over young to have any say in +the matter--still arter all the money's yours, Barnabas--what d' ye +say to the 'White Hart'?" + +"A very good house!" nodded Barnabas, stealing a glance at the road +again--"but--" + +"To be sure there's the 'Running Horse,'" said his father, "just +beyond Purley on the Brighton Road--a coaching-house, wi' plenty o' +custom, what d' ye think o' the 'Running Horse'?" + +"Any one you choose, father, but--" + +"Then there's the 'Sun in the Sands' on Shooter's Hill--a fine inn +an' not to be sneezed at, Barnabas--we might take that." + +"Just as you wish, father, only--" + +"Though I've often thought the 'Greyhound' at Croydon would be a +comfortable house to own." + +"Buy whichever you choose, father, it will be all one to me!" + +"Good lad!" nodded John, "you can leave it all to Natty Bell an' me." + +"Yes," said Barnabas, rising and fronting his father across the table, +"you see I intend to go away, sir." + +"Eh?" exclaimed his father, staring--"go away--where to?" + +"To London!" + +"London? and what should you want in London--a slip of a lad like you?" + +"I'm turned twenty-two, father!" + +"And what should a slip of a lad of twenty-two want in London? You +leave London alone, Barnabas. London indeed! what should you want +wi' London?" + +"Learn to be a gentleman." + +"A--what?" As he spoke, John Barty rose up out of his chair, his +eyes wide, his mouth agape with utter astonishment. As he +encountered his son's look, however, his expression slowly changed +from amazement to contempt, from contempt to growing ridicule, and +from ridicule to black anger. John Barty was a very tall man, broad +and massive, but, even so, he had to look up to Barnabas as they +faced each other across the table. And as they stood thus eye to eye, +the resemblance between them was marked. Each possessed the same +indomitable jaw, the same square brow and compelling eyes, the same +grim prominence of chin; but there all likeness ended. In Barnabas +the high carriage of the head, the soft brilliancy of the full, +well-opened gray eye, the curve of the sensitive nostrils, the sweet +set of the firm, shapely mouth--all were the heritage of that mother +who was to him but a vague memory. But now while John Barty frowned +upon his son, Barnabas frowned back at his father, and the added +grimness of his chin offset the sweetness of the mouth above. + +"Barnabas," said his father at last, "did you say a--gentleman, +Barnabas?" + +"Yes." + +"What--you?" Here John Barty's frown vanished suddenly and, +expanding his great chest, he threw back his head and roared with +laughter. Barnabas clenched his fists, and his mouth lost something +of its sweetness, and his eyes glinted through their curving lashes, +while his father laughed and laughed till the place rang again, +which of itself stung Barnabas sharper than any blow could have done. + +But now having had his laugh out, John Barty frowned again blacker +than ever, and resting his two hands upon the table, leaned towards +Barnabas with his great, square chin jutted forward, and his +deep-set eyes narrowed to shining slits--the "fighting face" that had +daunted many a man ere now. + +"So you want to be a gentleman--hey?" + +"Yes." + +"You aren't crazed in your 'ead, are ye, Barnabas?" + +"Not that I know of, father." + +"This here fortun' then--it's been an' turned your brain, that's +what it is." + +Barnabas smiled and shook his head. + +"Listen, father," said he, "it has always been the dream and +ambition of my life to better my condition, to strive for a higher +place in the world--to be a gentleman. This was why I refused to +become a pugilist, as you and Natty Bell desired, this was why I +worked and studied--ah! a great deal harder than you ever +guessed--though up till to-day I hardly dared hope my dream would +ever be realized--but now--" + +"Now you want to go to London and be a gentleman--hey?" + +"Yes." + +"Which all comes along o' your reading o' fool book! Why, Lord! you +can no more become a gentleman than I can or the--blunderbuss yonder. +And because why? Because a gentleman must be a gentleman born, and +his father afore him, and _his_ father afore him. You, Barnabas, you +was born the son of a Champion of England, an' that should be enough +for most lads; but your head's chock full o' fool's notions an' +crazy fancies, an' as your lawful father it's my bounden duty to get +'em out again, Barnabas my lad." So saying, John Barty proceeded to +take off his coat and belcher neckerchief, and rolled his shirt +sleeves over his mighty forearms, motioning Barnabas to do the like. + +"A father's duty be a very solemn thing, Barnabas," he continued +slowly, "an' your 'ead being (as I say) full o' wild idees, I'm +going to try to punch 'em out again as a well-meaning father should, +so help me back wi' the table out o' the road, an' off wi' your coat +and neckercher." + +Well knowing the utter futility of argument with his father at such +a time, Barnabas obediently helped to set back the table, thus +leaving the floor clear, which done, he, in turn, stripped off coat +and neckcloth, and rolled up his sleeves, while his father watched +him with sharply appraising eye. + +"You peel well, Barnabas," he nodded. "You peel like a fighting man, +you've a tidy arm an' a goodish spread o' shoulder, likewise your +legs is clean an' straight, but your skin's womanish, Barnabas, +womanish, an' your muscles soft wi' books. So, lad!--are ye ready? +Then come on." + +Thus, without more ado they faced each other foot to foot, +bare-armed and alert of eye. For a moment they sparred watchfully, +then John Barty feinted Barnabas into an opening, in that same +moment his fist shot out and Barnabas measured his length on the +floor. + +"Ah--I knowed as much!" John sighed mournfully as he aided Barnabas +to his feet, "and 't were only a love-tap, so to speak,--this is +what comes o' your book reading." + +"Try me again," said Barnabas. + +"It'll be harder next time!" said his father. + +"As hard as you like!" nodded Barnabas. + +Once more came the light tread of quick-moving feet, once more John +Barty feinted cunningly--once more his fist shot out, but this time +it missed its mark, for, ducking the blow, Barnabas smacked home two +lightning blows on his father's ribs and danced away again light and +buoyant as a cork. + +"Stand up an' fight, lad!" growled his father, "plant your feet +square--never go hopping about on your toe-points like a French +dancing-master." + +"Why as to that, father, Natty Bell, as you know, holds that it is +the quicker method," here Barnabas smote his father twice upon the +ribs, "and indeed I think it is," said he, deftly eluding the +ex-champion's return. + +"Quicker, hey?" sneered his father, and with the words came his +fist--to whizz harmlessly past Barnabas's ear--"we'll prove that." + +"Haven't we had almost enough?" inquired Barnabas, dropping his fists. + +"Enough? why we aren't begun yet, lad." + +"Then how long are we to go on?" + +"How long?" repeated John, frowning; "why--that depends on you, +Barnabas." + +"How on me, father?" + +"Are ye still minded to go to London?" + +"Of course." + +"Then we'll go on till you think better of it--or till you knock me +down, Barnabas my lad." + +"Why then, father, the sooner I knock you down the better!" + +"What?" exclaimed John Barty, staring, "d' ye mean to say--you think +you can?--me?--you?" + +"Yes," nodded Barnabas. + +"My poor lad!" sighed his father, "your head's fair crazed, sure as +sure, but if you think you can knock John Barty off his pins, do it, +and there y' are." + +"I will," said Barnabas, "though as gently as possible." + +And now they fell to it in silence, a grim silence broken only by +the quick tread and shuffle of feet and the muffled thud of blows. +John Barty, resolute of jaw, indomitable and calm of eye, as in the +days when champions had gone down before the might of his fist; +Barnabas, taller, slighter, but full of the supreme confidence of +youth. Moreover, he had not been the daily pupil of two such past +masters in the art for nothing; and now he brought to bear all his +father's craft and cunning, backed up by the lightning precision of +Natty Bell. In all his many hard-fought battles John Barty had ever +been accounted most dangerous when he smiled, and he was smiling now. +Twice Barnabas staggered back to the wall, and there was an ugly +smear upon his cheek, yet as they struck and parried, and feinted, +Barnabas, this quick-eyed, swift-footed Barnabas, was smiling also. +Thus, while they smiled upon and smote each other, the likeness +between them was more apparent than ever, only the smile of Barnabas +was the smile of youth, joyous, exuberant, unconquerable. Noting +which Experienced Age laughed short and fierce, and strode in to +strike Youth down--then came a rush of feet, the panting hiss of +breath, the shock of vicious blows, and John Barty, the unbeaten +ex-champion of all England, threw up his arms, staggered back the +length of the room, and went down with a crash. + +For a moment Barnabas stood wide-eyed, panting, then ran towards him +with hands outstretched, but in that moment the door was flung open, +and Natty Bell stood between them, one hand upon the laboring breast +of Barnabas, the other stretched down to the fallen ex-champion. + +"Man Jack," he exclaimed, in his strangely melodious voice. +"Oh, John!--John Barty, you as ever was the king o' the milling coves, +here's my hand, shake it. Lord, John, what a master o' the Game +we've made of our lad. He's stronger than you and quicker than ever +I was. Man Jack, 'twas as sweet, as neat, as pretty a knockdown as +ever we gave in our best days, John. Man Jack, 'tis proud you should +be to lie there and know as you have a son as can stop even _your_ +rush wi' his left an' down you wi' his right as neat and proper, John, +as clean an' delicate as ever man saw. Man Jack, God bless him, and +here's my hand, John." + +So, sitting there upon the floor, John Barty solemnly shook the hand +Natty Bell held out to him, which done, he turned and looked at his +son as though he had never seen him before. + +"Why, Barnabas!" said he; then, for all his weight, sprang nimbly to +his feet and coming to the mantel took thence his pipe and began to +fill it, staring at Barnabas the while. + +"Father," said Barnabas, advancing with hand outstretched, though +rather diffidently--"Father!" + +John Barty pursed up his lips into a soundless whistle and went on +filling his pipe. + +"Father," said Barnabas again, "I did it--as gently--as I could." +The pipe shivered to fragments on the hearth, and Barnabas felt his +fingers caught in his father's mighty grip. + +"Why, Barnabas, lad, I be all mazed like; there aren't many men as +have knocked me off my pins, an' I aren't used to it, Barnabas, lad, +but 't was a clean blow, as Natty Bell says, and why--I be proud of +thee, Barnabas, an'--there y' are." + +"Spoke like true fighting men!" said Natty Bell, standing with a +hand on the shoulder of each, "and, John, we shall see this lad, +this Barnabas of ours, Champion of England yet." John frowned and +shook his head. + +"No," said he, "Barnabas'll never be Champion, Natty Bell--there +aren't a fighting man in the Ring to-day as could stand up to him, +but he'll never be Champion, an' you can lay to that, Natty Bell. +And if you ask me why," said he, turning to select another pipe from +the sheaf in the mantel-shelf, "I should tell you because he prefers +to go to London an' try to turn himself into a gentleman." + +"London," exclaimed Natty Bell, "a gentleman--our Barnabas--what?" + +"Bide an' listen, Natty Bell," said the ex-champion, beginning to +fill his new pipe. + +"I'm listening, John." + +"Well then, you must know, then, his uncle, my scapegrace brother +Tom--you'll mind Tom as sailed away in a emigrant ship--well, Natty +Bell, Tom has took an' died an' left a fortun' to our lad here." + +"A fortun', John!--how much?" + +"Seven--'undred--thousand--pound," said John, with a ponderous nod +after each word, "seven--'undred--thousand--pound, Natty Bell, and +there y' are." + +Natty Bell opened his mouth, shut it, thrust his hands down into his +pockets and brought out a short clay pipe. + +"Man Jack," said he, beginning to fill the pipe, yet with gaze +abstracted, "did I hear you say aught about a--gentleman?" + +"Natty Bell, you did; our lad's took the idee into his nob to be a +gentleman, an' I were trying to knock it out again, but as it is. +Natty Bell, I fear me," and John Barty shook his handsome head and +sighed ponderously. + +"Why then, John, let's sit down, all three of us, and talk this +matter over." + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +IN WHICH IS MUCH UNPLEASING MATTER REGARDING SILK PURSES, +SOWS' EARS, MEN, AND GENTLEMEN + +A slender man was Natty Bell, yet bigger than he looked, and +prodigiously long in the reach, with a pair of very quick, bright +eyes, and a wide, good-humored mouth ever ready to curve into a smile. +But he was solemn enough now, and there was trouble in his eyes as +he looked from John to Barnabas, who sat between them, his chair +drawn up to the hearth, gazing down into the empty fireplace. + +"An' you tell me, John," said he, as soon as his pipe was well +alight,--"you tell me that our Barnabas has took it into his head +to set up as a gentleman, do you?" + +"Ah!" nodded John. Whereupon Natty Bell crossed his legs and leaning +back in his chair fell a-singing to himself in his sweet voice, as +was his custom when at all inclined to deep thought: + + + "A true Briton from Bristol, a rum one to fib, + He's Champion of England, his name is Tom Cribb;" + + +"Ah! and you likewise tell me as our Barnabas has come into a fortun'." + +"Seven--'undred--thousand--pound." + +"Hum!" said Natty Bell,--"quite a tidy sum, John." + + "Come list, all ye fighting gills + And coves of boxing note, sirs, + While I relate some bloody mills + In our time have been fought, sirs." + +"Yes, a good deal can be done wi' such a sum as that, John." + +"But it can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear, Natty Bell,--nor +yet a gentlemen out o' you or me--or Barnabas here." + +"For instance," continued Natty Bell, "for instance, John: + + "Since boxing is a manly game, + And Britain's recreation, + By boxing we will raise our fame + 'Bove every other nation." + +"As I say, John, a young and promising life can be wrecked, and +utterly blasted by a much less sum than seven hundred thousand pound." + +"Ah!" nodded John, "but a sow's ear aren't a silk purse, Natty Bell, +no, nor never can be." + +"True, John; but, arter all, a silk purse ain't much good if 't is +empty--it's the gold inside of it as counts." + +"But a silk purse is ever and always a silk purse--empty or no, +Natty Bell." + +"An' a man is always a man, John, which a gentleman often ain't." + +"But surely," said Barnabas, speaking for the first time, +"a gentleman is both." + +"No--not nohow, my lad!" exclaimed John, beginning to rasp at his +chin again. "A man is ever and allus a man--like me and you, an' +Natty Bell, an' a gentleman's a gentleman like--Sir George +Annersley--up at the great house yonder." + +"But--" began Barnabas. + +"Now, Barnabas"--remonstrated his father, rasping his chin harder +than ever--"wherefore argufy--if you do go for to argufy--" + +"We come back to the silk purses and the sows' ears," added Natty Bell. + +"And I believe," said Barnabas, frowning down at the empty hearth, +"I'm sure, that gentility rests not so much on birth as upon +hereditary instinct." + +"Hey?" said his father, glancing at him from the corners of his +eyes--"go easy, Barnabas, my lad--give it time--on what did 'ee say?" + +"On instinct, father." + +"Instinct!" repeated John Barty, puffing out a vast cloud of smoke-- +"instinct does all right for 'osses, Barnabas, dogs likewise; but +what's nat'ral to 'osses an' dogs aren't nowise nat'ral to us! No, +you can't come instinct over human beings,--not nohowsoever, Barnabas, +my lad. And, as I told you afore, a gentleman is nat'rally born a +gentleman an' his feyther afore him an' his grand-feyther afore him, +back an' back--" + +"To Adam?" inquired Barnabas; "now, if so, the question is--was Adam +a gentleman?" + +"Lord, Barnabas!" exclaimed John Barty, with a reproachful look-- +"why drag in Adam? You leave poor old Adam alone, my lad. Adam indeed! +What's Adam got to do wi' it?" + +"Everything, we being all his descendants,--at least the Bible says +so.--Lords and Commons, Peers and Peasants--all are children of Adam; +so come now, father, was Adam a gentleman, Yes or No?" + +John Barty frowned up at the ceiling, frowned down at the floor, and +finally spoke: + +"What do you say to that, Natty Bell?" + +"Why, I should say, John--hum!" + + "Pray haven't you heard of a jolly young coal-heaver, + Who down at Hungerford used for to ply, + His daddles he used with such skill and dexterity + Winning each mill, sir, and blacking each eye." + +"Ha!--I should say, John, that Adam being in the habit o' going +about--well, as you might put it--in a free and easy, airy manner, +fig leaves an' suchlike, John,--I should say as he didn't have no +call to be a gentleman, seeing as there weren't any tailors." + +"Tailors!" exclaimed John, staring. "Lord! and what have tailors got +to do wi' it, Natty Bell?" + +"A great deal more than you 'd think, John; everything, John, seeing +'t was tailors as invented gentlemen as a matter o' trade, John. So, +if Barnabas wants to have a try at being one--he must first of all +go dressed in the fashion." + +"That is very true," said Barnabas, nodding. + +"Though," pursued Natty Bell, "if you were the best dressed, the +handsomest, the strongest, the bravest, the cleverest, the most +honorable man in the world--that wouldn't make you a gentleman. I +tell you, Barnabas, if you went among 'em and tried to be one of +'em,--they'd find you out some day an' turn their gentlemanly backs +on you." + +"Ah," nodded John, "and serve you right, lad,--because if you should +try to turn yourself into a gentleman, why, Lord, Barnabas!--you'd +only be a sort of a amitoor arter all, lad." + +"Then," said Barnabas, rising up from his chair and crossing with +resolute foot to the door, "then, just so soon as this law business +is settled and the money mine, an Amateur Gentleman I'll be." + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +HOW BARNABAS SET OUT FOR LONDON TOWN + +It was upon a certain glorious morning, some three weeks later, that +Barnabas fared forth into the world; a morning full of the thousand +scents of herb and flower and ripening fruits; a morning glad with +the song of birds. And because it was still very early, the dew yet +lay heavy, it twinkled in the grass, it sparkled in the hedges, and +gemmed every leaf and twig with a flaming pendant. And amidst it all, +fresh like the morning and young like the sun, came Barnabas, who, +closing the door of the "Coursing Hound" behind him, leapt lightly +down the stone steps and, turning his back upon the ancient inn, set +off towards that hill, beyond which lay London and the Future. +Yet--being gone but a very little way--he halted suddenly and came +striding back again. And standing thus before the inn he let his +eyes wander over its massive crossbeams, its leaning gables, its +rows of gleaming lattices, and so up to the great sign swinging +above the door--an ancient sign whereon a weather-beaten hound, +dim-legged and faded of tail, pursued a misty blur that, by common +report, was held to be a hare. But it was to a certain casement that +his gaze oftenest reverted, behind whose open lattice he knew his +father lay asleep, and his eyes, all at once, grew suffused with a +glittering brightness that was not of the morning, and he took a +step forward, half minded to clasp his father's hand once more ere +he set out to meet those marvels and wonders that lay waiting for +him over the hills--London-wards. Now, as he stood hesitating, he +heard a voice that called his name softly, and, glancing round and up, +espied Natty Bell, bare of neck and touzled of head, who leaned far +out from the casement of his bedchamber above. + +"Ah, Barnabas, lad!" said he with a nod--"So you're going to leave us, +then?" + +"Yes!" said Barnabas. + +"And all dressed in your new clothes as fine as ever was!--stand +back a bit and let me have a look at you." + +"How are they, Natty Bell?" inquired Barnabas with a note of anxiety +in his voice--"the Tenderden tailor assured me they were of the very +latest cut and fashion--what do you think, Natty Bell?" + +"Hum!" said the ex-pugilist, staring down at Barnabas, chin in hand. +"Ha! they're very good clothes, Barnabas, yes indeed; just the very +thing--for the country." + +"The country!--I had these made for London, Natty Bell." + +"For London, Barnabas--hum!" + +"What do you mean by 'hum,' Natty Bell?" + +"Why--look ye now--'t is a good sensible coat, I'll not deny, +Barnabas; likewise the breeches is serviceable--but being only a +coat and breeches, why--they ain't per-lite enough. For in the world +of London, the per-lite world, Barnabas, clothes ain't garments to +keep a man warm--they're works of art; in the country a man puts 'em +on, and forgets all about 'em--in the per-lite world he has 'em put +on for him, and remembers 'em. In the country a man wears his clothes, +in the per-lite world his clothes wears him, ah! and they're often +the perlitest thing about him, too!" + +"I suppose," sighed Barnabas, "a man's clothes are very +important--in the fashionable world?" + +"Important! They are the most importantest part o' the fashionable +world, lad. Now there's Mr. Brummell--him as they call the +'Beau'--well, he ain't exactly a Lord Nelson nor yet a Champion of +England, he ain't never done nothing, good, bad, or indifferent--but +he does know how to wear his clothes--consequently he's a very +famous gentleman indeed--in the per-lite world, Barnabas." Here +there fell a silence while Barnabas stared up at the inn and Natty +Bell stared down at him. "To be sure, the old 'Hound' ain't much of +a place, lad--not the kind of inn as a gentleman of quality would go +out of his way to seek and search for, p'r'aps--but there be worse +places in London, Barnabas, I was born there and I know. There, there! +dear lad, never hang your head--youth must have its dreams I've heard; +so go your ways, Barnabas. You're a master wi' your fists, thanks to +John an' me--and you might have been Champion of England if you +hadn't set your heart on being only a gentleman. Well, well, lad! +don't forget as there are two old cocks o' the Game down here in Kent +as will think o' you and talk o' you, Barnabas, and what you might +have been if you hadn't happened to--Ah well, let be. But +wherever you go and whatever you come to be--you're our lad +still, and so, Barnabas, take this, wear it in memory of old +Natty Bell--steady--catch!" And, with the word, he tossed +down his great silver watch. + +"Why, Natty Bell!" exclaimed Barnabas, very hoarse of voice. +"Dear old Natty--I can't take this!" + +"Ah, but you can--it was presented to me twenty and one years ago, +Barnabas, the time I beat the Ruffian on Bexley Heath." + +"But I can't--I couldn't take it," said Barnabas again, looking down +at the broad-faced, ponderous timepiece in his hand, which he knew +had long been Natty Bell's most cherished possession. + +"Ay, but you can, lad--you must--'t is all I have to offer, and it +may serve to mind you of me, now and then, so take it! take it! And, +Barnabas, when you're tired o' being a fine gentleman up there in +London, why--come back to us here at the old 'Hound' and be content +to be just--a man. Good-by, lad; good-by!" saying which, Natty Bell +nodded, drew in his head and vanished, leaving Barnabas to stare up +at the closed lattice, with the ponderous timepiece ticking in his +hand. + +So, in a while, Barnabas slipped it into his pocket and, turning his +back upon the "Coursing Hound," began to climb that hill beyond +which lay the London of his dreams. Therefore as he went he kept his +eyes lifted up to the summit of the hill, and his step grew light, +his eye brightened, for Adventure lay in wait for him; Life beckoned +to him from the distance; there was magic in the air. Thus Barnabas +strode on up the hill full of expectancy and the blind confidence in +destiny which is the glory of youth. + +Oh, Spirit of Youth, to whose fearless eyes all things are matters +to wonder at; oh, brave, strong Spirit of Youth, to whom dangers are +but trifles to smile at, and death itself but an adventure; to thee, +since failure is unknown, all things are possible, and thou mayest, +peradventure, make the world thy football, juggle with the stars, +and even become a Fine Gentleman despite thy country homespun--and +yet-- + +But as for young Barnabas, striding blithely upon his way, he might +verily have been the Spirit of Youth itself--head high, eyes a-dance, +his heart light as his step, his gaze ever upon the distance ahead, +for he was upon the road at last, and every step carried him nearer +the fulfilment of his dream. + +"At Tonbridge he would take the coach," he thought, or perhaps hire +a chaise and ride to London like a gentleman. A gentleman! and here +he was whistling away like any ploughboy. Happily the road was +deserted at this early hour, but Barnabas shook his head at himself +reproachfully, and whistled no more--for a time. + +But now, having reached the summit of the hill, he paused and turned +to look back. Below him lay the old inn, blinking in its many +casements in the level rays of the newly risen sun; and now, all at +once, as he gazed down at it from this eminence, it seemed, somehow, +to have shrunk, to have grown more weather-beaten and worn--truly +never had it looked so small and mean as it did at this moment. +Indeed, he had been wont to regard the "Coursing Hound" as the very +embodiment of what an English inn should be--but now! Barnabas +sighed--which was a new thing for him. "Was the change really in the +old inn, or in himself?" he wondered. Hereupon he sighed again, and +turning, went on down the hill. But now, as he went, his step lagged +and his head drooped. "Was the change in the inn, or could it be +that money can so quickly alter one?" he wondered. And straightway +the coins in his pocket chinked and jingled "yes, yes!" wherefore +Barnabas sighed for the third time, and his head drooped lower yet. + +Well then, since he was rich, he would buy his father a better +inn--the best in all England. A better inn! and the "Coursing Hound" +had been his home as long as he could remember. A better inn! Here +Barnabas sighed for the fourth time, and his step was heavier than +ever as he went on down the hill. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +HOW BARNABAS FELL IN WITH A PEDLER OF BOOKS, AND PURCHASED A +"PRICELESS WOLLUM" + +"Heads up, young master, never say die! and wi' the larks and the +throstles a-singing away so inspiring too--Lord love me!" + +Barnabas started guiltily, and turning with upflung head, perceived +a very small man perched on an adjacent milestone, with a very large +pack at his feet, a very large hunk of bread and cheese in his hand, +and with a book open upon his knee. + +"Listen to that theer lark," said the man, pointing upwards with the +knife he held. + +"Well?" said Barnabas, a trifle haughtily perhaps. + +"There's music for ye; there's j'y. I never hear a lark but it takes +me back to London--to Lime'us, to Giles's Rents, down by the River." + +"Pray, why?" inquired Barnabas, still a trifle haughtily. + +"Because it's so different; there ain't much j'y, no, nor yet music +in Giles's Rents, down by the River." + +"Rather an unpleasant place!" said Barnabas. + +"Unpleasant, young sir. I should say so--the worst place in the +world--but listen to that theer blessed lark; there's a woice for ye; +there's music with a capital M.; an' I've read as they cooks and +eats 'em." + +"Who do?" + +"Nobs do--swells--gentlemen--ah, an' ladies, too!" + +"More shame to them, then." + +"Why, so says I, young master, but, ye see, beef an' mutton, ducks +an' chicken, an' sich, ain't good enough for your Nobs nowadays, oh +no! They must dewour larks wi' gusto, and French hortolons wi' +avidity, and wi' a occasional leg of a frog throw'd in for a +relish--though, to be sure, a frog's leg ain't over meaty at the +best o' times. Oh, it's all true, young sir; it's all wrote down +here in this priceless wollum." Here he tapped the book upon his knee. +"Ye see, with the Quality it is quality as counts--not quantity. +It's flavor as is their constant want, or, as you might say, desire; +flavor in their meat, in their drink, and above all, in their books; +an' see you, I sell books, an' I know." + +"What kind of flavor?" demanded Barnabas, coming a step nearer, +though in a somewhat stately fashion. + +"Why, a gamey flavor, to be sure, young sir; a 'igh flavor--ah! the +'igher the better. Specially in books. Now here," continued the +Chapman, holding up the volume he had been reading. "'Ere's a book +as ain't to be ekalled nowheers nor nohow--not in Latin nor Greek, +nor Persian, no, nor yet 'Indoo. A book as is fuller o' information +than a egg is o' meat. A book as was wrote by a person o' quality, +therefore a elewating book; wi' nice bold type into it--ah! an' +wood-cuts--picters an' engravin's, works o' art as is not to be beat +nowheers nor nohow; not in China, Asia, nor Africa, a book therefore +as is above an' beyond all price." + +"What book is it?" inquired Barnabas, forgetting his haughtiness, +and coming up beside the Chapman. + +"It's a book," said the Chapman; "no, it's THE book as any young +gentleman a-going out into the world ought to have wi' him, asleep +or awake." + +"But what is it all about?" inquired Barnabas a trifle impatiently. + +"Why, everything," answered the Chapman; "an' I know because I 've +read it--a thing I rarely do." + +"What's the title?" + +"The title, young sir; well theer! read for yourself." + +And with the words the Chapman held up the book open at the +title-page, and Barnabas read: + + HINTS ON ETIQUETTE, + + OR + + THE COMPLEAT ART OF A GENTLEMANLY DEPORTMENT + BY A PERSON OF QUALITY. + +"You'll note that theer Person o' Quality, will ye?" said the Chapman. + +"Strange!" said Barnabas. + +"Not a bit of it!" retorted the Chapman. "Lord, love me! any one +could be a gentleman by just reading and inwardly di-gesting o' this +here priceless wollum; it's all down here in print, an' nice bold +type, too--pat as you please. If it didn't 'appen as my horryscope +demands as I should be a chapman, an' sell books an' sich along the +roads, I might ha' been as fine a gentleman as any on 'em, just by +follering the directions printed into this here blessed tome, an' in +nice large type, too, an' woodcuts." + +"This is certainly very remarkable!" said Barnabas. + +"Ah!" nodded the Chapman, "it's the most remarkablest book as ever +was!--Lookee--heer's picters for ye--lookee!" and he began turning +over the pages, calling out the subject of the pictures as he did so. + +"Gentleman going a walk in a jerry 'at. Gentleman eating soup! +Gentleman kissing lady's 'and. Gentleman dancing with lady--note +them theer legs, will ye--theer's elegance for ye! Gentleman riding +a 'oss in one o' these 'ere noo buckled 'ats. Gentleman shaking 'ands +with ditto--observe the cock o' that little finger, will ye! +Gentleman eating ruffles--no, truffles, which is a vegetable, as all +pigs is uncommon partial to. Gentleman proposing lady's 'ealth in a +frilled shirt an' a pair o' skin-tights. Gentleman making a bow." + +"And remarkably stiff in the legs about it, too!" nodded Barnabas. + +"Stiff in the legs!" cried the Chapman reproachfully. "Lord love you, +young sir! I've seen many a leg stiffer than that." + +"And how much is the book?" + +The Chapman cast a shrewd glance up at the tall youthful figure, at +the earnest young face, at the deep and solemn eyes, and coughed +behind his hand. + +"Well, young sir," said he, gazing thoughtfully up at the blue +sky--"since you are you, an' nobody else--an' ax me on so fair +a morning, wi' the song o' birds filling the air--we'll charge you +only--well--say ten shillings: say eight, say seven-an'-six--say +five--theer, make it five shillings, an' dirt-cheap at the price, too." + +Barnabas hesitated, and the Chapman was about to come down a +shilling or two more when Barnabas spoke. + +"Then you're not thinking of learning to become a gentleman yourself?" + +"O Lord love you--no!" + +"Then I'll buy it," said Barnabas, and forthwith handed over the +five shillings. Slipping the book into his pocket, he turned to go, +yet paused again and addressed the Chapman over his shoulder. + +"Shouldn't you like to become a gentleman?" he inquired. + +Again the Chapman regarded him from the corners of his eyes, and +again he coughed behind his hand. + +"Well," he admitted, "I should an' I shouldn't. O' course it must be +a fine thing to bow to a duchess, or 'and a earl's daughter into a +chariot wi' four 'orses an' a couple o' footmen, or even to sit wi' +a markus an' eat a French hortolon (which never 'aving seen, I don't +know the taste on, but it sounds promising); oh yes, that part would +suit me to a T; but then theer's t'other part to it, y' see." + +"What do you mean?" + +"Why, a gentleman has a great deal to live up to--theer's his dignity, +y' see." + +"Yes, I suppose so," Barnabas admitted. + +"For instance, a gentleman couldn't very well be expected to sit in +a ditch and enj'y a crust o' bread an' cheese; 'is dignity wouldn't +allow of it, now would it?" + +"Certainly not," said Barnabas. + +"Nor yet drink 'ome-brewed out of a tin pot in a inn kitchen." + +"Well, he might, if he were very thirsty," Barnabas ventured to think. +But the Chapman scouted the idea. + +"For," said he, "a gentleman's dignity lifts him above inn kitchens +and raises him superior to tin pots. Now tin pots is a perticler +weakness o' mine, leastways when theer's good ale inside of 'em. And +then again an' lastly," said the Chapman, balancing a piece of +cheese on the flat of his knife-blade, "lastly theer's his clothes, +an', as I've read somewhere, 'clothes make the man'--werry +good--chuck in dignity an' theer's your gentleman!" + +"Hum," said Barnabas, profoundly thoughtful. + +"An' a gentleman's clothes is a world o' trouble and anxiety to him, +and takes up most o' his time, what wi' his walking breeches an' +riding breeches an' breeches for dancing; what wi' his coats cut +'igh an' his coats cut low; what wi' his flowered satin weskits; +what wi' his boots an' his gloves, an' his cravats an' his 'ats, why, +Lord love ye, he passes his days getting out o' one suit of clothes +an' into another. And it's just this clothes part as I can't nowise +put up wi', for I'm one as loves a easy life, I am." + +"And is your life so easy?" inquired Barnabas, eyeing the very small +Chapman's very large pack. + +"Why, to be sure theer's easier," the Chapman admitted, scratching +his ear and frowning; "but then," and here his brow cleared again, +"I've only got this one single suit of clothes to bother my 'ead over, +which, being wore out as you can see, don't bother me at all." + +"Then are you satisfied to be as you are?" + +"Well," answered the Chapman, clinking the five shillings in his +pocket, "I aren't one to grumble at fate, nor yet growl at fortun'." + +"Why, then," said Barnabas, "I wish you good morning." + +"Good morning, young sir, and remember now, if you should ever feel +like being a gentleman--it's quite easy--all as you've got to do is +to read the instructions in that theer priceless wollum--mark +'em--learn 'em, and inwardly di-gest 'em, and you'll be a gentleman +afore you know it." + +Now hereupon Barnabas smiled, a very pleasant smile and radiant with +youth, whereat the Chapman's pinched features softened for pure good +fellowship, and for the moment he almost wished that he had charged +less for the "priceless wollum," as, so smiling, Barnabas turned and +strode away, London-wards. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +IN WHICH THE HISTORIAN SEES FIT TO INTRODUCE A LADY OF QUALITY; AND +FURTHER NARRATES HOW BARNABAS TORE A WONDERFUL BOTTLE-GREEN COAT + +Now in a while Barnabas came to where was a stile with a path +beyond--a narrow path that led up over a hill until it lost itself +in a wood that crowned the ascent; a wood where were shady dells +full of a quivering green twilight; where broad glades led away +beneath leafy arches, and where a stream ran gurgling in the shade of +osiers and willows; a wood that Barnabas had known from boyhood. +Therefore, setting his hand upon the stile, he vaulted lightly over, +minded to go through the wood and join the high road further on. +This he did by purest chance, and all unthinking followed the winding +path. + +Now had Barnabas gone on by the road how different this history +might have been, and how vastly different his career! But, as it +happened, moved by Chance, or Fate, or Destiny, or what you will, +Barnabas vaulted over the stile and strode on up the winding path, +whistling as he went, and, whistling, plunged into the green twilight +of the wood, and, whistling still, swung suddenly into a broad and +grassy glade splashed green and gold with sunlight, and then stopped +all at once and stood there silent, dumb, the very breath in check +between his lips. + +She lay upon her side--full length upon the sward, and her tumbled +hair made a glory in the grass, a golden mane. Beneath this silken +curtain he saw dark brows that frowned a little--a vivid mouth, and +lashes thick and dark like her eyebrows, that curled upon the pallor +of her cheek. + +Motionless stood Barnabas, with eyes that wandered from the small +polished riding-boot, with its delicately spurred heel, to follow +the gracious line that swelled voluptuously from knee to rounded hip, +that sank in sweetly to a slender waist, yet rose again to the +rounded beauty of her bosom. + +So Barnabas stood and looked and looked, and looking sighed, and +stole a step near and stopped again, for behold the leafy screen was +parted suddenly, and Barnabas beheld two boots--large boots they +were but of exquisite shape--boots that strode strongly and planted +themselves masterfully; Hessian boots, elegant, glossy and +betasselled. Glancing higher, he observed a coat of a bottle-green, +high-collared, close-fitting and silver-buttoned; a coat that served +but to make more apparent the broad chest, powerful shoulders, and +lithe waist of its wearer. Indeed a truly marvellous coat (at least, +so thought Barnabas), and in that moment, he, for the first time, +became aware how clumsy and ill-contrived were his own garments; he +understood now what Natty Bell had meant when he had said they were +not polite enough; and as for his boots--blunt of toe, thick-soled +and ponderous--he positively blushed for them. Here, it occurred to +him that the wearer of the coat possessed a face, and he looked at +it accordingly. It was a handsome face he saw, dark of eye, +square-chinned and full-lipped. Just now the eyes were lowered, for +their possessor stood apparently lost in leisurely contemplation of +her who lay outstretched between them; and as his gaze wandered to +and fro over her defenceless beauty, a glow dawned in the eyes, and +the full lips parted in a slow smile, whereat Barnabas frowned darkly, +and his cheeks grew hot because of her too betraying habit. + +"Sir!" said he between snapping teeth. + +Then, very slowly and unwillingly, the gentleman raised his eyes and +stared across at him. + +"And pray," said he carelessly, "pray who might you be?" + +At his tone Barnabas grew more angry and therefore more polite. + +"Sir, that--permit me to say--does not concern you." + +"Not in the least," the other retorted, "and I bid you good day; you +can go, my man, I am acquainted with this lady; she is quite safe in +my care." + +"That, sir, I humbly beg leave to doubt," said Barnabas, his +politeness growing. + +"Why--you impudent scoundrel!" + +Barnabas smiled. + +"Come, take yourself off!" said the gentleman, frowning, "I'll take +care of this lady." + +"Pardon me! but I think not." + +The gentleman stared at Barnabas through suddenly narrow lids, and +laughed softly, and Barnabas thought his laugh worse than his frown. + +"Ha! d' you mean to say you--won't go?" + +"With all the humility in the world, I do, sir." + +"Why, you cursed, interfering yokel! must I thrash you?" + +Now "yokel" stung, for Barnabas remembered his blunt-toed boots, +therefore he smiled with lips suddenly grim, and his politeness grew +almost aggressive. + +"Thrash me, sir!" he repeated, "indeed I almost venture to fear that +you must." But the gentleman's gaze had wandered to the fallen girl +once more, and the glow was back in his roving eyes. + +"Pah!" said he, still intent, "if it is her purse you are after--here, +take mine and leave us in peace." As he spoke, he flung his purse +towards Barnabas, and took a long step nearer the girl. But in that +same instant Barnabas strode forward also and, being nearer, reached +her first, and, stepping over her, it thus befell that they came +face to face within a foot of one another. For a moment they stood +thus, staring into each other's eyes, then without a word swift and +sudden they closed and grappled. + +The gentleman was very quick, and more than ordinarily strong, so +also was Barnabas, but the gentleman's handsome face was contorted +with black rage, whereas Barnabas was smiling, and therein seemed +the only difference between them as they strove together breast to +breast, now in sunlight, now in shadow, but always grimly silent. + +So, within the glory of the morning, they reeled and staggered to +and fro, back and forth, trampling down the young grass, straining, +panting, swaying--the one frowning and determined, the other smiling +and grim. + +Suddenly the bottle-green coat ripped and tore as its wearer broke +free; there was the thud of a blow, and Barnabas staggered back with +blood upon his face--staggered, I say, and in that moment, as his +antagonist rushed, laughed fierce and short, and stepped lightly +aside and smote him clean and true under the chin, a little to one +side. + +The gentleman's fists flew wide, he twisted upon his heels, pitched +over upon his face, and lay still. + +Smiling still, Barnabas looked down upon him, then grew grave. + +"Indeed," said he, "indeed it was a great pity to spoil such a +wonderful coat." + +So he turned away, and coming to where she, who was the unwitting +cause of all this, yet lay, stopped all at once, for it seemed to +him that her posture was altered; her habit had become more decorous, +and yet the lashes, so dark in contrast to her hair, those shadowy +lashes yet curled upon her cheek. Therefore, very presently, Barnabas +stooped, and raising her in his arms bore her away through the wood +towards the dim recesses where, hidden in the green shadows, his +friend the brook went singing upon its way. + +And in a while the gentleman stirred and sat up, and, beholding his +torn coat, swore viciously, and, chancing upon his purse, pocketed it, +and so went upon his way, and by contrast with the glory of the +morning his frown seemed the blacker. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +OF THE BEWITCHMENT OF BLACK EYELASHES; AND OF A FATEFUL LACE +HANDKERCHIEF + +Let it be understood that Barnabas was not looking at her as she lay +all warm and yielding in his embrace, on the contrary, he walked +with his gaze fixed pertinaciously upon the leafy path he followed, +nevertheless he was possessed, more than once, of a sudden feeling +that her eyes had opened and were watching him, therefore, after a +while be it noted, needs must he steal a downward glance at her +beauty, only to behold the shadowy lashes curling upon her cheeks, +as was but natural, of course. And now he began to discover that +these were, indeed, no ordinary lashes (though to be sure his +experience in such had been passing small), yet the longer he gazed +upon them the more certain he became that these were, altogether and +in all respects, the most demurely tantalizing lashes in the world. +Then, again, there was her mouth--warmly red, full-lipped and +sensitive like the delicate nostrils above; a mouth all sweet curves; +a mouth, he thought, that might grow firm and proud, or wonderfully +tender as the case might be, a mouth of scarlet bewitchment; a mouth +that for some happy mortal might be--here our Barnabas came near +blundering into a tree, and thenceforth he kept his gaze upon the +path again. So, strong armed and sure of foot, he bore her through +the magic twilight of the wood until he reached the brook. And coming +to where the bending willows made a leafy bower he laid her there, +then, turning, went down to the brook and drawing off his +neckerchief began to moisten it in the clear, cool water. + +And lo! in the same minute, the curling lashes were lifted suddenly, +and beneath their shadow two eyes looked out--deep and soft and +darkly blue, the eyes of a maid--now frank and ingenuous, now shyly +troubled, but brimful of witchery ever and always. And pray what +could there be in all the fair world more proper for a maid's eyes +to rest upon than young Alcides, bare of throat, and with the sun in +his curls, as he knelt to moisten the neckerchief in the brook? + +Therefore, as she lay, she gazed upon him in her turn, even as he +had first looked upon her, pleased to find his face so young and +handsome, to note the breadth of his shoulders, the graceful +carriage of his limbs, his air of virile strength and latent power, +yet doubting too, because of her sex, because of the loneliness, and +because he was a man; thus she lay blushing a little, sighing a +little, fearing a little, waiting for him to turn. True, he had been +almost reverent so far, but then the place was so very lonely. And +yet-- + +Barnabas turned and came striding up the bank. And how was he to +know anything of all this, as he stood above her with his dripping +neckerchief in his hand, looking down at her lying so very still, +and pitying her mightily because her lashes showed so dark against +the pallor of her cheek? How was he to know how her heart leapt in +her white bosom as he sank upon his knees beside her? Therefore he +leaned above her closer and raised the dripping neckerchief. But in +that moment she (not minded to be wet) sighed, her white lids +fluttered, and, sitting up, she stared at him for all the world as +though she had never beheld him until that very moment. + +"What are you going to do?" she demanded, drawing away from the +streaming neckerchief. "Who are you? Why am I here?--what has +happened?" + +Barnabas hesitated, first because he was overwhelmed by this sudden +torrent of questions, and secondly because he rarely spoke without +thinking; therefore, finding him silent, she questioned him again-- + +"Where am I?" + +"In Annersley Wood, madam." + +"Ah, yes, I remember, my horse ran away." + +"So I brought you here to the brook." + +"Why?" + +"You were hurt; I found you bleeding and senseless." + +"Bleeding!" And out came a dainty lace handkerchief on the instant. + +"There," said Barnabas, "above your eyebrow," and he indicated a +very small trickle of blood upon the snow of her temple. + +"And you--found me, sir?" + +"Beneath the riven oak in the Broad Glade--over yonder." + +"That is a great way from here, sir!" + +"You are not--heavy!" Barnabas explained, a little clumsily perhaps, +for she fell silent at this, and stooped her head the better to dab +tenderly at the cut above her eyebrow; also the color deepened in her +cheeks. + +"Madam," said Barnabas, "that is the wrong eyebrow." + +"Then why don't you tell me where I'm hurt?" she sighed. For answer, +after a moment's hesitation, Barnabas reached out and taking her hand, +handkerchief and all, laid it very gently upon the cut, though to be +sure it was a very poor thing, as cuts go, after all. + +"There," said he again, "though indeed it is very trifling." + +"Indeed, sir, it pains atrociously!" she retorted, and to bear out +her words showed him her handkerchief, upon whose snow was a tiny +vivid stain. + +"Then perhaps," ventured Barnabas, "perhaps I'd better bathe it with +this!" and he held up his dripping handkerchief. + +"Nay, sir, I thank you," she answered, "keep it for your own +wounds--there is a cut upon your cheek." + +"A cut!" repeated Barnabas--bethinking him of the gentleman's signet +ring. + +"Yes, a cut, sir," she repeated, and stole a glance at him under her +long lashes; "pray did _your_ horse run away also?" + +Barnabas was silent again, this time because he knew not how to +answer--therefore he began rubbing at his injured cheek while she +watched him--and after a while spoke. + +"Sir," said she, "that is the wrong cheek." + +"Then, indeed, this must be very trifling also," said Barnabas, +smiling. + +"Does it pain you, sir?" + +"Thank you--no." + +"Yet it bleeds! You say it was not your horse, sir?" she inquired, +wonderfully innocent of eye. + +"No, it was not my horse." + +"Why, then--pray, how did it happen?" + +"Happen, madam?--why, I fancy I must have--scratched myself," +returned Barnabas, beginning to wring out his neckerchief. + +"Scratched yourself. Ah! of course!" said she, and was silent while +Barnabas continued to wring the water from his neckerchief. + +"Pray," she inquired suddenly, "do you often scratch yourself--until +you bleed?--'t is surely a most distressing habit." Now glancing up +suddenly, Barnabas saw her eyes were wonderfully bright for all her +solemn mouth, and suspicion grew upon him.--"Did she know? Had she +seen?" he wondered. + +"Nevertheless, sir--my thanks are due to you--" + +"For what?" he inquired quickly. + +"Why--for--for--" + +"For bringing you here?" he suggested, beginning to wring out his +neckerchief again. + +"Yes; believe me I am more than grateful for--for--" + +"For what, madam?" he inquired again, looking at her now. + +"For--your--kindness, sir." + +"Pray, how have I been kind?--you refused my neckerchief." + +Surely he was rather an unpleasant person after all, she thought, +with his persistently direct eyes, and his absurdly blunt mode of +questioning--and she detested answering questions. + +"Sir," said she, with her dimpled chin a little higher than usual, +"it is a great pity you troubled yourself about me, or spoilt your +neckerchief with water." + +"I thought you were hurt, you see--" + +"Oh, sir, I grieve to disappoint you," said she, and rose, and +indeed she gained her feet with admirable grace and dignity +notwithstanding her recent fall, and the hampering folds of her habit; +and now Barnabas saw that she was taller than he had thought. + +"Disappoint me!" repeated Barnabas, rising also; "the words are +unjust." + +For a moment she stood, her head thrown back, her eyes averted +disdainfully, and it was now that Barnabas first noticed the dimple +in her chin, and he was yet observing it very exactly when he became +aware that her haughtiness was gone again and that her eyes were +looking up at him, half laughing, half shy, and of course wholly +bewitching. + +"Yes, I know it was," she admitted, "but oh! won't you please +believe that a woman can't fall off her horse without being hurt, +though it won't bleed much." Now as she spoke a distant clock began +to strike and she to count the strokes, soft and mellow with distance. + +"Nine!" she exclaimed with an air of tragedy--"then I shall be late +for breakfast, and I'm ravenous--and gracious heavens!" + +"What now, madam?" + +"My hair! It's all come down--look at it!" + +"I've been doing so ever since I--met you," Barnabas confessed. + +"Oh, have you! Then why didn't you tell me of it--and I've lost +nearly all my hairpins--and--oh dear! what will they think?" + +"That it is the most beautiful hair in all the world, of course," +said Barnabas. She was already busy twisting it into a shining rope, +but here she paused to look up at him from under this bright nimbus, +and with two hair-pins in her mouth. + +"Oh!" said she again very thoughtfully, and then "Do you think so?" +she inquired, speaking over and round the hairpins as it were. + +"Yes," said Barnabas, steady-eyed; and immediately down came the +curling lashes again, while with dexterous white fingers she began +to transform the rope into a coronet. + +"I'm afraid it won't hold up," she said, giving her head a tentative +shake, "though, fortunately, I haven't far to go." + +"How far?" asked Barnabas. + +"To Annersley House, sir." + +"Yes," said Barnabas, "that is very near--the glade yonder leads +into the park." + +"Do you know Annersley, then, sir?" + +Barnabas hesitated and, having gone over the question in his mind, +shook his head. + +"I know of it," he answered. + +"Do you know Sir George Annersley?" + +Again Barnabas hesitated. As a matter of fact he knew as much of Sir +George as he knew of the "great house," as it was called thereabouts, +that is to say he had seen him once or twice--in the distance. But it +would never do to admit as much to her, who now looked up at him +with eyes of witchery as she waited for him to speak. Therefore +Barnabas shook his head, and answered airily enough: + +"We are not exactly acquainted, madam." + +Yesterday he would have scorned the subterfuge; but to-day there was +money in his purse; London awaited him with expectant arms, the very +air was fraught with a magic whereby the impossible might become +concrete fact, wherein dreams might become realities; was not she +herself, as she stood before him lithe and vigorous in all the +perfection of her warm young womanhood--was she not the very +embodiment of those dreams that had haunted him sleeping and waking? +Verily. Therefore with this magic in the air might he not meet Sir +George Annersley at the next cross-roads or by-lane, and strike up +an enduring friendship on the spot--truly, for anything was possible +to-day. Meanwhile my lady had gathered up the folds of her +riding-habit, and yet in the act of turning into the leafy path, +spoke: + +"Are you going far, sir?" + +"To London." + +"Have you many friends there?" + +"None,--as yet, madam." + +After this they walked on in silence, she with her eyes on the +lookout for obstacles, he lost to all but the beauty of the young +body before him--the proud carriage of the head, the sway of the hips, +the firm poise of the small and slender foot--all this he saw and +admired, yet (be it remarked) his face bore nothing of the look that +had distorted the features of the gentleman in the bottle-green +coat--though to be sure our Barnabas was but an amateur at +best--even as Natty Bell had said. So at last she reached the +fateful glade beyond which, though small with distance, was a noble +house set upon a gentle hill that rose above the swaying green of +trees. Here my lady paused; she looked up the glade and down the +glade, and finally at him. And her eyes were the eyes of a maid, shy, +mischievous, demure, challenging. + +"Sir," said she, shyly, demurely--but with eyes still challenging-- +"sir, I have to thank you. I do thank you--more than these poor lips +can tell. If there is anything I could--do--to--to prove my gratitude, +you--have but to--name it." + +"Do," stammered Barnabas. "Do--indeed--I--no." + +The challenging eyes were hidden now, but the lips curved +wonderfully tempting and full of allurement. Barnabas clenched his +fists hard. + +"I see, sir, your cheek has stopped bleeding, 't is almost well. +I think--there are others--whose hurts will not heal--quite so +soon--and, between you and me, sir, I'm glad--glad! Good-by! and may +you find as many friends in London as you deserve." So saying, she +turned and went on down the glade. + +And in a little Barnabas sighed, and turning also, strode on +London-wards. + +Now when she had gone but a very short way, my lady must needs +glance back over her shoulder, then, screened to be sure by a +convenient bramble-bush, she stood to watch him as he swung along, +strong, graceful, but with never a look behind. + +"Who was he?" she wondered. "What was he? From his clothes he might +be anything between a gamekeeper and a farmer." + +Alas! poor Barnabas! To be sure his voice was low and modulated, and +his words well chosen--who was he, what was he? And he was going to +London where he had no friends. And he had never told his name, nor, +what was a great deal worse, asked for hers! Here my lady frowned, +for such indifference was wholly new in her experience. But on went +long-legged Barnabas, all unconscious, striding through sunlight and +shadow, with step blithe and free--and still (Oh! Barnabas) with +never a look behind. Therefore, my lady's frown grew more portentous, +and she stamped her foot at his unconscious back; then all at once +the frown vanished in a sudden smile, and she instinctively shrank +closer into cover, for Barnabas had stopped. + +"Oh, indeed, sir!" she mocked, secure behind her leafy screen, +nodding her head at his unconscious back; "so you've actually +thought better of it, have you?" + +Here Barnabas turned. + +"Really, sir, you will even trouble to come all the way back, will +you, just to learn her name--or, perhaps to--indeed, what +condescension. But, dear sir, you're too late; oh, yes, indeed you +are! 'for he who will not when he may, when he will he shall have nay.' +I grieve to say you are too late--quite too late! Good morning, +Master Shill-I-shall-I." And with the word she turned, then hastily +drew a certain lace handkerchief from her bosom, and set it very +cleverly among the thorns of a bramble, and so sped away among the +leaves. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +IN WHICH MAY BE FOUND DIVERS RULES AND MAXIMS FOR THE ART OF BOWING + +"Now, by the Lord!" said Barnabas, stopping all at once, "forgetful +fool that I am! I never bowed to her!" Therefore, being minded to +repair so grave an omission, he turned sharp about, and came +striding back again, and thus it befell that he presently espied the +lace handkerchief fluttering from the bramble, and having extricated +the delicate lace from the naturally reluctant thorns with a vast +degree of care and trouble, he began to look about for the late owner. +But search how he might, his efforts proved unavailing--Annersley +Wood was empty save for himself. Having satisfied himself of the fact, +Barnabas sighed again, thrust the handkerchief into his pocket, and +once more set off upon his way. + +But now, as he went, he must needs remember his awkward stiffness +when she had thanked him; he grew hot all over at the mere +recollection, and, moreover, he had forgotten even to bow! But there +again, was he quite sure that he could bow as a gentleman should? +There were doubtless certain rules and maxims for the bow as there +were for mathematics--various motions to be observed in the making +of it, of which Barnabas confessed to himself his utter ignorance. +What then was a bow? Hereupon, bethinking him of the book in his +pocket, he drew it out, and turning to a certain page, began to +study the "stiff-legged-gentleman" with a new and enthralled interest. +Now over against this gentleman, that is to say, on the opposite page, +he read these words:-- + + "THE ART OF BOWING." + + "To know how, and when, and to whom to bow, + is in itself an art. The bow is, indeed, an + all-important accomplishment,--it is the + 'Open Sesame' of the 'Polite World.' To bow + gracefully, therefore, may be regarded as + the most important part of a gentlemanly + deportment." + +"Hum!" said Barnabas, beginning to frown at this; and yet, according +to the title-page, these were the words of a "Person of Quality." + + "To bow gracefully,"--the Person of Quality + chattered on,--"the feet should be primarily + disposed as in the first position of dancing." + +Barnabas sighed, frowning still. + + "The left hand should be lifted airily and laid + upon the bosom, the fingers kept elegantly spread. + The head is now stooped forward, the body following + easily from the hips, the right hand, at the same + moment, being waved gracefully in the air. It is, + moreover, very necessary that the expression of the + features should assume as engaging an air as possible. + The depth of the bow is to be regulated to the rank + of the person saluted." + +And so forth and so on for two pages more. + +Barnabas sighed and shook his head hopelessly. + +"Ah!" said he, "under these circumstances it is perhaps just as well +that I forgot to try. It would seem I should have bungled it quite +shamefully. Who would have thought a thing so simple could become a +thing so very complicated!" Saying which, he shut the book, and +thrust it back into his pocket, and thus became aware of a certain +very small handful of dainty lace and cambric, and took it out, and, +looking at it, beheld again the diminutive stain, while there stole +to his nostrils a perfume, faint and very sweet. + +"I wonder," said he to himself. "I wonder who she was--I might have +asked her name but, fool that I am, I even forgot that!" + +Here Barnabas sighed, and, sighing, hid the handkerchief in his +pocket. + +"And yet," he pursued, "had she told me her name, I should have been +compelled to announce mine, and--Barnabas Barty--hum! somehow there +is no suggestion about it of broad acres, or knightly ancestors; no, +Barty will never do." Here Barnabas became very thoughtful. +"Mortimer sounds better," said he, after a while, "or Mandeville. +Then there's Neville, and Desborough, and Ravenswood--all very good +names, and yet none of them seems quite suitable. Still I must have +a name that is beyond all question!" And Barnabas walked on more +thoughtful than ever. All at once he stopped, and clapped hand to +thigh. + +"My mother's name, of course--Beverley; yes, it is an excellent name, +and, since it was hers, I have more right to it than to any other. +So Beverley it shall be--Barnabas Beverley--good!" Here Barnabas +stopped and very gravely lifted his hat to his shadow. + +"Mr. Beverley," said he, "I salute you, your very humble obedient +servant, Mr. Beverley, sir, God keep you!" Hereupon he put on his +hat again, and fell into his swinging stride. + +"So," said he, "that point being settled it remains to master the +intricacies of the bow." Saying which, he once more had recourse to +the "priceless wollum," and walked on through the glory of the +morning, with his eyes upon the valuable instructions of the +"Person of Quality." + +Now, as he went, chancing to look up suddenly, he beheld a gate-post. +A very ancient gate-post it was--a decrepit gate-post, worn and +heavy with years, for it leaned far out from the perpendicular. And +with his gaze upon this, Barnabas halted suddenly, clapped the book +to his bosom, and raising his hat with an elegant flourish, bowed to +that gnarled and withered piece of timber as though it had been an +Archduke at the very least, or the loveliest lady in the land. + +"Ha! by Thor and Odin, what's all this?" cried a voice behind him. +"I say what the devil's all this?" + +Turning sharp about, Barnabas beheld a shortish, broad-shouldered +individual in a befrogged surtout and cords, something the worse for +wear, who stood with his booted legs wide apart and stared at him +from a handsome bronzed face, with a pair of round blue eyes; he +held a broad-brimmed hat in his hand--the other, Barnabas noticed, +was gone from the elbow. + +"Egad!" said he, staring at Barnabas with his blue eyes. "What's in +the wind? I say, what the devil, sir--eh, sir?" + +Forthwith Barnabas beamed upon him, and swept him another bow almost +as low as that he had bestowed upon the gate-post. + +"Sir," said he, hat gracefully flourished in the air, "your very +humble obedient servant to command." + +"A humble obedient fiddlestick, sir!" retorted the new comer. +"Pooh, sir!--I say dammit!--are ye mad, sir, to go bowing and +scraping to a gate-post, as though it were an Admiral of the Fleet +or Nelson himself--are ye mad or only drunk, sir? I say, what d' ye +mean?" + +Here Barnabas put on his hat and opened the book. + +"Plainly, sir," he answered, "being overcome with a sudden desire to +bow to something or other, I bowed to that gate-post in want of a +worthier object; but now, seeing you arrive so very opportunely, I'll +take the liberty of trying another. Oblige me by observing if my +expression is sufficiently engaging," and with the words Barnabas +bowed as elaborately as before. + +"Sink me!" exclaimed the one-armed individual, rounder of eye than +ever, "the fellow's mad--stark, staring mad." + +"No, indeed, sir," smiled Barnabas, reassuringly, "but the book +here--which I am given to understand is wholly infallible--says that +to bow is the most important item of a gentlemanly equipment, and in +the World of Fashion--" + +"In the World of Fashion, sir, there are no gentlemen left," his +hearer broke in. + +"How, sir--?" + +"I say no, sir, no one. I say, damme, sir--" + +"But, sir--" + +"I say there are no gentlemen in the fashionable world--they are all +blackguardly Bucks, cursed Corinthians, and mincing Macaronies +nowadays, sir. Fashionable world--bah, sir!" + +"But, sir, is not the Prince himself--" + +"The Prince, sir!" Here the one-armed gentleman clapped on his hat +and snorted, "The Prince is a--prince, sir; he's also an authority +on sauce and shoe-buckles. Let us talk of something more +interesting--yourself, for instance." + +Barnabas bowed. + +"Sir," said he, "my name is Barnabas--Barnabas Beverley." + +"Hum!" said the other, thoughtfully, "I remember a Beverley--a +lieutenant under Hardy in the 'Agamemnon'--though, to be sure, he +spelt his name with an 'l-e-y.'" + +"So do I, sir," said Barnabas. + +"Hum!" + +"Secondly, I am on my way to London." + +"London! Egad! here's another of 'em! London, of course--well?" + +"Where I hope to cut some figure in the--er--World of Fashion." + +"Fashion--Gog and Magog!--why not try drowning. 'T would be simpler +and better for you in the long run. London! Fashion! in that hat, +that coat, those--" + +"Sir," said Barnabas, flushing, "I have already--" + +"Fashion, eh? Why, then, you must cramp that chest into an abortion, +all collar, tail, and buttons, and much too tight to breathe in; you +must struggle into breeches tight enough to burst, and cram your +feet into bepolished torments--" + +"But, sir," Barnabas ventured again, "surely the Prince himself is +accountable for the prevailing fashion, and as you must know, he is +said to be the First Gentleman in Europe and--" + +"Fiddle-de-dee and the devil, sir!--who says he is? A set of +crawling sycophants, sir--a gang of young reprobates and bullies. +First Gentleman in--I say pish, sir! I say bah! Don't I tell you +that gentlemen went out o' fashion when Bucks came in? I say there +isn't a gentleman left in England except perhaps one or two. This is +the age of your swaggering, prize-fighting Corinthians. London +swarms with 'em, Brighton's rank with 'em, yet they pervade even +these solitudes, damme! I saw one of 'em only half an hour ago, +limping out of a wood yonder. Ah! a polished, smiling rascal--a +dangerous rogue! One of your sleepy libertines--one of your lucky +gamblers--one of your conscienceless young reprobates equally ready +to win your money, ruin your sister, or shoot you dead as the case +may be, and all in the approved way of gallantry, sir; and, being all +this, and consequently high in royal favor, he is become a very lion +in the World of Fashion. Would you succeed, young sir, you must +model yourself upon him as nearly as may be." + +"And he was limping, you say?" inquired Barnabas, thoughtfully. + +"And serve him right, sir--egad! I say damme! he should limp in +irons to Botany Bay and stay there if I had my way." + +"Did you happen to notice the color of his coat?" inquired Barnabas +again. + +"Ay, 't was green, sir; but what of it--have you seen him?" + +"I think I have, sir," said Barnabas, "if 't was a green coat he wore. +Pray, sir, what might his name be?" + +"His name, sir, is Carnaby--Sir Mortimer Carnaby." + +"Sir Mortimer Carnaby!" said Barnabas, nodding his head. + +"And, sir," pursued his informant, regarding Barnabas from beneath +his frowning brows, "since it is your ambition to cut a figure in +the World of Fashion, your best course is to cultivate him, frequent +his society as much as possible, act upon his counsel, and in six +months, or less, I don't doubt you'll be as polished a young +blackguard as any of 'em. Good morning, sir." + +Here the one-armed gentleman nodded and turned to enter the field. + +"Sir," said Barnabas, "one moment! Since you have been so obliging +as to describe a Buck, will you tell me who and what in your +estimation is a gentleman?" + +"A gentleman? Egad, sir! must I tell you that? No, I say I +won't--the Bo'sun shall." Hereupon the speaker faced suddenly about +and raised his voice: "Aft there!" he bellowed. "Pass the word for +the Bo'sun--I say where's Bo'sun Jerry?" + +Immediately upon these words there came another roar surprisingly +hoarse, deep, and near at hand. + +"Ay, ay, sir! here I be, Cap'n," the voice bellowed back. "Here I be, +sir, my helm hard a-starboard, studden sails set, and all a-drawing +alow and aloft, but making bad weather on it on account o' these +here furrers and this here jury-mast o' mine, but I'll fetch up +alongside in a couple o' tacks." + +Now glancing in the direction of the voice, Barnabas perceived a +head and face that bobbed up and down on the opposite side of the +hedge. A red face it was, a jovial, good-humored face, lit up with +quick, bright eyes that twinkled from under a prodigious pair of +eyebrows; a square honest face whose broad good nature beamed out +from a mighty bush of curling whisker and pigtail, and was +surmounted by a shining, glazed hat. + +Being come opposite to them, he paused to mop at his red face with a +neckerchief of vivid hue, which done, he touched the brim of the +glazed hat, and though separated from them by no more than the hedge +and ditch, immediately let out another roar--for all the world as +though he had been hailing the maintop of a Seventy-four in a gale +of wind. + +"Here I be, Cap'n!" he bellowed, "studden sails set an' drawing, +tho' obleeged to haul my wind, d'ye see, on account o' this here +spar o' mine a-running foul o' the furrers." Having said the which, +he advanced again with a heave to port and a lurch to starboard very +like a ship in a heavy sea; this peculiarity of gait was explained as +he hove into full view, for then Barnabas saw that his left leg was +gone from the knee and had been replaced by a wooden one. + +"Bo'sun," said the Captain, indicating Barnabas, with a flap of his +empty sleeve, "Bo'sun--favor me, I say oblige me by explaining to +this young gentleman your opinion of a gentleman--I say tell him who +you think is the First Gentleman in Europe!" + +The Bo'sun stared from Barnabas to the Captain and back again. + +"Begging your Honor's parding," said he, touching the brim of the +glazed hat, "but surely nobody don't need to be told that 'ere?" + +"It would seem so, Jerry." + +"Why then, Cap'n--since you ax me, I should tell you--bold an' free +like, as the First Gentleman in Europe--ah! or anywhere else--was +Lord Nelson an' your Honor." + +As he spoke the Bo'sun stood up very straight despite his wooden leg, +and when he touched his hat again, his very pigtail seemed +straighter and stiffer than ever. + +"Young sir," said the Captain, regarding Barnabas from the corners +of his eyes, "what d' ye say to that?" + +"Why," returned Barnabas, "now I come to think of it, I believe the +Bo'sun is right." + +"Sir," nodded the Captain, "the Bo'sun generally is; my Bo'sun, sir, +is as remarkable as that leg of his which he has contrived so that +it will screw on or off--in sections sir--I mean the wooden one." + +"But," said Barnabas, beginning to stroke his chin in the +argumentative way that was all his father's, "but, sir, I was +meaning gentlemen yet living, and Lord Nelson, unfortunately, is dead." + +"Bo'sun," said the Captain, "what d' ye say to that?" + +"Why, Cap'n, axing the young gentleman's pardon, I beg leave to +remark, or as you might say, ob-serve, as men like 'im don't die, +they jest gets promoted, so to speak." + +"Very true, Jerry," nodded the Captain again, "they do, but go to a +higher service, very true. And now, Bo'sun, the bread!" + +"Ay, ay, sir!" said the Bo'sun, and, taking the neat parcel the +Captain held out, dropped it forthwith into the crown of the glazed +hat. + +"Bo'sun, the meat! the young fool will be hungry by now, poor lad!" + +"Ay, ay, Cap'n!" And, the meat having disappeared into the same +receptacle, the Bo'sun resumed his hat. Now turning to Barnabas, the +Captain held out his hand. + +"Sir," said he, "I wish you good-by and a prosperous voyage, +and may you find yourself too much a man ever to fall so low +as 'fashion,'--I say dammit! The bread and meat, sir, are for +a young fool who thinks, like yourself, that the World of Fashion +is _the_ world. By heaven, sir, I say by Gog and Magog! if +I had a son with fashionable aspirations, I'd have him triced up +to the triangles and flogged with the 'cat'--I say with the +cat-o'-ninetails, sir, that is--no I wouldn't, besides I--never +had a son--she--died, sir--and good-by!" + +"Stay," said Barnabas, "pray tell me to whom I am indebted for so +much good instruction." + +"My name, sir, is Chumly--plain Chumly--spelt with a U and an +M, sir; none of your _olmondeleys_ for me, sir, and I beg you to +know that I have no crest or monogram or coat of arms; there's +neither or, azure, nor argent about me; I'm neither rampant, nor +passant, nor even regardant. And I want none of your sables, ermines, +bars, escallops, embattled fiddle-de-dees, or dencette tarradiddles, +sir. I'm Chumly, Captain John Chumly, plain and without any +fashionable varnish. Consequently, though I have commanded many good +ships, sloops, frigates, and even one Seventy-four--" + +"The 'Bully-Sawyer,' Trafalgar!" added the Bo'sun. + +"Seeing I am only John Chumly, with a U and an M, I retire still a +captain. Now, had I clapped in an _olmondeley_ and the rest of the +fashionable gewgaws, I should now be doubtless a Rear Admiral at the +very least, for the polite world--the World of Fashion is rampant, +sir, not to mention passant and regardant. So, if you would achieve +a reputation among Persons of Quality nowadays--bow, sir, bow +everywhere day in and day out--keep a supple back, young sir, and +spell your name with as many unnecessary letters as you can. And as +regards my idea of a gentleman, he is, I take it, a man--who is +gentle--I say good morning, young sir." As he ended, the Captain +took off his hat, with his remaining arm put it on again, and then +reached out, suddenly, and clapped Barnabas upon the shoulder. +"Here's wishing you a straight course, lad," said he with a smile, +every whit as young and winning as that which curved the lips of +Barnabas, "a fair course and a good, clean wind to blow all these +fashionable fooleries out of your head. Good-by!" So he nodded, +turned sharp about and went upon his way. + +Hereupon the Bo'sun shook his head, took off the glazed hat, stared +into it, and putting it on again, turned and stumped along beside +Barnabas. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +CONCERNING THE CAPTAIN'S ARM, THE BOSUN'S LEG, AND THE "BELISARIUS," +SEVENTY-FOUR + +"The 'Bully-Sawyer,' Trafalgar!" murmured the Bo'sun, as they went +on side by side; "you've 'eerd o' the 'Bully-Sawyer,' Seventy-four, +o' course, young sir?" + +"I'm afraid not," said Barnabas, rather apologetically. + +"Not 'eerd o' the 'Bully-Sawyer,' Seventy-four, Lord, young sir! +axing your pardon, but--not 'eerd o' the--why, she were in the van +that day one o' the first to engage the enemy--but a cable's length +to wind'ard o' the 'Victory'--one o' the first to come up wi' the +Mounseers, she were. An' now you tell me as you ain't 'eerd o' +the--Lord, sir!" and the Bo'sun sighed, and shook his head till it +was a marvel how the glazed hat kept its position. + +"Won't you tell me of her, Bo'sun?" + +"Tell you about the old 'Bully-Sawyer,' Seventy-four, ay surely, sir, +surely. Ah! 't were a grand day for us, a grand day for our Nelson, +and a grand day for England--that twenty-first o' October--though 't +were that day as they French and Spanishers done for the poor old +'Bully-Sawyer,' Seventy-four, and his honor's arm and my leg, d' ye +see. The wind were light that day as we bore down on their line--in +two columns, d' ye see, sir--we was in Nelson's column, the weather +line 'bout a cable's length astarn o' the 'Victory.' On we went, +creeping nearer and nearer--the 'Victory,' the old 'Bully-Sawyer,' +and the 'Temeraire'--and every now and then the Mounseers trying a +shot at us to find the range, d' ye see. Right ahead o' us lay the +'Santissima Trinidado'--a great four-decker, young sir--astarn o' +her was the 'Beaucenture,' and astarn o' her again, the 'Redoutable,' +wi' eight or nine others. On we went wi' the Admiral's favorite +signal flying, 'Engage the enemy more closely.' Ah, young sir, there +weren't no stand-offishness about our Nelson, God bless him! As we +bore closer their shot began to come aboard o' us, but the old +'Bully-Sawyer' never took no notice, no, not so much as a gun. Lord! +I can see her now as she bore down on their line; every sail drawing +aloft, the white decks below--the gleam o' her guns wi' their crews +stripped to the waist, every eye on the enemy, every man at his +post--very different she looked an hour arterwards. Well, sir, all +at once the great 'Santissima Trinidado' lets fly at us wi' her +whole four tiers o' broadside, raking us fore and aft, and that begun +it; down comes our foretopmast wi' a litter o' falling spars and +top-hamper, and the decks was all at once splashed, here and there, +wi' ugly blotches. But, Lord! the old 'Bully-Sawyer' never paid no +heed, and still the men stood to the guns, and his Honor, the Captain, +strolled up and down, chatting to his flag officer. Then the enemy's +ships opened on us one arter another, the 'Beaucenture,' the 'San +Nicholas,' and the 'Redoutable' swept and battered us wi' their +murderous broadsides; the air seemed full o' smoke and flame, and +the old 'Bully-Sawyer' in the thick o' it. But still we could see the +'Victory' through the drifting smoke ahead o' us wi' the signal +flying, 'Engage the enemy more closely,' and still we waited and +waited very patient, and crept down on the enemy nearer and nearer." + +"And every minute their fire grew hotter, and their aim truer--down +came our mizzen-topgallant-mast, and hung down over our quarter; +away went our bowsprit--but we held on till we struck their line +'twixt the 'Santissima Trinidado' and the 'Beaucenture,' and, as we +crossed the Spanisher's wake, so close that our yard-arms grazed her +gilded starn, up flashed his Honor's sword, 'Now, lads!' cried he, +hailing the guns--and then--why then, afore I'd took my whistle +from my lips, the old 'Bully-Sawyer,' as had been so patient, so +very patient, let fly wi' every starboard gun as it bore, slap into +the great Spanisher's towering starn, and, a moment arter, her +larboard guns roared and flamed as her broadside smashed into the +'Beaucenture,' and 'bout five minutes arterwards we fell aboard o' +the 'Fougeux,' and there we lay, young sir, and fought it out +yard-arm to yard-arm, and muzzle to muzzle, so close that the flame +o' their guns blackened and scorched us, and we was obliged to heave +buckets o' water, arter every discharge, to put out the fire. Lord! +but the poor old 'Bully-Sawyer' were in a tight corner then, what +wi' the 'Fougeux' to port, the 'Beaucenture' to starboard, and the +great Spanisher hammering us astarn, d' ye see. But there was our +lads--what was left o' 'em--reeking wi' sweat, black wi' powder, +splashed wi' blood, fighting the guns; and there was his Honor the +Cap'n, leaning against the quarter-rail wi' his sword in one hand, +and his snuff-box in t' other--he had two hands then, d'ye see, +young sir; and there was me, hauling on the tackle o' one o' the +quarter-guns--it happened to be short-handed, d'ye see--when, all at +once, I felt a kind o' shock, and there I was flat o' my back, and +wi' the wreckage o' that there quarter-gun on this here left leg o' +mine, pinning me to the deck. As I lay there I heerd our lads a +cheering above the roar and din, and presently, the smoke lifting a +bit, I see the Spanisher had struck, but I likewise see as the poor +old 'Bully-Sawyer' were done for; she lay a wreck--black wi' smoke, +blistered wi' fire, her decks foul wi' blood, her fore and mainmasts +beat overboard, and only the mizzen standing. All this I see in a +glance--ah! and something more--for the mizzen-topgallant had been +shot clean through at the cap, and hung dangling. But now, what wi' +the quiver o' the guns and the roll o' the vessel, down she come +sliding, and sliding, nearer and nearer, till the splintered end +brought up ag'in the wreck o' my gun. But presently I see it begin +to slide ag'in nearer to me--very slow, d'ye see--inch by inch, and +there's me pinned on the flat o' my back, watching it come. 'Another +foot,' I sez, 'and there's an end o' Jerry Tucker--another ten inches, +another eight, another six.' Lord, young sir, I heaved and I +strained at that crushed leg o' mine; but there I was, fast as ever, +while down came the t'gallant--inch by inch. Then, all at once, I +kinder let go o' myself. I give a shout, sir, and then--why +then--there's his Honor the Cap'n leaning over me. 'Is that you, +Jerry?' sez he--for I were black wi' powder, d' ye see, sir. 'Is +that you, Jerry?' sez he. 'Ay, ay, sir,' sez I, 'it be me surely, +till this here spar slips down and does for me.' 'It shan't do that,' +sez he, very square in the jaw. 'It must,' sez I. 'No,' sez he. +'Nothing to stop it, sir,' sez I. 'Yes, there is,' sez he. 'What's +that,' sez I. 'This,' sez he, 'twixt his shut teeth, young sir. And +then, under that there hellish, murdering piece of timber, the Cap'n +sets his hand and arm--his naked hand and arm, sir!' In the name o' +God!' I sez, 'let it come, sir!' 'And lose my Bo'sun?--not me!' sez +he. Then, sir, I see his face go white--and whiter. I heerd the +bones o' his hand and arm crack--like so many sticks--and down he +falls atop o' me in a dead faint, sir." + +"But the t'gallant were stopped, and the life were kept in this here +carcase o' mine. So--that's how the poor old 'Bully-Sawyer,' +Seventy-four, were done for--that's how his Honor lost his arm, and +me my leg, sir. And theer be the stocks, and theer be our young +gentleman inside o' 'em, as cool and smiling and comfortable as you +please." + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +WHICH CONCERNS ITSELF, AMONG OTHER MATTERS, WITH THE VIRTUES OF A +PAIR OF STOCKS AND THE PERVERSITY OF FATHERS + +Before them was a church, a small church, gray with age, and, like +age, lonely. It stood well back from the road which wound away down +the hill to the scattered cottages in the valley below. + +About this church was a burial ground, upon whose green mounds and +leaning headstones the great square tower cast a protecting shadow +that was like a silent benediction. A rural graveyard this, very far +removed from the strife and bustle of cities, and, therefore, a good +place to sleep in. + +A low stone wall was set about it, and in the wall was a gate with a +weather-beaten porch, and beside the gate were the stocks, and in +the stocks, with his hands in his pockets, and his back against the +wall, sat a young gentleman. + +A lonely figure, indeed, whose boots, bright and polished, were +thrust helplessly enough through the leg-holes of the stocks, as +though offering themselves to the notice of every passer-by. Tall he +was, and _point-de-vice_ from those same helpless boots to the +gleaming silver buckle in his hat band. + +Now observing the elegance of his clothes, and the modish languor of +his lounging figure, Barnabas at once recognized him as a gentleman +par excellence, and immediately the memory of his own country-made +habiliments and clumsy boots arose and smote him. The solitary +prisoner seemed in no whit cast down by his awkward and most +undignified situation, indeed, as they drew nearer, Barnabas could +hear him whistling softly to himself. At the sound of their approach, +however, he glanced up, and observed them from under the brim of the +buckled hat with a pair of the merriest blue eyes in the world. + +"Aha, Jerry!" he cried, "whom do you bring to triumph over me in my +abasement? For shame, Jerry! Is this the act of a loving and +affectionate Bo'sun, the Bo'sun of my innocent childhood? Oh, bruise +and blister me!" + +"Why, sir," answered the Bo'sun, beaming through his whiskers, +"this be only a young genelman, like yourself, as be bound for Lonnon, +Master Horatio." + +The face, beneath the devil-may-care rake of the buckled hat, was +pale and handsome, and, despite its studied air of gentlemanly +weariness, the eyes were singularly quick and young, and wholly +ingenuous. + +Now, as they gazed at each other, eye to eye--the merry blue and the +steadfast gray--suddenly, unaffectedly, as though drawn by instinct, +their hands reached out and met in a warm and firm clasp, and, in +that instant, the one forgot his modish languor, and the other his +country clothes and blunt-toed boots, for the Spirit of Youth stood +between them, and smile answered smile. + +"And so you are bound for London, sir; pray, are you in a hurry to +get there?" + +"Not particularly," Barnabas rejoined. + +"Then there you have the advantage of me, for I am, sir. But here I +sit, a martyr for conscience sake. Now, sir, if you are in no great +hurry, and have a mind to travel in company with a martyr, just as +soon as I am free of these bilboes, we'll take the road together. +What d' ye say?" + +"With pleasure!" answered Barnabas. + +"Why then, sir, pray sit down. I blush to offer you the stocks, but +the grass is devilish dewy and damp, and there's deuce a chair to be +had--which is only natural, of course; but pray sit somewhere until +the Bo'sun, like the jolly old dog he is, produces the key, and lets +me out." + +"Bo'sun, you'll perceive the gentleman is waiting, and, for that +matter, so am I. The key, Jerry, the key." + +"Axing your pardons, gentlemen both," began the Bo'sun, taking +himself by the starboard whisker, "but orders is orders, and I was +to tell you, Master Horatio, sir, as there was firstly a round o' +beef cold, for breakfus!" + +"Beef!" exclaimed the prisoner, striking himself on the crown of the +hat. + +"Next a smoked tongue--" continued the Bo'sun. + +"Tongue!" sighed the prisoner, turning to Barnabas. "You hear that, +sir, my unnatural father and uncle batten upon rounds of beef, and +smoked tongues, while I sit here, my legs at a most uncomfortable +angle, and my inner man as empty as a drum; oh, confound and curse it!" + +"A brace o' cold fowl," went on the Bo'sun inexorably; "a biled 'am--" + +"Enough, Jerry, enough, lest I forget filial piety and affection and +rail upon 'em for heartless gluttons." + +"And," pursued the Bo'sun, still busy with his whisker and +abstracted of eye--"and I were to say as you was now free to come +out of they stocks--" + +"Aha, Jerry! even the most Roman of fathers can relent, then. Out +with the key, Jerry! Egad! I can positively taste that beef from here; +unlock me, Jerry, that I may haste to pay my respects to Roman parent, +uncle, and beef--last, but not least, Jerry--" + +"Always supposing," added the Bo'sun, giving a final twist to his +whisker, "that you've 'ad time to think better on it, d' ye see, and +change your mind, Master Horatio, my Lord." + +Barnabas pricked up his ears; a lord, and in the stocks! preposterous! +and yet surely these were the boots, and clothes, and hat of a lord. + +"Change my mind, Jerry!" exclaimed his Lordship, "impossible; you +know I never change my mind. What! yield up my freedom for a mess of +beef and tongue, or even a brace of cold fowl--" + +"Not to mention a cold biled 'am, Master Horatio, sir." + +"No, Jerry, not for all the Roman parents, rounds of beef, +tyrannical uncles and cold hams in England. Tempt me no more, Jerry; +Bo'sun, avaunt, and leave me to melancholy and emptiness." + +"Why then," said the Bo'sun, removing the glazed hat and extracting +therefrom the Captain's meat packages, "I were to give you this meat, +Master Horatio, beef and bread, my Lord." + +"From the Captain, I'll be sworn, eh, Jerry?" + +"Ay, ay, my Lord, from his Honor the Cap'n." + +"Now God bless him for a tender-hearted old martinet, eh, Bo'sun?" + +"Which I begs to say, amen, Master Horatio, sir." + +"To be sure there is nothing Roman about my uncle." Saying which, +his Lordship, tearing open the packages, and using his fingers as +forks, began to devour the edibles with huge appetite. + +"There was a tongue, I think you mentioned, Jerry," he inquired +suddenly. + +"Ay, sir, likewise a cold biled 'am." + +His Lordship sighed plaintively. + +"And yet," said he, sandwiching a slice of beef between two pieces +of bread with great care and nicety, "who would be so mean-spirited +as to sell that freedom which is the glorious prerogative of man +(and which I beg you to notice is a not unpleasing phrase, sir) who, +I demand, would surrender this for a base smoked tongue?" + +"Not forgetting a fine, cold biled 'am, Master Horatio, my Lord. And +now, wi' your permission, I'll stand away for the village, leaving +you to talk wi' this here young gentleman and take them vittles +aboard, till I bring up alongside again, Cap'n's orders, Master +Horatio." Saying which, the Bo'sun touched the glazed hat, went about, +and, squaring his yards, bore away for the village. + +"Sir," said his Lordship, glancing whimsically at Barnabas over his +fast-disappearing hunch of bread and meat, "you have never +been--called upon to--sit in the stocks, perhaps?" + +"Never--as yet," answered Barnabas, smiling. + +"Why, then, sir, let me inform you the stocks have their virtues. +I'll not deny a chair is more comfortable, and certainly more +dignified, but give me the stocks for thought, there's nothing like +'em for profound meditation. The Bible says, I believe, that one +should seek the seclusion of one's closet, but, believe me, for deep +reverie there's nothing like the stocks. You see, a poor devil has +nothing else to do, therefore he meditates." + +"And pray," inquired Barnabas, "may I ask what brings you sitting in +this place of thought?" + +"Three things, sir, namely, matrimony, a horse race, and a father. +Three very serious matters, sir, and the last the gravest of all. +For you must know I am, shall I say--blessed? yes, certainly, +blessed in a father who is essentially Roman, being a man of his word, +sir. Now a man of his word, more especially a father, may prove a +very mixed blessing. Speaking of fathers, generally, sir, you may +have noticed that they are the most unreasonable class of beings, +and delight to arrogate to themselves an authority which is, to say +the least, trying; my father especially so--for, as I believe I +hinted before, he is so infernally Roman." + +"Indeed," smiled Barnabas, "the best of fathers are, after all, only +human." + +"Aha!" cried his Lordship, "there speaks experience. And yet, sir, +these human fathers, one and all, believe in what I may term the +divine right of fathers to thwart, and bother, and annoy sons old +enough to be--ha--" + +"To know their own minds," said Barnabas. + +"Precisely," nodded his Lordship. "Consequently, my Roman father and +I fell out--my honored Roman and I frequently do fall out--but this +morning, sir, unfortunately 't was before breakfast." Here his +Lordship snatched a hasty bite of bread and meat with great appetite +and gusto, while Barnabas sat, dreamy of eye, staring away across +the valley. + +"Pray," said he suddenly, yet with his gaze still far away, +"do you chance to be acquainted with a Sir Mortimer Carnaby?" + +"Acquainted," cried his Lordship, speaking with his mouth full. +"Oh, Gad, sir, every one who _is_ any one is acquainted with Sir +Mortimer Carnaby." + +"Ah!" said Barnabas musingly, "then you probably know him." + +"He honors me with his friendship." + +"Hum!" said Barnabas. + +Here his Lordship glanced up quickly and with a slight contraction +of the brow. + +"Sir," he retorted, with a very creditable attempt at dignity, +despite the stocks and his hunch of bread and meat, "Sir, permit me +to add that I am proud of his friendship." + +"And pray," inquired Barnabas, turning his eyes suddenly to his +companion's face, "do you like him?" + +"Like him, sir!" + +"Or trust him!" persisted Barnabas, steadfast-eyed. + +"Trust him, sir," his Lordship repeated, his gaze beginning to wander, +"trust him!" Here, chancing to espy what yet remained of the bread +and meat, he immediately took another bite, and when he spoke it was +in a somewhat muffled tone in consequence. "Trust him? Egad, sir, +the boot's on t'other leg, for 'twixt you and me, I owe him a cool +thousand, as it is!" + +"He is a great figure in the fashionable world, I understand," said +Barnabas. + +"He is the most admired Buck in London, sir," nodded his Lordship, +"the most dashing, the most sought after, a boon companion of +Royalty itself, sir, the Corinthian of Corinthians." + +"Do you mean," said Barnabas, with his eyes on the distance again, +"that he is a personal friend of the Prince?" + +"One of the favored few," nodded his Lordship, "and, talking of him, +brings us back to my honored Roman." + +"How so?" inquired Barnabas, his gaze on the distance once more. + +"Because, sir, with that unreasonableness peculiar to fathers, he +has taken a violent antipathy to my friend Carnaby, though, as far +as I know, he has never met my friend Carnaby. This morning, sir, my +father summoned me to the library. 'Horatio,' says he, in his most +Roman manner,--he never calls me Horatio unless about to treat me to +the divine right of fathers,--'Horatio,' says he, 'you're old enough +to marry.' 'Indeed, I greatly fear so, sir,' says I. 'Then,' says he, +solemn as an owl, 'why not settle down here and marry?' Here he +named a certain lovely person whom, 'twixt you and me, sir, I have +long ago determined to marry, but, in my own time, be it understood. +'Sir,' said I, 'believe me I would ride over and settle the matter +with her this very morning, only that I am to race 'Moonraker' +(a horse of mine, you'll understand, sir) against Sir Mortimer +Carnaby's 'Clasher' and if I should happen to break my neck, it +might disappoint the lady in question, or even break her heart.' +'Horatio,' says my Roman--more Roman than ever--'I strongly +disapprove of your sporting propensities, and, more especially, the +circle of acquaintances you have formed in London.' 'Blackguardedly +Bucks and cursed Corinthians!' snarls my uncle, the Captain, +flapping his empty sleeve at me. 'That, sirs, I deeply regret,' says +I, preserving a polite serenity, 'but the match is made, and a man +must needs form some circle of acquaintance when he lives in London.' +'Then,' says my honored Roman, with that lack of reasonableness +peculiar to fathers, 'don't live in London, and as for the horse +match give it up.' 'Quite impossible, sir,' says I, calmly determined, +'the match has been made and recorded duly at White's, and if you +were as familiar with the fashionable sporting set as I, you would +understand.' 'Pish, boy,' says my Roman--'t is a trick fathers have +at such times of casting one's youth in one's teeth, you may +probably have noticed this for yourself, sir--'Pish, boy,' says he, +'I know, I know, I've lived in London!' 'True, sir,' says I, 'but +things have changed since your day, your customs went out with your +tie-wigs, and are as antiquated as your wide-skirted coats and +buckled shoes'--this was a sly dig at my worthy uncle, the Captain, +sir. 'Ha!' cries he, flapping his empty sleeve at me again, 'and +nice figure-heads you made of yourselves with your ridiculous stocks +and skin-tight breeches,' and indeed," said his Lordship, stooping +to catch a side-view of his imprisoned legs, "they are a most +excellent fit, I think you'll agree." + +"Marvellous!" sighed Barnabas, observing them with the eyes of envy. + +"Well, sir," pursued his Lordship, "the long and short of it was--my +honored Roman, having worked himself into a state of 'divine right' +necessary to the occasion, vows that unless I give up the race and +spend less time and money in London, he will clap me into the stocks. +'Then, sir,' says I, smiling and unruffled, 'pray clap me in as +soon as you will'; and he being, as I told you, a man of his +word,--well--here I am." + +"Where I find you enduring your situation with a remarkable fortitude," +said Barnabas. + +"Egad, sir! how else should I endure it? I flatter myself I am +something of a philosopher, and thus, enduring in the cause of +freedom and free will, I scorn my bonds, and am consequently free. +Though, I'll admit, 'twixt you and me, sir, the position cramps +one's legs most damnably." + +"Now in regard to Sir Mortimer Carnaby," persisted Barnabas, +"your father, it would seem, neither likes nor trusts him." + +"My father, sir, is--a father, consequently perverse. Sir Mortimer +Carnaby is my friend, therefore, though my father has never met Sir +Mortimer Carnaby, he takes a mortal antipathy to Sir Mortimer Carnaby, +Q.E.D., and all the rest of it." + +"On the other hand," pursued Barnabas the steadfast-eyed, +"you--admire, respect, and honor your friend Sir Mortimer Carnaby!" + +"Admire him, sir, who wouldn't? There isn't such another all-round +sportsman in London--no, nor England. Only last week he drove +cross-country in his tilbury over hedges and ditches, fences and all, +and never turned a hair. Beat the 'Fighting Tanner' at Islington in +four rounds, and won over ten thousand pounds in a single night's +play from Egalité d'Orléans himself. Oh, egad, sir! Carnaby's the +most wonderful fellow in the world!" + +"Though a very indifferent boxer!" added Barnabas. + +"Indiff--!" His Lordship let fall the last fragments of his bread +and meat, and stared at Barnabas in wide-eyed amazement. "Did you +say--indifferent?" + +"I did," nodded Barnabas, "he is much too passionate ever to make a +good boxer." + +"Why, deuce take me! I tell you there isn't a pugilist in England +cares to stand up to him with the muffles, or bare knuckles!" + +"Probably because there are no pugilists left in England, worth the +name," said Barnabas. + +"Gad, sir! we are all pugilists nowadays--the Manly Art is all the +fashion--and, I think, a very excellent fashion. And permit me to +tell you I know what I'm talking of, I have myself boxed with nearly +all the best 'milling coves' in London, and am esteemed no novice at +the sport. Indeed love of the 'Fancy' was born in me, for my father, +sir--though occasionally Roman--was a great patron of the game, and +witnessed the great battle between 'Glorious John Barty' and +Nathaniel Bell--" + +"At Dartford!" added Barnabas. + +"And when Bell was knocked down, at the end of the fight--" + +"After the ninety-seventh round!" nodded Barnabas. + +"My father, sir, was the first to jump into the ring and clasp the +Champion's fist--and proud he is to tell of it!" + +"Proud!" said Barnabas, staring. + +"Proud, sir--yes, why not? so should I have been--so would any man +have been. Why let me tell you, sir, at home, in the hall, between +the ensign my uncle's ship bore through Trafalgar, and the small +sword my grandfather carried at Blenheim, we have the belt John Barty +wore that day." + +"His belt!" exclaimed Barnabas, "my--John Barty's belt?" + +"So you see I should know what I am talking about. Therefore, when +you condemn such a justly celebrated man of his hands as my friend +Carnaby, I naturally demand to know who you are to pronounce judgment?" + +"I am one," answered Barnabas, "who has been taught the science by +that very Nathaniel Bell and 'Glorious John' you mention." + +"Hey--what?--what?" cried his Lordship. + +"I have boxed with them regularly every day," Barnabas continued, +"and I have learned that strength of arm, quickness of foot, and a +true eye are all unavailing unless they be governed by a calm, +unruffled temper, for passion clouds the judgment, and in fighting +as in all else, it is judgment that tells in the long run." + +"Now, by heaven!" exclaimed his Lordship, jerking his imprisoned +legs pettishly, "if I didn't happen to be sitting trussed up here, +and we had a couple of pair of muffles, why we might have had a +friendly 'go' just to take each other's measures; as it is--" + +But at this moment they heard a hoarse bellow, and, looking round, +beheld the Bo'sun who, redder of face than ever and pitching and +rolling in his course, bore rapidly down on them, and hauling his +wind, took off the glazed hat. + +"Ha, Jerry!" exclaimed his Lordship, "what now? If you happen to +have anything else eatable in that hat of yours, out with it, for I +am devilish sharp-set still." + +"Why, I have got summat, Master Horatio, but it aren't bread nor yet +beef, nor yet again biled 'am, my Lord--it can't be eat nor it can't +be drank--and here it be!" and with the words the Bo'sun produced a +ponderous iron key. + +"Why, my dear old Jerry--my lovely Bo'sun--" + +"Captured by his Honor, Master Horatio--carried off by the Cap'n +under your own father's very own nose, sir--or as you might say, cut +out under the enemy's guns, my Lord!" With which explanation the old +sailor unfastened the padlock, raised the upper leg-board, and set +the prisoner free. + +"Ah!--but it's good to have the use of one's legs again!" exclaimed +his Lordship, stretching the members in question, "and that," said he, +turning to Barnabas with his whimsical smile, "that is another value +of the stocks--one never knows how pleasant and useful a pair of +legs can be until one has sat with 'em stretched out helplessly at +right angles for an hour or two." Here, the Bo'sun having stowed +back the key and resumed his hat, his Lordship reached out and +gripped his hand. "So it was Uncle John, was it, Jerry--how very +like Uncle John--eh, Jerry?" + +"Never was nobody born into this here vale o' sorrer like the +Cap'n--no, nor never will be--nohow!" said the Bo'sun with a solemn +nod. + +"God bless him, eh, Jerry?" + +"Amen to that, my Lord." + +"You'll let him know I said 'God bless him,' Jerry?" + +"I will, my Lord, ay, ay, God bless him it is, Master Horatio!" + +"Now as to my Roman--my father, Jerry, tell him--er--" + +"Be you still set on squaring away for London, then, sir?" + +"As a rock, Jerry, as a rock!" + +"Then 't is 'good-by,' you're wishing me?" + +"Yes, 'good-by,' Jerry, remember 'God bless Uncle John,' +and--er--tell my father that--ah, what the deuce shall you tell him +now?--it should be something a little affecting--wholly dutiful, and +above all gently dignified--hum! Ah, yes--tell him that whether I +win or lose the race, whether I break my unworthy neck or no, I +shall never forget that I am the Earl of Bamborough's son. And as +for you, Jerry, why, I shall always think of you as the jolly old +sea dog who used to stoop down to let me get at his whiskers, they +were a trifle blacker in those days. Gad! how I did pull 'em, Jerry, +even then I admired your whiskers, didn't I? I swear there isn't such +another pair in England. Good-by, Jerry!" Saying which his Lordship +turned swiftly upon his heel and walked on a pace or two, while +Barnabas paused to wring the old seaman's brown hand; then they went +on down the hill together. + +And the Bo'sun, sitting upon the empty stocks with his wooden pin +sticking straight out before him, sighed as he watched them striding +London-wards, the Lord's son, tall, slender, elegant, a gentleman to +his finger tips, and the commoner's son, shaped like a young god, +despite his homespun, and between them, as it were linking them +together, fresh and bright and young as the morning, went the joyous +Spirit of Youth. + +Now whether the Bo'sun saw aught of this, who shall say, but old +eyes see many things. And thus, perhaps, the sigh that escaped the +battered old man-o'-war's man's lips was only because of his own +vanished youth--his gray head and wooden leg, after all. + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +WHICH DESCRIBES A PERIPATETIC CONVERSATION + +"Sir," said his Lordship, after they had gone some way in silence, +"you are thoughtful, not to say, devilish grave!" + +"And you," retorted Barnabas, "have sighed--three times." + +"No, did I though?--why then, to be candid,--I detest saying +'Good-by!'--and I have been devoutly wishing for two pair of muffles, +for, sir, I have taken a prodigious liking to you--but--" + +"But?" inquired Barnabas. + +"Some time since you mentioned the names of two men--champions +both--ornaments of the 'Fancy'--great fighters of unblemished +reputation." + +"You mean my--er--that is, Natty Bell and John Barty." + +"Precisely!--you claim to have--boxed with them, sir?" + +"Every day!" nodded Barnabas. + +"With both of them,--I understand?" + +"With both of them." + +"Hum!" + +"Sir," said Barnabas, growing suddenly polite, "do you doubt my word?" + +"Well," answered his Lordship, with his whimsical look, "I'll admit +I could have taken it easier had you named only one, for surely, sir, +you must be aware that these were Masters of the Fist--the greatest +since the days of Jack Broughton and Mendoza." + +"I know each had been champion--but it would almost seem that I have +entertained angels unawares!--and I boxed with both because they +happened to live together." + +"Then, sir," said the Viscount, extending his hand in his frank, +impetuous manner, "you are blest of the gods. I congratulate you and, +incidentally, my desire for muffles grows apace,--you must +positively put 'em on with me at the first opportunity." + +"Right willingly, sir," said Barnabas. + +"But deuce take me!" exclaimed the Viscount, "if we are to become +friends, which I sincerely hope, we ought at least to know each +other's name. Mine, sir, is Bellasis, Horatio Bellasis; I was named +Horatio after Lord Nelson, consequently my friends generally call me +Tom, Dick, or Harry, for with all due respect to his Lordship, +Horatio is a very devil of a name, now isn't it? Pray what's yours?" + +"Barnabas--Beverley. At your service." + +"Barnabas--hum! Yours isn't much better. Egad! I think 't is about +as bad. Barnabas!--No, I'll call you Bev, on condition that you make +mine Dick; what d' ye say, my dear Bev?" + +"Agreed, Dick," answered Barnabas, smiling, whereupon they stopped, +and having very solemnly shaken hands, went on again, merrier than +ever. + +"Now what," inquired the Viscount, suddenly, "what do you think of +marriage, my dear Bev?" + +"Marriage?" repeated Barnabas, staring. + +"Marriage!" nodded his Lordship, airily, "matrimony, Bev,--wedlock, +my dear fellow?" + +"I--indeed I have never had occasion to think of it." + +"Fortunate fellow!" sighed his companion. + +"Until--this morning!" added Barnabas, as his fingers encountered a +small, soft, lacy bundle in his pocket. + +"Un-fortunate fellow!" sighed the Viscount, shaking his head. +"So you are haunted by the grim spectre, are you? Well, that should +be an added bond between us. Not that I quarrel with matrimony, mark +you, Bev; in the abstract it is a very excellent institution, +though--mark me again!--when a man begins to think of marriage it is +generally the beginning of the end. Ah, my dear fellow! many a +bright and promising career has been blighted--sapped--snapped +off--and--er--ruthlessly devoured by the ravenous maw of marriage. +There was young Egerton with a natural gift for boxing, and one of +the best whips I ever knew--we raced our coaches to Brighton and +back for a thousand a side and he beat me by six yards--a splendid +all round sportsman--ruined by matrimony! He's buried somewhere in +the country and passing his days in the humdrum pursuit of being +husband and father. Oh, bruise and blister me! it's all very pitiful, +and yet"--here the Viscount sighed again--"I do not quarrel with +the state, for marriage has often proved a--er--very present help in +the time of trouble, Bev." + +"Trouble?" repeated Barnabas. + +"Money-troubles, my dear Bev, pecuniary unpleasantnesses, debts, and +duns, and devilish things of that kind." + +"But surely," said Barnabas, "no man--no honorable man would marry +and burden a woman with debts of his own contracting?" + +At this, the Viscount looked at Barnabas, somewhat askance, and fell +to scratching his chin. "Of course," he continued, somewhat hurriedly, +"I shall have all the money I need--more than I shall need some day." + +"You mean," inquired Barnabas, "when your father dies?" + +Here the Viscount's smooth brow clouded suddenly. + +"Sir," said he, "we will not mention that contingency. My father is +a great Roman, I'll admit, but, 'twixt you and me,--I--I'm devilish +fond of him, and, strangely enough, I prefer to have him Romanly +alive and my purse empty--than to possess his money and have him +dea--Oh damn it! let's talk of something else,--Carnaby for instance." + +"Yes," nodded Barnabas, "your friend, Carnaby." + +"Well, then, in the first place, I think I hinted to you that I owe +him five thousand pounds?" + +"Five thousand! indeed, no, it was only one, when you mentioned it +to me last." + +"Was it so? but then, d'ye see, Bev, we were a good two miles nearer +my honored Roman when I mentioned the matter before, and trees +sometimes have ears, consequently I--er--kept it down a bit, my dear +Bev, I kept it down a bit; but the fact remains that it's five, and +I won't be sure but that there's an odd hundred or two hanging on to +it somewhere, beside." + +"You led your father to believe it was only one thousand, then?" + +"I did, Bev; you see money seems to make him so infernally Roman, +and I've been going the pace a bit these last six months. There's +another thousand to Jerningham, but he can wait, then there's six +hundred to my tailor, deuce take him!" + +"Six hundred!" exclaimed Barnabas, aghast. + +"Though I won't swear it isn't seven." + +"To be sure he is a very excellent tailor," Barnabas added. + +"Gad, yes! and the fellow knows it! Then, let's see, there's another +three hundred and fifty to the coach builders, how much does that +make, Bev?" + +"Six thousand, nine hundred and fifty pounds!" + +"So much--deuce take it! And that's not all, you know." + +"Not?" + +"No, Bev, I dare say I could make you up another three or four +hundred or so if I were to rake about a bit, but six thousand is +enough to go on with, thank you!" + +"Six thousand pounds is a deal of money to owe!" said Barnabas. + +"Yes," answered the Viscount, scratching his chin again, "though, +mark me, Bev, it might be worse! Slingsby, a friend of mine, got +plucked for fifteen thousand in a single night last year. Oh! it +might be worse. As it is, Bev, the case lies thus: unless I win the +race some three weeks from now--I've backed myself heavily, you'll +understand--unless I win, I am between the deep sea of matrimony and +the devil of old Jasper Gaunt." + +"And who is Jasper Gaunt?" + +"Oh, delicious innocence! Ah, Bev! it's evident you are new to London. +Gaunt is an outcome of the City, as harsh and dingy as its bricks, +as flinty and hard as its pavements. Gad! most of our set know +Jasper Gaunt--to their cost! Who is Jasper Gaunt, you ask; well, my +dear fellow, question Slingsby of the Guards, he's getting deeper +every day, poor old Sling! Ask it, but in a whisper, at Almack's, or +White's, or Brooke's, and my Lord this, that, or t'other shall tell +you pat and to the point in no measured terms. Ask it of wretched +debtors in the prisons, of haggard toilers in the streets, of +pale-faced women and lonely widows, and they'll tell you, one and all, +that Jasper Gaunt is the harshest, most merciless bloodsucker that +ever battened and grew rich on the poverty and suffering of his +fellow men, and--oh here we are!" + +Saying which, his Lordship abruptly turned down an unexpected and +very narrow side lane, where, screened behind three great trees, was +a small inn, or hedge tavern with a horse-trough before the door +and a sign whereon was the legend, "The Spotted Cow," with a +representation of that quadruped below, surely the very spottiest +of spotted cows that ever adorned an inn sign. + +"Not much to look at, my dear Bev," said the Viscount, with a wave +of his hand towards the inn, "but it's kept by an old sailor, a +shipmate of the Bo'sun's. I can at least promise you a good breakfast, +and the ale you will find excellent. But first I want to show you a +very small demon of mine, a particularly diminutive fiend; follow me, +my dear fellow." + +So, by devious ways, the Viscount led Barnabas round to the back of +the inn, and across a yard to where, beyond a gate, was a rick-yard, +and beyond that again, a small field or paddock. Now, within this +paddock, the admired of a group of gaping rustics, was the very +smallest groom Barnabas had ever beheld, for, from the crown of his +leather postilion's hat to the soles of his small top boots, he +could not have measured more than four feet at the very most. + +"There he is, Bev, behold him!" said the Viscount, with his +whimsical smile, "the very smallest fiend, the most diminutive demon +that ever wore top boots!" + +The small groom was engaged in walking a fine blood horse up and +down the paddock, or rather the horse was walking the groom, for +the animal being very tall and powerful and much given to divers +startings, snortings, and tossings of the head, it thus befell that +to every step the diminutive groom marched on terra firma, he took +one in mid-air, at which times, swinging pendulum-like, he poured +forth a stream of invective that the most experienced ostler, guard, +or coachman might well have envied, and all in a voice so gruff, so +hoarse and guttural, despite his tender years, as filled the +listening rustics with much apparent awe and wonder. + +"And he can't be a day older than fourteen, my dear Bev," said the +Viscount, with a complacent nod, as they halted in the perfumed +shade of an adjacent rick; "that's his stable voice assumed for the +occasion, and, between you and me, I can't think how he does it. Egad! +he's the most remarkable boy that ever wore livery, the sharpest, +the gamest. I picked him up in London, a ragged urchin--caught him +picking my pocket, Been with me ever since, and I wouldn't part with +him for his weight in gold." + +"Picking your pocket!" said Barnabas, "hum!" + +The Viscount looked a trifle uncomfortable. "Why you see, my dear +fellow," he explained, "he was so--so deuced--small, Bev, a wretched +little pale-faced, shivering atomy, peeping up at me over a ragged +elbow waiting to be thrashed, and I liked him because he didn't +snivel, and he was too insignificant for prison, so, when he told me +how hungry he was, I forgot to cuff his shrinking, dirty little head, +and suggested a plate of beef at one of the à la mode shops. 'Beef?' +says he. 'Yes, beef,' says I, 'could you eat any?' 'Beef?' says he +again, 'couldn't I? why, I could eat a ox whole, I could!' So I +naturally dubbed him Milo of Crotona on the spot." + +"And has he ever tried to pick your pocket since?" + +"No, Bev; you see, he's never hungry nowadays. Gad!" said the +Viscount, taking Barnabas by the arm, "I've set the fashion in tigers, +Bev. Half the fellows at White's and Brooke's are wild to get that +very small demon of mine; but he isn't to be bought or bribed or +stolen--for what there is of him is faithful, Bev,--and now come in +to breakfast." + +So saying, the Viscount led Barnabas across the yard to a certain +wing or off-shoot of the inn, where beneath a deep, shadowy gable +was a door. Yet here he must needs pause a moment to glance down at +himself to settle a ruffle and adjust his hat ere, lifting the latch, +he ushered Barnabas into a kitchen. + +A kitchen indeed? Ay, but such a kitchen! Surely wood was never +whiter, nor pewter more gleaming than in this kitchen; surely no +flagstones ever glowed a warmer red; surely oak panelling never +shone with a mellower lustre; surely no viands could look more +delicious than the great joint upon the polished sideboard, flanked +by the crisp loaf and the yellow cheese; surely no flowers could +ever bloom fairer or smell sweeter than those that overflowed the +huge punch bowl at the window and filled the Uncle Toby jugs upon +the mantel; surely nowhere could there be at one and the same time +such dainty orderliness and comfortable comfort as in this kitchen. + +Indeed the historian is bold to say that within no kitchen in this +world were all things in such a constant state of winking, twinkling, +gleaming and glowing purity, from the very legs of the oaken table +and chairs, to the hacked and battered old cutlass above the chimney, +as in this self-same kitchen of "The Spotted Cow." + +And yet--and yet! Sweeter, whiter, warmer, purer, and far more +delicious than anything in this kitchen (or out of it) was she who +had started up to her feet so suddenly, and now stood with blushing +cheeks and hurried bosom, gazing shy-eyed upon the young Viscount; +all dainty grace from the ribbons in her mob-cap to the slender, +buckled shoe peeping out beneath her print gown; and Barnabas, +standing between them, saw her flush reflected as it were for a +moment in the Viscount's usually pale cheek. + +"My Lord!" said she, and stopped. + +"Why, Clemency, you--you are--handsomer than ever!" stammered the +Viscount. + +"Oh, my Lord!" she exclaimed; and as she turned away Barnabas +thought there were tears in her eyes. + +"Did we startle you, Clemency? Forgive me--but I--that is, +we are--hungry, ravenous. Er--this is a friend of mine--Mr. +Beverley--Mistress Clemency Dare; and oh, Clemency, I've had no +breakfast!" + +But seeing she yet stood with head averted, the Viscount with a +freedom born of long acquaintance, yet with a courtly deference also, +took the hand that hung so listless, and looked down into the +flushed beauty of her face, and, as he looked, beheld a great tear +that crept upon her cheek. + +"Why, Clemency!" he exclaimed, his raillery gone, his voice suddenly +tender, "Clemency--you're crying, my dear maid; what is it?" + +Now, beholding her confusion, and because of it, Barnabas turned +away and walked to the other end of the kitchen, and there it +chanced that he spied two objects that lay beneath the table, and +stooping, forthwith, he picked them up. They were small and +insignificant enough in themselves--being a scrap of crumpled paper, +and a handsome embossed coat button; yet as Barnabas gazed upon this +last, he smiled grimly, and so smiling slipped the objects into his +pocket. + +"Come now, Clemency," persisted the Viscount, gently, "what is wrong?" + +"Nothing; indeed, nothing, my Lord." + +"Ay, but there is. See how red your eyes are; they quite spoil your +beauty--" + +"Beauty!" she cried. "Oh, my Lord; even you!" + +"What? What have I said? You are beautiful you know, Clem, and--" + +"Beauty!" she cried again, and turned upon him with clenched hands +and dark eyes aflame. "I hate it--oh, I hate it!" and with the +words she stamped her foot passionately, and turning, sped away, +banging the door behind her. + +"Now, upon my soul!" said the Viscount, taking off his hat and +ruffling up his auburn locks, "of all the amazing, contradictory +creatures in the world, Bev! I've known Clemency--hum--a goodish time, +my dear fellow; but never saw her like this before, I wonder what +the deuce--" + +But at this juncture a door at the further end of the kitchen opened, +and a man entered. He, like the Bo'sun, was merry of eye, breezy of +manner, and hairy of visage; but there all similarity ended, for, +whereas the Bo'sun was a square man, this man was round--round of +head, round of face, and round of eye. At the sight of the Viscount, +his round face expanded in a genial smile that widened until it was +lost in whisker, and he set two fingers to his round forehead and +made a leg. + +"Lord love me, my Lord, and is it you?" he exclaimed, clasping the +hand the Viscount had extended. "Now, from what that imp of a +bye--axing his parding--your tiger, Mr. Milo, told me, I were to +expect you at nine sharp--and here it be nigh on to ten--" + +"True, Jack; but then both he and I reckoned without my father. My +father had the bad taste to--er--disagree with me, hence I am late, +Jack, and breakfastless, and my friend Mr. Beverley is as hungry as +I am. Bev, my dear fellow, this is a very old friend of mine--Jack +Truelove, who fought under my uncle at Trafalgar." + +"Servant, sir!" says Jack, saluting Barnabas. + +"The 'Belisarius,' Seventy-four!" smiled Barnabas. + +"Ay, ay," says Jack, with a shake of his round head, "the poor old +'Bully-Sawyer'--But, Lord love me! if you be hungry--" + +"Devilish!" said the Viscount, "but first, Jack--what's amiss with +Clemency?" + +"Clemency? Why, where be that niece o' mine?" + +"She's run away, Jack. I found her in tears, and I had scarce said a +dozen words to her when--hey presto! She's off and away." + +"Tears is it, my Lord?--and 'er sighed, too, I reckon. Come now--'er +sighed likewise. Eh, my Lord?" + +"Why, yes, she may have sighed, but--" + +"There," says Jack, rolling his round head knowingly, "it be nought +but a touch o' love, my Lord." + +"Love!" exclaimed the Viscount sharply. + +"Ah, love! Nieces is difficult craft, and very apt to be took all +aback by the wind o' love, as you might say--but Lord! it's only +natural arter all. Ah! the rearing o' motherless nieces is a +ticklish matter, gentlemen--as to nevvys, I can't say, never 'aving +'ad none _to_ rear--but nieces--Lord! I could write a book on 'em, +that is, s'posing I could write, which I can't; for, as I've told +you many a time, my Lord, and you then but a bye over here on a +visit, wi' the Bo'sun, or his Honor the Cap'n, and you no older then +than--er--Mr. Milo, though longer in the leg, as I 've told you many +a time and oft--a very ob-servant man I be in most things, consequent' +I aren't observed this here niece--this Clem o' mine fair weather +and foul wi'out larning the kind o' craft nieces be. Consequent', +when you tell me she weeps, and likewise sighs, then I make bold to +tell you she's got a touch o' love, and you can lay to that, my Lord." + +"Love," exclaimed the Viscount again, and frowning this time; +"now, who the devil should she be in love with!" + +"That, my Lord, I can't say, not having yet observed. But now, by +your leave, I'll pass the word for breakfast." + +Hereupon the landlord of "The Spotted Cow" opened the lattice, and +sent a deep-lunged hail across the yard. + +"Ahoy!" he roared, "Oliver, Penelope, Bess--breakfast ho!--breakfast +for the Viscount--and friend. They be all watching of that theer +imp--axing his pardon--that theer groom o' yours, what theer be of +him, which though small ain't by no means to be despised, him being +equally ready wi' his tongue as his fist." + +Here entered two maids, both somewhat flushed with haste but both +equally bright of eye, neat of person, and light of foot, who very +soon had laid a snowy cloth and duly set out thereon the beef, the +bread and cheese, and a mighty ham, before which the Viscount seated +himself forthwith, while their sailor host, more jovial than ever, +pointed out its many beauties with an eloquent thumb. And so, having +seen his guests seated opposite each other, he pulled his forelock +at them, made a leg to them, and left them to their breakfast. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +IN WHICH FISTS ARE CLENCHED; AND OF A SELFISH MAN, WHO WAS AN +APOSTLE OF PEACE + +Conversation, though in itself a blessed and delightful thing, yet +may be sometimes out of place, and wholly impertinent. If wine is a +loosener of tongues, surely food is the greatest, pleasantest, and +most complete silencer; for what man when hunger gnaws and food is +before him--what man, at such a time, will stay to discuss the +wonders of the world, of science--or even himself? + +Thus our two young travellers, with a very proper respect for the +noble fare before them, paid their homage to it in silence--but a +silence that was eloquent none the less. At length, however, each +spoke, and each with a sigh. + +_The Viscount_. "The ham, my dear fellow--!" + +_Barnabas_. "The beef, my dear Dick--!" + +_The Viscount and Barnabus_. "Is beyond words." + +Having said which, they relapsed again into a silence, broken only +by the occasional rattle of knife and fork. + +_The Viscount_ (hacking at the loaf). "It's a grand thing to be hungry, +my dear fellow." + +_Barnabas_ (glancing over the rim of his tankard). "When you have the +means of satisfying it--yes." + +_The Viscount_ (becoming suddenly abstracted, and turning his piece of +bread over and over in his fingers). "Now regarding--Mistress Clemency, +my dear Bev; what do you think of her?" + +_Barnabas_ (helping himself to more beef). "That she is a remarkably +handsome girl!" + +_The Viscount_ (frowning at his piece of bread). "Hum! d'you think so?" + +_Barnabas_. "Any man would. I'll trouble you for the mustard, Dick." + +_The Viscount_. "Yes; I suppose they would." + +_Barnabas_. "Some probably do--especially men with an eye for fine +women." + +_The Viscount_ (frowning blacker than ever). "Pray, what mean you +by that?" + +_Barnabas_. "Your friend Carnaby undoubtedly does." + +_The Viscount_ (starting). "Carnaby! Why what the devil put him into +your head? Carnaby's never seen her." + +_Barnabas_. "Indeed, I think it rather more than likely." + +_The Viscount_ (crushing the bit of bread suddenly in his fist). +"Carnaby! But I tell you he hasn't--he's never been near this place." + +_Barnabas_. "There you are quite wrong." + +_The Viscount_ (flinging himself back in his chair). "Beverley, what +the devil are you driving at?" + +_Barnabas_. "I mean that he was here this morning." + +_The Viscount_. "Carnaby? Here? Impossible! What under heaven should +make you think so?" + +"This," said Barnabas, and held out a small, crumpled piece of paper. +The Viscount took it, glanced at it, and his knife clattered to the +floor. + +"Sixty thousand pounds!" he exclaimed, and sat staring down at the +crumpled paper, wide-eyed. "Sixty thousand!" he repeated. "Is it +sixty or six, Bev? Read it out," and he thrust the torn paper across +to Barnabas, who, taking it up, read as follows:-- + + --felicitate you upon your marriage with the lovely + heiress, Lady M., failing which I beg most humbly to remind + you, my dear Sir Mortimer Carnaby, that the sixty thousand + pounds must be paid back on the day agreed upon, namely + July 16, + + Your humble, obedient Servant, + + JASPER GAUNT. + +"Jasper Gaunt!" exclaimed the Viscount. "Sixty thousand pounds! Poor +Carnaby! Sixty thousand pounds payable on July sixteenth! Now the +fifteenth, my dear Bev, is the day of the race, and if he should lose, +it looks very much as though Carnaby would be ruined, Bev." + +"Unless he marries 'the lovely heiress'!" added Barnabas. + +"Hum!" said the Viscount, frowning. "I wish I'd never seen this +cursed paper, Bev!" and as he spoke he crumpled it up and threw it +into the great fireplace. "Where in the name of mischief did you get +it?" + +"It was in the corner yonder," answered Barnabas. "I also found this." +And he laid a handsomely embossed coat button on the table. +"It has been wrenched off you will notice." + +"Yes," nodded the Viscount, "torn off! Do you think--" + +"I think," said Barnabas, putting the button back into his pocket, +"that Mistress Clemency's tears are accounted for--" + +"By God, Beverley," said the Viscount, an ugly light in his eyes, +"if I thought that--!" and the hand upon the table became a fist. + +"I think that Mistress Clemency is a match for any man--or brute," +said Barnabas, and drew his hand from his pocket. + +Now the Viscount's fist was opening and shutting convulsively, the +breath whistled between his teeth, he glanced towards the door, and +made as though he would spring to his feet; but in that moment came +a diversion, for Barnabas drew his hand from his pocket, and as he +did so, something white fluttered to the floor, close beside the +Viscount's chair. Both men saw it and both stooped to recover it, +but the Viscount, being nearer, picked it up, glanced at it, looked +at Barnabas with a knowing smile, glanced at it again, was arrested +by certain initials embroidered in one corner, stooped his head +suddenly, inhaling its subtle perfume, and so handed it back to +Barnabas, who took it with a word of thanks and thrust it into an +inner pocket, while the Viscount stared at him under his drawn brows. +But Barnabas, all unconscious, proceeded to cut himself another +slice of beef, offering to do the same for the Viscount. + +"Thank you--no," said he. + +"What--have you done, so soon?" + +"Yes," said he, and thereafter sat watching Barnabas ply knife and +fork, who, presently catching his eye, smiled. + +"Pray," said the Viscount after a while, "pray are you acquainted +with the Lady Cleone Meredith?" + +"No," answered Barnabas. "I'll trouble you for the mustard, Dick." + +"Have you ever met the Lady Cleone Meredith?" + +"Never", answered Barnabas, innocent of eye. + +Hereupon the Viscount rose up out of the chair and leaned across the +table. + +"Sir," said he, "you are a most consummate liar!" + +Hereupon Barnabas helped himself to the mustard with grave +deliberation, then, leaning back in his chair, he smiled up into the +Viscount's glowing eyes as politely and with as engaging an air as +might be. + +"My Lord," said he gently, "give me leave to remark that he who says +so, lies himself most foully." Having said which Barnabas set down +the mustard, and bowed. + +"Mr. Beverley," said the Viscount, regarding him calm-eyed across +the table, "there is a place I know of near by, a very excellent +place, being hidden by trees, a smooth, grassy place--shall we go?" + +"Whenever you will, my Lord," said Barnabas, rising. + +Forthwith having bowed to each other and put on their hats, they +stepped out into the yard, and so walked on side by side, a trifle +stiffer and more upright than usual maybe, until they came to a stile. +Here they must needs pause to bow once more, each wishful to give +way to the other, and, having duly crossed the stile, they presently +came to a place, even as the Viscount had said, being shady with +trees, and where a brook ran between steep banks. Here, too, was a +small foot-bridge, with hand-rails supported at either end by posts. +Now upon the right-hand post the Viscount set his hat and coat, and +upon the left, Barnabas hung his. Then, having rolled up their +shirt-sleeves, they bowed once more, and coming to where the grass +was very smooth and level they faced each other with clenched fists. + +"Mr. Beverley," said the Viscount, "you will remember I sighed for +muffles, but, sir, I count this more fortunate, for to my mind there +is nothing like bare fists, after all, to try a man's capabilities." + +"My Lord," said Barnabas, "you will also remember that when I told +you I had boxed daily both with 'Glorious John' and Nathaniel Bell, +you doubted my word? I therefore intend to try and convince you as +speedily as may be." + +"Egad!" exclaimed the Viscount, his blue eyes a-dance, "this is +positively more than I had ventured to hope, my dear fell--Ah! +Mr. Beverley, at your service, sir?" + +And, after a season, Barnabas spoke, albeit pantingly, and dabbing +at his bloody mouth the while. + +"Sir," said he, "I trust--you are not--incommoded at all?" whereupon +the Viscount, coming slowly to his elbow and gazing round about him +with an expression of some wonder, made answer, albeit also +pantingly and short of breath: + +"On the contrary, sir, am vastly--enjoying myself--shall give +myself the pleasure--of continuing--just as soon as the ground +subsides a little." + +Therefore Barnabas, still dabbing at his mouth, stepped forward +being minded to aid him to his feet, but ere he could do so, a voice +arrested him. + +"Stop!" said the voice. + +Now glancing round, Barnabas beheld a man, a small man and slender, +whose clothes, old and worn, seemed only to accentuate the dignity +and high nobility of his face. + +Bareheaded he advanced towards them and his hair glistened silver +white in the sunshine, though his brows were dark, like the glowing +eyes below. Upon his cheek was the dark stain of blood, and on his +lips was a smile ineffably sweet and gentle as he came forward, +looking from one to the other. + +"And pray, sir," inquired the Viscount, sitting cross-legged upon +the green, "pray, who might you be?" + +"I am an apostle of peace, young sir," answered the stranger, +"a teacher of forgiveness, though, doubtless, an unworthy one." + +"Peace, sir!" cried the Viscount, "deuce take me!--but you are the +most warlike Apostle of Peace that eyes ever beheld; by your looks +you might have been fighting the Seven Champions of Christendom, one +down, t' other come on--" + +"You mean that I am bleeding, sir; indeed, I frequently do, and +therein is my joy, for this is the blood of atonement." + +"The blood of atonement?" said Barnabas. + +"Last night," pursued the stranger in his gentle voice, "I sought to +teach the Gospel of Mercy and Universal Forgiveness at a country +fair not so very far from here, and they drove me away with sticks +and stones; indeed, I fear our rustics are sometimes woefully +ignorant, and Ignorance is always cruel. So, to-day, as soon as the +stiffness is gone from me, I shall go back to them, sirs, for even +Ignorance has ears." + +Now whereupon, the Viscount got upon his legs, rather unsteadily, +and bowed. + +"Sir," said he, "I humbly ask your pardon; surely so brave an +apostle should do great works." + +"Then," said the stranger, drawing nearer, "if such is your thought, +let me see you two clasp hands." + +"But, sir," said the Viscount, somewhat taken aback, "indeed we +have--scarcely begun--" + +"So much the better," returned the teacher of forgiveness with his +gentle smile, and laying a hand upon the arm of each. + +"But, sir, I went so far as to give this gentleman the lie!" resumed +the Viscount. + +"Which I went so far as to--return," said Barnabas. + +"But surely the matter can be explained?" inquired the stranger. + +"Possibly!" nodded the Viscount, "though I generally leave +explanations until afterwards." + +"Then," said the stranger, glancing from one proud young face to +the other, "in this instance, shake hands first. Hate and anger +are human attributes, but to forgive is Godlike. Therefore now, +forget yourselves and in this thing be gods. For, young sirs, +as it seems to me, it was ordained that you two should be friends. +And you are young and full of great possibilities and friendship +is a mighty factor in this hard world, since by friendship comes +self-forgctfulness, and no man can do great works unless he forgets +Self. So, young sirs, shake hands!" + +Now, as they looked upon each other, of a sudden, despite his split +lip, Barnabas smiled and, in that same moment, the Viscount held out +his hand. + +"Beverley," said he, as their fingers gripped, "after your most +convincing--shall we say, argument?--if you tell me you have boxed +with all and every champion back to Mendoza, Jack Slack, and +Broughton, egad! I'll believe you, for you have a devilish striking +and forcible way with you at times!" Here the Viscount cherished his +bruised ribs with touches of tender inquiry. "Yes," he nodded, +"there is a highly commendable thoroughness in your methods, my dear +Bev, and I'm free to confess I like you better and better--but--!" + +"But?" inquired Barnabas. + +"As regards the handkerchief now--?" + +"I found it--on a bramble-bush--in a wood," said Barnabas. + +"In a wood!" + +"In Annersley Wood; I found a lady there also." + +"A lady--oh, egad!" + +"A very beautiful woman," said Barnabas thoughtfully, "with +wonderful yellow hair!" + +"The Lady Cleone Meredith!" exclaimed the Viscount, "but in a--wood!" + +"She had fallen from her horse." + +"How? When? Was she hurt?" + +"How, I cannot tell you, but it happened about two hours ago, and +her hurt was trifling." + +"And you--found her?" + +"I also saw her safely out of the wood." + +"And you did not know her name?" + +"I quite--forgot to ask it," Barnabas admitted, "and I never saw her +until this morning." + +"Why, then, my dear Bev," said the Viscount, his brow clearing, +"let us go back to breakfast, all three of us." + +But, now turning about, they perceived that the stranger was gone, +yet, coming to the bridge, they presently espied him sitting beside +the stream laving his hurts in the cool water. + +"Sir," said Barnabas, "our thanks are due to you--" + +"And you must come back to the inn with us," added the Viscount; +"the ham surpasses description." + +"And I would know what you meant by the 'blood of atonement,'" said +Barnabas, the persistent. + +"As to breakfast, young sirs," said the stranger, shaking his head, +"I thank you, but I have already assuaged my hunger; as to my story, +well, 'tis not over long, and indeed it is a story to think upon--a +warning to heed, for it is a story of Self, and Self is the most +insidious enemy that man possesses. So, if you would listen to the +tale of a selfish man, sit down here beside me, and I'll tell you." + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +OF THE STRANGER'S TALE, WHICH, BEING SHORT, MAY PERHAPS MEET WITH +THE READER'S KIND APPROBATION. + +"In ancient times, sirs," began the stranger, with his gaze upon the +hurrying waters of the brook, "when a man had committed some great +sin he hid himself from the world, and lashed himself with cruel +stripes, he walked barefoot upon sharp flints and afflicted himself +with grievous pains and penalties, glorying in the blood of his +atonement, and wasting himself and his remaining years in woeful +solitude, seeking, thereby, to reclaim his soul from the wrath +to come. But, as for me, I walk the highways preaching always +forgiveness and forgetfulness of self, and if men grow angry at my +teaching and misuse me, the pain of wounds, the hardships, the +fatigue, I endure them all with a glad and cheerful mind, seeking +thereby to work out my redemption and atonement, for I was a very +selfish man." Here the stranger paused, and his face seemed more +lined and worn, and his white hair whiter, as he stared down into +the running waters of the brook. + +"Sirs," he continued, speaking with bent head, "I once had a daughter, +and I loved her dearly, but my name was dearer yet. I was proud of +her beauty, but prouder of my ancient name, for I was a selfish man." + +"We lived in the country, a place remote and quiet, and consequently +led a very solitary, humdrum life, because I was ever fond of books +and flowers and the solitude of trees--a selfish man always. And so, +at last, because she was young and high-spirited, she ran away from +my lonely cottage with one who was a villain. And I grieved for her, +young sirs, I grieved much and long, because I was lonely, but I +grieved more for my name, my honorable name that she had besmirched, +because, as I told you, I was a selfish man." Again the stranger was +silent, sitting ever with bent head staring down at the crystal +waters of the brook, only he clasped his thin hands and wrung them +as he continued: + +"One evening, as I sat among my roses with a book in my hand, she +came back to me through the twilight, and flung herself upon her +knees before me, and besought my forgiveness with sobs and bitter, +bitter tears. Ah, young sirs! I can hear her weeping yet. The sound +of it is always in my ears. So she knelt to me in her abasement with +imploring hands stretched out to me. Ah, the pity of those white +appealing hands, the pity of them! But I, sirs, being as I say a +selfish man and remembering only my proud and honorable name, I, her +father, spurned her from me with reproaches and vile words, such +burning, searing words as no daughter should hear or father utter." + +"And so, weeping still, she turned away wearily, hopelessly, and I +stood to watch her bowed figure till she had crept away into the +evening and was gone." + +"Thus, sirs, I drove her from me, this wounded lamb, this poor +broken-hearted maid--bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh--I drove her +from me, I who should have comforted and cherished her, I drove her +out into the night with hateful words and bitter curses. Oh, was +ever sin like mine? Oh, Self, Self! In ancient times, sirs, when a +man had committed some great sin he lashed himself with cruel stripes, +but I tell you no rod, no whip of many thongs ever stung or bit so +sharp and deep as remorse--it is an abiding pain. Therefore I walk +these highways preaching always forgiveness and forgetfulness of self, +and so needs must I walk until my days be done, or until--I find her +again." The stranger rose suddenly and so stood with bent head and +very still, only his hands griped and wrung each other. Yet when he +looked up his brow was serene and a smile was on his lips." + +"But you, sirs, you are friends again, and that is good, for +friendship is a blessed thing. And you have youth and strength, and +all things are possible to you, therefore. But oh, beware of self, +take warning of a selfish man, forget self, so may you achieve great +things." + +"But, as for me, I never stand upon a country road when evening +falls but I see her, a broken, desolate figure, creeping away from me, +always away from me, into the shadows, and the sound of her weeping +comes to me in the night silences." So saying, the stranger turned +from them and went upon his way, limping a little because of his +hurts, and his hair gleamed silver in the sunshine as he went. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +IN WHICH BARNABAS MAKES A CONFESSION + +"A very remarkable man!" said the Viscount, taking up his hat. + +"And a very pitiful story!" said Barnabas, thoughtfully. + +"Though I could wish," pursued the Viscount, dreamy of eye, and +settling his hat with a light tap on the crown, "yes, I do certainly +wish that he hadn't interfered quite so soon, I was just beginning +to--ah--enjoy myself." + +"It must be a terrible thing to be haunted by remorse so bitter as +his, 'to fancy her voice weeping in the night,' and to see her +creeping on into the shadows always--away from him," said Barnabas. + +But now, having helped each other into their coats, they set off +back to the inn. + +"My ribs," said the Viscount, feeling that region of his person with +tender solicitude as he spoke, "my ribs are infernally sore, Bev, +though it was kind of you not to mark my face; I'm sorry for your lip, +my dear fellow, but really it was the only opening you gave me; I +hope it isn't painful?" + +"Indeed I had forgotten it," returned Barnabas. + +"Then needs must I try to forget my bruised ribs," said the Viscount, +making a wry face as he clambered over the stile. + +But here Barnabas paused to turn and look back at the scene of their +encounter, quite deserted now, for the stranger had long since +disappeared in the green. + +"Yes, a very remarkable man!" sighed Barnabas, thoughtfully. +"I wish he had come back with us to the inn and--Clemency. Yes, a +very strange man. I wonder now--" + +"And I beg you to remember," added the Viscount, taking him by the +arm, "he said that you and I were ordained to be friends, and by Gad! +I think he spoke the truth, Bev." + +"I feel sure of it, Viscount," Barnabas nodded. + +"Furthermore, Bev, if you are 'Bev' to me, I must be 'Dick' to you +henceforth--amen and so forth!" + +"Agreed, Dick." + +"Then, my dear Bev?" said the Viscount impulsively. + +"Yes, my dear Dick?" + +"Suppose we shake hands on it?" + +"Willingly, Dick, yet, first, I think it but honorable to tell you +that I--love the Lady Cleone Meredith." + +"Eh--what?" exclaimed the Viscount, falling back a step, "you love +her? the devil you do! since when?" + +"Since this morning." + +"Love her!" repeated the Viscount, "but you've seen her but once in +your life." + +"True," said Barnabas, "but then I mean to see her many times, +henceforth." + +"Ah! the deuce you do!" + +"Yes," answered Barnabas. "I shall possibly marry her--some day." + +The Viscount laughed, and frowned, and laughed again, then noting +the set mouth and chin of the speaker, grew thoughtful, and +thereafter stood looking at Barnabas with a new and suddenly +awakened interest. Who was he? What was he? From his clothes he +might have been anything between a gentleman farmer and a gamekeeper. + +As for Barnabas himself, as he leaned there against the stile with +his gaze on the distance, his eyes a-dream, he had clean forgotten +his awkward clothes and blunt-toed boots. + +And after all, what can boots or clothes matter to man or woman? +indeed, they sink into insignificance when the face of their wearer +is stamped with the serene yet determined confidence that marked +Barnabas as he spoke. + +"Marry--Cleone Meredith?" said the Viscount at last. + +"Marry her--yes," said Barnabas slowly. + +"Why then, in the first place let me tell you she's devilish high +and proud." + +"'T is so I would have her!" nodded Barnabas. + +"And cursedly hard to please." + +"So I should judge her," nodded Barnabas. + +"And heiress to great wealth." + +"No matter for that," said Barnabas. + +"And full of whims and fancies." + +"And therefore womanly," said Barnabas. + +"My dear Beverley," said the Viscount, smiling again, "I tell you +the man who wins Cleone Meredith must be stronger, handsomer, richer, +and more accomplished than any 'Buck,' 'Corinthian,' or 'Macaroni' +of 'em all--" + +"Or more determined!" added Barnabas. + +"Or more determined, yes," nodded the Viscount. + +"Then I shall certainly marry her--some day," said Barnabas. + +Again the Viscount eyed Barnabas a while in silence, but this time, +be it noted, he smiled no more. + +"Hum!" said he at last, "so it seems in finding a friend I have also +found myself another rival?" + +"I greatly fear so," said Barnabas, and they walked on together. + +But when they had gone some distance in moody silence, the Viscount +spoke: + +"Beverley," said he, "forewarned is forearmed!" + +"Yes," answered Barnabas, "that is why I told you." + +"Then," said the Viscount, "I think we'll--shake hands--after all." + +The which they did forthwith. + +Now it was at this moment that Milo of Crotona took it upon himself +to become visible. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +CONCERNING THE BUTTONS OF ONE MILO OF CROTONA + +Never did a pair of top boots, big or little, shine with a lustre +more resplendent; never was postilion's jacket more excellent of fit, +nattier, or more carefully brushed; and nowhere could there be found +two rows of crested silver buttons with such an air of waggish +roguery, so sly, so knowing, and so pertinaciously on the everlasting +wink, as these same eight buttons that adorned the very small person +of his groomship, Milo of Crotona. He had slipped out suddenly from +the hedge, and now stood cap in hand, staring from the Viscount to +Barnabas, and back again, with his innocent blue eyes, and with every +blinking, twinkling button on his jacket. And his eyes were wide and +guileless--the eyes of a cherub; but his buttons! + +Yea, forsooth, it was all in his buttons as they winked slyly one to +another as much as to say: + +"Aha! we don't know why his Lordship's nankeens are greened at the +knees, not we! nor why the gent's lower lip is unduly swelled. Lord +love your eyes and limbs, oh no!" + +"What, my imp of innocence!" exclaimed the Viscount. "Where have you +sprung from?" + +"'Edge, m'lud." + +"Ah! and what might you have been doing in the hedge now?" + +"Think'n', m'lud." + +"And what were you thinking?" + +"I were think'n', m'lud, as the tall genelman here is a top-sawyer +wi' 'is daddies, m'lud. I was." + +"Aha! so you've been watching, eh?" + +"Not watchin'--oh no, m'lud; I just 'appened ter notice--that's all, +m'lud." + +"Ha!" exclaimed the Viscount; "then I suppose you happened to notice +me being--knocked down?" + +"No, m'lud; ye see, I shut my eyes--every time." + +"Every time, eh!" said his Lordship, with his whimsical smile. +"Oh Loyalty, thy name is Milo! But hallo!" he broke off, "I believe +you've been fighting again--come here!" + +"Fightin', m'lud! What, me?" + +"What's the matter with your face--it's all swollen; there, your +cheek?" + +"Swellin', m'lud; I don't feel no swellin'." + +"No, no; the other cheek." + +"Oh, this, m'lud. Oh, 'e done it, 'e did; but I weren't fightin'." + +"Who did it?" + +"S' Mortimer's friend, 'e done it, 'e did." + +"Sir Mortimer's friend?" + +"Ah, 'im, m'lud." + +"But, how in the world--" + +"Wi' his fist, m'lud." + +"What for?" + +"'Cos I kicked 'im, I did." + +"You--kicked Sir Mortimer Carnaby's friend!" exclaimed the Viscount. +"What in heaven's name did you do that for?" + +"'Cos you told me to, m'lud, you did." + +"I told you to kick--" + +"Yes, m'lud, you did. You sez to me, last week--arter I done up that +butcher's boy--you sez to me, 'don't fight 'cept you can't 'elp it,' +you sez; 'but allus pertect the ladies,' you sez, 'an if so be as +'e's too big to reach wi' your fists--why, use your boots,' you sez, +an' so I did, m'lud." + +"So you were protecting a lady, were you, Imp?" + +"Miss Clemency, mam; yes, m'lud. She's been good ter me, Miss Clemency, +mam 'as--an' so when I seen 'im strugglin' an' a-tryin' to kiss +'er--when I 'eered 'er cry out--I came in froo de winder, an' I kicked +'im, I did, an' then--" + +"Imp," said the Viscount gravely, "you are forgetting your aitches! +And so Sir Mortimer's friend kissed her, did he? Mind your aitches +now!" + +"Yes, m' lud; an' when Hi seen the tears hin her eyes--" + +"Now you are mixing them, Imp!--tears in her eyes. Well?" + +"Why then I kicked him, m' lud, an' he turned round an' give me this +'ere." + +"And what was Sir Mortimer's friend like?" + +"A tall--werry sleepy gentleman, wot smiled, m' lud." + +"Ha!" exclaimed the Viscount, starting; "and with a scar upon one +cheek?" + +"Yes, m'lud." + +His Lordship frowned. "That would be Chichester," said he +thoughtfully. "Now I wonder what the devil should bring that fellow +so far from London?" + +"Well, m' lud," suggested Milo, shaking his golden curls, "I kind of +'specks there's a woman at the bottom of it. There mostly generally +is." + +"Hum!" said the Viscount. + +"'Sides, m' lud, I 'eard 'im talkin' 'bout a lady to S' Mortimer!" + +"Did they mention her name?" + +"The sleepy one 'e did, m' lud. Jist as S' Mortimer climbed into the +chaise--'Here's wishing you luck wi' the lovely Meredyth,' 'e sez." + +"Meredith!" exclaimed the Viscount. + +"Meredith, m' lud; 'the lovely Meredith,' 'e sez, an' then, as he +stood watchin' the chaise drive away, 'may the best man win,' sez 'e +to himself, 'an' that's me,' sez'e." + +"Boy," said the Viscount, "have the horses put to--at once." + +"Werry good, m' lud," and, touching his small hat, Milo of Crotona +turned and set off as fast as his small legs would carry him. + +"Gad!" exclaimed his Lordship, "this is more than I bargained for. I +must be off." + +"Indeed!" said Barnabas, who for the last minute or so had been +watching a man who was strolling idly up the lane, a tall, languid +gentleman in a jaunty hat. "You seem all at once in a mighty hurry +to get to London." + +"London!" repeated the Viscount, staring blankly. "London? Oh, why +yes, to be sure, I was going to London; but--hum--fact of the matter +is, I've changed my mind about it, my dear Bev; I'm going--back. I'm +following Carnaby." + +"Ah!" said Barnabas, still intent upon the man in the lane, +"Carnaby again." + +"Oh, damn the fellow!" exclaimed the Viscount. + +"But--he is your friend." + +"Hum!" said the Viscount; "but Carnaby is always--Carnaby, and she--" + +"Meaning the Lady Cleone," said Barnabas. + +"Is a woman--" + +"'The lovely Meredith'!" nodded Barnabas. + +"Exactly!" said the Viscount, frowning; "and Carnaby is the devil +with women." + +"But not this woman," answered Barnabas, frowning a little also. + +"My dear fellow, men like Carnaby attract all women--" + +"That," said Barnabas, shaking his head, "that I cannot believe." + +"Have you known many women, Bev?" + +"No," answered Barnabas; "but I have met the Lady Cleone--" + +"Once!" added the Viscount significantly. + +"Once!" nodded Barnabas. + +"Hum," said the Viscount. "And, therefore," added Barnabas, +"I don't think that we need fear Sir Mortimer as a rival." + +"That," retorted the Viscount, shaking his head, "is because you +don't know him--either." + +Hereupon, having come to the inn and having settled their score, the +Viscount stepped out to the stables accompanied by the round-faced +landlord, while Barnabas, leaning out from the open casement, stared +idly into the lane. And thus he once more beheld the gentleman in +the jaunty hat, who stood lounging in the shade of one of the great +trees that grew before the inn, glancing up and down the lane in the +attitude of one who waits. He was tall and slender, and clad in a +tight-fitting blue coat cut in the extreme of the prevailing fashion, +and beneath his curly-brimmed hat, Barnabas saw a sallow face with +lips a little too heavy, nostrils a little too thin, and eyes a +little too close together, at least, so Barnabas thought, but what he +noticed more particularly was the fact that one of the buttons of +the blue coat had been wrenched away. + +Now, as the gentleman lounged there against the tree, he switched +languidly at a bluebell that happened to grow within his reach, cut +it down, and with gentle, lazy taps beat it slowly into nothingness, +which done, he drew out his watch, glanced at it, frowned, and was +in the act of thrusting it back into his fob when the hedge opposite +was parted suddenly and a man came through. A wretched being he +looked, dusty, unkempt, unshorn, whose quick, bright eyes gleamed in +the thin oval of his pallid face. At sight of this man the +gentleman's lassitude vanished, and he stepped quickly forward. + +"Well," he demanded, "did you find her?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"And a cursed time you've been about it." + +"Annersley is further than I thought, sir, and--" + +"Pah! no matter, give me her answer," and the gentleman held out a +slim white hand. + +"She had no time to write, sir," said the man, "but she bid me tell +you--" + +"Damnation!" exclaimed the gentleman, glancing towards the inn, +"not here, come further down the lane," and with the word he turned +and strode away, with the man at his heels. + +"Annersley," said Barnabas, as he watched them go; "Annersley." + +But now, with a prodigious clatter of hoofs and grinding of wheels, +the Viscount drove round in his curricle, and drew up before the +door in masterly fashion; whereupon the two high-mettled bloods +immediately began to rear and plunge (as is the way of their kind), +to snort, to toss their sleek heads, and to dance, drumming their +hoofs with a sound like a brigade of cavalry at the charge, whereupon +the Viscount immediately fell to swearing at them, and his +diminutive groom to roaring at them in his "stable voice," and the +two ostlers to cursing them, and one another; in the midst of which +hubbub out came Barnabas to stare at them with the quick, appraising +eye of one who knows and loves horses. + +To whom, thusly, the Viscount, speaking both to him and the horses: + +"Oh, there you are, Bev--stand still, damn you! There's blood for you, +eh, my dear fellow--devil burn your hide! Jump up, my dear +fellow--Gad, they're pulling my arms off." + +"Then you want me to come with you, Dick?" + +"My dear Bev, of course I do--stand still, damn you--though we are +rivals, we're friends first--curse your livers and bones--so jump up, +Bev, and--oh dammem, there's no holding 'em--quick, up with you." + +Now, as Barnabas stepped forward, afar off up the lane he chanced to +espy a certain jaunty hat, and immediately, acting for once upon +impulse, he shook his head. + +"No, thanks," said he. + +"Eh--no?" repeated the Viscount, "but you shall see her, I'll +introduce you myself." + +"Thanks, Dick, but I've decided not to go back." + +"What, you won't come then?" + +"No." + +"Ah, well, we shall meet in London. Inquire for me at White's or +Brooke's, any one will tell you where to find me. Good-by!" + +Then, settling his feet more firmly, he took a fresh grip upon the +reins, and glanced over his shoulder to where Milo of Crotona sat +with folded arms in the rumble. + +"All right behind?" + +"Right, m'lud." + +"Then give 'em their heads, let 'em go!" + +The grooms sprang away, the powerful bays reared, once, twice, and +then, with a thunder of hoofs, started away at a gallop that set the +light vehicle rocking and swaying, yet which in no whit seemed to +trouble Milo of Crotona, who sat upon his perch behind with folded +arms as stiff and steady as a small graven image, until he and the +Viscount and the curricle had been whirled into the distance and +vanished in a cloud of dust. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +IN WHICH THE PATIENT READER MAY LEARN SOMETHING OF THE GENTLEMAN IN +THE JAUNTY HAT + +"Lord, but this is a great day for the old 'Cow,' sir," said the +landlord, as Barnabas yet stood staring down the road, "we aren't +had so many o' the quality here for years. Last night the young +Vi-count, this morning, bright and early, Sir Mortimer Carnaby and +friend, then the Vi-count again, along o' you, sir, an' now you an' +Sir Mortimer's friend; you don't be no ways acquainted wi' Sir +Mortimer's friend, be you, sir?" + +"No," answered Barnabas, "what is his name?" + +"Well, Sir Mortimer hailed him as 'Chichester,' I fancy, sir, though +I aren't prepared to swear it, no more yet to oath it, not 'aving +properly ob-served, but 'Chichester,' I think it were; and, 'twixt +you an' me, sir, he be one o' your fine gentlemen as I aren't no +wise partial to, an' he's ordered dinner and supper." + +"Has he," said Barnabas, "then I think I'll do the same." + +"Ay, ay, sir, very good." + +"In the meantime could you let me have pen, ink and paper?" + +"Ay, sir, surely, in the sanded parlor, this way, sir." + +Forthwith he led Barnabas into a long, low panelled room, with a +wide fireplace at the further end, beside which stood a great +high-backed settle with a table before it. Then Barnabas sat down +and wrote a letter to his father, as here follows:-- + + * * * * * + + My Dear Father and Natty Bell,--I have read somewhere in my books + that 'adventures are to the adventurous,' and, indeed, I have + already found this to be true. Now, since I am adventuring the great + world, I adventure lesser things also. + + Thus I have met and talked with an entertaining pedler, from whom I + have learned that the worst place in the world is Giles's Rents down + by the River; from him, likewise, I purchased a book as to the + merits of which I begin to entertain doubts. + + Then I have already thrashed a friend of the Prince Regent, and + somewhat spoiled a very fine gentleman, and, I fear, am like to be + necessitated to spoil another before the day is much older; from + each of whom I learn that a Prince's friend may be an arrant knave. + + Furthermore, I have become acquainted with the son of an Earl, and + finding him a man also, have formed a friendship with him, which I + trust may endure. + + Thus far, you see, much has happened to me; adventures have + befallen me in rapid succession. 'Wonderful!' say you. 'Not at all,' + say I, since I have found but what I sought after, for, as has been + said--'adventures are to the adventurous.' Therefore, within the + next few hours, I confidently expect other, and perchance weightier, + happenings to overtake me because--I intend them to. So much for + myself. + + Now, as for you and Natty Bell, it is with deep affection that I + think of you--an affection that shall abide with me always. Also, + you are both in my thoughts continually. I remember our bouts with + the 'muffles,' and my wild gallops on unbroken horses with Natty Bell; + surely he knows a horse better than any, and is a better rider than + boxer, if that could well be. Indeed, I am fortunate in having + studied under two such masters. + + Furthermore, I pray you to consider that this absence of mine will + only draw us closer together, in a sense. Indeed, now, when I think + of you both, I am half-minded to give up this project and come back + to you. But my destiny commands me, and destiny must be obeyed. + Therefore I shall persist unto the end; but whether I succeed or no, + remember, I pray of you, that I am always, + + Your lover and friend, + + Barnabas. + + P.S.--Regarding the friend of the Prince Regent, I could wish now + that I had struck a little harder, and shall do so next time, should + the opportunity be given. + + B. + +Having finished this letter, in which it will be seen he made no +mention of the Lady Cleone, though his mind was yet full of her, +having finished his letter I say, Barnabas sanded it, folded it, +affixed wafers, and had taken up his pen to write the superscription, +when he was arrested by a man's voice speaking in a lazy drawl, just +outside the open lattice behind him. + +"Now 'pon my soul and honor, Beatrix--so much off ended virtue for a +stolen kiss--begad! you were prodigal of 'em once--" + +"How-dare you! Oh, coward that you are!" exclaimed another voice, +low and repressed, yet vibrant with bitter scorn; "you know that I +found you out--in time, thank God!" + +"Beatrix?" said Barnabas to himself. + +"In time; ah! and pray who'd believe it? You ran away from me--but +you ran away with me--first! In time? Did your father believe it, +that virtuous old miser? would any one, who saw us together, believe +it? No, Beatrix, I tell you all the world knows you for my--" + +"Stop!" A moment's silence and then came a soft, gently amused laugh. + +"Lord, Beatrix, how handsome you are!--handsomer than ever, begad! +I'm doubly fortunate to have found you again. Six years is a long +time, but they've only matured you--ripened you. Yes, you're +handsomer than ever; upon my life and soul you are!" + +But here came the sudden rush of flying draperies, the sound of swift, +light footsteps, and Barnabas was aware of the door behind him being +opened, closed and bolted, and thereafter, the repressed sound of a +woman's passionate weeping. Therefore he rose up from the settle, and +glancing over its high back, beheld Clemency. + +Almost in the same moment she saw him, and started back to the wall, +glanced from Barnabas to the open lattice, and covered her face with +her hands. And now not knowing what to do, Barnabas crossed to the +window and, being there, looked out, and thus espied again the +languid gentleman, strolling up the lane, with his beaver hat cocked +at the same jaunty angle, and swinging his betasselled stick as he +went. + +"You--you heard, then!" said Clemency, almost in a whisper. + +"Yes," answered Barnabas, without turning; "but, being a great +rascal he probably lied." + +"No, it is--quite true--I did run away with him; but oh! indeed, +indeed I left him again before--before--" + +"Yes, yes," said Barnabas, a little hurriedly, aware that her face +was still hidden in her hands, though he kept his eyes studiously +averted. Then all at once she was beside him, her hands were upon +his arm, pleading, compelling; and thus she forced him to look at her, +and, though her cheeks yet burned, her eyes met his, frank and +unashamed. + +"Sir," said she, "you do believe that I--that I found him out in +time--that I--escaped his vileness--you must believe--you shall!" +and her slender fingers tightened on his arm. "Oh, tell me--tell me, +you believe!" + +"Yes," said Barnabas, looking down into the troubled depths of her +eyes; "yes, I do believe." + +The compelling hands dropped from his arm, and she stood before him, +staring out blindly into the glory of the morning; and Barnabas +could not but see how the tears glistened under her lashes; also he +noticed how her brown, shapely hands griped and wrung each other. + +"Sir," said she suddenly; "you are a friend of--Viscount Devenham." + +"I count myself so fortunate." + +"And--therefore--a gentleman." + +"Indeed, it is my earnest wish." + +"Then you will promise me that, should you ever hear anything spoken +to the dishonor of Beatrice Darville, you will deny it." + +"Yes," said Barnabas, smiling a little grimly, "though I think I +should do--more than that." + +Now when he said this, Clemency looked up at him suddenly, and in +her eyes there was a glow no tears could quench; her lips quivered +but no words came, and then, all at once, she caught his hand, +kissed it, and so was gone, swift and light, and shy as any bird. + +And, in a while, happening to spy his letter on the table, Barnabas +sat down and wrote out the superscription with many careful +flourishes, which done, observing his hat near by, he took it up, +brushed it absently, put it on, and went out into the sunshine. + +Yet when he had gone but a very little way, he paused, and seeing he +still carried the letter in his hand, thrust it into his breast, and +so remained staring thoughtfully towards that spot, green and shady +with trees, where he and the Viscount had talked with the Apostle of +Peace. And with his gaze bent thitherwards he uttered a name, and +the name was-- + +"Beatrix." + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +IN WHICH BARNABAS ENGAGES ONE WITHOUT A CHARACTER + +Barnabas walked on along the lane, head on breast, plunged in a +profound reverie, and following a haphazard course, so much so that, +chancing presently to look about him, he found that the lane had +narrowed into a rough cart track that wound away between high banks +gay with wild flowers, and crowned with hedges, a pleasant, shady +spot, indeed, as any thoughtful man could wish for. + +Now as he walked, he noticed a dry ditch--a grassy, and most +inviting ditch; therefore Barnabas sat him down therein, leaning his +back against the bank. + +"Beatrix!" said he, again, and thrusting his hands into his pockets +he became aware of the "priceless wollum." Taking it out, he began +turning its pages, idly enough, and eventually paused at one headed +thus: + + * * * * * + + THE CULT OF DRESS. + + * * * * * + +But he had not read a dozen words when he was aware of a rustling of +leaves, near by, that was not of the wind, and then the panting of +breath drawn in painful gasps; and, therefore, having duly marked +his place with a finger, he raised his head and glanced about him. +As he did so, the hedge, almost opposite, was burst asunder and a man +came slipping down the bank, and, regaining his feet, stood staring +at Barnabas and panting. A dusty, bedraggled wretch he looked, +unshaven and unkempt, with quick, bright eyes that gleamed in the +pale oval of his face. + +"What do you want?" Barnabas demanded. + +"Everything!" the man panted, with the ghost of a smile on his +pallid lips; "but--the ditch would do." + +"And why the ditch?" + +"Because they're--after me." + +"Who are?" + +"Gamekeepers!" + +"Then, you're a poacher?" + +"And a very clumsy one--they had me once--close on me now." + +"How many?" + +"Two." + +"Then--hum!--get into the ditch," said Barnabas. + +Now the ditch, as has been said, was deep and dry, and next moment, +the miserable fugitive was hidden from view by reason of this, and +of the grasses and wild flowers that grew luxuriantly there; seeing +which, Barnabas went back to his reading. + + "It is permitted," solemnly writes the Person of Quality, "that + white waistcoats be worn,--though sparingly, for caution is always + advisable, and a buff waistcoat therefore is recommended as safer. + Coats, on the contrary, may occasionally vary both as to the height + of the collar, which must, of course, roll, and the number of + buttons--" + +Thus far the Person of Quality when: + +"Hallo, theer" roared a stentorian voice. + + "Breeches, on the other hand," continues the Person of Quality + gravely, "are governed as inexorably as the Medes and Persians; thus, + for mornings they must be either pantaloons and Hessians--" + +"Hallo theer! oho!--hi!--waken oop will 'ee!" + + "Or buckskins and top boots--" + +"Hi!" roared the voice, louder than ever, "you theer under +th' 'edge,--oho!" + +Once more Barnabas marked the place with his finger, and glancing up, +straightway espied Stentor, somewhat red-faced, as was but natural, +clad in a velveteen jacket and with a long barrelled gun on his +shoulder. + +"Might you be shouting at me?" inquired Barnabas. + +"Well," replied Stentor, looking up and down the lane, "I don't see +nobody else to shout at, so let's s'pose as I be shouting at ye, +bean't deaf, be ye?" + +"No, thank God." + +"'Cause if so be as y' are deaf, a can shout a tidy bit louder nor +that a reckon." + +"I can hear you very well as it is." + +"Don't go for to be too sartin, now; ye see I've got a tidy voice, I +have, which I aren't noways afeared o' usin'!" + +"So it would appear!" nodded Barnabas. + +"You're quite sure as ye can 'ear me, then?" + +"Quite." + +"Werry good then, if you are sure as you can 'ear me I'd like to ax +'ee a question, though, mark me, I'll shout it, ah! an' willin'; if +so be you're minded, say the word!" + +But, before Barnabas could reply, another man appeared, being also +clad in velveteens and carrying a long barrelled gun. + +"Wot be doin', Jarge?" he inquired of Stentor, in a surly tone, +"wot be wastin' time for" + +"W'y, lookee, I be about to ax this 'ere deaf chap a question, +though ready, ah! an' willin' to shout it, if so be 'e gives the word." + +"Stow yer gab, Jarge," retorted Surly, more surly than ever, "you be +a sight too fond o' usin' that theer voice o' your'n!" saying which +he turned to Barnabas: + +"Did ye see ever a desprit, poachin' wagabone run down this 'ere lane, +sir?" he inquired. + +"No," answered Barnabas. + +"Well, did ye see ever a thievin' wastrel run oop this 'ere lane?" +demanded Stentor. + +"No," answered Barnabas. + +"But we seen 'im run this way," demurred Surly. + +"Ah!--he must ha' run oop or down this 'ere lane," said Stentor. + +"He did neither," said Barnabas. + +"Why, then p'r'aps you be stone blind as well as stone deaf?" +suggested Stentor. + +"Neither one nor the other," answered Barnabas, "and now, since I +have answered all your questions, suppose you go and look somewhere +else?" + +"Look, is it?--look wheer--d'ye mean--?" + +"I mean--go." + +"Go!" repeated Stentor, round of eye, "then s'pose you tell us--wheer!" + +"Anywhere you like, only--be off!" + +"Now you can claw me!" exclaimed Stentor with an injured air, +nodding to his gun, seeing his companion had already hurried off, +"you can grab and duck me if this don't beat all!--you can burn an' +blister me if ever I met a deaf cove as was so ongrateful as this +'ere deaf cove,--me 'avin' used this yer v'ice o' mine for 'is +be'oof an' likewise benefit; v'ices like mine is a gift as was +bestowed for deaf 'uns like 'im;--I've met deaf 'uns afore, yes,--but +such a ongrateful deaf 'un as 'im,--no. All I 'opes is as 'e gets +deafer an' deafer, as deaf as a stock, as a stone, as a--dead +sow,--that's all I 'opes!" + +Having said which, Stentor nodded to his gun again, glanced at +Barnabas again, and strode off, muttering, after his companion. + +Hereupon Barnabas once more opened his book; yet he was quite aware +that the fugitive had thrust his head out of the ditch, and having +glanced swiftly about, was now regarding him out of the corners of +his eyes. + +"Why do you stare at me?" he demanded suddenly. + +"I was wondering why you took the trouble and risk of shielding such +a thing as I am," answered the fugitive. + +"Hum!" said Barnabas, "upon my soul,--I don't know." + +"No," said the man, with the ghostly smile upon his lips again, +"I thought not." + +Now, as he looked at the man, Barnabas saw that his cheeks, beneath +their stubble, were hollow and pinched, as though by the cruel hands +of want and suffering. And yet in despite of all this and of the +grizzled hair at his temples, the face was not old, moreover there +was a merry twinkle in the eye, and a humorous curve to the +wide-lipped mouth that appealed to Barnabas. + +"And you are a poacher, you say?" + +"Yes, sir, and that is bad, I confess, but, what is worse, I was, +until I took to poaching, an honest man without a shred of character." + +"How so?" + +"I was discharged--under a cloud that was never dispelled." + +"To be sure, you don't look like an ordinary poacher." + +"That is because I am an extraordinary one." + +"You mean?" + +"That I poach that I may live to--poach again, sir. I am, at once, a +necessitous poacher, and a poacher by necessity." + +"And what by choice?" + +"A gentleman, sir, with plenty of money and no ambitions." + +"Why deny ambition?" + +"Because I would live a quiet life, and who ever heard of an +ambitious man ever being quiet, much less happy and contented?" + +"Hum!" said Barnabas, "and what were you by profession?" + +"My calling, sir, was to work for, think for, and shoulder the blame +for others--generally fools, sir. I was a confidential servant, a +valet, sir. And I have worked, thought, and taken the blame for +others so very successfully, that I must needs take to poaching that +I may live." + +"But--other men may require valets!" + +"True, sir, and there are plenty of valets to be had--of a sort; but +the most accomplished one in the world, if without a character, had +better go and hang himself out of the way, and have done with it. +And indeed, I have seriously contemplated so doing." + +"You rate yourself very highly." + +"And I go in rags! Though a professed thief may do well in the world, +though the blackest rascal, the slyest rogue, may thrive and prosper, +the greatest of valets being without a character, may go in rags and +starve--and very probably will." + +"Hum!" said Barnabas. + +"Now, to starve, sir, is unpleasant; thus I, having a foolish, +though very natural, dread of it, poach rabbits that I may exist. I +possess also an inborn horror of rags and dirt, therefore +I--exchanged this coat and breeches from a farmhouse, the folk being +all away in the fields, and though they are awkward, badly-made +garments, still beggars--and--" + +"Thieves!" added Barnabas. + +"And thieves, sir, cannot always be choosers, can they?" + +"Then you admit you are a thief?" + +Here the fugitive glanced at Barnabas with a wry smile. + +"Sir, I fear I must. Exchange is no robbery they say; but my rags +were so very ragged, and these garments are at least wearable." + +"You have also been a--great valet, I understand?" + +"And have served many gentlemen in my time." + +"Then you probably know London and the fashionable world?" + +"Yes, sir," said the man, with a sigh. + +"Now," pursued Barnabas, "I am given to understand, on the authority +of a Person of Quality, that to dress properly is an art." + +The fugitive nodded. "Indeed, sir, though your Person of Quality +should rather have called it the greatest of all the arts." + +"Why so?" + +"Because by dress it is possible to make--something out of nothing!" + +"Explain yourself." + +"Why, there was the case of young Lord Ambleside, a nobleman +remarkable for a vague stare, and seldom saying anything but 'What!' +or 'Dey-vil take me!' though I'll admit he could curse almost +coherently--at times. I found him nothing but a lord, and very crude +material at that, yet in less than six months he was made." + +"Made?" + +"Made, sir," nodded the fugitive. "I began him with a cravat, an +entirely original creation, which drew the approval of Brummell +himself, and, consequently, took London by storm, and I continued +him with a waistcoat." + +"Not a--white one?" Barnabas inquired. + +"No, sir, it was a delicate pink, embroidered with gold, and of +quite a new cut and design, which was the means of introducing him +to the notice of Royalty itself. The Prince had one copied from it, +and wore it at a state reception. And I finished him with a pair of +pantaloons which swept the world of fashion clean off its legs, and +brought him into lasting favor with the Regent. So my Lord was made, +and eventually I married him to an heiress." + +"You married him?" + +"That is to say, I dictated all his letters, and composed all his +verses, which speedily brought the affair to a happy culmination." + +"You seem to be a man of many and varied gifts?" + +"And one--without a character, sir." + +"Nevertheless," said Barnabas, "I think you are the very man I +require." + +"Sir," exclaimed the fugitive, staring, "sir?" + +"And therefore," continued Barnabas, "you may consider yourself +engaged." + +"Engaged, sir--engaged!" stammered the man--"me?" + +"As my valet," nodded Barnabas. + +"But, sir, I told you--I was--a thief!" + +"Yes," said Barnabas, "and therefore I have great hopes of your +future honesty." + +Now hereupon the man, still staring, rose up to his knees, and with +a swift, appealing gesture, stretched out his hands towards Barnabas, +and his hands were trembling all at once. + +"Sir!" said he, "oh, sir--d'ye mean it? You don't know, you can't +know what such an offer means to me. Sir, you're not jesting with me?" + +"No," answered Barnabas, calmly serious of eye, "no, I'm not jesting; +and to prove it, here is an advance of wages." And he dropped two +guineas into the man's open palm. + +The man stared down at the coins in his hand, then rose abruptly to +his feet and turned away, and when he spoke again his voice was +hoarse. + +"Sir," said he, jerkily, "for such trust I would thank you, only +words are too poor. But if, as I think, it is your desire to enter +the World of Fashion, it becomes my duty, as an honest man, to tell +you that all your efforts, all your money, would be unavailing, even +though you had been introduced by Barrymore, or Hanger, or Vibart, or +Brummell himself." + +"Ah," said Barnabas, "and why?" + +"Because you have made a fatal beginning." + +"How?" + +"By knocking down the Prince's friend and favorite--Sir Mortimer +Carnaby." + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +IN WHICH BARNABAS PARTS COMPANY WITH THE PERSON OF QUALITY + +For a long moment the two remained silent, each staring at the other, +Barnabas still seated in the ditch and the man standing before him, +with the coins clutched in his hand. + +"Ah!" said Barnabas, at last, "then you were in the wood?" + +"I lay hidden behind a bush, and watched you do it, sir." + +"And what were you doing in Annersley Wood?" + +"I bore a message, sir, for the lady." + +"Ah!" said Barnabas, "the lady--yes." + +"Who lay watching you, also." + +"No," said Barnabas, "the lady was unconscious." + +"Yet recovered sufficiently to adjust her habit, and to watch you +knock him down." + +"Hum!" said Barnabas, and was silent a while. "Have you heard such a +name as Chichester?" he inquired suddenly. + +"No, sir." + +"And did you deliver the letter?" + +"I did, sir." + +"And she--sent back an answer?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"The gentleman who sent the letter was tall and slender, I think, +with dark hair, and a scar on his cheek?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"And when you came back with her answer, he met you down the lane +yonder, and I heard you say that the lady had no time to write." + +"Yes, sir; but she promised to meet him at a place called Oakshott's +Barn." + +"Ah!" said Barnabas, "I think I know it." + +"At sunset, sir!" + +"That would be somewhere about half past seven," mused Barnabas, +staring blankly, down at the book on his knee. + +"Yes, sir." + +"How came you to be carrying his letter?" + +"He offered me five shillings to go and bring her answer." + +"Did you know the lady?" + +"No, sir, but he described her." + +"To be sure." said Barnabas; "he mentioned her hair, perhaps?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Her--eyelashes, perhaps?" + +"And her eyes also, sir." + +"Yes, her eyes, of course. He seemed to know her well, perhaps?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"And she--promised to meet him--in a very lonely place?" + +"At Oakshott's Barn, sir." + +Once again Barnabas stared down at his book, and was silent so long +that his new servant wondered, grew fidgety, coughed, and at last +spoke. + +"Sir," said he, "what are your orders?" + +Barnabas started and looked up. + +"Orders?" he repeated; "why, first of all, get something to eat, +then find yourself a barber, and wait for me at 'The Spotted Cow.'" + +"Yes, sir." The man bowed, turned away, took three or four steps, +and came back again. + +"Sir," said he, "I have two guineas of yours, and you have never +even asked my name." + +"True," said Barnabas. + +"Supposing I go, and never come back?" + +"Then I shall be two guineas the poorer, and you will have proved +yourself a thief; but until you do, you are an honest man, so far as +I am concerned." + +"Sir, said the fugitive, hoarsely, but with a new light in his face," +for that, if I were not your servant--I--should like to--clasp your +hand; and, sir, my name is John Peterby." + +"Why, then," said Barnabas, smiling all at once, "why then, John +Peterby, here it is!" + +So, for a moment their hands met, and then John Peterby turned sharp +about and strode away down the lane, his step grown light and his +head held high. + +But as for Barnabas, he sat there in the ditch, staring at nothing; +and as he stared his brow grew black and ever blacker, until +chancing at last to espy the "priceless wollum," where it lay beside +him, he took it up, balanced it in his hand, then hurled it over the +opposite hedge: which done, he laughed sudden and harsh, and +clenched his fists. + +"God!" he exclaimed, "a goddess and a satyr!" and so sat staring on +at nothingness again. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +HOW BARNABAS CAME TO OAKSHOTT'S BARN + +The sun was getting low, as Barnabas parted the brambles, and +looking about him, frowned. He stood in a grassy glade or clearing, +a green oasis hemmed in on every side with bushes. Before him was +Oakshott's Barn, an ancient structure, its rotting thatch dishevelled, +its doors gone long since, its aged walls cracked and scarred by +years, a very monument of desolation; upon its threshold weeds had +sprung up, and within its hoary shadow breathed an air damp, heavy, +and acrid with decay. + +It was indeed a place of solitude full of the "hush" of leaves, shut +out from the world, close hidden from observation, a place apt for +the meetings of lovers. And, therefore, leaning in the shadow of the +yawning doorway, Barnabas frowned. + +Evening was falling, and from shadowy wood, from dewy grass and +flower, stole wafts of perfume, while from some thicket near by a +blackbird filled the air with the rich note of his languorous song; +but Barnabas frowned only the blacker, and his hand clenched itself +on the stick he carried, a heavy stick, that he had cut from the +hedge as he came. + +All at once the blackbird's song was hushed, and gave place to a +rustle of leaves that drew nearer and nearer; yet Barnabas never +moved, not even when the bushes were pushed aside and a man stepped +into the clearing--a tall, elegant figure, who having paused to +glance sharply about him, strolled on again towards the barn, +swinging his tasselled walking-cane, and humming softly to himself +as he came. He was within a yard of Barnabas when he saw him, and +stopped dead. + +"Ah!" he exclaimed, softly; and thereafter the two eyed each other +in an ominous silence. + +"And who the devil are you?" he inquired at length, his eyes still +intent. + +"Sir," said Barnabas, yet leaning in the doorway--"your name I think, +is Chichester?" + +"Well?" + +"Permit me to return your coat button!" and Barnabas held out the +article in question, but Mr. Chichester never so much as glanced at +it. + +"What do you want here?" he demanded, soft of voice. + +"To tell you that this dismal place is called Oakshott's Barn, sir." + +"Well?" + +"To warn you that Oakshott's Barn is an unhealthy place--for your +sort, sir." + +"Ha!" said Mr. Chichester, his heavy-lidded eyes unwinking, +"do you threaten?" + +"Let us rather say--I warn!" + +"So you do threaten!" + +"I warn!" repeated Barnabas. + +"To the devil with you and your warning!" All this time neither of +them had moved or raised his voice, only Mr. Chichcster's thin, +curving nostrils began to twitch all at once, while his eyes gleamed +beneath their narrowed lids. But now Barnabas stepped clear of the +doorway, the heavy stick swinging in his hand. + +"Then, sir," said he, "let me advise. Let me advise you to hurry +from this solitude." + +Mr. Chichester laughed--a low, rippling laugh. + +"Ah!" said he, "ah, so that's it!" + +"Yes," nodded Barnabas, shifting his gaze to Mr. Chichester's right +hand, a white beringed hand, whose long, slender fingers toyed with +the seals that dangled at his fob, "so pray take up your button and +go!" + +Mr. Chichester glanced at the heavy stick; at the powerful hand, the +broad shoulders and resolute face of him who held it, and laughed +again, and, laughing, bowed. + +"Your solicitude for my health--touches me, sir,--touches me, my +thanks are due to you, for my health is paramount. I owe you a debt +which I shall hope to repay. This place, as you say, is dismal. I +wish you good evening!" saying which, Mr. Chichester turned away. But +in that same instant, swift and lithe as a panther, Barnabas leapt, +and dropping his stick, caught that slender, jewelled hand, bent it, +twisted it, and wrenched the weapon from its grasp. Mr. Chichester +stood motionless, white-lipped and silent, but a devil looked out of +his eyes. + +"Ah!" said Barnabas, glancing down at the pistol he held, "I judged +you would not venture into these wilds without something of the sort. +The path, you will notice, lies to your left; it is a winding path, +I will go with you therefore, to see that you do not lose your way, +and wander--back here again." + +Without a word Mr. Chichester turned, and coming to the path +followed it, walking neither fast nor slow, never once looking to +where Barnabas strode behind, and heedless of briar or bramble that +dragged at him as he passed. On they went, until the path lost +itself in a grassy lane, until the lane ended in a five-barred gate. +Now, having opened the gate, Mr. Chichester passed through into the +high road, and then, for one moment he looked at Barnabas, a long, +burning look that took in face, form and feature, and so, still +without uttering a word, he went upon his way, walking neither fast +nor slow, and swinging his tasselled cane as he went, while Barnabas, +leaning upon the gate, watched him until his tall, slender figure +had merged into the dusk, and was gone. + +Then Barnabas sighed, and becoming aware of the pistol in his hand, +smiled contemptuously, and was greatly minded to throw it away, but +slipped it into his pocket instead, for he remembered the devil in +the eyes of Mr. Chichester. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + +WHICH TELLS HOW BARNABAS TALKS WITH MY LADY CLEONE FOR THE SECOND +TIME + +It was dark among the trees, but, away to his left, though as yet +low down, the moon was rising, filling the woods with mystery, a +radiant glow wherein objects seemed to start forth with a new +significance; here the ragged hole of a tree, gnarled, misshapen; +there a wide-flung branch, weirdly contorted, and there again a +tangle of twigs and strange, leafy shapes that moved not. And over +all was a deep and brooding quietude. + +Yes, it was dark among the trees, yet not so black as the frown that +clouded the face of Barnabas as he strode on through the wood, and +so betimes reached again the ancient barn of Oakshott. And lo! even +as he came there, it was night, and because the trees grew tall and +close together, the shadows lay thicker than ever save only in one +place where the moon, finding some rift among the leaves, sent down +a shaft of silvery light that made a pool of radiance amid the gloom. +Now, as Barnabas gazed at this, he stopped all at once, for, just +within this patch of light, he saw a foot. It was a small foot, +proudly arched, a shapely foot and slender, like the ankle above; +indeed, a haughty and most impatient foot, that beat the ground with +angry little taps, and yet, in all and every sense, surely, and +beyond a doubt, the most alluring foot in the world. Therefore +Barnabas sighed and came a step nearer, and in that moment it +vanished; therefore Barnabas stood still again. There followed a +moment's silence, and then: + + +"Dear," said a low, thrilling voice, "have you come--at last? Ah! +but you are late, I began to fear--" The soft voice faltered and +broke off with a little gasp, and, as Barnabas stepped out of the +shadows, she shrank away, back and back, to the mossy wall of the +barn, and leaned there staring up at him with eyes wide and fearful. +Her hood, close drawn, served but to enhance the proud beauty of her +face, pale under the moon, and her cloak, caught close in one white +hand, fell about her ripe loveliness in subtly revealing folds. Now +in her other hand she carried a silver-mounted riding-whip. And +because of the wonder of her beauty, Barnabas sighed again, and +because of the place wherein they stood, he frowned; yet, when he +spoke, his voice was gentle: + +"Don't be afraid, madam, he is gone." + +"Gone!" she echoed, faintly. + +"Yes, we are quite alone; consequently you have no more reason to be +afraid." + +"Afraid, sir? I thought--why, 'twas you who startled me." + +"Ay," nodded Barnabas, "you expected--him!" + +"Where is he? When did he go?" + +"Some half-hour since." + +"Yet he expected me; he knew I should come; why did he go?" + +Now hereupon Barnabas lifted a hand to his throat, and loosened his +neckcloth. + +"Why then," said he slowly, "you have--perhaps--met him +hereabouts--before to-night?" + +"Sir," she retorted, "you haven't answered me; why did he go so soon?" + +"He was--forced to, madam." + +"Forced to go,--without seeing me,--without one word! Oh, impossible!" + +"I walked with him to the cross-roads, and saw him out of sight." + +"But I--I came as soon as I could! Ah! surely he gave you some +message--some word for me?" + +"None, madam!" said Barnabas evenly, but his hand had clenched +itself suddenly on the stick he held. + +"But I--don't understand!" she sighed, with a helpless gesture of +her white hands, "to hurry away like this, without a word! Oh, +why--why did he go?" + +"Madam," said Barnabas, "it was because I asked him to." + +"You--asked him to?" + +"I did." + +"But why--why?" + +"Because, from what little I know of him, I judged it best." + +"Sir," she said, softly, "sir--what do you mean?" + +"I mean, that this is such a very lonely place for any woman +and--such as he." + +Now even as Barnabas uttered the words she advanced upon him with +upflung head and eyes aflame with sudden passionate scorn. + +"Insolent," she exclaimed. "So it was you--you actually dared to +interfere?" + +"Madam," said Barnabas, "I did." + +Very straight and proud she stood, and motionless save for the pant +and tumult of her bosom, fierce-eyed and contemptuous of lip. + +"And remained to insult me--with impunity." + +"To take you home again," said Barnabas, "therefore pray let us +begone." + +"Us? Sir, you grow presumptuous." + +"As you will," said Barnabas, "only let us go." + +"With you?" she exclaimed. + +"With me." + +"No--not a step, sir; When I choose to go, I go alone." + +"But to-night," said Barnabas, gentle of voice but resolute of eye, +"to-night--I go with you." + +"You!" she cried, "a man I have seen but once, a man who may be +anything, a--a thief, a ploughman, a runaway groom for aught I know." +Now, watching him beneath disdainful drooping lashes, she saw +Barnabas flinch at this, and the curve of her scornful lips grew +more bitter. + +"And now I'm going--alone. Stand aside, and let me pass." + +"No, madam." + +"Let me pass, I warn you!" + +For a minute they fronted each other, eye to eye, very silent and +still, like two antagonists that measure each other's strength; then +Barnabas smiled and shook his head. And in that very instant, quick +and passionate, she raised her whip and struck him across the cheek. +Then, as she stood panting, half fearful of what she had done, +Barnabas reached out and took the whip, and snapped it between his +hands. + +"And now," said he, tossing aside the broken pieces, "pray let us go." + +"No." + +"Why, then," sighed Barnabas, "I must carry you again." + +Once more she shrank away from him, back and back to the crumbling +wall, and leaned there. But now because of his passionless strength, +she fell a-trembling and, because of his calmly resolute eyes and +grimly smiling mouth, fear came upon her, and therefore, because she +could not by him, because she knew herself helpless against him, she +suddenly covered her face from his eyes, and a great sob burst from +her. + +Barnabas stopped, and looking at her bowed head and shrinking figure, +knew not what to do. And as he stood there within a yard of her, +debating within himself, upon the quiet broke a sudden sound--a small, +sharp sound, yet full of infinite significance--the snapping of a dry +twig among the shadows; a sound that made the ensuing silence but +the more profound, a breathless quietude which, as moment after +moment dragged by, grew full of deadly omen. And now, even as +Barnabas turned to front these menacing shadows, the moon went out. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +OF THE PROPHECY OF ONE BILLY BUTTON, A MADMAN + +Upon the quiet stole a rustle of leaves, a whisper that came and went, +intermittently, that grew louder and louder, and so was gone again; +but in place of this was another sound, a musical jingle like the +chime of fairy bells, very far, and faint, and sweet. All at once +Barnabas knew that his companion's fear of him was gone, swallowed +up--forgotten in terror of the unknown. He heard a slow-drawn, +quivering sigh, and then, pale in the dimness, her hand came out to +him, crept down his arm, and finding his hand, hid itself in his +warm clasp; and her hand was marvellous cold, and her fingers +stirred and trembled in his. + +Came again a rustling in the leaves, but louder now, and drawing +nearer and nearer, and ever the fairy chime swelled upon the air. +And even as it came Barnabas felt her closer, until her shoulder +touched his, until the fragrance of her breath fanned his cheek, +until the warmth of her soft body thrilled through him, until, loud +and sudden in the silence, a voice rose--a rich, deep voice: + +"'Now is the witching hour when graveyards yawn'--the witching +hour--aha!--Oh! poor pale ghost, I know thee--by thy night-black +hair and sad, sweet eyes--I know thee. Alas, so young and +dead--while I, alas, so old and much alive! Yet I, too, must die +some day--soon, soon, beloved shadow. Then shall my shade encompass +thine and float up with thee into the infinite. But now, aha! now is +the witching hour! Oh! shades and phantoms, I summon thee, fairies, +pixies, ghosts and goblins, come forth, and I will sing you and +dance you." + +"Tis a rare song, mine--and well liked by the quality,--you've heard +it before, perchance--ay, ay for you, being dead, hear and see all +things, oh, Wise Ones! Come, press round me, so. Now, hearkee, +'Oysters! oysters! and away we go." + + "'Many a knight and lady fair + My oysters fine would try, + They are the finest oysters, sir, + That ever you did buy. + Oysters! who'll buy my oysters, oh!'" + +The bushes rustled again, and into the dimness leapt a tall, dark +figure that sang in a rich, sweet voice, and capered among the +shadows with a fantastic dancing step, then grew suddenly silent and +still. And in that moment the moon shone out again, shone down upon +a strange, wild creature, bareheaded and bare of foot. A very tall +man he was, with curling gray hair that hung low upon his shoulders, +and upon his coat were countless buttons of all makes and kinds that +winked and glittered in the moonlight, and jingled faintly as he +moved. For a moment he stood motionless and staring, then, laying one +hand to the gleaming buttons on his bosom, bowed with an easy, +courtly grace. + +"Who are you?" demanded Barnabas. + +"Billy, sir, poor Billy--Sir William, perhaps--but, mum for that; +the moon knows, but cannot tell, then why should I?" + +"And what do you want--here?" + +"To sing, sir, for you and the lady, if you will. I sing for high +folk and low folk. I have many songs, old and new, grave and gay, +but folk generally ask for my Oyster Song. I sing for rich and poor, +for the sad and for the merry. I sing at country fairs sometimes, +and sometimes to trees in lonely places--trees are excellent +listeners always. But to-night I sing for--Them." + +"And who are they?" + +"The Wise Ones, who, being dead, know all things, and live on for +ever. Ah, but they're kind to poor Billy, and though they have no +buttons to give him, yet they tell him things sometimes. Aha! such +things!--things to marvel at! So I sing for them always when the moon +is full, but, most of all, I sing for Her." + +"Who is she?" + +"One who died, many years ago. Folk told her I was dead, killed at +sea, and her heart broke--hearts will break--sometimes. So when she +died, I put off the shoes from my feet, and shall go barefoot to my +grave. Folk tell me that poor Billy's mad--well, perhaps he is--but +he sees and hears more than folk think; the Wise Ones tell me things. +You now; what do they tell me of you? Hush! You are on your way to +London, they tell me--yes--yes, to London town; you are rich, and +shall feast with princes, but youth is over-confident, and thus +shall you sup with beggars. They tell me you came here to-night--oh, +Youth!--oh, Impulse!--hasting--hasting to save a wanton from herself." + +"Fool!" exclaimed Barnabas, turning upon the speaker in swift anger; +for my lady's hand had freed itself from his clasp, and she had +drawn away from him. + +"Fool?" repeated the man, shaking his head, "nay, sir, I am only mad, +folk tell me. Yet the Wise Ones make me their confidant, they tell +me that she--this proud lady--is here to aid an unworthy brother, who +sent a rogue instead." + +"Brother!" exclaimed Barnabas, with a sudden light in his eyes. + +"Who else, sir?" demands my lady, very cold and proud again all at +once. + +"But," stammered Barnabas, "but--I thought--" + +"Evil of me!" says she. + +"No--that is--I--I--Forgive me!" + +"Sir, there are some things no woman can forgive; you dared to +think--" + +"Of the rogue who came instead," said Barnabas. + +"Ah!--the rogue?" + +"His name is Chichester," said Barnabas. + +"Chichester!" she repeated, incredulously. "Chichester!" + +"A tall, slender, dark man, with a scar on his cheek," added Barnabas. + +"Do you mean he was here--here to meet me--alone?" + +Now, at this she seemed to shrink into herself; and, all at once, +sank down, crouching upon her knees, and hid her face from the moon. + +"My lady!" + +"Oh!" she sighed, "oh, that he should have come to this!" + +"My Lady Cleone!" said Barnabas, and touched her very gently. + +"And you--you!" she cried, shuddering away from him, "you thought me +what--he would have made me! You thought I--Oh, shame! Ah, don't +touch me!" + +But Barnabas stooped and caught her hands, and sank upon his knees, +and thus, as they knelt together in the moonlight, he drew her so +that she must needs let him see her face. + +"My lady," said he, very reverently, "my thought of you is this, that, +if such great honor may be mine, I will marry you--to-night." + +But hereupon, with her two hands still prisoned in his, and with the +tears yet thick upon her lashes, she threw back her head, and +laughed with her eyes staring into his. Thereat Barnabas frowned +blackly, and dropped her hands, then caught her suddenly in his long +arms, and held her close. + +"By God!" he exclaimed, "I'd kiss you, Cleone, on that scornful, +laughing mouth, only--I love you--and this is a solitude. Come away!" + +"A solitude," she repeated; "yes, and he sent me here, to meet a +beast--a satyr! And now--you! You drove away the other brute, oh! I +can't struggle--you are too strong--and nothing matters now!" And so +she sighed, and closed her eyes. Then gazing down upon her rich, +warm beauty, Barnabas trembled, and loosed her, and sprang to his +feet. + +"I think," said he, turning away to pick up his cudgel, "I think--we +had--better--go." + +But my lady remained crouched upon her knees, gazing up at him under +her wet lashes. + +"You didn't--kiss me!" she said, wonderingly. + +"You were so--helpless!" said Barnabas. "And I honor you because it +was--your brother." + +"Ah! but you doubted me first, you thought I came here to meet +that--beast!" + +"Forgive me," said Barnabas, humbly. + +"Why should I?" + +"Because I love you." + +"So many men have told me that," she sighed. + +"But I," said Barnabas, "I am the last, and it is written 'the last +shall be first,' and I love you because you are passionate, and pure, +and very brave." + +"Love!" she exclaimed, "so soon; you have seen me only once!" + +"Yes," he nodded, "it is, therefore, to be expected that I shall +worship you also--in due season." + +Now Barnabas stood leaning upon his stick, a tall, impassive figure; +his voice was low, yet it thrilled in her ears, and there was that +in his steadfast eyes before which her own wavered and fell; yet, +even so, from the shadow of her hood, she must needs question him +further. + +"Worship me? When?" + +"When you are--my--wife." + +Again she was silent, while one slender hand plucked nervously at +the grass. + +"Are you so sure of me?" she inquired at last. + +"No; only of myself." + +"Ah! you mean to--force a promise from me--here?" + +"No." + +"Why not?" + +"Because it is night, and you are solitary; I would not have you +fear me again. But I shall come to you, one day, a day when the sun +is in the sky, and friends are within call. I shall come and ask you +then." + +"And if I refuse?" + +"Then I shall wait." + +"Until I wed another?" + +"Until you change your mind." + +"I think I shall--refuse you." + +"Indeed, I fear it is very likely." + +"Why?" + +"Because of my unworthiness; and, therefore, I would not have you +kneel while I stand." + +"And the grass is very damp," she sighed. + +So Barnabas stepped forward with hand outstretched to aid her, but, +as he did so, the wandering singer was between them, looking from +one to the other with his keen, bright eyes. + +"Stay!" said he. "The Wise Ones have told me that she who kneels +before you now, coveted for her beauty, besought for her money, +shall kneel thus in the time to come; and one--even I, poor +Billy--shall stand betwixt you and join your hands thus, and bid you +go forth trusting in each other's love and strength, even as poor +Billy does now. And, mayhap, in that hour you shall heed the voice, +for time rings many changes; the proud are brought low, the humble +exalted. Hush! the Wise Ones grow impatient for my song; I hear them +calling from the trees, and must begone. But hearkee! they have told +me your name, Barnabas? yes, yes; Barn--, Barnabas; for the other, +no matter--mum for that! Barnabas, aha! that minds me--at Barnaby +Bright we shall meet again, all three of us, under an orbed moon, at +Barnaby Bright:--" + + "Oh, Barnaby Bright, Barnaby Bright, + The sun's awake, and shines all night!" + +"Ay, ay, 't is the night o' the fairies--when spirits pervade the air. +Then will I tell you other truths; but now--They call me. She is +fair, and passing fair, and by her beauty, suffering shall come upon +thee; but 'tis by suffering that men are made, and because of pride, +shame shall come on her; but by shame cometh humility. Farewell; I +must begone--farewell till Barnaby Bright. We are to meet again in +London town, I think--yes, yes--in London. Oho! oysters! oysters, sir?" + + "Many a knight and lady gay + My oysters fine would try, + They are the finest oysters + That ever you could buy! + Oysters! Oysters." + +And so he bowed, turned, and danced away into the shadows, and above +the hush of the leaves rose the silvery jingle of his many buttons, +that sank to a chime, to a murmur, and was gone. And now my lady +sighed and rose to her feet, and looking at Barnabas, sighed +again--though indeed a very soft, little sigh this time. As for +Barnabas, he yet stood wondering, and looking after the strange +creature, and pondering his wild words. Thus my lady, unobserved, +viewed him at her leisure; noted the dark, close-curled hair, the +full, well-opened, brilliant eye, the dominating jaw, the sensitive +nostrils, the tender curve of the firm, strong mouth. And she had +called him "a ploughman--a runaway footman," and had even--she could +see the mark upon his cheek--how red it glowed! Did it hurt much, +she wondered? + +"Mad of course--yes a madman, poor fellow!" said Barnabas, +thoughtfully. + +"And he said your name is Barnabas." + +"Why, to be sure, so he did," said Barnabas, rubbing his chin as one +at a loss, "which is very strange, for I never saw or heard of him +before." + +"So then, your name is--Barnabas?" + +"Yes. Barnabas Bar--Beverley." + +"Beverley?" + +"Yes--Beverley. But we must go." + +"First, tell me how you learned my name?" + +"From the Viscount--Viscount Devenham?" + +"Then, you know the Viscount?" + +"I do; we also know each other as rivals." + +"Rivals? For what?" + +"Yourself." + +"For me? Sir--sir--what did you tell him?" + +"My name is Barnabas. And I told him that I should probably marry you, +some day." + +"You told him--that?" + +"I did. I thought it but honorable, seeing he is my friend." + +"Your friend!--since when, sir?" + +"Since about ten o'clock this morning." + +"Sir--sir--are you not a very precipitate person?" + +"I begin to think I am. And my name is Barnabas." + +"Since ten o'clock this morning! Then you knew--me first?" + +"By about an hour." + +Swiftly she turned away, yet not before he had seen the betraying +dimple in her cheek. And so, side by side, they came to the edge of +the clearing. + +Now as he stooped to open a way for her among the brambles, she must +needs behold again the glowing mark upon his cheek, and seeing it, +her glance fell, and her lips grew very tender and pitiful, and, in +that moment, she spoke. + +"Sir," she said, very softly, "sir?" + +"My name is Barnabas." + +"I fear--I--does your cheek pain you very much, Mr. Beverley?" + +"Thank you, no. And my name is Barnabas." + +"I did not mean to--to--" + +"No, no, the fault was mine--I--I frightened you, and indeed the +pain is quite gone," he stammered, holding aside the brambles for +her passage. Yet she stood where she was, and her face was hidden in +her hood. At last she spoke and her voice was very low. + +"Quite gone, sir?" + +"Quite gone, and my name is--" + +"I'm very--glad--Barnabas." + +Four words only, be it noted; yet on the face of Barnabas was a +light that was not of the moon, as they entered the dim woodland +together. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + + +IN WHICH BARNABAS UNDERTAKES A MISSION + +Their progress through the wood was slow, by reason of the +undergrowth, yet Barnabas noticed that where the way permitted, she +hurried on at speed, and moreover, that she was very silent and kept +her face turned from him; therefore he questioned her. + +"Are you afraid of these woods?" + +"No." + +"Of me?" + +"No." + +"Then, I fear you are angry again." + +"I think Barnab--your name is--hateful!" + +"Strange!" said Barnabas, "I was just thinking how musical it +was--as you say it." + +"I--oh! I thought your cheek was paining you," said she, petulantly. + +"My cheek?--what has that to do with it?" + +"Everything, sir!" + +"That," said Barnabas, "that I don't understand." + +"Of course you don't!" she retorted. + +"Hum!" said Barnabas. + +"And now!" she demanded, "pray how did you know I was to be at +Oakshott's Barn to-night?" + +"From my valet." + +"Your valet?" + +"Yes; though to be sure, he was a poacher, then." + +"Sir, pray be serious!" + +"I generally am." + +"But why have a poacher for your valet?" + +"That he might poach no more; and because I understand that he is +the best valet in the world." + +Here she glanced up at Barnabas and shook her head: "I fear I shall +never understand you, Mr. Beverley." + +"That time will show; and my name is Barnabas." + +"But how did--this poacher--know?" + +"He was the man who brought you the letter from Mr. Chichester." + +"It was written by my--brother, sir." + +"He was the man who gave you your brother's letter in Annersley Wood." + +"Yes--I remember--in the wood." + +"Where I found you lying quite unconscious." + +"Where you found me--yes." + +"Lying--quite unconscious!" + +"Yes," she answered, beginning to hasten her steps again. "And where +you left me without telling me your name--or--even asking mine." + +"For which I blamed myself--afterwards," said Barnabas. + +"Indeed, it was very remiss of you." + +"Yes," sighed Barnabas, "I came back to try and find you." + +"Really, sir?" said she, with black brows arched--"did you indeed, +sir?" + +"But I was too late, and I feared I had lost you--" + +"Why, that reminds me, I lost my handkerchief." + +"Oh!" said Barnabas, staring up at the moon. + +"I think I must have dropped it--in the wood." + +"Then, of course, it is gone--you may depend upon that," said +Barnabas, shaking his head at the moon. + +"It had my monogram embroidered in one corner." + +"Indeed!" said Barnabas. + +"Yes; I was--hoping--that you had seen it, perhaps?" + +"On a bramble-bush," said Barnabas, nodding at the moon. + +"Then--you did find it, sir?" + +"Yes; and I beg to remind you that my name--" + +"Where is it?" + +"In my pocket." + +"Then why couldn't you say so before?" + +"Because I wished to keep it there." + +"Please give it to me!" + +"Why?" + +"Because no man shall have my favors to wear until he has my promise, +also." + +"Then, since I have the one--give me the other." + +"Mr. Beverley, you will please return my handkerchief," and stopping +all at once, she held out her hand imperiously. + +"Of course," sighed Barnabas, "on a condition--" + +"On no condition, sir!" + +"That you remember my name is Barnabas." + +"But I detest your name." + +"I am hoping that by use it may become a little less objectionable," +said he, rather ponderously. + +"It never can--never; and I want my handkerchief,--Barnabas." + +So Barnabas sighed again, and perforce gave the handkerchief into +her keeping. And now it was she who smiled up at the moon; but as +for Barnabas, his gaze was bent earthwards. After they had gone some +way in silence, he spoke. + +"Have you met--Sir Mortimer Carnaby--often?" he inquired. + +"Yes," she answered, then seeing his scowling look, added, "very +often, oh, very often indeed, sir!" + +"Ha!" said frowning Barnabas, "and is he one of the many who +have--told you their love?" + +"Yes." + +"Hum," said Barnabas, and strode on in gloomy silence. Seeing which +she smiled in the shadow of her hood, and thereafter grew angry all +at once. + +"And pray, why not, sir?" she demanded, haughtily, "though, indeed, +it does not at all concern you; and he is at least a gentleman, and +a friend of the Prince--" + +"And has an excellent eye for horseflesh--and women," added Barnabas. + +Now when he said this, she merely looked at him once, and thereafter +forgot all about him, whereby Barnabas gradually perceived that his +offence was great, and would have made humble atonement, yet found +her blind and deaf, which was but natural, seeing that, for her, he +had ceased to exist. + +But they reached a stile. It was an uncommonly high stile, an +awkward stile at any time, more especially at night. Nevertheless, +she faced it resolutely, even though Barnabas had ceased to exist. +When, therefore, having vaulted over, he would have helped her, she +looked over him, and past him, and through him, and mounted unaided, +confident of herself, proud and supremely disdainful both of the +stile and Barnabas; and then--because of her pride, or her disdain, +or her long cloak, or all three--she slipped, and to save herself +must needs catch at Barnabas, and yield herself to his arm; so, for +a moment, she lay in his embrace, felt his tight clasp about her, +felt his quick breath upon her cheek. Then he had set her down, and +was eyeing her anxiously. + +"Your foot, is it hurt?" he inquired. + +"Thank you, no," she answered, and turning with head carried high, +hurried on faster than ever. + +"You should have taken my hand," said he; but he spoke to deaf ears. + +"You will find the next stile easier, I think," he ventured; but +still she hurried on, unheeding. + +"You walk very fast!" said he again, but still she deigned him no +reply; therefore he stooped till he might see beneath her hood. + +"Dear lady," said he very gently, "if I offended you a while +ago--forgive me--Cleone." + +"Indeed," said she, looking away from him; "it would seem I must be +always forgiving you, Mr. Beverley." + +"Why, surely it is a woman's privilege to forgive, Cleone--and my +name--" + +"And a man's prerogative to be forgiven, I suppose, Mr. Beverley." + +"When he repents as I do, Cleone; and my--" + +"Oh! I forgive you," she sighed. + +"Yet you still walk very fast." + +"It must be nearly ten o'clock." + +"I suppose so," said Barnabas, "and you will, naturally, be anxious +to reach home again." + +"Home," she said bitterly; "I have no home." + +"But--" + +"I live in a gaol--a prison. Yes, a hateful, hateful prison, watched +by a one-legged gaoler, and guarded by a one-armed tyrant--yes, a +tyrant!" Here, having stopped to stamp her foot, she walked on +faster than ever. + +"Can you possibly mean old Jerry and the Captain?" + +Here my lady paused in her quick walk, and even condescended to look +at Barnabas. + +"Do you happen to know them too, sir?" + +"Yes; and my name is--" + +"Perhaps you met them also this morning, sir?" + +"Yes; and my--" + +"Indeed," said she, with curling lip; "this has been quite an +eventful day for you." + +"On the whole, I think it has; and may I remind you that my--" + +"Perhaps you don't believe me when I say he is a tyrant?" + +"Hum," said Barnabas. + +"You don't, do you?" + +"Why, I'm afraid not," he admitted. + +"I'm nineteen!" said she, standing very erect. + +"I should have judged you a little older," said Barnabas. + +"So I am--in mind, and--and experience. Yet here I live, prisoned in +a dreary old house, and with nothing to see but trees, and toads, +and cows and cabbages; and I'm watched over, and tended from morning +till night, and am the subject of more councils of war than +Buonaparte's army ever was." + +"What do you mean by councils of war?" + +"Oh! whenever I do anything my tyrant disapproves of, he retires to +what he calls the 'round house,' summons the Bo'sun, and they argue +and talk over me as though I were a hostile fleet, and march up and +down forming plans of attack and defence, till I burst in on them, +and then--and then--Oh! there are many kinds of tyrants, and he is +one. And so to-night I left him; I ran away to meet--" She stopped +suddenly, and her head drooped, and Barnabas saw her white hands +clench themselves. + +"Your brother," said he. + +"Yes, my--brother," but her voice faltered at the word, and she went +on through the wood, but slowly now, and with head still drooping. +And so, at last, they came out of the shadows into the soft radiance +of the moon, and thus Barnabas saw that she was weeping; and she, +because she could no longer hide her grief, turned and laid a +pleading hand upon his arm. + +"Pray, think of him as kindly as you can," she sighed, "you see--he +is only a boy--my brother." + +"So young?" said Barnabas. + +"Just twenty, but younger than his age--much younger. You see," she +went on hastily, "he went to London a boy--and--and he thought +Mr. Chichester was his friend, and he lost much money at play, and, +somehow, put himself in Mr. Chichester's power. He is my half-brother, +really; but I--love him so, and I've tried to take care of him--I +was always so much stronger than he--and--and so I would have you +think of him as generously as you can." + +"Yes," said Barnabas, "yes." But now she stopped again so that he +must needs stop too, and when she spoke her soft voice thrilled with +a new intensity. + +"Will you do more? You are going to London--will you seek him out, +will you try to--save him from himself? Will you promise me to do +this--will you?" + +Now seeing the passionate entreaty in her eyes, feeling it in the +twitching fingers upon his arm, Barnabas suddenly laid his own above +that slender hand, and took it into his warm clasp. + +"My lady," said he, solemnly, "I will." As he spoke he stooped his +head low and lower, until she felt his lips warm upon her palm, a +long, silent pressure, and yet her hand was not withdrawn. + +Now although Barnabas had clean forgotten the rules and precepts set +down in the "priceless wollum," he did it all with a graceful ease +which could not have been bettered--no, not even by the Person of +Quality itself. + +"But it will be difficult," she sighed, as they went on together. +"Ronald is very headstrong and proud--it will be very difficult!" + +"No matter," said Barnabas. + +"And--dangerous, perhaps." + +"No matter for that either," said Barnabas. + +"Does it seem strange that I should ask so much of you?" + +"The most natural thing in the world," said Barnabas. + +"But you are a stranger--almost!" + +"But I--love you, Cleone." + +After this there fell a silence between them; and so having crossed +the moonlit meadow, they came to a tall hedge beyond whose shadow +the road led away, white under the moon; close by the ways divided, +and here stood a weather-beaten finger-post. Now beneath this hedge +they stopped, and it is to be noted that neither looked at the other. + +"Sir," said she, softly, "we part here, my home lies yonder," and +she pointed to where above the motionless tree-tops rose the gables +and chimneys of a goodly house. + +"It would seem to be fairly comfortable as prisons go," said Barnabas; +but my lady only sighed. + +"Do you start for London--soon?" + +"To-night," nodded Barnabas. + +"Sir," said she, after a pause, "I would thank you, if I could, +for--for all that you have done for me." + +"No, no," said Barnabas, hastily. + +"Words are poor things, I know, but how else may I show my gratitude?" + +And now it was Barnabas who was silent; but at last-- + +"There is a way," said he, staring at the finger-post. + +"How--what way?" + +"You might--kiss me--once, Cleone." + +Now here she must needs steal a swift look at him, and thus she saw +that he still stared at the ancient finger-post, but that his hands +were tight clenched. + +"I only ask," he continued heavily, "for what I might have taken." + +"But didn't!" she added, with lips and eyes grown suddenly tender. + +"No," sighed Barnabas, "nor shall I ever,--until you will +it so,--because, you see, I love you." + +Now as he gazed at the finger-post, even so she gazed at him; and +thus she saw again the mark upon his cheek, and looking, sighed; +indeed, it was the veriest ghost of a sigh, yet Barnabas heard it, +and straightway forgot the finger-post, forgot the world and all +things in it, save her warm beauty, the red allurement of her mouth, +and the witchery of her drooping lashes; therefore he reached out +his hands to her, and she saw that they were trembling. + +"Cleone," he murmured, "oh, Cleone--look up!" + +But even as he spoke she recoiled from his touch, for, plain and +clear, came the sound of footsteps on the road near by. Sighing, +Barnabas turned thitherwards and beheld advancing towards them one +who paused, now and then, to look about him as though at a loss, and +then hurried on again. A very desolate figure he was, and quaintly +pathetic because of his gray hair, and the empty sleeve that flapped +helplessly to and fro with the hurry of his going--a figure, indeed, +that there was no mistaking. Being come to the finger-post, he +paused to look wistfully on all sides, and Barnabas could see that +his face was drawn and haggard. For a moment he gazed about him +wild-eyed and eager, then with a sudden, hopeless gesture, he leaned +his one arm against the battered sign-post and hid his face there. + +"Oh, my lass--my dear!" he cried in a strangled voice, "why did you +leave me? Oh, my lass!" + +Then all at once came a rustle of parting leaves, the flutter of +flying draperies, and Cleone had fled to that drooping, disconsolate +figure, had wreathed her protecting arms about it, and so all moans, +and sobs, and little tender cries, had drawn her tyrant's head down +upon her gentle bosom and clasped it there. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + + +IN WHICH THE READER IS INTRODUCED TO AN ANCIENT FINGER-POST + +"Why, Cleone!" exclaimed the Captain, and folded his solitary arm +about her; but not content with this, my lady must needs take his +empty sleeve also, and, drawing it close about her neck, she held it +there. + +"Oh, Cleone!" sighed the Captain, "my dear, dear lass!" + +"No," she cried, "I'm a heartless savage, an ungrateful wretch! I am, +I am--and I hate myself!" and here, forthwith, she stamped her foot +at herself. + +"No, no, you're not--I say no! You didn't mean to break my heart. +You've come back to me, thank God, and--and--Oh, egad, Cleone, I +swear--I say I swear--by Gog and Magog, I'm snuffling like a +birched schoolboy; but then I--couldn't bear to--lose my dear maid." + +"Dear," she sighed, brushing away his tears with the cuff of his +empty sleeve, "dear, if you'd only try to hate me a little--just a +little, now and then, I don't think I should be quite such a wretch +to you." Here she stood on tip-toe and kissed him on the chin, that +being nearest. "I'm a cat--yes, a spiteful cat, and I must scratch +sometimes; but ah! if you knew how I hated myself after! And I know +you'll go and forgive me again, and that's what makes it so hard to +bear." + +"Forgive you, Clo'--ay, to be sure! You've come back to me, you see, +and you didn't mean to leave me solitary and--" + +"Ah, but I did--I did! And that's why I am a wretch, and a cat, and +a savage! I meant to run away and leave you for ever and ever!" + +"The house would be very dark without you, Cleone." + +"Dear, hold me tighter--now listen! There are times when I hate the +house, and the country, and--yes, even you. And at such times I grow +afraid of myself--hold me tighter!--at such times I long for +London--and--and--Ah, but you do love me, don't you?" + +"Love you--my own lass!" The Captain's voice was very low, yet +eloquent with yearning tenderness; but even so, his quick ear had +caught a rustle in the hedge, and his sharp eye had seen Barnabas +standing in the shadow. "Who's that?" he demanded sharply. + +"Why, indeed," says my lady, "I had forgotten him. 'Tis a friend of +yours, I think. Pray come out, Mr. Beverley." + +"Beverley!" exclaimed the Captain. "Now sink me! what's all this? +Come out, sir,--I say come out and show yourself!" + +So Barnabas stepped out from the hedge, and uncovering his head, +bowed low. + +"Your very humble, obedient servant, sir," said he. + +"Ha! by Thor and Odin, so it's you again, is it, sir? Pray, what +brings you still so far from the fashionable world? What d'ye want, +sir, eh, sir?" + +"Briefly, sir," answered Barnabas, "your ward." + +"Eh--what? what?" cried the Captain. + +"Sir," returned Barnabas, "since you are the Lady Cleone's lawful +guardian, it is but right to tell you that I hope to marry her--some +day." + +"Marry!" exclaimed the Captain. "Marry my--damme, sir, but you're +cool--I say cool and devilish impudent, and--and--oh, Gad, Cleone!" + +"My dear," said she, smiling and stroking her tyrant's shaven cheek, +"why distress ourselves, we can always refuse him, can't we?" + +"Ay, to be sure, so we can," nodded the Captain, "but oh! sink +me,--I say sink and scuttle me, the audacity of it! I say he's +a cool, impudent, audacious fellow!" + +"Yes, dear, indeed I think he's all that," said my lady, nodding her +head at Barnabas very decidedly, "and I forgot to tell you that +beside all this, he is the--gentleman who--saved me from my folly +to-night, and brought me back to you." + +"Eh? eh?" cried the Captain, staring. + +"Yes, dear, and this is he who--" But here she drew down her +tyrant's gray head, and whispered three words in his ear. Whatever +she said it affected the Captain mightily, for his frown changed +suddenly into his youthful smile, and reaching out impulsively, he +grasped Barnabas by the hand. + +"Aha, sir!" said he, "you have a good, big fist here!" + +"Indeed," said Barnabas, glancing down at it somewhat ruefully, +"it is--very large, I fear." + +"Over large, sir!" says my lady, also regarding it, and with her +head at a critical angle, "it could never be called--an elegant hand, +could it?" + +"Elegant!" snorted the Captain, "I say pooh! I say pish! Sir, you +must come in and sup with us, my house is near by. Good English beef +and ale, sir." + +Barnabas hesitated, and glanced toward Cleone, but her face was +hidden in the shadow of her hood, wherefore his look presently +wandered to the finger-post, near by, upon whose battered sign he +read the words:-- + + TO HAWKHURST. TO LONDON. + +"Sir," said he, "I would, most gratefully, but that I start for +London at once." Yet while he spoke, he frowned blackly at the +finger-post, as though it had been his worst enemy. + +"London!" exclaimed the Captain, "so you are still bound for the +fashionable world, are ye?" + +"Yes," sighed Barnabas, "but I--" + +"Pish, sir, I say fiddle-de-dee!" + +"I have lately undertaken a mission." + +"Ha! So you won't come in?" + +"Thank you, no; this mission is important, and I must be gone;" and +here again Barnabas sighed. + +Then my lady turned and looked at Barnabas, and, though she uttered +no word, her eyes were eloquent; so that the heart of him was +uplifted, and he placed his hand upon the finger-post as though it +had been his best friend. + +"Why then, so be it, young sir," said the Captain, "it remains only +to thank you, which I do, I say which I do most heartily, and to bid +you good-by." + +"Until we meet again, Captain." + +"Eh--what, sir? meet when?" + +"At 'Barnaby Bright,'" says my lady, staring up at the moon. + +"In a month's time," added Barnabas. + +"Eh?" exclaimed the Captain, "what's all this?" + +"In a month's time, sir, I shall return to ask Cleone to be my wife," +Barnabas explained. + +"And," said my lady, smiling at the Captain's perplexity, "we shall +be glad to see him, shan't we, dear? and shall, of course, refuse him, +shan't we, dear?" + +"Refuse him? yes--no--egad! I don't know," said the Captain, running +his fingers through his hair, "I say, deuce take me--I'm adrift; I +say where's the Bo'sun?" + +"Good-by, sir!" says my lady, very seriously, and gave him her hand; +"good-by." + +"Till 'Barnaby Bright,'" said Barnabas. + +At this she smiled, a little tremulously perhaps. + +"May heaven prosper you in your mission," said she, and turned away. + +"Young sir," said the Captain, "always remember my name is Chumly, +John Chumly, plain and unvarnished, and, whether we refuse you or not, +John Chumly will ever be ready to take you by the hand. Farewell, sir!" + +So tyrant and captive turned away and went down the by-road together, +and his solitary arm was close about her. But Barnabas stood there +under the finger-post until a bend in the road hid them; then he, too, +sighed and turned away. Yet he had gone only a little distance when +he heard a voice calling him, and, swinging round, he saw Cleone +standing under the finger-post. + +"I wanted to give you--this," said she, as he came striding back, +and held out a folded paper. "It is his--my brother's--letter. Take +it with you, it will serve to show you what a boy he is, and will +tell you where to find him." + +So Barnabas took the letter and thrust it into his pocket. But she +yet stood before him, and now, once again, their glances avoided +each other. + +"I also wanted to--ask you--about your cheek," said she at last. + +"Yes?" said Barnabas. + +"You are quite sure it doesn't--pain you, Mr. Bev--" + +"Must I remind you that my name--" + +"Are you quite sure--Barnabas?" + +"Quite sure--yes, oh yes!" he stammered. + +"Because it--glows very red!" she sighed, though indeed she still +kept her gaze averted, "so will you please--stoop your head a little?" + +Wonderingly Barnabas obeyed, and then--even as he did so, she leaned +swiftly towards him, and for an instant her soft, warm mouth rested +upon his cheek. Then, before he could stay her, she was off and away; +and her flying feet had borne her out of sight. + +Then Barnabas sighed, and would have followed, but the ancient +finger-post barred his way with its two arms pointing:-- + + TO HAWKHURST. TO LONDON. + +So he stopped, glanced about him to fix the hallowed place in his +memory, and, obeying the directing finger, set off London-wards. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + +HOW BARNABAS SAVED HIS LIFE--BECAUSE HE WAS AFRAID + +On went Barnabas swift of foot and light of heart, walking through a +World of Romance, and with his eyes turned up to the luminous heaven. +Yet it was neither of the moon, nor the stars, nor the wonder +thereof that he was thinking, but only of the witchery of a woman's +eyes, and the thrill of a woman's lips upon his cheek; and, indeed, +what more natural, more right, and altogether proper? Little recked +he of the future, of the perils and dangers to be encountered, of +the sorrows and tribulations that lay in wait for him, or of the +enemies that he had made that day, for youth is little given to +brooding, and is loftily indifferent to consequences. + +So it was of Lady Cleone Meredith he thought as he strode along the +moonlit highway, and it was of her that he was thinking as he turned +into that narrow by-lane where stood "The Spotted Cow." As he +advanced, he espied some one standing in the shadow of one of the +great trees, who, as he came nearer, stepped out into the moonlight; +and then Barnabas saw that it was none other than his newly engaged +valet. The same, yet not the same, for the shabby clothes had given +place to a sober, well-fitting habit, and as he took off his hat in +salutation, Barnabas noticed that his hollow cheeks were clean and +freshly shaved; he was, indeed, a new man. + +But now, as they faced each other, Barnabas observed something else; +John Peterby's lips were compressed, and in his eye was anxiety, the +which had, somehow, got into his voice when he spoke, though his +tone was low and modulated: "Sir, if you are for London to-night, we +had better start at once, the coach leaves Tenterden within the hour." + +"But," says Barnabas, setting his head aslant, and rubbing his chin +with the argumentative air that was so very like his father, +"I have ordered supper here, Peterby." + +"Which--under the circumstances--I have ventured to countermand, sir." + +"Oh?" said Barnabas, "pray, what circumstances?" + +"Sir, as I told you, the mail--" + +"John Peterby, speak out--what is troubling you?" + +But now, even while Peterby stood hesitating, from the open casement +of the inn, near at hand, came the sound of a laugh: a soft, gentle, +sibilant laugh which Barnabas immediately recognized. + +"Ah!" said he, clenching his fist. "I think I understand." As he +turned towards the inn, Peterby interposed. + +"Sir," he whispered, "sir, if ever a man meant mischief--he does. He +came back an hour ago, and they have been waiting for you ever since." + +"They?" + +"He and the other." + +"What other?" + +"Sir, I don't know." + +"Is he a very--young man, this other?" + +"Yes, sir, he seems so. And they have been drinking together +and--I've heard enough to know that they mean you harm." But here +Master Barnabas smiled with all the arrogance of youth and shook his +head. + +"John Peterby," said he, "learn that the first thing I desire in my +valet is obedience. Pray stand out of my way!" So, perforce Peterby +stood aside, yet Barnabas had scarce taken a dozen strides ere +Clemency stood before him. + +"Go back," she whispered, "go back!" + +"Impossible," said Barnabas, "I have a mission to fulfil." + +"Go back!" she repeated in the same tense whisper, "you must--oh, +you must! I've heard he has killed a man before now--" + +"And yet I must see and speak with his companion." + +"No, no--ah! I pray you--" + +"Nay," said Barnabas, "if you will, and if need be, pray for me." So +saying he put her gently aside, and entering the inn, came to the +door of that room wherein he had written the letter to his father. + +"I tell you I'll kill him, Dalton," said a soft, deliberate voice. + +"Undoubtedly; the light's excellent; but, my dear fellow, why--?" + +"I object to him strongly, for one thing, and--" + +The voice was hushed suddenly, as Barnabas set wide the door and +stepped into the room, with Peterby at his heels. + +Mr. Chichester was seated at the table with a glass beside him, but +Barnabas looked past him to his companion who sprawled on the other +side of the hearth--a sleepy, sighing gentleman, very high as to +collar, very tight as to waist, and most ornate as to waistcoat; +young he was certainly, yet with his first glance, Barnabas knew +instinctively that this could not be the youth he sought. +Nevertheless he took off his hat and saluted him with a bow that for +stateliness left the "stiff-legged gentleman" nowhere. + +"Sir," said he, "pray what might your name be?" + +Instead of replying, the sleepy gentleman opened his eyes rather +wider than was usual and stared at Barnabas with a growing surprise, +stared at him from head to foot and up again, then, without changing +his lounging attitude, spoke: + +"Oh, Gad, Chichester!--is this the--man?" + +"Yes." + +"But--my dear Chit! Surely you don't propose to--this fellow! Who is +he? What is he? Look at his boots--oh, Gad!" + +Hereupon Barnabas resumed his hat, and advancing leaned his clenched +fists on the table, and from that eminence smiled down at the speaker, +that is to say his lips curled and his teeth gleamed in the +candle-light. + +"Sir," said he gently, "you will perhaps have the extreme +condescension to note that my boots are strong boots, and very +serviceable either for walking, or for kicking an insolent puppy." + +"If I had a whip, now," sighed the gentleman, "if I only had a whip, +I'd whip you out of the room. Chichester,--pray look at that coat, oh, +Gad!" + +But Mr. Chichester had risen, and now crossing to the door, he +locked it, and dropped the key into his pocket. + +"As you say, the light is excellent, my dear Dalton," said he, +fixing Barnabas with his unwavering stare. + +"But my dear Chit, you never mean to fight the fellow--a--a being +who wears such a coat! such boots! My dear fellow, be reasonable! +Observe that hat! Good Gad! Take your cane and whip him +out--positively you cannot fight this bumpkin." + +"None the less I mean to shoot him--like a cur, Dalton." And Mr. +Chichester drew a pistol from his pocket, and fell to examining +flint and priming with a practised eye. "I should have preferred my +regular tools; but I dare say this will do the business well enough; +pray, snuff the candles." + +Now, as Barnabas listened to the soft, deliberate words, as he noted +Mr. Chichester's assured air, his firm hand, his glowing eye and +quivering nostrils, a sudden deadly nausea came over him, and he +leaned heavily upon the table. + +"Sirs," said he, uncertainly, and speaking with an effort, "I have +never used a pistol in my life." + +"One could tell as much from his boots," murmured Mr. Dalton, +snuffing the candles. + +"You have another pistol, I think, Dalton; pray lend it to him. We +will take opposite corners of the room, and fire when you give the +word." + +"All quite useless, Chit; this fellow won't fight." + +"No," said Barnabas, thrusting his trembling hands into his pockets, +"not--in a corner." + +Mr. Chichester shrugged his shoulders, sat down, and leaning back in +his chair stared up at pale-faced Barnabas, tapping the table-edge +softly with the barrel of his weapon. + +"Not in a corner--I told you so, Chit. Oh, take your cane and whip +him out!" + +"I mean," said Barnabas, very conscious of the betraying quaver in +his voice, "I mean that, as I'm--unused to--shooting, the corner +would be--too far." + +"Too far? Oh, Gad!" exclaimed Mr. Dalton. "What's this?" + +"As for pistols, I have one here," continued Barnabas, "and if we +must shoot, we'll do it here--across the table." + +"Eh--what? Across the table! but, oh, Gad, Chichester! this is +madness!" said Mr. Dalton. + +"Most duels are," said Barnabas, and as he spoke he drew from his +pocket the pistol he had taken from Mr. Chichester earlier in the +evening and, weapon in hand, sank into a chair, thus facing Mr. +Chichester across the table. + +"But this is murder--positive murder!" cried Mr. Dalton. + +"Sir," said Barnabas, "I am no duellist, as I told you; and it seems +to me that this equalizes our chances, for I can no more fail of +hitting my man at this distance than he of shooting me dead across +the width of the room. And, sir--if I am to--die to-night, I shall +most earnestly endeavor to take Mr. Chichester with me." + +There was a tremor in his voice again as he spoke, but his eye was +calm, his brow serene, and his hand steady as he cocked the pistol, +and leaning his elbow upon the table, levelled it within six inches +of Mr. Chichester's shirt frill. But hereupon Mr. Dalton sprang to +his feet with a stifled oath: + +"I tell you it's murder--murder!" he exclaimed, and took a quick +step towards them. + +"Peterby!" said Barnabas. + +"Sir?" said Peterby, who had been standing rigid beside the door. + +"Take my stick," said Barnabas, holding it out towards him, but +keeping his gaze upon Mr. Chichester's narrowed eyes; "it's heavy +you'll find, and should this person presume to interfere, knock him +down with it." + +"Yes, sir," said Peterby, and took the stick accordingly. + +"But--oh, Gad!" exclaimed Dalton, "I tell you this can't go on!" + +"Indeed, I hope not," said Barnabas; "but it is for Mr. Chichester +to decide. I am ready for the count when he is." + +But Mr. Chichester sat utterly still, his chin on his breast, +staring at Barnabas under his brows, one hand tight clenched about +the stock of his weapon on the table before him, the other hanging +limply at his side. So for an interval they remained thus, staring +into each other's eyes, in a stillness so profound that it seemed +all four men had ceased breathing. Then Mr. Chichester sighed faintly, +dropped his eyes to the muzzle of the weapon so perilously near, +glanced back at the pale, set face and unwinking eyes of him who +held it, and sighed again. + +"Dalton," said he, "pray open the door, and order the chaise," and +he laid the key upon the table. + +"First," said Barnabas, "I will relieve you of that--encumbrance," +and he pointed to the pistol yet gripped in Mr. Chichester's right +hand. Without a word Mr. Chichester rose, and leaving the weapon +upon the table, turned and walked to the window, while Mr. Dalton, +having unlocked the door, hurried away to the stable-yard, and was +now heard calling for the ostlers. + +"Peterby," said Barnabas, "take this thing and throw it into the +horse-pond; yet, no, give it to the gentleman who just went out." + +"Yes, sir," said Peterby, and, taking up the pistol, he went out, +closing the door behind him. + +Mr. Chichester still lounged in the window, and hummed softly to +himself; but as for Barnabas, he sat rigid in his chair, staring +blankly at the opposite wall, his eyes wide, his lips tense, and +with a gleam of moisture amid the curls at his temples. So the +one lounged and hummed, and the other glared stonily before him +until came the grind of wheels and the stamping of hoofs. Then +Mr. Chichester took up his hat and cane, and, humming still, +crossed to the door, and lounged out into the yard. + +Came a jingle of harness, a sound of voices, the slam of a door, and +the chaise rolled away down the lane, farther and farther, until the +rumble of its wheels died away in the distance. Then Barnabas +laughed--a sudden shrill laugh--and clenched his fists, and strove +against the laughter, and choked, and so sank forward with his face +upon his arms as one that is very weary. Now, presently, as he sat +thus, it seemed to him that one spoke a long way off, whereupon, in +a little, he raised his head, and beheld Clemency. + +"You--are not hurt?" she inquired anxiously. + +"Hurt?" said Barnabas, "no, not hurt, Mistress Clemency, not hurt, I +thank you; but I think I have grown a--great deal--older." + +"I saw it all, through the window, and yet I--don't know why you are +alive." + +"I think because I was so very much--afraid," said Barnabas. + +"Sir," said she, with her brown hands clasped together, "was it +for--if it was for--my sake that you--quarrelled, and--" + +"No," said Barnabas, "it was because of--another." + +Now, when he said this, Clemency stared at him wide-eyed, and, all +in a moment, flushed painfully and turned away, so that Barnabas +wondered. + +"Good-by!" said she, suddenly, and crossed to the door, but upon the +threshold paused; "I did pray for you," she said, over her shoulder. + +"Ah!" said Barnabas, rising, "you prayed for me, and behold, I am +alive." + +"Good-by!" she repeated, her face still averted. + +"Good-by!" said Barnabas, "and will you remember me in your +prayers--sometimes?" + +"My prayers! Why?" + +"Because the prayers of a sweet, pure woman may come between man +and evil--like a shield." + +"I will," said she, very softly. "Oh, I will," and so, with a swift +glance, was gone. + +Being come out of the inn, Barnabas met with his valet, John Peterby. + +"Sir," he inquired, "what now?" + +"Now," said Barnabas, "the Tenterden coach, and London." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + + +WHICH RELATES SOMETHING OF THE "WHITE LION" AT TENTERDEN + +Of all the lions that ever existed, painted or otherwise, white lions, +blue lions, black, green, or red lions, surely never was there one +like the "White Lion" at Tenterden. For he was such a remarkably +placid lion, although precariously balanced upon the extreme point +of one claw, and he stared down at all and sundry with such round, +inquiring eyes, as much as to say: + +"Who are you? What's your father? Where are you going?" Indeed, so +very inquisitive was he that his very tail had writhed itself into a +note of interrogation, and, like a certain historical personage, was +forever asking a question. To-night he had singled out Barnabas from +the throng, and was positively bombarding him with questions, as: + +"Dark or fair? Tall or short? Does she love you? Will she remember +you? Will she kiss you--next time? Aha! will she, will she?" + +But here, feeling a touch upon his arm, Barnabas turned to find +Peterby at his elbow, and thus once more became aware of the hubbub +about him. + +"Box seat, sir; next to the coachman!" says Peterby above the din, +for voices are shouting, horses snorting and stamping, ostlers are +hurrying here, running there, and swearing everywhere; waiters and +serving-maids are dodging to and fro, and all is hurry and bustle, +for the night mail is on the eve of departure for London. + +Throned above all this clamor, calmly aloof, yet withal watchful of +eye, sits the coachman, beshawled to the ears of him, hatted to the +eyes of him, and in a wondrous coat of many capes; a ponderous man, +hoarse of voice and mottled of face, who, having swallowed his hot +rum and water in three leisurely gulps, tosses down the glass to the +waiting pot-boy (and very nearly hits a fussy little gentleman in a +green spencer, who carries a hat-box in one hand and a bulging +valise in the other, and who ducks indignantly, but just in time), +sighs, shakes his head, and proceeds to rewind the shawl about his +neck and chin, and to belt himself into his seat, throwing an +occasional encouraging curse to the perspiring ostlers below. + +"Coachman!" cries the fussy gentleman, "hi, coachman!" + +"The 'Markis' seems a bit fresh to-night, Sam," says Mottle-face +affably to one of the ostlers. + +"Fresh!" exclaims that worthy as the 'Marquis' rears again, +"fresh, I believe you--burn 'is bones!" + +"Driver!" shouts the fussy gentleman, "driver!" + +"Why then, bear 'im up werry short, Sam." + +"Driver!" roars the fussy little gentleman, "driver! coachman! oh, +driver!" + +"Vell, sir, that's me?" says Mottle-face, condescending to become +aware of him at last. + +"Give me a hand up with my valise--d'ye hear?" + +"Walise, sir? No, sir, can't be done, sir. In the boot, sir; guard, +sir." + +"Boot!" cries the fussy gentleman indignantly. "I'll never trust my +property in the boot!" + +"Then v'y not leave it be'ind, sir, and stay vith it, or--" + +"Nonsense!" exclaimed the little man, growing angry. "I tell you +this is valuable property. D'ye know who I am?" + +"Or ye might climb into the boot along vith it, sir--" + +"Do you know who I am?" + +"All aboard--all aboard for London!" roared the guard, coming up at +the instant. + +"Valter!" cried Mottle-face. + +"Ay, ay, Joe?" + +"Gentleman's walise for the boot, Valter; and sharp's the vord!" + +"Ay, ay, Joe!" and, as he spoke, the guard caught the valise from +the protesting small gentleman with one hand, and the hat-box with +the other, and, forthwith, vanished. Hereupon the fussy gentleman, +redder of face, and more angry than ever, clambered to the roof, +still loudly protesting; all of which seemed entirely lost upon +Mottle-face, who, taking up the reins and settling his feet against +the dash-board, winked a solemn, owl-like eye at Barnabas sitting +beside him, and carolled a song in a husky voice, frequently +interrupting himself to admonish the ostlers, in this wise:-- + + "She vore no 'at upon 'er 'ead, + Nor a cap, nor a--" + +"Bear the 'Markis' up werry short, Sam, vill 'ee? + + "--dandy bonnet, + But 'er 'air it 'ung all down 'er back, + Like a--" + +"Easy--easy now! Hold on to them leaders, Dick! + + "--bunch of carrots upon it. + Ven she cried 'sprats' in Vestminister, + Oh! sich a sveet loud woice, sir, + You could 'ear 'er all up Parlyment Street, + And as far as Charing Cross, sir." + +"All aboard, all aboard for London!" roars the guard, and roaring, +swings himself up into the boot. + +"All right be'ind?" cries Mottle-face. + +"All right, Joe!" sings the guard. + +"Then--leggo, there!" cries Mottle-face. + +Back spring the ostlers, forward leap the four quivering horses, +their straining hoofs beating out showers of sparks from the cobbles; +the coach lurches forward and is off, amid a waving of hats and +pocket-handkerchiefs, and Barnabas, casting a farewell glance around, +is immediately fixed by the gaze of the "White Lion," as inquiring +of eye and interrogatory of tail as ever. + +"Tall or short? Dark or fair? Will she kiss you--next time--will she, +will she? Will she even be glad to see you again--will she, now will +she?" + +Whereupon Barnabas must needs become profoundly thoughtful all at +once. + +"Now--I wonder?" said he to himself. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + + +OF THE COACHMAN'S STORY + +Long before the lights of the "White Lion" had vanished behind them, +the guard blows a sudden fanfare on the horn, such a blast as goes +echoing merrily far and wide, and brings folk running to open doors +and lighted windows to catch a glimpse of the London Mail ere it +vanishes into the night; and so, almost while the cheery notes ring +upon the air, Tenterden is behind them, and they are bowling along +the highway into the open country beyond. A wonderful country this, +familiar and yet wholly new; a nightmare world where ghosts and +goblins flit under a dying moon; where hedge and tree become monsters +crouched to spring, or lift knotted arms to smite; while in the +gloom of woods beyond, unimagined horrors lurk. + +But, bless you, Mottle-face, having viewed it all under the slant of +his hat-brim, merely settles his mottled chin deeper in his shawls, +flicks the off ear of the near leader with a delicate turn of the +wrists, and turning his owl-like eye upon Barnabas, remarks that +"It's a werry fine night!" But hereupon the fussy gentleman, leaning +over, taps Mottle-face upon the shoulder. + +"Coachman," says he, "pray, when do you expect to reach The Borough, +London?" + +"Vich I begs to re-mark, sir," retorts Mottle-face, settling his +curly-brimmed hat a little further over his left eye, "vich I 'umbly +begs to re-mark as I don't expect nohow!" + +"Eh--what! what! you don't expect to--" + +"Vich I am vun, sir, as don't novise expect nothin', consequent am +never novise disapp'inted," says Mottle-face with a solemn nod; +"but, vind an' veather permittin', ve shall be at the 'George' o' +South'ark at five, or thereabouts!" + +"Ha!" says the fussy gentleman, "and what about my valise? is it safe?" + +"Safe, ah! safe as the Bank o' England, unless ve should 'appen to +be stopped--" + +"Stopped? stopped, coachman? d' you mean--?" + +"Ah! stopped by Blue-chinned Jack o' Brockley, or Gallopin' Toby o' +Tottenham, or--" + +"Eh--what! what! d' you mean there are highwaymen on this road?" + +"'Ighvaymen!" snorted Mottle-face, winking ponderously at Barnabas, +"by Goles, I should say so, it fair bristles vith 'em." + +"God bless my soul!" exclaimed the fussy gentleman in an altered tone, +"but you are armed, of course?" + +"Armed?" repeated Mottle-face, more owl-like of eye than ever, +"armed, sir, Lord love me yes! my guard carries a brace o' barkers +in the boot." + +"I'm glad of that," said the fussy gentleman, "very!" + +"Though," pursued Mottle-face, rolling his head heavily, "Joe ain't +'zactly what you might call a dead shot, nor yet a ex-pert, bein' +blind in 'is off blinker, d'ye see." + +"Eh--blind, d'ye say--blind?" exclaimed the fussy gentleman. + +"Only in 'is off eye," nodded Mottle-face, reassuringly, "t'other +'un's as good as yours or mine, ven 'e ain't got a cold in it." + +"But this--this is an outrage!" spluttered the fussy gentleman, +"a guard blind in one eye! Scandalous! I shall write to the papers +of this. But you--surely you carry a weapon too?" + +"A vepping? Ay, to be sure, sir, I've got a blunder-bush, under this +'ere werry seat, loaded up to the muzzle wi' slugs too,--though it +von't go off." + +"Won't--eh, what? Won't go off?" + +"Not on no account, sir, vich ain't to be 'spected of it, seeing as +it ain't got no trigger." + +"But--heaven preserve us! why carry such a useless thing?" + +"Force of 'abit, sir; ye see, I've carried that theer old +blunderbush for a matter of five-an'-twenty year, an' my feyther 'e +carried it afore me." + +"But suppose we are attacked?" + +"Vich I begs to re-mark, sir, as I don't never suppose no such thing, +like my feyther afore me. Brave as a lion were my feyther, sir, an' +bred up to the road; v'y, Lord! 'e were born vith a coachman's v'ip +in 'is mouth--no, I mean 'is fist, as ye might say; an' 'e were the +boldest--" + +"But what's your father got to do with it?" cried the fussy gentleman. +"What about my valise?" + +"Your walise, sir? we'm a-coming to that;" and here, once more, +Mottle-face slowly winked his owl-like eye at Barnabas. "My feyther, +sir," he continued, "my feyther, 'e druv' the Dartford Mail, an' 'e +were the finest v'ip as ever druv' a coach, Dartford or otherwise; +'Andsome 'Arry' 'e vere called, though v'y 'andsome I don't know, +seeing as 'is nose veren't all it might ha' been, on account o' a +quart pot; an' v'y 'Arry I don't know, seeing as 'is name vos Villiam; +but, ''Andsome 'Arry' 'e vere called, an' werry much respected 'e +vere too. Lord! there vos never less than a dozen or so young bloods +to see 'im start. Ah! a great favorite 'e vere vith them, an' no +error, an' werry much admired; admired? I should say so. They copied +'is 'at they copied 'is boots, they copied 'is coat, they'd a +copied 'im inside as well as out if they could." + +"Hum!" said the fussy gentleman. "Ha!" + +"Oh, 'e vos a great fav'rite vith the Quality," nodded Mottle-face. +"Ah! it vos a dream to see 'im 'andle the ribbons,--an' spit? Lord! +it vos a eddication to see my feyther spit, I should say so! Vun +young blood--a dock's son he vere too--vent an' 'ad a front tooth +drawed a purpose, but I never 'eard as it done much good; bless you, +to spit like my feyther you must be born to it!" (here Mottle-face +paused to suit the action to the word). "And, mark you! over an' +above all this, my feyther vere the boldest cove that ever--" + +"Yes, yes!" exclaimed the fussy gentleman impatiently, "but where +does my valise come in?" + +"Your walise, sir," said Mottle-face, deftly flicking the off wheeler, +"your walise comes in--at the end, sir, and I'm a-comin' to it as +qvick as you'll let me." + +"Hum!" said the gentleman again. + +"Now, in my feyther's time," resumed Mottle-face serenely, "the +roads vos vorse than they are to-day, ah! a sight vorse, an' as for +'ighvaymen--Lord! they vos as thick as blackberries--blackberries? I +should say so! Theer vos footpads be'ind every 'edge--gangs of +'em--an' 'ighvaymen on every 'eath--" + +"God bless my soul!" exclaimed the fussy gentleman, "so many?" + +"Many?" snorted Mottle-face, "there vos armies of 'em. But my feyther, +as I think I mentioned afore, vere the bravest, boldest, best-plucked +coachman as ever sat on a box." + +"I hope it runs in the family." + +"Sir, I ain't one give to boastin', nor yet to blowin' my own 'orn, +but truth is truth, and--it do!" + +"Good!" said the fussy gentleman, "very good!" + +"Now the vorst of all these rogues vos a cove called Black Dan, a +thieving, murdering, desprit wagabone as vere ewcntually 'ung +sky-'igh on Pembury 'Ill--" + +"Good!" said the fussy gentleman louder than before, "good! Glad of it!" + +"An' yet," sighed Mottle-face, "'e 'ad a werry good 'eart--as +'ighvaymen's 'earts go; never shot nobody unless 'e couldn't help it, +an' ven 'e did, 'e allus made a werry neat job of it, an' polished +'em off nice an' qvick." + +"Hum!" said the fussy gentleman, "still, I'm glad he's hanged." + +"Black Dan used to vork the roads south o' London, + +"Kent an' Surrey mostly, conseqvent it vere a long time afore 'im an' +my feyther met; but at last vun night, as my feyther vos driving +along--a good fifteen mile an hour, for it vere a uncommon fine night, +vith a moon, like as it might be now--" + +"Ah?" said the fussy gentleman. + +"An' presently 'e came to vere the road narrered a bit, same as it +might be yonder--" + +"Ah!" murmured the fussy gentleman again. + +"An' vith a clump o' trees beyond, nice, dark, shady trees--like it +might be them werry trees ahead of us--" + +"Oh!" exclaimed the fussy gentleman. + +"An' as 'e come up nearer an' nearer, all at vunce 'e made out a +shadder in the shade o' them trees--" + +"Dear me!" exclaimed the fussy gentleman uneasily, staring very hard +at the trees in front. + +"A shadder as moved, although the leaves vos all dead still. So my +feyther--being a bold cove--reached down for 'is blunderbush--this +werry same old blunderbush as I 've got under the box at this +i-dentical minute, (though its trigger veren't broke then) but, +afore 'e can get it out, into the road leaps a man on a great black +'oss--like it might be dead ahead of us, a masked man, an' vith a +pistol in each fist as long as yer arm." + +"Good Lord!" exclaimed the fussy gentleman. + +"'Stand an' deliver!' roars the masked man, so my feyther, cocking +'is heye at the pistols, pulls up, an' there 'e is, starin' down at +the 'ighvayman, an' the 'ighvayman staring up at 'im. 'You 're +'Andsome 'Arry, ain't you?' sez the 'ighvayman. 'Ay,' sez my feyther, +'an' I guess you 're Black Dan.' 'Sure as you 're born!' sez Black +Dan, 'I've 'eered o' you before to-day, 'Andsome 'Arry,' sez 'e, +'an' meant to make your acquaintance afore this, but I 've been kep' +too busy till to-night,' sez 'e, 'but 'ere ve are at last,' 'e sez, +'an' now--vot d' ye think o' that?' sez 'e, an' pi'nts a pistol +under my feyther's werry nose. Now, as I think I 've 'inted afore, +my feyther vere a nat'rally bold, courage-ful cove, so 'e took a +look at the murderous vepping, an' nodded. 'It's a pistol, ain't it?' +sez 'e. 'Sure as you're settin' on that there box, it is,' sez Black +Dan, 'an' 'ere's another.' 'An' werry good veppings too,' sez my +feyther, 'but vot might you be vanting vith me, Black Dan?' 'First +of all, I vants you to come down off that box,' sez Black Dan. 'Oh?' +sez my feyther, cool as a coocumber. 'Ah!' sez Black Dan. 'Verefore +an' v'y?' enkvires my feyther, but Black Dan only vagged 'is +veppings in my feyther's face, an' grinned under 'is mask. 'I vants +you, so, 'Andsome 'Arry--come down!' sez 'e. Now I've told you as my +feyther vos the boldest--" + +"Yes, yes," cried the fussy gentleman. "Well?" + +"Vell, sir, my feyther stared at them murderous pistols, stared at +Black Dan, an' being the werry gamest an' bravest cove you ever see, +didn't 'esitate a second." + +"Well," cried the fussy gentleman, "what did he do then?" + +"Do, sir--v'y I'll tell you--my feyther--come down." + +"Yes, yes," said the fussy gentleman, as Mottle-face paused. +"Go on, go on!" + +"Go on v'ere, sir?" + +"Go on with your story. What was the end of it?" + +"V'y, that's the end on it." + +"But it isn't; you haven't told us what happened after he got down. +What became of him after?" + +"Took the 'Ring o' Bells,' out Islington vay, an' drank hisself to +death all quite nat'ral and reg'lar." + +"But that's not the end of your story." + +"It vere the end o' my feyther though--an' a werry good end it vere, +too." + +Now here there ensued a silence, during which the fussy gentleman +stared fixedly at Mottle-face, who chirruped to the horses +solicitously, and turned a serene but owl-like eye up to the waning +moon. + +"And pray," said the fussy gentleman at length, very red in the face, +and more indignant than ever, "pray what's all this to do with my +valise, I should like to know?" + +"So should I," nodded Mottle-face--"ah, that I should." + +"You--you told me," spluttered the fussy gentleman, in sudden wrath, +"that you were coming to my valise." + +"An' so ve have," nodded Mottle-face, triumphantly. "Ve're at it now; +ve've been a-coming to that theer blessed walise ever since you +come aboard." + +"Well, and what's to be done about it?" snapped the fussy gentleman. + +"Vell," said Mottle-face, with another ponderous wink at Barnabas, +"if it troubles you much more, sir, if I vos you I should get a +werry strong rope, and a werry large stone, and tie 'em together +werry tight, an' drop that theer blessed walise into the river, and +get rid of it that way." + +Hereupon the fussy gentleman uttered an inarticulate exclamation, and, +throwing himself back in his seat, tugged his hat over his eyes, and +was heard no more. + +But Mottle-face, touching up the near leader with deft and delicate +play of wrist, or flicking the off wheeler, ever and anon gave vent +to sounds which, though somewhat muffled, on account of coat-collar +and shawl, were uncommonly like a chuckle. Yet if this were so or no, +Barnabas did not trouble to ascertain, for he was already in that +dreamy state 'twixt sleeping and waking, drowsily conscious of being +borne on through the summer night, past lonely cottage and farmhouse, +past fragrant ricks and barns, past wayside pools on whose still +waters stars seemed to float--on and ever on, rumbling over bridges, +clattering through sleeping hamlets and villages, up hill and down +hill, on and ever on toward London and the wonders thereof. But, +little by little, the chink and jingle of the harness, the rumble of +the wheels, the rhythmic beat of the sixteen hoofs, all became +merged into a drone that gradually softened to a drowsy murmur, and +Barnabas fell into a doze; yet only to be awakened, as it seemed to +him, a moment later by lights and voices, and to find that they were +changing horses once more. Whereupon Mottle-face, leaning over, +winked his owl-like eye, and spoke in a hoarse, penetrating whisper: + +"Ten mile, sir, an' not a vord out o' old Walise so far!" saying +which he jerked his head towards the huddled form of the fussy +gentleman, winked again, and turned away to curse the hurrying +ostlers, albeit in a tone good-natured and jovial. + +And so, betimes, off they went again, down hill and up, by rolling +meadow and winding stream, 'neath the leafy arches of motionless +trees, through a night profoundly still save for the noise of their +own going, the crow of a cock, or the bark of a dog from some +farmyard. The moon sank and was gone, but on went the London Mail +swirling through eddying mist that lay in every hollow like ghostly +pools. Gradually the stars paled to the dawn, for low down in the +east was a gray streak that grew ever broader, that changed to a +faint pink, deepening to rose, to crimson, to gold--an ever +brightening glory, till at last up rose the sun, at whose advent the +mists rolled away and vanished, and lo! day was born. + +Yawning, Barnabas opened drowsy eyes, and saw that here and there +were houses in fair gardens, yet as they went the houses grew +thicker and the gardens more scant. And now Barnabas became aware of +a sound, soft with distance, that rose and fell--a never-ceasing +murmur; therefore, blinking drowsily at Mottle-face, he inquired +what this might be. + +"That, sir, that's London, sir--cobble-stones, sir, cart-vheels, sir, +and--Lord love you!"--here Mottle-face leaned over and once more +winked his owl-like eye--"but 'e ain't mentioned the vord 'walise' +all night, sir--so 'elp me!" Having said which, Mottle-face vented a +throaty chuckle, and proceeded to touch up his horses. + +And now as one in a dream, Barnabas is aware that they are threading +streets, broad streets and narrow, and all alive with great wagons +and country wains; on they go, past gloomy taverns, past churches +whose gilded weather-cocks glitter in the early sunbeams, past +crooked side-streets and dark alley-ways, and so, swinging suddenly +to the right, have pulled up at last in the yard of the "George." + +It is a great inn with two galleries one above another and many +windows, and here, despite the early hour, a motley crowd is gathered. +Forthwith Barnabas climbs down, and edging his way through the throng, +presently finds Peterby at his elbow. + +"Breakfast, sir?" + +"Bed, Peterby." + +"Very good--this way, sir." + +Thereafter, though he scarcely knows how, he finds himself following +a trim-footed damsel, who, having shown him up a winding stair, worn +by the tread of countless travellers, brings him to a smallish, +dullish chamber, opening upon the lower gallery. Hereupon Barnabas +bids her "good night," but, blinking in the sunlight, gravely +changes it to "good morning." The trim-footed maid smiles, curtsies, +and vanishes, closing the door behind her. + +Now upon the wall of the chamber, facing the bed, hangs the picture +of a gentleman in a military habit with an uncomfortably high stock. +He is an eagle-nosed gentleman with black whiskers, and a pair of +remarkably round wide-awake eyes, which stare at Barnabas as much as +to say-- + +"And who the devil are you, sir?" + +Below him his name and titles are set forth fully and with many +flourishes, thus-- + + LIEUTENANT-GENERAL THE RIGHT HONORABLE THE EARL OF POMFROY, + K.G., K.T.S., etc., etc., etc. + +So remarkably wide-awake is he, indeed, that it seems to drowsy +Barnabas as if these round eyes wait to catch him unawares and +follow him pertinaciously about the smallish, dullish chamber. +Nevertheless Barnabas yawns, and proceeds to undress, which done, +remembering he is in London, he takes purse and valuables and very +carefully sets them under his pillow, places Mr. Chichester's pistol +on the small table conveniently near, and gets into bed. + +Yet now, sleepy though he is, he must needs turn to take another +look at the Honorable the Earl of Pomfroy, wonders idly what the +three "etc.'s" may mean, admires the glossy curl of his whiskers, +counts the medals and orders on his bulging breast, glances last of +all at his eyes, and immediately becomes aware that they are +curiously like those of the "White Lion" at Tenterden, in that they +are plying him with questions. + +"Tall or short? dark or fair? Will she kiss you--next time, sir? +Will she even be glad to see you again, you presumptuous young +dog--will she--will she, confound you?" + +"Ah!" sighed Barnabas. "Next time--I wonder!" + +So saying, he sighed again, once, twice, and with the third fell +fast asleep, and dreamed that a certain White Lion, clad in a +Lieutenant-General's uniform, and with a pair of handsome black +whiskers, stood balancing himself upon a single claw on the rail of +the bed. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + + +CONCERNING THE DUTIES OF A VALET--AND A MAN + +"And now, Peterby," said Barnabas, pushing his chair from the +breakfast table, "the first thing I shall require is--a tailor." + +"Very true, sir." + +"These clothes were good enough for the country, Peterby, but--" + +"Exactly, sir!" answered Peterby, bowing. + +"Hum!" said Barnabas, with a quick glance. "Though mark you," he +continued argumentatively,--"they might be worse, Peterby; the fit +is good, and the cloth is excellent. Yes, they might be a great deal +worse." + +"It is--possible, sir," answered Peterby, with another bow. Hereupon, +having glanced at his solemn face, Barnabas rose, and surveyed +himself, as well as he might, in the tarnished mirror on the wall. + +"Are they so bad as all that?" he inquired. + +Peterby's mouth relaxed, and a twinkle dawned in his eye. + +"As garments they are--serviceable, sir," said he, gravely, +"but as clothes they--don't exist." + +"Why then," said Barnabas, "the sooner we get some that do,--the +better. Do you know of a good tailor?" + +"I know them all, sir." + +"Who is the best--the most expensive?" + +"Stultz, sir, in Clifford Street; but I shouldn't advise you to +have him." + +"And why not?" + +"Because he _is_ a tailor." + +"Oh?" said Barnabas. + +"I mean that the clothes he makes are all stamped with his +individuality, as it were,--their very excellence damns them. They +are the clothes of a tailor instead of being simply a gentleman's +garments." + +"Hum!" said Barnabas, beginning to frown at this, "it would seem +that dress can be a very profound subject, Peterby." + +"Sir," answered Peterby, shaking his head, "it is a life study, and, +so far as I know, there are only two people in the world who +understand it aright; Beau Brummell was one, and, because he was the +Beau, had London and the World of Fashion at his feet." + +"And who was the other?" + +Peterby took himself by the chin, and, though his mouth was solemn, +the twinkle was back in his eye as he glanced at Barnabas. + +"The other, sir," he answered, "was one who, until yesterday, was +reduced to the necessity of living upon poached rabbits." + +Here Barnabas stared thoughtfully up at the ceiling. + +"I remember you told me you were the best valet in the world," +said he. + +"It is my earnest desire to prove it, sir." + +"And yet," said Barnabas, with his gaze still turned ceiling-wards, +"I would have you--even more than this, Peterby." + +"More, sir?" + +"I would have you, sometimes, forget that you are only 'the best +valet in the world,' and remember that you are--a man: one in whom I +can confide; one who has lived in this great world, and felt, and +suffered, and who can therefore advise me; one I may trust to in an +emergency; for London is a very big place, they tell me, and my +friends are few--or none--and--do you understand me, Peterby?" + +"Sir," said Peterby in an altered tone, "I think I do." + +"Then--sit down, John, and let us talk." + +With a murmur of thanks Peterby drew up a chair and sat watching +Barnabas with his shrewd eyes. + +"You will remember," began Barnabas, staring up at the ceiling again, +"that when I engaged you I told you that I intended to--hum! to--cut +a figure in the fashionable world?" + +"Yes, sir; and I told you that,--after what happened in a certain +wood,--it was practically impossible." + +"You mean because I thrashed a scoundrel?" + +"I mean because you knocked down a friend of the Prince Regent." + +"And is Carnaby so very powerful, Peterby?" + +"Sir, he is--the Prince's friend! He is also as great a Buck as +George Hanger, as Jehu, or Jockey of Norfolk, and as famous, almost, +as the late Sir Maurice Vibart." + +"Ah!" said Barnabas. + +"And since the retirement of Mr. Brummell, he and the Marquis of +Jerningham have to some extent taken his place and become the +Arbiters of Fashion." + +"Oh!" said Barnabas. + +"And furthermore, sir, I would warn you that he is a dangerous enemy, +said to be one of the best pistol-shots in England." + +"Hum," said Barnabas, "nevertheless, I mean to begin--" + +"To begin, sir?" + +"At once, Peterby." + +"But--how, sir?" + +"That is for you to decide, Peterby." + +"Me, sir?" + +"You, Peterby." + +Here Peterby took himself by the chin again, and looked at Barnabas +with thoughtful eyes and gloomy brow. + +"Sir," said he, "the World of Fashion is a trivial world where all +must appear trivial; it is a place where all must act a part, and +where those are most regarded who are most affected; it is a world +of shams and insincerity, and very jealously guarded." + +"So I have heard," nodded Barnabas. + +"To gain admission you must, first of all, have money." + +"Yes," said Barnabas. + +"Birth--if possible." + +"Hum," said Barnabas. + +"Wit and looks may be helpful, but all these are utterly useless +unless you have what I may call the magic key." + +"And what is that?" + +"Notoriety, sir." + +"For what?" + +"For anything that will serve to lift you out of the ruck--to set +you above the throng,--you must be one apart--an original." + +"Originality is divine!" said Barnabas. + +"More or less, sir," added Peterby, "for it is very easily achieved. +Lord Alvanly managed it with apricot tarts; Lord Petersham with +snuff-boxes; Mr. Mackinnon by his agility in climbing round +drawing-rooms on the furniture; Jockey of Norfolk by consuming a +vast number of beef-steaks, one after the other; Sir George Cassilis, +who was neither rich nor handsome nor witty, by being insolent; Sir +John Lade by dressing like a stagecoach-man, and driving like the +devil; Sir George Skeffington by inventing a new color and writing +bad plays; and I could name you many others beside--" + +"Why then, Peterby--what of Sir Mortimer Carnaby?" + +"He managed it by going into the ring with Jack Fearby, the 'Young +Ruffian,' and beating him in twenty-odd rounds for one thing, and +winning a cross-country race--" + +"Ha!" exclaimed Barnabas, "a race!" and so he fell to staring up at +the ceiling again. + +"But I fear, sir," continued Peterby, "that in making him your enemy, +you have damned your chances at the very outset, as I told you." + +"A race!" said Barnabas again, vastly thoughtful. + +"And therefore," added Peterby, leaning nearer in his earnestness, +"since you honor me by asking my advice, I would strive with all my +power to dissuade you." + +"John Peterby--why?" + +"Because, in the first place, I know it to be impossible." + +"I begin to think not, John." + +"Why, then, because--it's dangerous!" + +"Danger is everywhere, more or less, John." + +"And because, sir, because you--you--" Peterby rose, and stood with +bent head and hands outstretched, "because you gave a miserable +wretch another chance to live; and therefore I--I would not see you +crushed and humiliated. Ah, sir! I know this London, I know those +who make up the fashionable world. Sir, it is a heartless world, +cruel and shallow, where inexperience is made a mock of--generosity +laughed to scorn; where he is most respected who can shoot the +straightest; where men seldom stoop to quarrel, but where death is +frequent, none the less--and, sir, I could not bear--I--I wouldn't +have you cut off thus--!" + +Peterby stopped suddenly, and his head sank lower; but as he stood +Barnabas rose, and coming to him, took his hand into his own firm +clasp. + +"Thank you, John Peterby," said he. "You may be the best valet in +the world--I hope you are--but I know that you are a man, and, as a +man, I tell you that I have decided upon going on with the adventure." + +"Then I cannot hope to dissuade you, sir?" + +"No, John!" + +"Indeed, I feared not." + +"It was for this I came to London, and I begin--at once." + +"Very good, sir." + +"Consequently, you have a busy day before you; you see I shall +require, first of all, clothes, John; then--well, I suppose a house +to live in--" + +"A--house, sir?" + +"In a fashionable quarter, and furnished, if possible." + +"A lodging, St. James's Street way, is less expensive, sir, and more +usual." + +"Good!" said Barnabas; "to buy a house will be more original, at +least. Then there must be servants, horses--vehicles--but you will +understand--" + +"Certainly, sir." + +"Well then, John--go and get 'em." + +"Sir?" exclaimed Peterby. + +"Go now, John," said Barnabas, pulling out his purse, "this very +moment." + +"But," stammered Peterby, "but, sir--you will--" + +"I shall stay here--I don't intend to stir out until you have me +dressed as I should be--in 'clothes that exist,' John!" + +"But you--don't mean to--to entrust--everything--to--me?" + +"Of course, John." + +"But sir--" + +"I have every confidence in your judgment, you see. Here is money, +you will want more, of course, but this will do to go on with." + +But Peterby only stared from Barnabas to the money on the table, and +back again. + +"Sir," said he at last, "this is--a great deal of money." + +"Well, John?" + +"And I would remind you that we are in London, sir, and that +yesterday I--was a poacher--a man of no character--a--" + +"But to-day you are my valet, John. So take the money and buy me +whatever I require, but a tailor first of all." + +Then, as one in a dream, Peterby took up the money, counted it, +buttoned it into his pocket, and crossed to the door; but there he +paused and turned. + +"Sir," said he slowly, "I'll bring you a man who, though he is +little known as yet, will be famous some day, for he is what I may +term an artist in cloth. And sir,"--here Peterby's voice grew +uncertain--"you shall find me worthy of your trust, so help me God!" +Then he opened the door, went out, and closed it softly behind him. +But as for Barnabas, he sat with his gaze fixed on the ceiling again, +lost in reverie and very silent. After a while he spoke his thoughts +aloud. + +"A race!" said he. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + + +HOW BARNABAS BOUGHT AN UNRIDABLE HORSE--AND RODE IT + +The coffee-room at the "George" is a longish, narrowish, dullish +chamber, with a row of windows that look out upon the yard,--but +upon this afternoon they looked at nothing in particular; and here +Barnabas found a waiter, a lonely wight who struck him as being very +like the room itself, in that he, also, was long, and narrow, and +dull, and looked out upon the yard at nothing in particular; and, as +he gazed, he sighed, and tapped thoughtfully at his chin with a +salt-spoon. As Barnabas entered, however, he laid down the spoon, +flicked an imaginary crumb from the table-cloth with his napkin, and +bowed. + +"Dinner, sir?" he inquired in a dullish voice, and with his head set +engagingly to one side, while his sharp eyes surveyed Barnabas from +boots to waistcoat, from waistcoat to neckcloth, and stayed there +while he drew out his own shirt-frill with caressing fingers, and +coughed disapprobation into his napkin. "Did you say dinner, sir?" +he inquired again. + +"Thank you, no," answered Barnabas. + +"Perhaps cheese an' a biscuit might be nearer your mark, and say--a +half of porter?" + +"I've only just had breakfast," said Barnabas, aware of the waiter's +scrutiny. + +"Ah!" sighed the waiter, still caressing his shirt-frill, "you're +Number Four, I think--night coach?" + +"Yes." + +"From the country of course, sir?" + +"Yes--from the country," said Barnabas, beginning to frown a little, +"but how in the world did you guess that?" + +"From your 'toot example,' sir, as they say in France--from your +appearance, sir." + +"You are evidently a very observant man!" said Barnabas. + +"Well," answered the waiter, with his gaze still riveted upon the +neckcloth--indeed it seemed to fascinate him, "well, I can see as +far through a brick wall as most,--there ain't much as I miss, sir." + +"Why, then," said Barnabas, "you may perhaps have noticed a door +behind you?" + +The waiter stared from the neckcloth to the door and back again, and +scratched his chin dubiously. + +"Door, sir--yessir!" + +"Then suppose you go out of that door, and bring me pens, and ink, +and paper." + +"Yessir!" + +"Also the latest newspapers." + +"Yessir--certainly, sir;" and with another slight, though eloquent +cough into his napkin, he started off upon his errand. Hereupon, as +soon as he was alone, Barnabas must needs glance down at that +offending neckcloth, and his frown grew the blacker. + +"Now, I wonder how long Peterby will be?" he said to himself. But +here came the creak of the waiter's boots, and that observant person +reappeared, bearing the various articles which he named in turn as +he set them on the table. + +"A bottle of ink, sir; pens and writing-paper, sir; and the Gazette." + +"Thank you," said Barnabas, very conscious of his neckcloth still. + +"And now, sir," here the waiter coughed into his napkin again, +"now--what will you drink, sir; shall we say port, or shall we make +it sherry?" + +"Neither," said Barnabas. + +"Why, then, we 'ave some rare old burgundy, sir--'ighly esteemed by +connysoors and (cough again) other--gentlemen." + +"No, thank you." + +"On the other 'and--to suit 'umbler tastes, we 'ave,"--here the +waiter closed his eyes, sighed, and shook his head--"ale, sir, +likewise beer, small and otherwise." + +"Nothing, thank you," said Barnabas; "and you will observe the door +is still where it was." + +"Door, sir, yessir--oh, certainly, sir!" said he, and stalked out of +the room. + +Then Barnabas set a sheet of paper before him, selected a pen, and +began to write as follows:-- + + George Inn, + Borough. + June 2, 18--. + + To VISCOUNT DEVENHAM, + + MY DEAR DICK,--I did not think to be asking favors + of you so soon, but--(here a blot). + +"Confound it!" exclaimed Barnabas, and taking out his penknife he +began to mend the spluttering quill. But, in the midst of this +operation, chancing to glance out of the window, he espied a +long-legged gentleman with a remarkably fierce pair of whiskers; he +wore a coat of ultra-fashionable cut, and stood with his booted legs +wide apart, staring up at the inn from under a curly-brimmed hat. +But the hat had evidently seen better days, the coat was frayed at +seam and elbow, and the boots lacked polish; yet these small +blemishes were more than offset by his general dashing, knowing air, +and the untamable ferocity of his whiskers. As Barnabas watched him, +he drew a letter from the interior of his shabby coat, unfolded it +with a prodigious flourish, and began to con it over. Now, all at +once, Barnabas dropped knife and pen, thrust a hand into his own +breast and took thence a letter also, at sight of which he +straightway forgot the bewhiskered gentleman; for what he read was +this:-- + + Dearest and Best of Sisters,--Never, in all this + world was there such an unfortunate, luckless dog as I--were + it not for your unfailing love I should have + made an end of it all, before now. + + I write this letter to beg and implore you to grant + me another interview, anywhere and at any time you may + name. Of course you will think it is more money I want--so + I do; I'm always in need of it, and begin to fear + I always shall be. But my reasons for wishing this meeting + are much more than this--indeed, _most urgent_! + (this underlined). I am threatened by a GRAVE DANGER + (this doubly underlined). I am at my wit's end, and + only you can save me, Cleone--you and you only. + Chichester has been more than kind, _indeed, a true friend + to me_! (this also underlined). I would that you could + feel kinder towards him. + + This letter must reach you where none of your + guardian's spies can intercept it; your precious Captain + has always hated me, damn him! (this scratched out). + Oh, shame that he, a stranger, should ever have been + allowed to come between brother and sister. I shall + journey down to Hawkhurst to see you and shall stay + about until you can contrive to meet me. Chichester + may accompany me, and if he should, try to be kinder + to your brother's only remaining friend. How different + are our situations! you surrounded by every luxury, + while I--yet heaven forbid I should forget my manhood + and fill this letter with my woes. But if you ever loved + your unfortunate brother, do not fail him in this, Cleone. + + Your loving, but desperate, + + RONALD BARRYMAINE. + +Having read this effusion twice over, and very carefully, Barnabas +was yet staring at the last line with its scrawling signature, all +unnecessary curls and flourishes, when he heard a slight sound in +the adjacent box, and turning sharply, was just in time to see the +top of a hat ere it vanished behind the curtain above the partition. + +Therefore he sat very still, waiting. And lo! after the lapse of +half a minute, or thereabouts, it reappeared, slowly and by +degrees--a beaver hat, something the worse for wear. Slowly it rose +up over the curtain--the dusty crown, the frayed band, the curly brim, +and eventually a pair of bold, black eyes that grew suddenly very +wide as they met the unwinking gaze of Barnabas. Hereupon the lips, +as yet unseen, vented a deep sigh, and, thereafter, uttered these +words: + +"The same, and yet, curse me, the nose!--y-e-s, the nose seems, on +closer inspection, a trifle too aquiline, perhaps; and the +chin--y-e-s, decidedly a thought too long! And yet--!" Here another +sigh, and the face rising into full view, Barnabas recognized the +bewhiskered gentleman he had noticed in the yard. + +"Sir," continued the stranger, removing the curly-brimmed hat with a +flourish, and bowing over the partition as well as he could, +"you don't happen to be a sailor--Royal Navy, do you?" + +"No, sir," answered Barnabas. + +"And your name don't happen to be Smivvle, does it?" + +"No, sir," said Barnabas again. + +"And yet," sighed the bewhiskered gentleman, regarding him with +half-closed eyes, and with his head very much on one side, "in spite +of your nose, and in spite of your chin, you are the counterpart, sir, +the facsimile--I might say the breathing image of a--ha!--of a +nephew of mine; noble youth, handsome as Adonis--Royal Navy--regular +Apollo; went to sea, sir, years ago; never heard of more; tragic, +sir--devilish tragic, on my soul and honor." + +"Very!" said Barnabas; "but--" + +"Saw you from the yard, sir, immediately struck by close resemblance; +flew here, borne on the wings of hope, sir; you 're quite sure your +name ain't Smivvle, are you?" + +"Quite sure." + +"Ah, well--mine is; Digby Smivvle, familiarly known as 'Dig,' at +your service, sir. Stranger to London, sir?" + +"Yes," said Barnabas. + +"Ha! Bad place, London, sink of iniquity! Full of rogues, rascals, +damn scoundrels,--by heaven, sharks, sir! confounded cannibals, by +George!--eat you alive. Stranger myself, sir; just up from my little +place in Worcestershire--King's Heath,--know it, perhaps? No? +Charming village! rural, quiet; mossy trees, sir; winding brooks, +larks and cuckoos carolling all day long. Sir, there has been a +Smivvle at the Hall since before the Conquest! Fine old place, the +Hall; ancient, sir, hoary and historic--though devilish draughty, +upon my soul and honor!" + +Here, finding that he still held the open letter in his hand, +Barnabas refolded it and thrust it into his pocket, while Mr. Smivvle +smilingly caressed his whiskers, and his bold, black eyes darted +glances here and there, from Barnabas mending his pen to the table, +from the table to the walls, to the ceiling, and from that altitude +they dropped to the table again, and hovered there. + +"Sir," said Barnabas without looking up, "pray excuse the blot, the +pen was a bad one; I am making another, as you see." + +Mr. Smivvle started, and raised his eyes swiftly. Stared at +unconscious Barnabas, rubbed his nose, felt for his whisker, and, +having found it, tugged it viciously. + +"Blot, sir!" he exclaimed loudly; "now, upon my soul and honor--what +blot, sir?" + +"This," said Barnabas, taking up his unfinished letter to the +Viscount--"if you've finished, we may as well destroy it," and +forthwith he crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it into the empty +fireplace. + +"Sir!" exclaimed Mr. Smivvle, louder than before, "'pon my soul, now, +if you mean to insinuate--" Here he paused, staring at Barnabas, and +with his whiskers fiercer than ever. + +"Well, sir?" inquired Barnabas, still busily trimming his quill. + +Mr. Smivvle frowned; but finding Barnabas was quite unconscious of it, +shook his head, felt for his whisker again, found it, tugged it, and +laughed jovially. + +"Sir," said he, "you are a devilish sharp fellow, and a fine fellow. +I swear you are. I like your spirit, on my soul and honor I do, and, +as for blots, I vow to you I never write a letter myself that I +don't smear most damnably--curse me if I don't. That blot, sir, +shall be another bond between us, for I have conceived a great +regard for you. The astounding likeness between you and one who--was +snatched away in the flower of his youth--draws me, sir, draws me +most damnably; for I have a heart, sir, a heart--why should I +disguise it?" Here Mr. Smivvle tapped the third left-hand button of +his coat. "And so long as that organ continues its functions, you +may count Digby Smivvle your friend, and at his little place in +Worcestershire he will be proud to show you the hospitality _of_ a +Smivvle. Meanwhile, sir, seeing we are both strangers in a strange +place, supposing we--join forces and, if you are up for the race, I +propose--" + +"The race!" exclaimed Barnabas, looking up suddenly. + +"Yes, sir, devilish swell affair, with gentlemen to ride, and +Royalty to look on--a race of races! London's agog with it, all the +clubs discuss it, coffee houses ring with it, inns and taverns +clamor with it--soul and honor, betting--everywhere. The odds +slightly favor Sir Mortimer Carnaby's 'Clasher'; but Viscount +Devenham's 'Moonraker' is well up. Then there's Captain Slingsby's +'Rascal,' Mr. Tressider's 'Pilot,' Lord Jerningham's 'Clinker,' and +five or six others. But, as I tell you, 'Clasher' and 'Moonraker' +carry the money, though many knowing ones are sweet on the 'Rascal.' +But, surely, you must have heard of the great steeplechase? Devilish +ugly course, they tell me." + +"The Viscount spoke of it, I remember," said Barnabas, absently. + +"Viscount, sir--not--Viscount Devenham?" + +"Yes." + +Here Mr. Smivvle whistled softly, took off the curly-brimmed hat, +looked at it, and put it on again at a more rakish angle than ever. + +"Didn't happen to mention my name, did he--Smivvle, sir?" + +"No." + +"Nor Dig, perhaps?" + +"No, sir." + +"Remarkable--hum!" exclaimed Mr. Smivvle, shaking his head; +"but I'm ready to lay you odds that he _did_ speak of my friend Barry. +I may say my bosom companion--a Mr. Ronald Barrymaine, sir." + +"Ronald Barrymaine," repeated Barnabas, trying the new point of his +pen upon his thumb-nail, yet conscious of the speaker's keen glance, +none the less. "No, he did not." + +"Astounding!" exclaimed Mr. Smivvle. + +"Why so?" + +"Because my friend Barrymaine was particularly intimate with his +Lordship, before he fell among the Jews, dammem! My friend Barry, sir, +was a dasher, by George! a regular red-hot tearer, by heaven! a Go, +sir, a Tippy, a bang up Blood, and would be still if it were not for +the Jews--curse 'em!" + +"And is Mr. Barrymaine still a friend of yours?" + +At this Mr. Smivvle took off his hat again, clapped it to his bosom, +and bowed. + +"Sir," said he, "for weal or woe, in shadow or shine, the hand of a +Smivvle, once given, is given for good." + +As he spoke, Mr. Smivvle stretched out the member in question, which +Barnabas observed was none too clean. + +"The hand of a Smivvle, sir," pursued that gentleman, "the hand of a +Smivvle is never withdrawn either on account of adversity, plague, +poverty, pestilence, or Jews--dammem! As for my friend Barrymaine; +but, perhaps, you are acquainted with him, sir." + +"No," answered Barnabas. + +"Ah! a noble fellow, sir! Heroic youth, blood, birth, and breeding +to his finger-tips, sir. But he is, above all else, a brother to +a--a sister, sir. Ah! what a creature! Fair, sir? fair as the +immortal Helena! Proud, sir? proud as an arch-duchess! Handsome, sir? +handsome, sir, as--as--oh, dammit, words fail me; but go, sir, go +and ransack Olympus, and you couldn't match her, 'pon my soul! Diana, +sir? Diana was a frump! Venus? Venus was a dowdy hoyden, by George! +and as for the ox-eyed Juno, she was a positive cow to this young +beauty! And then--her heart, sir!" + +"Well, what of it?" inquired Barnabas, rather sharply. + +"Utterly devoted--beats only for my friend--" + +"You mean her brother?" + +"I mean her brother, yes, sir; though I have heard a rumor that +Sir Mortimer Carnaby--" + +"Pooh!" said Barnabas. + +"With pleasure, sir; but the fact remains that it was partly on his +account, and partly because of another, that she was dragged away +from London--" + +"What other?" + +"Well, let us say--H.R.H." + +"Sir," inquired Barnabas, frowning, "do you mean the Prince?" + +"Sir," said Mr. Smivvle, with a smiling shake of the head, "I prefer +the letters H.R.H. Anyhow, there were many rumors afloat at the time, +and her guardian--a regular, tarry old sea dog, by George--drags her +away from her brother's side, and buries her in the country, like +the one-armed old pirate he is, eye to her money they tell me; +regular old skinflint; bad as a Jew--damn him! But speaking of the +race, sir, do you happen to--know anything?" + +"I know that it is to be run on the fifteenth of July," said +Barnabas abstractedly. + +"Oh, very good!" exclaimed Mr. Smivvle--"ha! ha!--excellent! knows +it is to be run on the fifteenth; very facetious, curse me! But, +joking apart, sir, have you any private knowledge? The Viscount, now, +did he happen to tell you anything that--" + +But, at this juncture, they were interrupted by a sudden tumult in +the yard outside, a hubbub of shouts, the ring and stamp of hoofs, +and, thereafter, a solitary voice upraised in oaths and curses. +Barnabas sprang to his feet, and hurrying out into the yard, beheld +a powerful black horse that reared and plunged in the grip of two +struggling grooms; in an adjacent corner was the late rider, who sat +upon a pile of stable-sweepings and swore, while, near by, perched +precariously upon an upturned bucket, his slim legs stretched out +before him, was a young exquisite--a Corinthian from top to toe--who +rocked with laughter, yet was careful to keep his head rigid, so as +to avoid crushing his cravat, a thing of wonder which immediately +arrested the attention of Barnabas, because of its prodigious height, +and the artful arrangement of its voluminous folds. + +"Oh, dooce take me," he exclaimed in a faint voice, clapping a hand +to his side, "I'll be shot if I saw anything neater, no, not even at +Sadler's Wells! Captain Slingsby of the Guards in his famous double +somersault! Oh, damme, Sling! I'd give a hundred guineas to see you +do it again--I would, dooce take me!" + +But Captain Slingsby continued to shake his fist at the great, black +horse, and to swear with unabated fervor. + +"You black devil!" he exclaimed, "you four-legged imp of Satan! So, +you're up to your tricks again, are you? Well, this is the last +chance you shall have to break my neck, b'gad! I'm done with you +for a--" + +Here the Captain became extremely fluent, and redder of face than +ever, as he poured forth a minute description of the animal; he +cursed him from muzzle to crupper and back again; he damned his eyes, +he damned his legs, individually and collectively, and reviled him, +through sire and dam, back to the Flood. + +Meanwhile Barnabas turned from raging Two-legs to superbly wrathful +Four-legs; viewed him from sweeping tail to lofty crest; observed +his rolling eye and quivering nostril; took careful heed of his +broad chest, slender legs, and powerful, sloping haunches with keen, +appraising eyes, that were the eyes of knowledge and immediate desire. +And so, from disdainful Four-legs he turned back to ruffled Two-legs, +who, having pretty well sworn himself out by this time, rose +gingerly to his feet, felt an elbow with gentle inquiry, tenderly +rubbed a muddied knee, and limped out from the corner. + +Now, standing somewhat apart, was a broad-shouldered man, a +rough-looking customer in threadbare clothes, whose dusty boots +spoke of travel. He was an elderly man, for the hair, beneath the +battered hat, was gray, and he leaned wearily upon a short stick. +Very still he stood, and Barnabas noticed that he kept his gaze bent +ever upon the horse; nor did he look away even when the Captain +began to speak again. + +"B'gad!" exclaimed the Captain, "I'll sell the brute to the highest +bidder. You, Jerningham, you seem devilish amused, b'gad! If you +think you can back him he's yours for what you like. Come, what's +the word?" + +"Emphatically no, my dear, good Sling," laughed the young Corinthian, +shaking his curly head. "I don't mean to risk this most precious +neck of mine until the fifteenth, dear fellow, dooce take me if I do!" + +"Why then, b'gad! I'll sell him to any one fool enough to bid. Come +now," cried the Captain, glancing round the yard, "who'll buy him? +B'gad! who'll give ten pounds for an accursed brute that nobody can +possibly ride?" + +"I will!" said Barnabas. + +"Fifteen, sir!" cried the shabby man on the instant, with his gaze +still on the horse. + +"Twenty!" said Barnabas, like an echo. + +"Twenty-five, sir!" retorted the shabby man. + +"Hey?" cried the Captain, staring from one to the other. "What's all +this? B'gad! I say stop a bit--wait a minute! Bob, lend me your +bucket." + +Hereupon the Corinthian obligingly vacating that article. Captain +Slingsby incontinent stood upon it, and from that altitude began to +harangue the yard, flourishing his whip after the manner of an +auctioneer's hammer. + +"Now here you are, gentlemen!" he cried. "I offer you a devilishly +ugly, damnably vicious brute, b'gad! I offer you a four-legged demon, +an accursed beast that nobody can ever hope to ride--a regular terror, +curse me! Killed one groom already, will probably kill another. Now, +what is your price for this lady's pet? Look him over and bid +accordingly." + +"Twenty-five pound, sir," said the shabby man. + +"Thirty!" said Barnabas. + +"Thirty-one, sir." + +"Fifty!" said Barnabas. + +"Fifty!" cried the Captain, flourishing his whip. "Fifty pounds from +the gentleman in the neckcloth--fifty's the figure. Any more? Any +advance on fifty? What, all done! Won't any one go another pound for +a beast fit only for the knacker's yard? Oh, Gad, gentlemen, why +this reticence? Are you all done?" + +"I can't go no higher, sir," said the shabby man, shaking his gray +head sadly. + +"Then going at fifty--at fifty! Going! Going! Gone, b'gad! Sold to +the knowing young cove in the neckcloth." + +Now, at the repetition of this word, Barnabas began to frown. + +"And b'gad!" exclaimed the Captain, stepping down from the bucket, +"a devilish bad bargain he's got, too." + +"That, sir, remains to be seen," said Barnabas, shortly. + +"Why, what do you mean to do with the brute?" + +"Ride him." + +"Do you, b'gad?" + +"I do." + +"Lay you ten guineas you don't sit him ten minutes." + +"Done!" said Barnabas, buttoning up his coat. + +But now, glancing round, he saw that the shabby man had turned away, +and was trudging heavily out of the yard, therefore Barnabas +hastened after him, and touched him upon the arm. + +"I'm sorry you were disappointed," said he. + +"Is it about the 'oss you mean, sir?" inquired the shabby man, +touching his hat. + +"Yes." + +"Why, it do come a bit 'ard-like to ha' lost 'im, sir, arter waiting +my chance so long. But fifty guineas be a sight o' money to a chap +as be out of a job, though 'e's dirt-cheap at the price. There ain't +many 'osses like 'im, sir." + +"That was why I should have bought him at ten times the price," said +Barnabas. + +The man took off his hat, ran his stubby fingers through his +grizzled hair, and stared hard at Barnabas. + +"Sir," said he, "even at that you couldn't ha' done wrong. He ain't +a kind 'oss--never 'aving been understood, d' ye see; but take my +word for it, 'e's a wonder, that 'oss!" + +"You know him, perhaps?" + +"Since 'e were foaled, sir. I was stud-groom; but folks think I'm +too old for the job, d' ye see, sir?" + +"Do you think he 'd remember you?" + +"Ay, that 'e would!" + +"Do you suppose--look at him!--do you suppose you could hold him +quieter than those ostlers?" + +"'Old 'im, sir!" exclaimed the man, throwing back his shoulders. +"'Old 'im--ah, that I could! Try me!" + +"I will," said Barnabas. "How would forty shillings a week suit you?" + +"Sir?" exclaimed the old groom, staring. + +"Since you need a job, and I need a groom, I'll have you--if you're +willing." + +The man's square jaw relaxed, his eyes glistened; then all at once +he shook his head and sighed. + +"Ah! sir," said he, "ah! young sir, my 'air's gray, an' I'm not so +spry as I was--nobody wants a man as old as I be, and, seeing as +you've got the 'oss, you ain't got no call to make game o' me, young +sir. You 've got--the 'oss!" + +Now at this particular moment Captain Slingsby took it into his head +to interrupt them, which he did in characteristic fashion. + +"Hallo!--hi there!" he shouted, flourishing his whip. + +"But I'm not making game of you," said Barnabas, utterly unconscious +of the Captain, at least his glance never wavered from the eager +face of the old groom. + +"Hallo, there!" roared the Captain, louder than ever. + +"And to prove it," Barnabas continued, "here is a guinea in advance," +and he slipped the coin into the old groom's lax hand. + +"Oh, b'gad," cried the Captain, hoarsely, "don't you hear me, you +over there? Hi! you in the neckcloth!" + +"Sir," said Barnabas, turning sharply and frowning again at the +repetition of the word, "if you are pleased to allude to me, I would +humbly inform you that my name is Beverley." + +"Oh!" exclaimed the Captain, "I see--young Beverley, son of old +Beverley--and a devilish good name too!" + +"Sir, I'm vastly relieved to hear you say so," retorted Barnabas, +with a profound obeisance. Then taking out his purse, he beckoned +his new groom to approach. + +"What is your name?" he inquired, as he counted out a certain sum. + +"Gabriel Martin, sir." + +"Then, Martin, pray give the fellow his money." + +"Sir?" + +"I mean the red-faced man in the dirty jacket, Martin," added +Barnabas. + +The old groom hesitated, glanced from the Captain's scowling brow to +the smiling lips of Barnabas. + +"Very good, sir," said he, touching his shabby hat, and taking the +money Barnabas held out, he tendered it to the Captain, who, redder +of face than ever, took it, stared from it to Barnabas, and whistled. + +"Now, damme!" he exclaimed, "damme, if I don't believe the fellow +means to be offensive!" + +"If so, sir, the desire would seem to be mutual!" returned Barnabas. + +"Yes, b'gad! I really believe he means to be offensive!" repeated +the Captain, nodding as he pocketed the money. + +"Of that you are the best judge, sir," Barnabas retorted. Captain +Slingsby whistled again, frowned, and tossing aside his whip, +proceeded to button up his coat. + +"Why then," said he, "we must trouble this offensive person to +apologize or--or put 'em up, begad!" + +But hereupon the young Corinthian (who had been watching them +languidly through the glass he carried at the end of a broad ribbon) +stepped forward, though languidly, and laid a white and languid hand +upon the Captain's arm. + +"No, no, Sling," said he in a die-away voice, "he's a doocid fine +'bit of stuff'--look at those shoulders! and quick on his +pins--remark those legs! No, no, my dear fellow, remember your knee, +you hurt it, you know--fell on it when you were thrown,--must be +doocid painful! Must let me take your place. Shall insist! Pleasure's +all mine, 'sure you." + +"Never, Jerningham!" fumed the Captain, "not to be thought of, my +dear Bob--no begad, he's mine; why you heard him, he--he positively +called me a--a fellow!" + +"So you are, Sling," murmured the Corinthian, surveying Barnabas +with an approving eye, "dev'lish dashing fellow, an 'out-and-outer' +with the 'ribbons'--fiddle it with any one, by George, but no good +with your mauleys, damme if you are! Besides, there's your knee, you +know--don't forget your knee--" + +"Curse my knee!" + +"Certainly, dear fellow, but--" + +"My knee's sound enough to teach this countryman manners, b'gad; you +heard him say my coat was filthy?" + +"So it is, Sling, my boy, devilish dirty! So are your knees--look at +'em! But if you will dismount head over heels into a muck-heap, my +dear fellow, what the dooce can you expect?" The Captain merely swore. + +"Doocid annoying, of course," his friend continued, "I mean your knee, +you know, you can hardly walk, and this country fellow looks a +regular, bang up milling cove. Let me have a try at him, do now. +Have a little thought for others, and don't be so infernally selfish, +Sling, my boy." + +As he spoke, the Corinthian took off his hat, which he forced into +the Captain's unwilling grasp, drew off his very tight-fitting coat, +which he tossed over the Captain's unwilling arm, and, rolling back +his snowy shirt-sleeves, turned to Barnabas with shining eyes and +smiling lips. + +"Sir," said he, "seeing my friend's knee is not quite all it should +be, perhaps you will permit me to take his place, pleasure's +entirely mine, 'sure you. Shall we have it here, or would you prefer +the stables--more comfortable, perhaps--stables?" + +Now while Barnabas hesitated, somewhat taken aback by this +unlooked-for turn of events, as luck would have it, there came a +diversion. A high, yellow-wheeled curricle swung suddenly into the +yard, and its two foam-spattered bays were pulled up in masterly +fashion, but within a yard of the great, black horse, which +immediately began to rear and plunge again; whereupon the bays began +to snort, and dance, and tremble (like the thoroughbreds they were), +and all was uproar and confusion; in the midst of which, down from +the rumble of the dusty curricle dropped a dusty and remarkably +diminutive groom, who, running to the leader's head, sprang up and, +grasping the bridle, hung there manfully, rebuking the animal, +meanwhile, in a voice astonishingly hoarse and gruff for one of his +tender years. + +"Dooce take me," exclaimed the Corinthian, feeling for his eye-glass, +"it's Devenham!" + +"Why, Dicky!" cried the Captain, "where have you sprung from?" and, +forgetful of Barnabas, they hurried forward to greet the Viscount, +who, having beaten some of the dust from his driving coat, sprang +down from his high seat and shook hands cordially. + +Then, finding himself unnoticed, Barnabas carefully loosed his +neckerchief, and drew out the ends so that they dangled in full view. + +"I've been rusticating with my 'Roman,'" the Viscount was proceeding +to explain, keeping his eye upon his horses, "but found him more +Roman than usual--Gad, I did that! Have 'em well rubbed down, Milo," +he broke off suddenly, as the bays were led off to the stables, +"half a bucket of water apiece, no more, mind, and--say, a dash of +brandy!" + +"Werry good, m'lud!" This from Milo of Crotona, portentous of brow +and stern of eye, as he overlooked the ostlers who were busily +unbuckling straps and traces. + +"My 'Roman,' as I say," continued the Viscount, "was rather more so +than usual, actually wanted me to give up the Race! After that of +course I had to be firm with him, and we had a slight--ah, +misunderstanding in consequence--fathers, as a rule, are so +infernally parental and inconsiderate! Met Carnaby on the road, raced +him for a hundred; ding-dong all the way, wheel and wheel to Bromley, +though he nearly ditched me twice, confound him! Coming down Mason's +Hill I gave him my dust, up the rise he drew level again. 'Ease up +for the town, Carnaby,' says I, 'Be damned if I do!' says he, so at +it we went, full tilt. Gad! to see the folk jump! Carnaby drove like +a devil, had the lead to Southend, but, mark you, his whip was going! +At Catford we were level again. At Lewisham I took the lead and kept +it, and the last I saw of him he was cursing and lashing away at his +cattle, like a brute. Carnaby's a devilish bad loser, I've noticed, +and here I am. And oh! by the way--he's got a devil of an eye, and a +split lip. Says he fell out of his curricle, but looks as though +some one had--thrashed him." + +"But my very dear fellow!" exclaimed the Corinthian, "thrash Carnaby? +pooh!" + +"Never in the world!" added the Captain. + +"Hum!" said the Viscount, feeling a tender part of his own ribs +thoughtfully, "ha! But, hallo, Jerningham! have you been at it too? +Why are you buffed?" And he nodded to the Corinthian's bare arms. + +"Oh, dooce take me, I forgot!" exclaimed the Marquis, looking about; +"queer cove, doocid touchy, looks as if he might fib though. Ah, +there he is! talking to the rough-looking customer over yonder;" and +he pointed to Barnabas, who stood with his coat thrown open, and the +objectionable neckcloth in full evidence. The Viscount looked, +started, uttered a "view hallo," and, striding forward, caught +Barnabas by the hand. + +"Why, Bev, my dear fellow, this is lucky!" he exclaimed. Now +Barnabas was quick to catch the glad ring in the Viscount's voice, +and to notice that the neckcloth was entirely lost upon him, +therefore he smiled as he returned the Viscount's hearty grip. + +"When did you get here? what are you doing? and what the deuce is +the trouble between you and Jerningham?" inquired the Viscount all +in a breath. But before Barnabas could answer, the great, black horse, +tired of comparative inaction, began again to snort and rear, and +jerk his proud head viciously, whereupon the two ostlers fell to +swearing, and the Viscount's bays at the other end of the yard to +capering, and the Viscount's small groom to anathematizing, all in a +moment. + +"Slingsby!" cried his Lordship, "look to that black demon of yours!" + +"He is no concern of mine, Devenham," replied the Captain airily, +"sold him, b'gad!" + +"And I bought him," added Barnabas. + +"You did?" the Viscount exclaimed, "in heaven's name, what for?" + +"To ride--" + +"Eh? my dear fellow!" + +"I should like to try him for the race on the fifteenth, if it could +be managed, Dick." + +"The race!" exclaimed the Viscount, staring. + +"I 've been wondering if you could--get me entered for it," Barnabas +went on, rather diffidently, "I'd give anything for the chance." + +"What--with that brute! my dear fellow, are you mad?" + +"No, Dick." + +"But he's unmanageable, Bev; he's full of vice--a killer--look at +him now!" + +And indeed at this moment, as if to bear out this character, up went +the great, black head again, eyes rolling, teeth gleaming, and ears +laid back. + +"I tell you, Bev, no one could ride that devil!" the Viscount +repeated. + +"But," said Barnabas, "I've bet your friend Captain Slingsby that I +could." + +"It would be madness!" exclaimed the Viscount. "Ha! look out! +There--I told you so!" For in that moment the powerful animal reared +suddenly--broke from the grip of one ostler, and swinging the other +aside, stood free, and all was confusion. With a warning shout, the +old groom sprang to his head, but Barnabas was beside him, had +caught the hanging reins, and swung himself into the saddle. + +"I've got him, sir," cried Martin, "find yer stirrups!" + +"Your stick," said Barnabas, "quick, man! Now--let go!" + +For a moment the horse stood rigid, then reared again, up and +up--his teeth bared, his forefeet lashing; but down came the heavy +stick between the flattened ears, once--twice, and brought him to +earth again. + +And now began a struggle between the man and the brute--each young, +each indomitable, for neither had as yet been mastered, and +therefore each was alike disdainful of the other. The head of the +horse was high and proud, his round hoofs spurned the earth beneath, +fire was in his eye, rage in his heart--rage and scorn of this +presumptuous Two-legs who sought to pit his puny strength against +his own quivering, four-legged might. Therefore he mocked Two-legs, +scorned and contemned him, laughed ha! ha! (like his long-dead +ancestor among the Psalmist's trumpets) and gathered himself +together--eager for the battle. + +But the eyes of Barnabas were wide and bright, his lips were curved, +his jaw salient--his knees gripped tight, and his grasp was strong +and sure upon the reins. + +And now Four-legs, having voiced his defiance, tossed his crest on +high, then plunged giddily forward, was checked amid a whirlwind of +lashing hoofs, rose on his hind legs higher and higher, swinging +giddily round and round, felt a stunning blow, staggered, and +dropping on all fours, stove in the stable door with a fling of his +hind hoofs. But the eyes of Barnabas were glowing, his lips still +curved, and his grip upon the reins was more masterful. And, feeling +all this, Four-legs, foaming with rage, his nostrils flaring, turned +upon his foe with snapping teeth, found him out of reach, and so +sought to play off an old trick that had served him more than once; +he would smash his rider's leg against a post or wall, or brush him +off altogether and get rid of him that way. But lo! even as he leapt +in fulfilment of this manoeuvre, his head was wrenched round, +further and further, until he must perforce, stop--until he was +glaring up into the face above, the face of his bitter foe, with its +smiling mouth, its glowing eye, its serene brow. + +"Time's up!" cried the Captain, suddenly; "b'gad, sir, you win the +bet!" But Barnabas scarcely heard. + +"You've done it--you win; eleven and a half minutes, b'gad!" roared +the Captain again--"don't you hear, sir?--come off, before he breaks +your neck!" + +But Barnabas only shook his head, and, dropping the stick, leaned +over and laid his hand upon that proud, defiant crest, a hand grown +suddenly gentle, and drew it down caressingly from ear to quivering +nostril, once, twice, and spoke words in a soft tone, and so, +loosed the cruel grip upon the rein, and sat back--waiting. But +Four-legs had become thoughtful; true, he still tossed his head +and pawed an impatient hoof, but that was merely for the sake of +appearances--Four-legs was thoughtful. No one had ever touched him so, +before--indeed blows had latterly been his portion--but this +Two-legs was different from his kind, besides, he had a pleasing +voice--a voice to soothe ragged nerves--there it was again! And then +surely, the touch of this hand awoke dim memories, reminded him of +far-off times when two-legged creatures had feared him less; and +there was the hand again! After all, things might be worse--the hand +that could be so gentle could be strong also; his mouth was sore yet, +and a strong man, strong-handed and gentle of voice, was better +than--oh, well! + +Whether of all this, or any part of it, the great, black horse was +really thinking, who shall say? Howbeit Barnabas presently turned in +his saddle and beckoned the old groom to his stirrup. + +"He'll be quiet now, I think," said he. + +"Ah! that he will, sir. You've larned the trick o' voice an' +hand--it ain't many as has it--must be born in a man, I reckon, an' +'tis that as does more nor all your whips and spurs, an' curb-bits, +sir. 'E'll be a babe wi' you arter this, sir, an' I'm thinkin' as +you won't be wantin' me now, maybe? I ain't young enough nor smart +enough, d' ye see." + +Here Barnabas dismounted, and gave the reins into the old groom's +eager hand. + +"I shan't be wanting him for--probably three or four days, Gabriel, +until then--look after him, exercise him regularly, for I'm hoping +to do great things with him, soon, Gabriel, perhaps." And so +Barnabas smiled, and as Martin led the horse to the stables, turned +to find the young Corinthian at his elbow; he had resumed hat and +coat, and now regarded Barnabas as smiling and imperturbable as ever. + +"Sir," said he, "I congratulate you heartily. Sir, any friend of +Viscount Devenham is also mine, I trust; and I know your name, +and--hem!--I swear Slingsby does! Beverley, I think--hem!--son of +old Beverley, and a devilish good name too! Eh, Sling my boy?" + +Hereupon the Captain limped forward, if possible redder of face than +ever, very much like a large schoolboy in fault. + +"Sir," he began, "b'gad--!" here he paused to clear his throat +loudly once or twice--"a devil incarnate! Fourteen minutes and a half, +by my watch, and devil a spur! I'd have lent you my boots had there +been time, I would, b'gad! As it is, if you've any desire to shake +hands with a--ha!--with a fellow--hum!--in a dirty coat--why--here's +mine, b'gad!" + +"Captain the Honorable Marmaduke Slingsby--Mr. Beverley--The Marquis +of Jerningham--Mr. Beverley. And now," said the Viscount, as +Barnabas shook hands, "now tell 'em why you bought the horse, Bev." + +"I was hoping, sirs," said Barnabas, rather diffidently, "that I +might perhaps have the honor of riding in the Steeplechase on the +fifteenth." + +Hereupon the Captain struck his riding boot a resounding blow with +his whip, and whistled; while the Marquis dangled his eyeglass by +its riband, viewing it with eyes of mild surprise, and the Viscount +glanced from one to the other with an enigmatical smile upon his lips. + +"That would rest with Carnaby to decide, of course," said the +Captain at last. + +"Why so?" inquired Barnabas. + +"Because--well, because he--is Carnaby, I suppose," the Captain +answered. + +"Though Jerningham has the casting-vote," added the Viscount. + +"True," said the Marquis, rearranging a fold of his cravat with a +self-conscious air, "but, as Sling says--Carnaby is--Carnaby." + +"Sirs," began Barnabas, very earnestly, "believe me I would spare no +expense--" + +"Expense, sir?" repeated the Marquis, lifting a languid eyebrow; +"of course it is no question of 'expense'!" Here the Viscount looked +uncomfortable all at once, and Barnabas grew suddenly hot. + +"I mean," he stammered, "I mean that my being entered so late in the +day--the fees might be made proportionately heavier--double them if +need be--I should none the less be--be inestimably indebted to you; +indeed I--I cannot tell you--" Now as Barnabas broke off, the +Marquis smiled and reached out his hand--a languid-seeming hand, +slim and delicate, yet by no means languid of grip. + +"My dear Beverley," said he, "I like your earnestness. A +race--especially this one--is a doocid serious thing; for some of us, +perhaps, even more serious than we bargain for. It's going to be a +punishing race from start to finish, a test of endurance for horse +and man, over the worst imaginable country. It originated in a match +between Devenham on his 'Moonraker' and myself on 'Clinker,' but +Sling here was hot to match his 'Rascal,' and Carnaby fancied his +'Clasher,' and begad! applications came so fast that we had a field +in no time." + +"Good fellows and sportsmen all!" nodded the Captain. "Gentlemen +riders--no tag-rag, gamest of the game, sir." + +"Now, as to yourself, my dear Beverley," continued the Marquis +authoritatively, "you 're doocid late, y' know; but then--" + +"He can ride," said the Viscount. + +"And he's game," nodded the Captain. + +"And, therefore," added the Marquis, "we'll see what can be done +about it." + +"And b'gad, here's wishing you luck!" said the Captain. + +At this moment Peterby entered the yard, deep in converse with a slim, +gentleman-like person, whose noble cravat immediately attracted the +attention of the Marquis. + +"By the way," pursued the Captain, "we three are dining together at +my club; may I have a cover laid for you, Mr. Beverley?" + +"Sir," answered Barnabas, "I thank you, but, owing to--circumstances" +--here he cast a downward glance at his neckerchief--"I am unable to +accept. But, perhaps, you will, all three of you, favor me to dinner +at my house--say, in three days' time?" + +The invitation was no sooner given than accepted. + +"But," said the Viscount, "I didn't know that you had a place here +in town, Bev. Where is it?" + +"Why, indeed, now you come to mention it, I haven't the least idea; +but, perhaps, my man can tell me." + +"Eh--what?" exclaimed the Captain. "Oh, b'gad, he's smoking us!" + +"Peterby!" + +"Sir?" and having saluted the company, Peterby stood at respectful +attention. + +"I shall be giving a small dinner in three days' time." + +"Certainly, sir." + +"At my house, Peterby,--consequently I desire to know its location. +Where do I live now, Peterby?" + +"Number five, St. James's Square, sir." + +"Thank you, Peterby." + +"An invaluable fellow, that of yours," laughed the Marquis, as +Peterby bowed and turned away. + +"Indeed, I begin to think he is, my Lord," answered Barnabas, +"and I shall expect you all, at six o'clock, on Friday next." So, +having shaken hands again, Captain Slingsby took the arm of the +Marquis, and limped off. + +Now, when they were alone, the Viscount gazed at Barnabas, chin in +hand, and with twinkling eyes. + +"My dear Bev," said he, "you can hang me if I know what to make of +you. Egad, you're the most incomprehensible fellow alive; you are, +upon my soul! If I may ask, what the deuce did it all mean--about +this house of yours?" + +"Simply that until this moment I wasn't sure if I had one yet." + +"But--your fellow--" + +"Yes. I sent him out this morning to buy me one." + +"To buy you--a house?" + +"Yes; also horses and carriages, and many other things, chief among +them--a tailor." + +The Viscount gasped. + +"But--my dear fellow--to leave all that to your--servant! Oh, Gad!" + +"But, as the Marquis remarked, Peterby is an inestimable fellow." + +The Viscount eyed Barnabas with brows wrinkled in perplexity; then +all at once his expression changed. + +"By the way," said he, "talking of Carnaby, he's got the most +beautiful eye you ever saw!" + +"Oh?" said Barnabas, beginning to tuck in the ends of his neckerchief. + +"And a devil of a split lip!" + +"Oh?" said Barnabas again. + +"And his coat had been nearly ripped off him; I saw it under his cape!" + +"Ah?" said Barnabas, still busy with his neckcloth. + +"And naturally enough," pursued the Viscount, "I've been trying to +imagine--yes, Bev, I've been racking my brain most damnably, +wondering why you--did it? + +"It was in the wood," said Barnabas. + +"So it _was_ you, then?" + +"Yes, Dick." + +"But--he didn't even mark you?" + +"He lost his temper, Dick." + +"You thrashed--Carnaby! Gad, Bev, there isn't a milling cove in +England could have done it." + +"Yes--there are two--Natty Bell, and Glorious John." + +"And I'll warrant he deserved it, Bev." + +"I think so," said Barnabas; "it was in the wood, Dick." + +"The wood? Ah! do you mean where you--" + +"Where I found her lying unconscious." + +"Unconscious! And with him beside her! My God, man!" cried the +Viscount, with a vicious snap of his teeth. "Why didn't you kill him?" + +"Because I was beside her--first, Dick." + +"Damn him!" exclaimed the Viscount bitterly. + +"But he is your friend, Dick." + +"Was, Bev, was! We'll make it in the past tense hereafter." + +"Then you agree with your father after all?" + +"I do, Bev; my father is a cursed, long-sighted, devilish observant +man! I'll back him against anybody, though he is such a Roman. But oh, +the devil!" exclaimed the Viscount suddenly, "you can never ride in +the race after this." + +"Why not?" + +"Because you'll meet Carnaby; and that mustn't happen." + +"Why not?" + +"Because he'll shoot you." + +"You mean he'd challenge me? Hum," said Barnabas, "that is awkward! +But I can't give up the race." + +"Then what shall you do?" + +"Risk it, Dick." + +But now, Mr. Smivvle, who from an adjoining corner had been an +interested spectator thus far, emerged, and flourishing off the +curly-brimmed hat, bowed profoundly, and addressed himself to the +Viscount. + +"I believe," said he, smiling affably, "that I have the pleasure to +behold Viscount Devenham?" + +"The same, sir," rejoined the Viscount, bowing stiffly. + +"You don't remember me, perhaps, my Lord?" + +The Viscount regarded the speaker stonily, and shook his head. + +"No, I don't, sir." + +Mr. Smivvle drew himself up, and made the most of his whiskers. + +"My Lord, my name is Smivvle, Digby Smivvle, at your service, though +perhaps you don't remember my name, either?" + +The Viscount took out his driving gloves and began to put them on. + +"No, I don't, sir!" he answered dryly. + +Mr. Smivvle felt for his whisker, found it, and smiled. + +"Quite so, my Lord, I am but one of the concourse--the +multitude--the ah--the herd, though, mark me, my Lord, a Smivvle, sir, +--a Smivvle, every inch of me,--while you are the owner of 'Moonraker,' +and Moonraker's the word just now, I hear. But, sir, I have a +friend--" + +"Indeed, sir," said the Viscount, in a tone of faint surprise, and +beckoning a passing ostler, ordered out his curricle. + +"As I say," repeated Mr. Smivvle, beginning to search for his +whisker again, "I have a friend, my Lord--" + +"Congratulate you," murmured the Viscount, pulling at his glove. + +"A friend who has frequently spoken of your Lordship--" + +"Very kind of him!" murmured the Viscount. + +"And though, my Lord, though my name is not familiar, I think you +will remember his; the name of my friend is "--here Mr. Smivvle, +having at length discovered his whisker, gave it a fierce twirl,-- +"Ronald Barrymaine." + +The Viscount's smooth brow remained unclouded, only the glove tore +in his fingers; so he smiled, shook his head, and drawing it off, +tossed it away. + +"Hum?" said he, "I seem to have heard some such name--somewhere or +other--ah! there's my Imp at last, as tight and smart as they make +'em, eh, Bev? Well, good-by, my dear fellow, I shan't forget Friday +next." So saying, the Viscount shook hands, climbed into his curricle, +and, with a flourish of his whip, was off and away in a moment. + +"A fine young fellow, that!" exclaimed Mr. Smivvle; "yes, sir, +regular out-and-outer, a Bang up! by heaven, a Blood, sir! a Tippy! +a Go! a regular Dash! High, sir, high, damned high, like my friend +Barrymaine,--indeed, you may have remarked a similarity between 'em, +sir?" + +"You forget, I have never met your friend," said Barnabas. + +"Ah, to be sure, a great pity! You'd like him, for Barrymaine is a +cursed fine fellow in spite of the Jews, dammem! yes,--you ought to +know my friend, sir." + +"I should be glad to," said Barnabas. + +"Would you though, would you indeed, sir? Nothing simpler; call a +chaise! Stay though, poor Barry's not himself to-day, under a cloud, +sir. Youthful prodigalities are apt to bring worries in their +train--chiefly in the shape of Jews, sir, and devilish bad shapes too! +Better wait a day--say to-morrow, or Thursday--or even Friday would +do." + +"Let it be Saturday," said Barnabas. + +"Saturday by all means, sir, I'll give myself the pleasure of +calling upon you." + +"St. James's Square," said Barnabas, "number five." + +But now Peterby, who had been eyeing Mr. Smivvle very much askance, +ventured to step forward. + +"Sir," said he, "may I remind you of your appointment?" + +"I hadn't forgotten, Peterby; and good day, Mr. Smivvle." + +"Au revoir, sir, delighted to have had the happiness. If you _should_ +chance ever to be in Worcestershire, the Hall is open to you. Good +afternoon, sir!" And so, with a prodigious flourish of the hat, +Mr. Smivvle bowed, smiled, and swaggered off. Then, as he turned to +follow Peterby into the inn, Barnabas must needs pause to glance +towards the spot where lay the Viscount's torn glove. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + + +CONCERNING, AMONG OTHER THINGS, THE LEGS OF A GENTLEMAN-IN-POWDER + +In that delightful book, "The Arabian Nights' Entertainments," one +may read of Spirits good, and bad, and indifferent; of slaves of +lamps, of rings and amulets, and talismanic charms; and of the +marvels and wonders they performed. But never did Afrit, Djinn, or +Genie perform greater miracles than steady-eyed, soft-voiced Peterby. +For if the far away Orient has its potent charms and spells, so, in +this less romantic Occident, have we also a spell whereby all things +are possible, a charm to move mountains--a spell whereby kings +become slaves, and slaves, kings; and we call it Money. + +Aladdin had his wonderful Lamp, and lo! at the Genie's word, up +sprang a palace, and the wilderness blossomed; Barnabas had his +overflowing purse, and behold! Peterby went forth, and the dull room +at the "George" became a mansion in the midst of Vanity Fair. + +Thus, at precisely four o'clock on the afternoon of the third day, +Barnabas stood before a cheval mirror in the dressing-room of his +new house, surveying his reflection with a certain complacent +satisfaction. + +His silver-buttoned blue coat, high-waisted and cunningly rolled of +collar, was a sartorial triumph; his black stockinette pantaloons, +close-fitting from hip to ankle and there looped and buttoned, +accentuated muscled calf and virile thigh in a manner somewhat +disconcerting; his snowy waistcoat was of an original fashion and cut, +and his cravat, folded and caressed into being by Peterby's fingers, +was an elaborate masterpiece, a matchless creation never before seen +upon the town. Barnabas had become a dandy, from the crown of his +curly head to his silk stockings and polished shoes, and, upon the +whole, was not ill-pleased with himself. + +"But they're--dangerously tight, aren't they, Peterby?" he inquired +suddenly, speaking his thought aloud. + +"Tight, sir!" repeated Mr. Barry, the tailor, reproachfully, and +shaking his gentleman-like head, "impossible, sir,--with such a leg +inside 'em." + +"Tight, sir?" exclaimed Peterby, from where he knelt upon the floor, +having just finished looping and buttoning the garments in question, +"indeed, sir, since you mention it, I almost fear they are a trifle +too--roomy. Can you raise your bent knee, sir?" + +"Only with an effort, John." + +"That settles it, Barry," said Peterby with a grim nod, "you must +take them in at least a quarter of an inch." + +"Take 'em in?" exclaimed Barnabas, aghast, "no, I'll be shot if you +do,--not a fraction! I can scarcely manage 'em as it is." Peterby +shook his head in grave doubt, but at this juncture they were +interrupted by a discreet knock, and the door opening, a +Gentleman-in-Powder appeared. He was a languid gentleman, an +extremely superior gentleman, but his character lay chiefly in his +nose, which was remarkably short and remarkably supercilious of tip, +and his legs which were large and nobly shaped; they were, in a sense, +eloquent legs, being given to divers tremors and quiverings when +their possessor labored under any strong feeling or excitement; but, +above all, they were haughty legs, contemptuous of this paltry world +and all that therein is, yea, even of themselves, for their very +calves seemed striving to turn their backs upon each other. + +"Are you in, sir?" he inquired in an utterly impersonal tone. + +"In?" repeated Barnabas, with a quick downward glance at his tight +nether garments, "in?--in what?--in where?" + +"Are you at 'ome, sir?" + +"At home? Of course,--can't you see that?" + +"Yes, sir," returned the Gentleman-in-Powder, his legs growing a +little agitated. + +"Then why do you ask?" + +"There is a--person below, sir." + +"A person?" + +"Yes, sir,--very much so! Got 'is foot in the door--wouldn't take it +out--had to let 'em in--waiting in the 'all, sir." + +"What's he like, who is he?" + +"Whiskers, sir,--name of Snivels,--no card!" Here might have been +observed the same agitation of the plump legs. + +"Ask him to wait." + +"Beg pardon, sir--did you say--to wait?" (Agitation growing.) + +"Yes. Say I'll be down at once." (Agitation extreme.) + +"Meaning as you will--see 'im, sir?" (Agitation indescribable.) + +"Yes," said Barnabas, "yes, of course." + +The Gentleman-in-Powder bowed; his eye was calm, his brow unruffled, +but his legs!!! And his nose was more supercilious than ever as he +closed the door upon it. + +Mr. Smivvle, meanwhile, was standing downstairs before a mirror, +apparently lost in contemplation of his whiskers, and indeed they +seemed to afford him a vast degree of pleasure, for he stroked them +with caressing fingers, and smiled upon them quite benevolently. + +"Six pair of silver candlesticks!" he murmured. "Persian rugs! +Bric-a-brac, rare--costly pictures! He's a Nabob, by heaven,--yes he +is,--a mysterious young Nabob, wallowing in wealth! Five shillings? +--preposterous! we'll make it--ten,--and--yes, shall we say another +five for the pampered menial? By all means let us make it another +five shillings for the cursed flunkey,--here he comes!" + +And indeed, at that moment the legs of the Gentleman-in-Powder might +have been descried descending the stair rather more pompously than +usual. As soon as they had become stationary, Mr. Smivvle directed a +glance at the nearest, and addressed it. + +"James!" said he. + +The Gentleman-in-Powder became lost in dreamy abstraction, with the +exception of his legs which worked slightly. Hereupon Mr. Smivvle +reached out and poked him gently with the head of his tasselled cane. + +"Awake, James?" said he. + +"Name of Harthur--_if_ you please, sir!" retorted the +Gentleman-in-Powder, brushing away the touch of the cane, and eyeing +the place with much concern. + +"If, James," continued Mr. Smivvle, belligerent of whisker, +"if you would continue to ornament this lordly mansion, James, be +more respectful, hereafter, to your master's old and tried friends," +saying which Mr. Smivvle gave a twirl to each whisker, and turned to +inspect a cabinet of old china. + +"Sevres, by George!" he murmured, "we'll make it a pound!" He was +still lost in contemplation of the luxurious appointments that +everywhere met his view, and was seriously considering the +advisability of "making it thirty shillings," when the appearance of +Barnabas cut him short, and he at once became all smiles, flourishes +and whiskers. + +"Ah, Beverley, my boy!" he cried heartily, "pray forgive this +horribly unseasonable visit, but--under the circumstances--I felt it +my duty to--ah--to drop in on you, my dear fellow." + +"What circumstances?" demanded Barnabas, a little stiffly, perhaps. + +"Circumstances affecting our friend Barrymaine, sir." + +"Ah?" said Barnabas, his tone changing, "what of him? though you +forget, Mr. Barrymaine and I are still strangers." + +"By heaven, you are right, sir, though, egad! I'm only a little +previous,--eh, my dear fellow?" and, smiling engagingly, Mr. Smivvle +followed Barnabas into a side room, and shutting the door with +elaborate care, immediately shook his whiskers and heaved a profound +sigh. "My friend Barrymaine is low, sir,--devilish low," he +proceeded to explain, "indeed I'm quite distressed for the poor +fellow, 'pon my soul and honor I am,--for he is--in a manner of +speaking--in eclipse as it were, sir!" + +"I fear I don't understand," said Barnabas. + +"Why, then--in plain words, my dear Beverley,--he's suffering from +an acute attack of the Jews, dammem!--a positive seizure, sir!" + +"Do you mean he has been taken--for debt?" + +"Precisely, my dear fellow. An old affair--ages ago--a stab in the +dark! Nothing very much, in fact a mere bagatelle, only, as luck +will have it, I am damnably short myself just now." + +"How much is it?" + +"Altogether exactly twenty-five pound ten. An absurd sum, but all my +odd cash is on the race. So I ventured here on my young friend's +behalf to ask for a trifling loan,--a pound--or say thirty shillings +would be something." + +Barnabas crossed to a cabinet, unlocked a drawer, and taking thence +a smallish bag that jingled, began to count out a certain sum upon +the table. + +"You said twenty-five pounds ten, I think?" said Barnabas, and +pushed that amount across the table. Mr. Smivvle stared from the +money to Barnabas and back again, and felt for his whisker with +fumbling fingers. + +"Sir," he said, "you can't--you don't mean to--to--" + +"Yes," said Barnabas, turning to re-lock the drawer. Mr. Smivvle's +hand dropped from his whiskers, indeed, for the moment he almost +seemed to have forgotten their existence. + +"Sir," he stammered, "I cannot allow--no indeed, sir! Mr. Beverley, +you overwhelm me--" + +"Debts are necessary evils," said Barnabas, "and must be paid." +Mr. Smivvle stared at Barnabas, his brow furrowed by perplexity, +--stared like one who is suddenly at a loss; and indeed his usual +knowing air was quite gone. Then, dropping his gaze to the money on +the table, he swept it into his pocket, almost furtively, and took +up his hat and cane, and, it is worthy of note, that he did it all +without a flourish. + +"Mr. Beverley," said he, "in the name of my friend Barrymaine, I +thank you, and--I--I thank you!" So he turned and went out of the +room, and, as he went, he even forgot to swagger. + +Then Barnabas crossed to a mirror, and, once more, fell to studying +his reflection with critical eyes, in the midst of which examination +he looked up to find Peterby beside him. + +"Are you quite satisfied, sir?" + +"They are wonderful, John." + +"The coat," said Peterby, "y-e-s, the coat will pass well enough, +but I have grave doubts as regard the pantaloons." + +"I refuse to have 'em touched, John. And Natty Bell was quite right." + +"Sir?" said Peterby. + +"You don't know Natty Bell as yet, John, but you may; he is a very +remarkable man! He told me, I remember, that in Town, a man had his +clothes put on for him, and--remembered them,--and so he does,--the +difficulty will be ever to forget 'em, they"--here Barnabas stole a +glance at his legs--"they positively obtrude themselves, John! Yes, +clothes are wonderful things, but I fear they will take a great deal +of living up to!" + +Here Barnabas drew a long sigh, in the midst of which he was +interrupted by the calves of the Gentleman-in-Powder, which +presented themselves at the doorway with the announcement: + +"Viscount Deafenem, sir!" + +Barnabas started and hurried forward, very conscious, very nervous, +and for once uncertain of himself by reason of his new and +unaccustomed splendor. But the look in the Viscount's boyish eyes, +his smiling nod of frank approval, and the warm clasp of his hand, +were vastly reassuring. + +"Why, Bev, that coat's a marvel!" he exclaimed impulsively, +"it is, I swear it is; turn round--so! Gad, what a fit!" + +"I hoped you 'd approve of it, Dick," said Barnabas, a little flushed, +"you see, I know very little about such things, and--" + +"Approve of it! My dear fellow! And the cut!" + +"Now--as for these--er--pantaloons, Dick--?" + +"Dashing, my dear fellow,--devilish dashing!" + +"But rather too--too tight, don't you think?" + +"Can't be, Bev, tighter the better,--have 'em made too tight to get +into, and you're right; look at mine, if I bend, I split,--deuced +uncomfortable but all the mode, and a man must wear something! My +fellow has the deuce of a time getting me into 'em, confound 'em. Oh, +for ease, give me boots and buckskins!" Hereupon the Viscount having +walked round Barnabas three times, and viewed him critically from +every angle, nodded with an air of finality. "Yes, they do you +infinite credit, my dear fellow,--like everything else;" and he cast +a comprehensive glance round the luxurious apartment. + +"The credit of it all rests entirely with Peterby," said Barnabas. +"John--where are you?" But Peterby had disappeared. + +"You're the most incomprehensible fellow, Bev," said the Viscount, +seating himself on the edge of the table and swinging his leg. +"You have been a constant surprise to me ever since you found +me--er--let us say--ruminating in the bilboes, and now"--here he +shook his head gravely--"and now it seems you are to become a source +of infernal worry and anxiety as well." + +"I hope not, Dick." + +"You are, though," repeated the Viscount, looking graver than ever. + +"Why?" + +"Because--well, because you are evidently bent upon dying young." + +"How so, Dick?" + +"Well, if you ride in the race and don't break your neck, Carnaby +will want a word with you; and if he doesn't shoot you, why then +Chichester certainly will--next time, damn him!" + +"Next time?" + +"Oh, I know all about your little affair with him--across the table. +Gad, Beverley, what a perfectly reckless fellow you are!" + +"But--how do you know of this?" + +"From Clemency." + +"So you've seen her again, Dick?" + +"Yes, of course; that is, I took 'Moonraker' for a gallop yesterday, +and--happened to be that way." + +"Ah!" said Barnabas. + +"And she told me--everything," said the Viscount, beginning to +stride up and down the room, with his usual placidity quite gone, +"I mean about--about the button you found, it was that devil +Chichester's it seems, and--and--Beverley, give me your hand! She +told me how you confronted the fellow. Ha! I'll swear you had him +shaking in his villain's shoes, duellist as he is." + +"But," said Barnabas, as the Viscount caught his hand, "it was not +altogether on Clemency's account, Dick." + +"No matter, you frightened the fellow off. Oh, I know--she told me; +I made her! She had to fight with the beast, that's how he lost his +button. I tell you, if ever I get the chance at him, he or I shall +get his quietus. By God, Bev, I'm half-minded to send the brute a +challenge, as it is." + +"Because of Clemency, Dick?" + +"Well--and why not?" + +"The Earl of Bamborough's son fight a duel over the chambermaid of a +hedge tavern!" + +The Viscount's handsome face grew suddenly red, and as suddenly pale +again, and his eyes glowed as he fronted Barnabas across the hearth. + +"Mr. Beverley," said he very quietly, "how am I to take that?" + +"In friendship, Dick, for the truth of it is that--though she is as +brave, as pure, as beautiful as any lady in the land, she is a +chambermaid none the less." + +The Viscount turned, and striding to the window stood there, looking +out with bent head. + +"Have I offended you?" inquired Barnabas. + +"You go--too far, Beverley." + +"I would go farther yet for my friend, Viscount, or for our Lady +Cleone." + +Now when Barnabas said this, the Viscount's head drooped lower yet, +and he stood silent. Then, all at once, he turned, and coming to the +hearth, the two stood looking at each other. + +"Yes, I believe you would, Beverley. But you have a way of jumping +to conclusions that is--devilish disconcerting. As for Chichester, +the world would be well rid of him. And, talking of him, I met +another rascal as I came--I mean that fellow Smivvle; had he been +here?" + +"Yes." + +"Begging, I suppose?" + +"He borrowed some money for his friend Barrymaine." + +The Viscount flushed hotly, and looked at Barnabas with a sudden +frown. + +"Perhaps you are unaware, that is a name I never allow spoken in my +presence, Mr. Beverley." + +"Indeed, Viscount, and pray, why not?" + +"For one thing, because he is--what he is--" + +"Lady Cleone's brother." + +"Half-brother, sir, and none the less a--knave." + +"How--?" + +"I mean that he is a card-sharper, a common cheat." + +"Her brother--?" + +"Half-brother!" + +"A cheat! Are you sure?" + +"Certain! I had the misfortune to make the discovery. And it killed +him in London, all the clubs shut their doors upon him of course, he +was cut in the streets,--it is damning to be seen in his company or +even to mention his name--now." + +"And you--you exposed him?" + +"I said I made the discovery; but I kept it to myself. The stakes +were unusually high that night, and we played late. I went home with +him, but Chichester was there, waiting for him. So I took him aside, +and, in as friendly a spirit as I could, told him of my discovery. +He broke down, and, never attempting a denial, offered restitution +and promised amendment. I gave my word to keep silent and, on one +pretext or another, the loser's money was returned. But next week, +the whole town hummed with the news. One night--it was at +White's--he confronted me, and--he gave me--the lie!" The Viscount's +fists were tight clenched, and he stared down blindly at the floor. +"And, sir, though you'll scarcely credit it of course, I--there, +before them all--I took it." + +"Of course," said Barnabas, "for Her sake." + +"Beverley!" exclaimed the Viscount, looking up with a sudden light +in his eyes. "Oh, Bev!" and their hands met and gripped. + +"You couldn't do anything else, Dick." + +"No, Bev, no, but I'm glad you understand. Later it got about that +I--that I was--afraid of the fellow--he's a dead shot, they say, +young as he is--and--well, it--it wasn't pleasant, Bev. Indeed it +got worse until I called out one of Chichester's friends, and winged +him--a fellow named Dalton." + +"I think I've seen him," said Barnabas, nodding. + +"Anyhow, Barrymaine was utterly discredited and done for--he's an +outcast, and to be seen with him, or his friends, is to be damned +also." + +"And yet," said Barnabas, sighing and shaking his head, "I must call +upon him to-morrow." + +"Call upon him! Man--are you mad?" + +"No; but he is her brother, and--" + +"And, as I tell you, he is banned by society as a cheat!" + +"And is that so great a sin, Dick?" + +"Are there any--worse?" + +"Oh, yes; one might kill a man in a duel, or dishonor a trusting +woman, or blast a man's character; indeed it seems to me that there +are many greater sins!" + +The Viscount dropped back in his chair, and stared at Barnabas with +horrified eyes. + +"My--dear--Beverley," said he at last, "are you--serious?" + +"My dear Viscount--of course I am." + +"Then let me warn you, such views will never do here: any one +holding such views will never succeed in London." + +"Yet I mean to try," said Barnabas, squaring his jaw. + +"But why," said the Viscount, impatiently, "why trouble yourself +about such a fellow?" + +"Because She loves him, and because She asked me to help him." + +"She asked--you to?" + +"Yes." + +"And--do you think you can?" + +"I shall try." + +"How?" + +"First, by freeing him from debt." + +"Do you know him--have you ever met him?" + +"No, Dick, but I love his sister." + +"And because of this, you'd shoulder his debts? Ah, but you can't, +and if you ask me why, I tell you, because Jasper Gaunt has got him, +and means to keep him. To my knowledge Barrymaine has twice had +the money to liquidate his debt--but Gaunt has put him off, on one +pretext or another, until the money has all slipped away. I tell you, +Bev, Jasper Gaunt has got him in his clutches--as he's got Sling, +and poor George Danby, and--God knows how many more--as he'd get me +if he could, damn him! Yes, Gaunt has got his claws into him, and +he'll never let him go again--never." + +"Then," said Barnabas, "I must see Jasper Gaunt as soon as may be." + +"Oh, by all means," nodded the Viscount, "if you have a taste for +snakes, and spiders, and vermin of that sort, Slingsby will show you +where to find him--Slingsby knows his den well enough, poor old Sling! +But look to yourself, for spiders sting and snakes bite, and Jasper +Gaunt does both." + +The knuckles of the Gentleman-in-Powder here made themselves heard, +and thereafter the door opened to admit his calves, which were +immediately eclipsed by the Marquis, who appeared to be in a state +of unwonted hurry. + +"What, have I beat Slingsby, then?" he inquired, glancing round the +room, "he was close behind me in Piccadilly--must have had a +spill--that's the worst of those high curricles. As a matter of fact," +he proceeded to explain, "I rushed round here--that is we both did, +but I've got here first, to tell you that--Oh, dooce take me!" and +out came the Marquis's eyeglass. "Positively you must excuse me, my +dear Beverley. Thought I knew 'em all, but no--damme if I ever saw +the fellow to yours! Permit me!" Saying which the Marquis gently led +Barnabas to the window, and began to study his cravat with the most +profound interest. + +"By George, Devenham," he exclaimed suddenly,--"it's new!" + +"Gad!" said the Viscount, "now you come to mention it,--so it is!" + +"Positively--new!" repeated the Marquis in an awestruck voice, +staring at the Viscount wide-eyed. "D'you grasp the importance of +this, Devenham?--d'you see the possibilities, Dick? It will create a +sensation,--it will set all the clubs by the ears, by George! We +shall have the Prince galloping up from Brighton. By heaven, it's +stupendous! Permit me, my dear Beverley. See--here we have three +folds and a tuck, then--oh, Jupiter, it's a positive work of art, +--how the deuce d'you tie it? Never saw anything approaching this, +and I've tried 'em all,--the Mail-coach, the Trone d'Amour, the +Osbaldistone, the Napoleon, the Irish tie, the Mathematical tie, and +the Oriental,--no, 'pon my honor it's unique, it's--it's--" the +Marquis sighed, shook his head, and words failing him, took out his +enamelled snuff-box. "Sir," said he, "I have the very highest regard +for a man of refined taste, and if there is one thing in which that +manifests itself more than another, it is the cravat. Sir, I make +you free of my box, pray honor me." And the Marquis flicked open his +snuff-box and extended it towards Barnabas with a bow. + +"My Lord," said Barnabas, shaking his head, "I appreciate the honor +you do me, but pray excuse me,--I never take it." + +"No?" said the Marquis with raised brows, "you astonish me; but +then--between ourselves--neither do I. Can't bear the infernal stuff. +Makes me sneeze most damnably. And then, it has such a cursed way of +blowing about! Still, one must conform to fashion, and--" + +"Captain Slingsby!" + +The Gentleman-in-Powder had scarcely articulated the words, when the +Captain had gripped Barnabas by the hand. + +"Congratulate you, Beverley, heartily." + +"Thank you, but why?" inquired Barnabas. + +"Eh--what? Hasn't Jerningham told you? B'gad, is it possible you +don't know--" + +"Why, dooce take me, Sling, if I didn't forget!" said the Marquis, +clapping hand to thigh, "but his cravat put everything else out of +my nob, and small wonder either! You tell him." + +"No," answered the Captain. "I upset a cursed apple-stall on my way +here--you got in first--tell him yourself." + +"Why, then, Beverley," said the Marquis, extending his hand, in his +turn, as he spoke, "we have pleasure, Sling and I, to tell you that +you are entered for the race on the fifteenth." + +"The race!" exclaimed Barnabas, flushing. "You mean I'm to ride then?" + +"Yes," nodded the Captain, "but b'gad! we mean more than that, we +mean that you are one of us, that Devenham's friend must be ours +because he's game--" + +"And can ride," said the Viscount. + +"And is a man of taste," added the Marquis. + +Thus it was as one in a dream that Barnabas beheld the legs of the +Gentleman-in-Powder, and heard the words: + +"Dinner is served, gentlemen!" + +But scarcely had they taken their places at the table when the +Marquis rose, his brimming glass in his hand. + +"Mr. Beverley," said he, bowing, "when Devenham, Slingsby, and I +meet at table, it is our invariable custom to drink to one whom we +all--hum--" + +"Admire!" said the Viscount, rising. + +"Adore!" said the Captain, rising also. + +"Therefore, gentlemen," pursued the Marquis, "with our host's +permission, we will--" + +"Stay a moment, Jerningham," said the Viscount,--"it is only right +to tell you that my friend Beverley is one with us in this,--he also +is a suitor for the hand of Lady Cleone." + +"Is he, b'gad!" exclaimed the Captain. "Dooce take me!" said the +Marquis, "might have known it though. Ah, well! one more or less +makes small difference among so many." + +So Barnabas rose, and lifting his glass with the others, drank to-- + +"Our Lady Cleone--God bless her!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + + +WHICH DESCRIBES SOMETHING OF THE MISFORTUNES OF RONALD BARRYMAINE + +Holborn was in full song,--a rumbling, roaring melody, a clattering, +rushing, blaring symphony made up of the grind of wheels upon +resounding cobble-stones, the thudding beat of horse-hoofs, the +tread of countless feet, the shrill note of voices; it was all there, +the bass and the treble blending together, harsh, discordant, yet +the real symphony of life. + +And, amidst it all, of it all, came Barnabas, eager-eyed, forgetful +of his companion, lost to all but the stir and bustle, the rush and +roar of the wonderful city about him. The which Mr. Smivvle duly +remarked from under the curly-brimmed hat, but was uncommonly silent. +Indeed, though his hat was at its usual rakish angle, though he +swung his cane and strode with all his ordinary devil-may-care +swagger, though his whiskers were as self-assertive as ever, yet +Mr. Smivvle himself was unusually pensive, and in his bold black +eyes was a look very like anxiety. But in a while, as they turned +out of the rush of Holborn Hill, he sighed, threw back his shoulders, +and spoke. + +"Nearly there now, my dear fellow, this is the Garden." + +"Garden?" said Barnabas, glancing about. "Where?" + +"Here, sir; we're in it,--Hatton Garden. Charmingly rustic spot, +you'll observe, delightfully rural retreat! Famous for strawberries +once, I believe,--flowers too, of course. Talking of flowers, sir, a +few of 'em still left to--ah--blush unseen? I'm one, Barrymaine's +another--a violet? No. A lily? No. A blush-rose? Well, let us say a +blush-rose, but damnably run to seed, like the rest of us. +And--ah--talking of Barrymaine, I ought, perhaps, to warn you that +we may find him a trifle--queer--a leetle touched perhaps." And +Mr. Smivvle raised an invisible glass, and tossed down its imaginary +contents with an expression of much beatitude. + +"Is he given to--that sort of thing?" + +"Sir," said Mr. Smivvle, "can you blame one who seeks forgetfulness +in the flowing bowl--and my friend Barry has very much to +forget--can you blame him?" + +"No, poor fellow!" + +"Sir, allow me to tell you my friend Barry needs no man's pity, +though I confess I could wish Chichester was not quite so +generous--in one respect." + +"How?" + +"In--ah--in keeping the flowing bowl continually brimming, my dear +fellow." + +"Is Mr. Chichester a friend of his?" + +"The only one, with the exception of yours obediently, who has not +deserted him in his adversity." + +"Why?" + +"Because, well,--between you and me, my dear fellow, I believe his +regard for Barry's half-sister, the Lady Cleone, is largely +accountable in Chichester's case; as for myself, because, as I think +I mentioned, the hand of a Smivvle once given, sir, is never +withdrawn, either on account of plague, poverty, pestilence, or Jews, +--dammem! This way, my dear fellow!" and turning into Cross Street, +up towards Leather Lane, Mr. Smivvle halted at a certain dingy door, +opened it, and showed Barnabas into a dingier hall, and so, leading +the way up the dingiest stairs in the world, eventually ushered him +into a fair-sized, though dingy, room; and being entered, +immediately stood upon tip-toe and laid a finger on his lips. + +"Hush! the poor fellow's asleep, but you'll excuse him, I know." + +Barnabas nodded, and, softly approaching the couch, looked down upon +the sleeper, and, with the look, felt his heart leap. + +A young face he saw, delicately featured, a handsome face with +disdainful lips that yet drooped in pitiful weariness, a face which, +for all its youth, was marred by the indelible traces of fierce, +ungoverned passions. And gazing down upon these features, so +dissimilar in expression, yet so strangely like in their beauty and +lofty pride, Barnabas felt his heart leap,--because of the long +lashes that curled so black against the waxen pallor of the cheek; +for in that moment he almost seemed to be back in the green, morning +freshness of Annersley Wood, and upon his lips there breathed a +name--"Cleone." + +But all at once the sleeper stirred, frowned, and started up with a +bitter imprecation upon his lips that ended in a vacant stare. + +"Why, Barry," cried Mr. Smivvle leaning over him, "my dear boy, did +we disturb you?" + +"Ah, Dig--is that you? Fell asleep--brandy, perhaps, and--ha,--your +pardon, sir!" and Ronald Barrymaine rose, somewhat unsteadily, and, +folding his threadbare dressing-gown about him, bowed, and so stood +facing Barnabas, a little drunk and very stately. + +"This is my friend Beverley, of whom I told you," Mr. Smivvle +hastened to explain. "Mr. Barnabas Beverley,--Mr. Ronald Barrymaine." + +"You are--welcome, sir," said Mr. Barrymaine, speaking with +elaborate care, as if to make quite sure of his utterance. "Pray be +seated, Mr. Bev'ley. We--we are a little crowded I f-fear. Move +those boots off the chair, Dig. Indeed my apartment might be a +little more commodious, but it's all I have at p-present, and by God!" +he cried, suddenly fierce, "I shouldn't have even this but for Dig +here! Dig's the only f-friend I have in the world--except Chichester. +Push the brandy over, Dig. Of course there's--Cleone, but she's only +a sister, after all. Don't know what I should do if it wasn't for +Dig--d-do I, Dig? And Chichester of course. Give Mr. Bev'ley a chair. +Dig. I'll get him--glass!" Hereupon Mr. Smivvle hurried forward with +a chair which, like all the rest of the furniture, had long ago seen +its best days, during which manoeuvre he contrived to whisper +hurriedly: + +"Poor Barry's decidedly 'touched' to-day, a little more so than usual, +but you'll excuse him I know, my dear fellow. Hush!" for Barrymaine, +who had crossed to the other end of the room, now turned and came +towards them, swaying a little, and with a glass in his hand. + +"It's rickety, sir, you'll notice," said he, nodding. "I--I mean +that chair--dev'lish rickety, like everything else 'bout +here--especially myself, eh, Dig? B-but don't be alarmed, it--will +bear you, sir. D-devil of a place to ask--gentleman to sit down in, +--but the Spanswick hasn't been round to clean the place this +week--damn her! S-scarcely blame her, though--never gets +paid--except when Dig remembers it. Don't know what I should do +without D-Dig,--raised twenty pounds yesterday, damme if I know where! +said it was watch--but watch went weeks ago. Couldn't ever pay the +Spanswick. That's the accursed part of it--pay, pay! debt on debt, +and--n-nothing to pay with. All swallowed up by that merciless +bloodsucker--that--" + +"Now, Barry!" Mr. Smivvle expostulated, "my dear boy--" + +"He's a cursed v-vampire, I tell you!" retorted Barrymaine, his pale +cheeks suddenly flushed, and his dark eyes flashing in swift passion, +--"he's a snake." + +"Now, my dear fellow, calm yourself." + +"Calm myself. How can I, when everything I have is his, when +everything I g-get belongs to him before--curse him--even before I +get it! I tell you, Dig, he's--he's draining my life away, drop by +drop! He's g-got me down with his foot on my neck--crushing me into +the mud. I say he's stamping me down into hell--damn him!" + +"Restrain yourself, Barry, my dear boy, remember Mr. Beverley is our +guest--" + +"Restrain myself--yes, Dig, yes. B-beg Mr. Beverley's pardon for me, +Dig. Not myself to-day,--but must restrain myself--certainly. Give +me some more brandy--ha! and pass bottle to Mr. Bev'ley, Dig. No, +sir? Ah well, help yourself, Dig. Must forgive exhibition of feeling, +sir, but I always do get carried away when I remember that inhuman +monster--God's curse on him!" + +"Sir," said Barnabas, "whom do you mean?" + +"Mean? ha! ha! oh damme, hark to that, Dig! Dev'lish witty I call +that--oh c-cursed rich! Whom do I mean? Why," cried Barrymaine, +starting up from the couch, "whom should I mean but Gaunt! Gaunt! +Gaunt!" and he shook his clenched fists passionately in the air. Then, +as suddenly he turned upon Barnabas with a wild, despairing gesture, +and stretching out his arms, pointed to each wrist in turn. +"D'ye see 'em?" he cried, "d'ye hear 'em; jangle? No? Ah, but they +_are_ there! riveted on, never to come off, eating deeper into my +flesh every day! I'm shackled, I tell you,--fettered hand and foot. +Oh! egad, I'm an object lesson!--point a moral and adorn a tale, +--beware of p-prodigality and m-money lenders. Shackled--shackled +hand and foot, and must drag my chain until I f-fall into a debtor's +grave." + +"No!" cried Barnabas, so suddenly that Ronald Barrymaine started, +and thereafter grew very high and haughty. + +"Sir," said he with upflung head, "I don't permit my word to be--to +be--contra--dicted,--never did and never will. Though you see before +you a m-miserable wretch, yet that wretch is still a gentleman at +heart, and that wretch tells you again he's shackled, sir, hand and +foot--yes, damme, and so I am!" + +"Well then," said Barnabas, "why not free yourself?" + +Ronald Barrymaine sank down upon the couch, looked at Barnabas, +looked at Smivvle, drained his glass and shook his head. + +"My dear Dig," said he, "your friend's either mad or drunk--mos' +probably drunk. Yes, that's it,--or else he's smoking me, and I +won't be smoked, no man shall laugh at me now that I'm down. Show +him the door, Dig. I--I won't have my private affairs discussed by +s-strangers, no, by heaven!" + +"Now, Barry," exclaimed Mr. Smivvle, "do be calm, Mr. Beverley only +wants to help you--er--that is, in a friendly way, of course, and I +'m sure--" + +"Damn his help! I'd rather die in the g-gutter than ask help or +charity of any one." + +"Yes, yes--of course, my dear fellow! But you're so touchy, Barry, +so infernally proud, my dear boy. Mr. Beverley merely wishes to--" + +"Be honored with your friendship," said Barnabas with his ingenuous +smile. + +"Why then, Dig," says his youthful Mightiness, beginning to relent, +"pray beg Mr. Bev'ley's pardon for me again, and 'sure him the honor +is mine." + +"And I would have you trust me also," Barnabas pursued. + +"Trust you?" repeated Barrymaine with a sudden laugh. "Gad, yes, +willingly! Only it happens I've n-noth-ing left to trust you with, +--no, not enough to pay the Spanswick." + +"And yet, if you will, you may be free," said Barnabas the persistent. + +"Free! He's at it again, Dig." + +"Believe me it is my earnest desire to help you,--to--" + +"Help me, sir! a stranger! by heaven,--no! A stranger, damme!" + +"Let us say your friend." + +"I tell you, sir," said Barrymaine, starting up unsteadily, +"I seek no man's aid--s-scorn it! I'm not one to weep out my +misfortunes to strangers. Damme, I'm man enough to manage my own +affairs, what's left of 'em. I want nobody's accursed pity +either--pah!" and he made a gesture of repudiation so fierce that he +staggered and recovered himself only by clutching at Mr. Smivvle's +ready arm. "The Past, sir," said he, supporting himself by that +trusty arm, "the Past is done with, and the F-Future I'll face alone, +as I have done all along, eh, Dig?" + +"But surely--" + +"Ay, surely, sir, I'm no object of charity whining for alms, no, by +Gad! I--I'm--Dig, push the brandy!" + +"If you would but listen--" Barnabas began again. + +"Not--not a word. Why should I? Past's dead, and damn the Future. Dig, +pass the brandy." + +"And I tell you," said Barnabas, "that in the future are hope and +the chance of a new life, once you are free of Gaunt." + +"Free of Gaunt! Hark to that, Dig. Must be dev'lish drunk to talk +such cursed f-folly! Why, I tell you again," he cried in rising +passion, "that I couldn't get free of Gaunt's talons even if I had +the money, and mine's all gone long ago, and half Cleone's beside, +--her Guardian's tied up the rest. She can't touch another penny +without his consent, damn him!--so I'm done. The future? In the +future is a debtor's prison that opens for me whenever Jasper Gaunt +says the word. Hope? There can be no hope for me till Jasper Gaunt's +dead and shrieking in hell-fire." + +"But your debts shall be paid,--if you will." + +"Paid? Who--who's to pay 'em?" + +"I will." + +"You!--you?" + +"Yes," nodded Barnabas, "on a condition." + +Ronald Barrymaine sank back upon the couch, staring at Barnabas with +eyes wide and with parted lips; then, leaned suddenly forward, +sobered by surprise. + +"Ah-h!" said he slowly. "I think I begin to understand. You have +seen my--my sister." + +"Yes." + +"Do you know--how much I owe?" + +"No, but I'll pay it,--on a condition." + +"A condition?" For a long moment the passionate dark eyes met and +questioned the steady gray; then Barrymaine's long lashes fluttered +and fell. + +"Of course it would be a loan. I--I'd pay you back," he muttered. + +"At your own convenience." + +"And you would advance the money at once?" + +"On a condition!" + +Once again their eyes met, and once again Barrymaine's dropped; his +fingers clenched and unclenched themselves, he stirred restlessly, +and, finally, spoke. + +"And your condition. Is it--Cleone?" + +"No!" said Barnabas vehemently. + +"Then, what is it?" + +"That from this hour you give up brandy and Mr. Chichester--both +evil things." + +"Well, and what more,--what--for yourself? How can this benefit you? +Come, speak out,--what is your real motive?" + +"The hope that you may, some day, be worthy of your sister's love." + +"Worthy, sir!" exclaimed Barrymaine, flushing angrily. "Poverty is +no crime!" + +"No; but there remain brandy and Mr. Chichester." + +"Ha! would you insult m-my friend?" + +"Impossible. You have no friend, unless it be Mr. Smivvle here." + +"Now by heaven," began Barrymaine passionately, "I tell you--" + +"And I tell you that these are my only conditions," said Barnabas. +"Accept them and you may begin a new life. It is in your power to +become the man you might be, to regain the place in men's esteem +that you have lost, for if you are but sufficiently determined, +nothing is impossible." + +Now as he spoke, Barnabas beheld Barrymaine's drooping head uplifted, +his curving back grew straight, and a new light sprang into his eyes. + +"A new life," he muttered, "to come back to it all, to outface them +all after their cursed sneers and slights! Are you sure you don't +promise too much,--are you sure it's not too late?" + +"Sure and certain!" said Barnabas. "But remember the chance of +salvation rests only with and by yourself, after all," and he +pointed to the half-emptied bottle. "Do you agree to my conditions?" + +"Yes, yes, by God I do!" + +"Then, friend, give me your hand. To-day I go to see Jasper Gaunt." + +So Ronald Barrymaine, standing square upon his feet, gave Barnabas +his hand. But even in that moment Barnabas was conscious that the +door had opened softly behind him, saw the light fade out of +Barrymaine's eyes, felt the hand grow soft and lax, and turning about, +beheld Mr. Chichester smiling at them from the threshold. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + + +IN WHICH RONALD BARRYMAINE MAKES HIS CHOICE + +There was a moment of strained silence, then, as Barnabas sank back +on the rickety chair, Mr. Chichester laughed softly, and stepped +into the room. + +"Salvation, was it, and a new life?" he inquired, "are you the one +to be saved, Ronald, or Smivvle here, or both?" + +Ronald Barrymaine was dumb, his eyes sought the floor, and his pale +cheek became, all at once, suffused with a burning, vivid scarlet. + +"I couldn't help but overhear as I came upstairs," pursued +Mr. Chichester pleasantly, "and devilish dark stairs they are--" + +"Though excellent for eavesdropping, it appears!" added Barnabas. + +"What?" cried Barrymaine, starting up, "listening, were +you--s-spying on me--is that your game, Chichester?" But hereupon +Mr. Smivvle started forward. + +"Now, my dear Barry," he remonstrated, "be calm--" + +"Calm? I tell you nobody's going to spy on me,--no, by heaven! +neither you, nor Chichester, nor the d-devil himself--" + +"Certainly not, my dear fellow," answered Mr. Smivvle, drawing +Barrymaine's clenched fist through his arm and holding it there, +"nobody wants to. And, as for you, Chichester--couldn't come at a +better time--let me introduce our friend Mr. Beverley--" + +"Thank you, Smivvle, but we've met before," said Mr. Chichester dryly, +"last time he posed as Rustic Virtue in homespun, to-day it seems he +is the Good Samaritan in a flowered waistcoat, very anxiously bent +on saving some one or other--conditionally, of course!" + +"And what the devil has it to do with you?" cried Barrymaine +passionately. + +"Nothing, my dear boy, nothing in the world,--except that until +to-day you have been my friend, and have honored me with your +confidence." + +"Yes, by heavens! So I have--utterly--utterly,--and what I haven't +told you--y-you've found out for yourself--though God knows how. +N-not that I've anything to f-fear,--not I!" + +"Of course not," smiled Mr. Chichester, "I am--your friend, Ronald, +--and I think you will always remember that." Mr. Chichester's tone +was soothing, and the pat he bestowed upon Barrymaine's drooping +shoulder was gentle as a caress, yet Barrymaine flinched and drew +away, and the hand he stretched out towards the bottle was trembling +all at once. + +"Yes," Mr. Chichester repeated more softly than before, "yes, I am +your friend, Ronald, you must always remember that, and indeed +I--fancy--you always will." So saying, Mr. Chichester patted the +drooping shoulder again, and turned to lay aside his hat and cane. +Barrymaine was silent, but into his eyes had crept a look--such a +look as Barnabas had never seen--such a look as Barnabas could never +afterwards forget; then Barrymaine stooped to reach for the bottle. + +"Well," said he, without looking up again, "s-suppose you are my +friend,--what then?" + +"Why, then, my dear fellow, hearing you are to be saved--on a +condition--I am, naturally enough, anxious to know what that +condition may be?" + +"Sir," said Barnabas, "let me hasten to set your anxiety at rest. My +condition is merely that Mr. Barrymaine gives up two evil +things--namely, brandy and yourself." + +And now there fell a silence so utter that Barnabas could distinctly +hear the tick of Natty Bell's great watch in his fob; a silence in +which Mr. Smivvle stared with wide-eyed dismay, while Barrymaine sat +motionless with his glass half-way to his lips. Then Mr. Chichester +laughed again, but the scar glowed upon his pallid cheek, and the +lurking demon peeped out of his narrowed eyes. + +"And for this," said he, shaking his head in gentle disbelief, +"for this our young Good Samaritan is positively eager to pay twenty +thousand odd pounds--" + +"As a loan," muttered Barrymaine, "it would be only a loan, and I--I +should be free of Jasper Gaunt f-for good and all, damn him!" + +"Let us rather say you would try a change of masters--" + +"Now--by God--Chichester--!" + +"Ah!--ah, to be sure, Ronald, our young Good Samaritan having +purchased the brother, would naturally expect the sister--" + +"Have a c-care, Chichester, I say!" + +"The sister to be grateful, my dear boy. Pah! don't you see it, +Ronald? a sprat to catch a whale! The brother saved, the sister's +gratitude gained--Oh, most disinterested, young Good Samaritan!" + +"Ha! by heaven, I never thought of that!" cried Barrymaine, turning +upon Barnabas, "is it Cleone--is it? is it?" + +"No," said Barnabas, folding his arms--a little ostentatiously, +"I seek only to be your friend in this." + +"Friend!" exclaimed Mr. Chichester, laughing again, "friend, Ronald? +Nay, let us rather say your guardian angel in cords and Hessians." + +"Since you condescend to mention my boots, sir," said Barnabas +growing polite, "may I humbly beg you to notice that, in spite of +their polish and tassels, they are as strong, as serviceable for +kicking purposes as those I wore when we last--sat at table together." + +Mr. Chichester's iron self-control wavered for a moment, his brows +twitched together, and he turned upon Barnabas with threatening +gesture but, reading the purpose in the calm eye and smiling lip of +Barnabas, he restrained himself; yet seeming aware of the glowing +mark upon his cheek, he turned suddenly and, coming to the dingy +casement, stood with his back to the room, staring down into the +dingy street. Then Barnabas leaned forward and laid his hand upon +Barrymaine's, and it so happened it was the hand that yet held the +slopping wineglass. + +"Think--think!" said Barnabas earnestly, "once you are free of Gaunt, +life will begin afresh for you, you can hold up your head again--" + +"Though never in London, Ronald, I fear," added Mr. Chichester over +his shoulder. + +"Once free of Gaunt, you may attain to higher things than you ever +did," said Barnabas. + +"Unless the dead past should happen to come to life again, and find +a voice some day," added Mr. Chichester over his shoulder. + +"No, no!" said Barnabas, feeling the quiver of the fingers within +his own, "I tell you it would mean a new beginning--a new life--a +new ending for you--" + +"And for Cleone!" added Mr. Chichester over his shoulder, "our young, +disinterested Good Samaritan knows she is too proud to permit a +stranger to shoulder her brother's responsibilities--" + +"Proud, eh?" cried Barrymaine, leaping up in sudden boyish passion, +"well, am I not proud? Did you ever know me anything else--did you?" + +"Never, my dear Ronald," cried Mr. Chichester, turning at last. +"You are unfortunate, but you have always met disaster--so far, +with the fortitude of a gentleman, scorning your detractors +and--abominating charity." + +"C-charity! damn you, Chichester, d' ye think I-I'd accept any man's +c-charity? D' you think I'd ever drag Cleone to that depth--do you?" + +"Never, Barrymaine, never, I swear." + +"Why then--leave me alone, I can m-manage my own affairs--" +"Perfectly, my dear fellow, I am sure of it." + +"Then sir," said Barnabas, rising, "seeing it really is no concern +of yours, after all, suppose you cease to trouble yourself any +further in the matter, and allow Mr. Barrymaine to choose for +himself--" + +"I--I have decided!" cried Barrymaine, "and I tell you--" + +"Wait!" said Barnabas. + +"Speak!" said Mr. Chichester. + +"Wait!" repeated Barnabas, "Mr. Chichester is--going, I think. Let +us wait until we are alone." Then, bowing to Mr. Chichester, +Barnabas opened the door wide. "Sir," said he, "may I venture to +suggest that your presence is--not at all necessary?" + +"Ah!" said Mr. Chichester, "you will certainly compel me to kill you, +some day." + +"'Sufficient unto the day,' sir!" Barnabas retorted; "in the +meantime I shall most certainly give myself the pleasure of kicking +you downstairs unless you choose to walk--at once." + +As he spoke, Barnabas took a stride towards Mr. Chichester's rigid +figure, but, in that moment, Barrymaine snatched up the bottle and +sprang between them. + +"Ah!--would you?" he cried, "who are you to order my f-friends +about--and in m-my own place too! Ha! did you think you could buy me, +d-did you? Did you think I--I'd sacrifice my sister--did you? Ha! +drunk, am I? Well, I'm sober enough to--to 'venge my honor and hers; +by God I'll kill you! Ah--let go, Dig! Let go, I say! Didn't you hear? +Tempt me with his cursed money, will he! Oh, let go my arm! Damn him, +I say--I'll kill him!" + +But, as he struck, Mr. Smivvle caught his wrist, the bottle crashed +splintering to the floor, and they were locked in a fierce grapple. + +"Beverley--my dear fellow--go!" panted Mr. Smivvle, "must +forgive--poor Barry--not himself. Go--go,--I can--manage him. Now +Barry, do be calm! Go, my dear fellow--leave him to me--go!" So, +perforce, Barnabas turned away and went down the dingy stairs, and +in his ears was the echo of the boy's drunken ravings and Mr. +Chichester's soft laughter. + +And presently, being come into the dingy street, Barnabas paused to +look up at the dingy house, and looking, sighed. + +"She said it would be 'difficult, and dangerous, perhaps,'" said he +to himself, "and indeed I think she was right." + +Then he turned and went upon his way, heavy-footed and chin on breast. +On he went, plunged in gloomy abstraction, turning corners at random, +lost to all but the problem he had set himself, which was this: + +How he might save Ronald Barrymaine in spite of Ronald Barrymaine. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + + +WHICH DESCRIBES SOME OF THE EVILS OF VINDICTIVENESS + +Barnabas stumbled suddenly, dropped his cane, saw his hat spin +through the air and roll on before him; staggered sideways, was +brought up by a wall, and turning, found three men about him, +--evil-faced men whose every move and look held a menace. A darting +hand snatched at his fob-seals, but Barnabas smote, swift and hard, +and the three were reduced, for the moment, to two. Thus with his +back to the wall stood Barnabas, fists clenched, grim of mouth, and +with eyes quick and bright; wherefore, beholding him in this posture, +his assailants hesitated. But the diamonds sparkled at them from his +cravat, the bunch of seals gleamed at them from his fob, and the +fallen man having risen, albeit unsteadily, they began to close in +upon him. Then, all at once, even as he poised himself to meet their +rush, a distant voice uttered a sharp, warning cry, whereat the three, +spattering curses, incontinent took to their heels, and were gone +with a thud of flying feet. + +For a moment Barnabas stood dazed by the suddenness of it all, then, +stooping to recover hat and cane, glanced about, and saw that he was +in a dirty, narrow street, or rather alley. Now up this alley a man +was approaching, very deliberately, for as he came, he appeared to +be perusing a small book. He was a short, broad-shouldered man, a +mild-faced man of a sober habit of dress, with a broad-brimmed hat +upon his head--a hat higher in the crown than was the custom, and a +remarkably nobbly stick beneath his arm; otherwise, and in all +respects, he was a very ordinary-looking man indeed, and as he walked, +book in hand, might have been some small tradesman busily casting up +his profit and loss, albeit he had a bright and roving eye. + +Being come up with Barnabas, he stopped, closed his book upon his +finger, touched the broad rim of his hat, and looked at Barnabas, or +to be exact, at the third left-hand button of his coat. + +"Anything stole, sir?" he inquired hopefully. + +"No," answered Barnabas, "no, I think not." + +"Ah, then you won't be vantin' to mek a charge ag'in 'em, sir?" + +"No,--besides, they've escaped." + +"Escaped, Lord no, sir, they've only run avay, I can allus put my +'ooks on 'em,--I spotted 'em, d'ye see. And I know 'em, Lord love you! +--like a feyther! They vas Bunty Fagan, Dancin' James, and Vistlin' +Dick, two buzmen an' a prig." + +"What do you mean?" inquired Barnabas, beginning to eye the man +askance for all his obtrusive mildness. + +"I means two pickpockets and a thief, sir. It vas Vistlin' Dick as +you give such a 'leveller' to,--a rare pretty knock-down I vill say, +sir,--never saw a cleaner--Oh! they're a bad lot, they are, +'specially Vistlin' Dick, an' it's lucky for you as I 'appened to +come this vay." + +"Why, do you mean to say," said Barnabas, staring at the mild-faced +man, "do you want me to believe that it was the sight of you that +sent them running?" + +"Vell, there veren't nobody else to, as I could see, sir," said the +man, with a gentle smile and shake of the head. "Volks ain't partial +to me in these yere parts, and as to them three, they're a bad lot, +they are, but Vistlin' Dick's the vorst--mark my vords, 'e'll come to +be topped yet." + +"What do you mean by 'topped'?" + +"V'y, I means scragged, sir," answered the man, his roving eye +glancing continually up and down the alley, + +"I means 'anged, sir,--Lord love you, it's in 'is face--never see a +more promising mug, consequent, I 've got Vistlin' Dick down in my +little book 'ere, along vith a lot of other promising vuns." + +"But why in your book?" + +"Veil, d' ye see, I keeps a record of all the likely coves, Capital +Coves as you might call 'em--" Here the mild man jerked his head +convulsively to one side, rolled up his eyes, and protruded his +tongue, all in hideous pantomime, and was immediately his placid +self again. + +"Ah! you mean--hanged?" said Barnabas. + +"As ever vas, sir, capital punishment. And I goes round reg'lar jest +to keep an eye on my capital coves. Lord! I vatches over 'em +all--like a feyther. Theer's some volks as collects books, an' some +volks as collects picters an' old coins, but I collects capital +coves,--names and faces. The faces I keeps 'ere," and he tapped his +placid forehead, "the names I keeps 'ere," and he tapped the little +book. "It's my trade d' ye see, and though there's better trades, +still there's trades as is vorse, an' that's summat, ain't it?" + +"And what might your trade be?" inquired Barnabas, as they walked on +together along the narrow alley. + +"Veil, sir, I'm vot they calls a bashaw of the pigs--but I'm more +than that." + +"Pray," said Barnabas, "what do you mean?" For answer the man smiled, +and half drew from his pocket a short staff surmounted by a crown. + +"Ah!" said Barnabas, "a Bow Street Runner?" + +"And my name is Shrig, sir, Jasper Shrig. You'll have heard it afore, +o'course." + +"No!" said Barnabas. Mr. Shrig seemed placidly surprised, and vented +a gentle sigh. + +"It's pretty vell known, in London, sir, though it ain't a pretty +name, I'll allow. Ye-es, I've 'eard prettier, but then it's better +than a good many, and that's sum-mat, ain't it? And then, as I said +afore, it's pretty vell known." + +"How so?" + +"Vell, sir, there be some as 'as a leanin' to one branch o' the +profession, and some to another,--now mine's murders." + +"Murders?" said Barnabas, staring. + +"Vith a werry big M., sir. V'y, Lord love you, there's been more +murderers took and topped through me than any o' the other traps in +London, it's a nat'ral gift vith me. Ye see, I collects 'em--afore +the fact, as ye might say. I can smell 'em out, feel 'em out, taste +'em out, it's jest a nat'ral gift." + +"But--how? What do you mean?" + +"I means as I'll be valking along a street, say, looking at every +face as I pass. Vell, all at once I'll spot a cove or covess vith +vot I calls a capital mug, I'll follow that cove or covess, and by +'ook or by crook I'll find out that there cove or covess's name, +and--down it goes in my little book, d' ye see?" and he tapped the +little book. + +"But surely," said Barnabas, "surely they don't all prove to be +murderers?" + +"Vell no, sir--that's hardly to be expected,--ye see, some on 'em +wanishes away, an' some goes an' dies, but they mostly turns out +true capitals--if I only vaits for 'em long enough, and--up they goes." + +"And are you always on the lookout for such faces?" + +"Yes, sir,--v'en I ain't busy on some case. A man must 'ave some +little relaxation, and that's mine. Lord love you, sir, scarcely a +day goes by that I don't spot one or two. I calls 'em my children, +an' a werry large, an' a werry mixed lot they are too! Rich an' poor, +men an' women,--rolling in their coaches an' crawling along the +kennel. Aha! if you could look into my little reader an' see the +names o' some o' my most promisin' children they'd as-tonish you. +I've been to 'ave a look at a couple of 'em this mornin'. Aha! it +would a-maze you if you could look into my little reader." + +"I should like to," said Barnabas, eyeing the small, shabby book +with a new interest. But Mr. Shrig only blinked his wide, innocent +eyes, and slipping the book into his pocket, led the way round a +sudden corner into another alley narrower than the last, and, if +possible, dirtier. + +"Where are we going?" Barnabas demanded, for Mr. Shrig, though +always placid, had suddenly taken on an air that was almost alert, +his bright, roving eye wandered more than ever, and he appeared to +be hearkening to distant sounds. "Where are we going?" repeated +Barnabas. + +"Gray's Inn is 'andiest, sir, and I must ask you to step out a bit, +they're a rough crowd as lives 'ereabouts,--scamps an' hunters, +didlers an' cly-fakers, so I must ask you to step out a bit, this is +a bad country for me." + +"Bad for you? Why?" + +"On account o' windictiveness, sir!" + +"Of what?" + +"Windictiveness, sir--windictiveness in every shape an' form, but +brick-ends mostly--vith a occasional chimbley-pot." + +"I'm afraid I don't understand," Barnabas began. + +"Veil then," explained Mr. Shrig as they strode along, "I vere the +means o' four coves bein' topped d' ye see, 'ighvay robbery vith +wiolence,--'bout a month ago, used to live round 'ere, they did, an' +their famblies an' friends is windictive against me accordingly, an' +werry nat'ral too, for 'uman natur' is only 'uman natur', ain't it? +Werry good then. Now their windictiveness,--or as you might say, +'uman natur',--generally takes the shape of chimbley-pots and +brick-ends, though I 'ave met windictiveness in the form o' b'iling +vater and flat-irons, not to mention saucepans an' sich, afore now, +and vunce a arm-cheer, all of vich is apt to vorry you a bit until +you gets used to it. Then there's knives--knives is allus awk'ard, +and bludgeons ain't to be sneezed at, neither. But, Lord! every +perfession and trade 'as its drawbacks, an' there's a sight o' +comfort in that, ain't there?" + +All this time the eyes of Mr. Shrig were roving here, wandering there, +now apparently glancing up at the strip of sky between the dingy +house tops, now down at the cobbles beneath their feet; also +Barnabas noticed that his step, all at once, grew slower and more +deliberate, as one who hesitates, uncertain as to whether he shall +go on, or turn back. It was after one of those swift, upward glances, +that Mr. Shrig stopped all at once, seized Barnabas by the middle +and dragged him into an adjacent doorway, as something crashed down +and splintered within a yard of them. + +"What now--what is it?" cried Barnabas. + +"Win-dictiveness!" sighed Mr. Shrig, shaking his head at the missile, +"a piece o' coping-stone, thirty pound if a ounce--Lord! Keep flat +agin the door sir, same as me, they may try another--I don't think +so--still they may, so keep close ag'in the door. A partic'lar narrer +shave I calls it!" nodded Mr. Shrig; "shook ye a bit sir?" + +"Yes," said Barnabas, wiping his brow. + +"Ah well, it shook me--and I'm used to windictiveness. A brick now," +he mused, his eyes wandering again, "a brick I could ha' took kinder, +bricks an' sich I'm prepared for, but coping-stones--Lord love me!" + +"But a brick would have killed you just the same--" + +"Killed me? A brick? Oh no, sir!" + +"But, if it had hit you on the head--" + +"On the 'at sir, the 'at--or as you might say--the castor--this, sir," +said Mr. Shrig; and glancing furtively up and down the gloomy alley +he took off the broad-brimmed hat; "just run your ogles over this +'ere castor o' mine, an' you'll understand, perhaps." + +"It's very heavy," said Barnabas, as he took the hat. + +"Ah, it is a bit 'eavyish, sir. Peep inside of it." + +"Why," exclaimed Barnabas, "it's lined with--" + +"Iron, sir. My own inwention ag'in windictiveness in the shape o' +bricks an' bludgeons, an' werry useful an comfortin' I've found it. +But if they're going to begin on me vith coping-stones,--v'y Lord!" +And Mr. Shrig sighed his gentle sigh, and rubbed his placid brow, and +once more covered it with the "inwention." + +"And now sir, you've got a pair o' good, long legs--can ye use 'em?" + +"Use them,--yes. Why?" + +"Because it's about time as we cut our stick an' run for it." + +"What are we to run for?" + +"Because they're arter me,--nine on 'em,--consequent they're arter +you too, d' ye see. There's four on 'em be'ind us, an' five on 'em +in front. You can't see 'em because they're layin' low. And they're +bad uns all, an' they means business." + +"What--a fight?" + +"As ever vas, sir. I've 'ad my eye on 'em some time. That 'ere +coping-stone vas the signal." + +"Ha!" said Barnabas, buttoning up his coat. + +"Now, are ye ready, sir?" + +"Quite!" + +"Then keep close be'ind me--go!" With the word Mr. Shrig began to run, +always keeping close beside the wall; indeed he ran so fast and was +so very nimble that Barnabas had some ado to keep up with him. They +had gone but a little distance when five rough looking fellows +started into view further up the alley, completely blocking their +advance, and by the clatter of feet behind, Barnabas knew that their +retreat was cut off, and instinctively he set his teeth, and gripped +his cane more firmly. But on ran Mr. Shrig, keeping close beside the +wall, head low, shoulders back, elbows well in, for all the world as +if he intended to hurl himself upon his assailants in some desperate +hope of breaking through them; but all at once, like a rabbit into +his burrow, he turned short off in mid career, and vanished down a +dark and very narrow entry or passage, and, as Barnabas followed, he +heard, above the vicious thud of footsteps, hoarse cries of anger +and disappointment. Half-way down the passage Mr. Shrig halted +abruptly and turned, as the first of their pursuers appeared. + +"This'll do!" he panted, swinging the nobbly stick in his hand, +"can't come on more nor two at vunce. Be ready vith your stick--at +their eyes--poke at 'em--no 'itting--" the rest was drowned in the +echoing rush of heavy feet and the boom of hoarse voices. But now, +seeing their quarry stand on the defensive, the pursuers checked +their advance, their cries sank to growling murmurs, till, with a +fierce shout, one of their number rushed forward brandishing a heavy +stick, whereupon the others followed, and there, in the echoing +dimness, the battle was joined, and waxed furious and grim. + +Almost at the first onset the slender cane Barnabas wielded broke +short off, and he was borne staggering back, the centre of a panting, +close-locked, desperate fray. But in that narrow space his +assailants were hampered by their very numbers, and here was small +room for bludgeon-play,--and Barnabas had his fists. + +There came a moment of thudding blows, trampling feet, oaths, cries, +--and Barnabas was free, staring dazedly at his broken knuckles. He +heard a sudden shout, a vicious roar, and the Bow Street Runner, +dropping the nobbly stick, tottered weakly and fell,--strove to rise, +was smitten down again, and, in that moment, Barnabas was astride him; +felt the shock of stinging blows, and laughing fierce and short, +leapt in under the blows, every nerve and muscle braced and quivering; +saw a scowling face,--smote it away; caught a bony wrist, wrenched +the bludgeon from the griping fingers, struck and parried and struck +again with untiring arm, felt the press thin out before him as his +assailants gave back, and so, stood panting. + +"Run! Run!" whispered Mr. Shrig's voice behind him. "Ve can do it now, +--run!" + +"No!" panted Barnabas, wiping the blood from his cheek. "Run!" +cried Mr. Shrig again, "there's a place I knows on close by--ve can +reach it in a jiff--this vay,--run!" + +"No!" + +"Not run? then v'ot vill ye do?" + +"Make them!" + +"Are ye mad? Ha!--look out!" Once more the echoing passage roared +with the din of conflict, as their assailants rushed again, were +checked, smote and were smitten, and fell back howling before the +thrust of the nobbly stick and the swing of the heavy bludgeon. + +"Now vill ye run?" panted Mr. Shrig, straightening the broad-brimmed +hat. + +"No!" + +"V'y then, I vill!" which Mr. Shrig immediately proceeded to do. + +But the scowl of Barnabas grew only the blacker, his lips but curled +the fiercer, and his fingers tightened their grip upon the bludgeon +as, alone now, he fronted those who remained of the nine. + +Now chancing to glance towards a certain spot, he espied something +that lay in the angle of the wall, and, instinctively stooping, he +picked up Mr. Shrig's little book, slipped it into his pocket, felt +a stunning blow, and reeled back, suddenly faint and sick. And now a +mist seemed to envelop him, but in the mist were faces above, below, +around him, faces to be struck at. But his blows grew weak and ever +weaker, the cudgel was torn from his lax grip, he staggered back on +stumbling feet knowing he could fight no more, and felt himself +caught by a mighty arm, saw a face near by, comely and dimpled of +chin, blue-eyed, and with whiskers trimmed into precise little tufts +on either cheek. Thereafter he was aware of faint cries and shouts, +of a rushing patter like rain among leaves, and of a voice speaking +in his ear. + +"Right about face,--march! Easy does it! mind me 'ook, sir, the +p'int's oncommon sharp like. By your left--wheel! Now two steps up, +sir--that's it! Now three steps down, easy does it! and 'ere we are. +A cheer, sir, now water and a sponge!" + +Here Barnabas, sinking back in the chair, leaned his head against +the wall behind him, and the mist grew more dense, obliterating all +things. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + + +OF CORPORAL RICHARD ROE, LATE OF THE GRENADIERS; AND FURTHER +CONCERNING MR. SHRIG'S LITTLE READER + +A small, dim chamber, with many glasses and bottles arrayed very +precisely on numerous shelves; a very tall, broad-shouldered man who +smiled down from the rafters while he pulled at a very precise +whisker with his right hand, for his left had been replaced by a +shining steel hook; and Mr. Shrig who shook his placid head as he +leaned upon a long musket whose bayonet twinkled wickedly in the dim +light; all this Barnabas saw as, sighing, he opened his eyes. + +"'E's all right now!" nodded the smiling giant. + +"Ha!" exclaimed Mr. Shrig, "but vith a lump on 'is 'ead like a negg. +'Run!' I sez. 'No!' sez 'e,--and 'ere's me vith vun eye a-going into +mourning, and 'im vith a lump on 'is nob like a noo-laid egg!" + +"'E's game though, Jarsper," said the benevolent giant. + +"Game! I believe you, Corp!" nodded Mr. Shrig. "Run!' I sez. 'No!' +sez 'e. 'Then v'ot vill you do?' sez I. 'Make them!' sez 'e. Game? +Lord love me, I should say so!" Here, seeing Barnabas sit upright, +Mr. Shrig laid by the musket and came towards him with his hand out. + +"Sir," said he, "when them raskels got me down they meant to do for +me; ah! they'd ha' given me my quietus for good an' all if you +'adn't stood 'em off. Sir, if it ain't too much, I should like to +shake your daddle for that!" + +"But you saved my life twice," said Barnabas, clasping the proffered +hand. + +"V'y the coping-stone I'll not go for to deny, sir," said Mr. Shrig, +stroking his smooth brow, "but t'other time it were my friend and +pal the Corp 'ere,--Corporal Richard Roe, late Grenadiers. 'E's only +got an 'ook for an 'and, but vith that 'ook 'e's oncommonly 'andy, +and as a veapon it ain't by no means to be sneezed at. No, 'e ain't +none the worse for that 'ook, though they thought so in the army, +and it vere 'im as brought you off v'ile I vos a-chasing of the +enemy vith 'is gun, yonder." + +"Why, then I should like to thank Corporal Richard Roe," said +Barnabas,--(here the Corporal tugged at his precise and carefully +trimmed whisker again), "and to shake his hand as well." Here the +giant blushed and extended a huge fist. + +"Honored, sir," said he, clicking his heels together. + +"And now," said Mr. Shrig, "ve're all a-going to drink--at my +expense." + +"No, at mine," said Barnabas. + +"Sir," said Mr. Shrig, round and placid of eye, "ven I says a thing +I means it. Consequent you are now a-going to sluice your ivory vith +a glass of the Vun an' Only, at my expense,--you must and you shall." + +"Yes," said Barnabas, feeling in his pockets. "I must, my purse is +gone." + +"Purse!" exclaimed Mr. Shrig, his innocent eyes rounder than ever, +"gone, sir?" + +"Stolen," nodded Barnabas. + +"Think o' that now!" sighed Mr. Shrig, "but I ain't surprised, no, I +ain't surprised, and--by Goles!" + +"What now?" + +"Your cravat-sparkler!--that's wanished too!" Barnabas felt his +rumpled cravat, and nodded. "And your vatch, now--don't tell me as +they 've took--" + +"Yes, my watch also," sighed Barnabas. + +"A great pity!" said Mr. Shrig, "though it ain't to be vondered +at,--not a bit." + +"I valued the watch greatly, because it was given me by a very good +friend," said Barnabas, sighing again. + +"Walleyed it, hey?" exclaimed Mr. Shrig, "walleyed it, sir?--v'y then, +'ere it be!" and from a capacious side-pocket he produced Natty +Bell's great watch, seals and all. + +"Why--!" exclaimed Barnabas, staring. + +"Also your purse, sir,--not forgetting the sparkler." Mr. Shrig +continued, producing each article in turn. + +"But--how in the world--?" began Barnabas. + +"I took 'em from you v'ile you vos a-lookin' at my castor. Lord love +me, a babe could ha' done it,--let alone a old 'and, like me!" + +"Do you mean--?" began Barnabas, and hesitated. + +"In my young days, sir," explained Mr. Shrig with his placid smile, +"I vere a champion buzman, ah! and a prime rook at queering the gulls, +too, but I ewentually turned honest all along of a flash, morning-sneak +covess as got 'erself conwerted." + +"What do you mean by a morning-sneak covess?" + +"I means a area-sneak, sir, as vorks werry early in the morning. A +fine 'andsome gal she vere, and vith nothing of the flash mollisher +about 'er, either, though born on the streets, as ye might say, same +as me. Vell, she gets con-werted, and she's alvays napping 'er bib +over me,--as you'd say, piping 'er eye, d'ye see? vanting me to turn +honest and be con-werted too. 'Turn honest,' says she, 'and ve'll be +married ter-morrow,' says she." + +"So you turned honest and married her?" said Barnabas, as Mr. Shrig +paused. + +"No, sir, I turned honest and she married a coal-v'ipper, v'ich, +though it did come a bit 'ard on me at first, vos all for the best +in the end, for she deweloped a chaffer,--as you might say, a tongue, +d' ye see, sir, and I'm vun as is fond of a quiet life, v'en I can +get it. Howsomever, I turned honest, and come werry near starving +for the first year, but I kept honest, and I ain't never repented +it--so fur. So, as for the prigs, and scamps, and buzmen, and flash +leary coves, I'm up to all their dodges, 'aving been one of them, +d'ye see. And now," said Mr. Shrig, as the big Corporal having +selected divers bottles from his precise array, took himself off to +concoct a jorum of the One and Only--"now sir, what do you think o' +my pal Corporal Dick?" + +"A splendid fellow!" said Barnabas. + +"'E is that, sir,--so 'e is,--a giant, eh sir?" + +"A giant, yes, and handsome too!" said Barnabas. + +"V'y you're a sizable cove yourself, sir," nodded Mr. Shrig, +"but you ain't much alongside my pal the Corp, are you? I'm +nat'rally proud of 'im, d'ye see, for 't were me as saved 'im." + +"Saved him from what? How?" + +"Me being only a smallish chap myself, I've allus 'ad a 'ankering +arter sizable coves. But I never seen a finer figger of a man than +Corporal Dick--height, six foot six and a quarter, chest, +fifty-eight and a narf, and sir--'e were a-going to drownd it all in +the River, all along o' losing his 'and and being drove out o' the +army, v'ich vould ha' been a great vaste of good material, as ye +might say, seeing as there's so much of 'im. It vas a dark night, +the night I found 'im, vith vind and rain, and there vos me and 'im +a-grappling on the edge of a vharf--leastvays I vere a-holding onto +'is leg, d'ye see--ah, and a mortal 'ard struggle it vere too, and +in the end I didn't save 'im arter all." + +"What do you mean?" + +"I mean as it vere 'im as saved me, for v'ot vith the vind, and the +rain, and the dark, ve lost our footing and over ve vent into the +River together--down and down till I thought as ve should never come +up again, but ve did, o' course, and then, jest as 'ard as 'e'd +struggled to throw 'imself in, 'e fought to get me out, so it vere +'im as really saved me, d'ye see?" + +"No," said Barnabas, "it was you who really saved him." + +"V'y, I'm as glad as you think so, sir, only d'ye see, I can't svim, +and it vos 'im as pulled me out. And it all come along of 'im losing +'is 'and--come nigh to breaking 'is 'eart to be discharged, it did." + +"Poor fellow!" said Barnabas, "and how did he lose his hand?" + +"V'y, I could tell you, or you could read of it in the Gazette--jest +three or four lines o' printing--and they've spelt 'is name wrong at +that, curse 'em! But Corporal Dick can tell you best. Let 'im. 'Ere +'e comes, vith a steaming brew o' the Vun and Only." + +And indeed, at this moment the Corporal re-entered, bearing a jug +that gave forth a most enticing and delicious aroma, and upon which +Mr. Shrig cast amorous glances, what time he reached three glasses +from the marshalled array on the shelves. + +And now, sitting at the small table that stood in a snug corner +beside the chimney, Mr. Shrig, having filled the three glasses with +all due care, tendered one to Barnabas with the words: + +"Jest give that a snuff with your sneezer, sir,--there's perfume, +there's fray-grance for ye! There ain't a man in London as can brew +a glass o' rum-punch like the Corp,--though 'e 'as only got vun 'and. +And now, Corporal Dick, afore ve begin, three steamers." + +"Ay, for sure, Jarsper!" said the Corporal; and opening a small +corner cupboard he took thence three new pipes and a paper of tobacco. + +"Will you smoke, sir?" he inquired diffidently of Barnabas. + +"Thank you, yes, Corporal," said Barnabas, and taking the proffered +pipe he filled and lighted it. + +Now when the pipes were in full blast, when the One and Only had +been tasted, and pronounced by Mr. Shrig to be "up to the mark," he +nodded to Corporal Dick with the words: + +"Tell our young gent 'ow you lost your 'and, Corp." + +But hereupon the Corporal frowned, shuffled his feet, stroked his +trim whiskers with his hook, and finally addressed Barnabas. + +"I aren't much of a talker, sir,--and it aren't much of a story, but +if you so wish--" + +"I do so wish," said Barnabas heartily. + +"Why, very good, sir!" Saying which the Corporal sat up, squared his +mighty shoulders, coughed, and began: + +"It was when they Cuirassiers broke our square at Quatre-bras, +sir,--fine fellows those Cuirassiers! They rode into us, through us, +over us,--the square was tottering, and it was 'the colors--rally!' +Ah, sir! the colors means the life or death of a square at such times. +And just then, when horses was a-trampling us and the air full o' +the flash o' French steel, just then I see our colors dip and sway, +and down they went. But still it's 'the colors--rally!' and there's +no colors to rally to; and all the time the square is being cut to +pieces. But I, being nearest, caught up the colors in this here left +hand," here the Corporal raised his gleaming hook, "but a Cuirassier, +'e caught them too, and there's him at one end o' the staff and me +at t'other, pulling and hauling, and then--all at once he'd got 'em. +And because why? Because I hadn't got no left 'and to 'old with. But +I'd got my right, and in my right was 'Brown Bess' there," and the +Corporal pointed to the long musket in the corner. "My bayonet was +gone, and there weren't no time to reload, so--I used the butt. Then +I picked up the colors again and 'eld 'em high over my head, for the +smoke were pretty thick, and, 'To the colors,' I shouted,' Rally, +lads, rally!' And oh, by the Lord, sir,--to hear our lads cheer! And +so the square formed up again--what was left of it--formed up close +and true round me and the colors, and the last thing I mind was the +cheering. Ah! they was fine fellows, they Cuirassiers!" + +"So that vere the end o' the Corp's soldiering!" nodded Mr. Shrig. + +"Yes," sighed the Corporal, "a one-handed soldier ain't much good, +ye see, sir." + +"So they--throwed 'im out!" snarled Mr. Shrig. + +"Now Jarsper," smiled the giant, shaking his head. "Why so 'ard + on the sarvice? They give me m' stripe." + +"And your dis-charge!" added Mr. Shrig. + +"And a--pension," said the soldier. + +"Pension," sniffed Mr. Shrig, "a fine, large vord, Dick, as means +werry little to you!" + +"And they mentioned me in the Gazette, Jarsper," said the Corporal +looking very sheepish, and stroking his whisker again with his hook. + +"And a lot o' good that done you, didn't it? Your 'eart vos broke +the night I found you--down by the River." + +"Why, I did feel as I weren't much good, Jarsper, I'll admit. You see, +I 'adn't my hook then, sir. But I think I'd ha' give my other +'and--ah! that I would--to ha' been allowed to march on wi' the +rest o' the lads to Waterloo." + +"So you vos a-going to throw yerself into the River!" + +"I were, Jarsper, should ha' done it but for you, comrade." + +"But you didn't do it, so later on ve took this 'ere place." + +"You did, Jarsper--" + +"Ve took it together, Dick. And werry vell you're a-doing vith it, +for both of us." + +"I do my best, Jarsper." + +"V'ich couldn't be bettered, Dick. Then look how you 'elp me vith my +cases." + +"Do I, Jarsper?" said the Corporal, his blue eyes shining. + +"That you do, Dick. And now I've got another case as I'm a-vaiting +for,--a extra-special Capital case it is too!" + +"Another murder, Jarsper?" + +"Ah, a murder, Dick,--a murder as ain't been committed yet, a murder +as I'm expecting to come off in--say a month, from information +received this 'ere werry arternoon. A murder, Dick, as is going to +be done by a capital cove as I spotted over a month ago. Now v'ot I +'m going to tell you is betwixt us--private and confidential and--" +But here Barnabas pushed back his chair. + +"Then perhaps I had better be going?" said he. + +"Going, sir? and for v'y?" + +"That you may be more private, and talk more freely." + +"Sir," said Mr. Shrig. "I knows v'en to speak and v'en not. My eyes +tells me who I can trust and who not. And, sir, I've took to you, +and so's the Corp,--ain't you, Dick?" + +"Yes, sir," said the giant diffidently. + +"Sir," pursued Mr. Shrig, "you're a Nob, I know, a Corinthian by +your looks, a Buck, sir, a Dash, a 'eavy Toddler, but also, I takes +the liberty o' telling you as you're only a man, arter all, like the +rest on us, and it's that man as I'm a-talking to. Now v'en a man +'as stood up for me, shed 'is good blood for me, I makes that man my +pal, and my pal I allus trusts." + +"And you shall find me worthy of your confidence," said Barnabas, +"and there's my hand on it, though, indeed, you hardly know +me--really." + +"More than you think, sir. Besides, it ain't v'ot a cove tells me +about 'imself as matters, nor v'ot other coves tell me about a cove, +as matters, it's v'ot a cove carries in 'is face as I goes by,--the +cock of 'is eye, an' all the rest of it. And then, I knows as your +name's Barnabas Barty--" + +"Barty!--you know that?" exclaimed Barnabas, starting,--"how--how in +the world did you find out?" + +"Took the liberty to look at your vatch, sir." + +"Watch!" said Barnabas, drawing it from his fob, "what do you mean?" + +"Give it 'ere, and I'll show ye, sir." So saying, Mr. Shrig took the +great timepiece and, opening the back, handed it to Barnabas. And +there, in the cavity between the two cases was a very small folded +paper, and upon this paper, in Natty Bell's handwriting, these words: + + "To my dear lad Barnabas Barty, hoping that he may prove + as fine a gentleman as he is--a man." + +Having read this, Barnabas folded the paper very gently, and putting +it back, closed the watch, and slipped it into his fob. + +"And now," said Mr. Shrig, exhaling a vast cloud of smoke, "afore I +go on to tell you about this 'ere murder as I'm a-vaiting for, I +must show ye my little reader." Here Mr. Shrig thrust a hand into +his pocket,--then his pipe shivered to fragments on the stone floor +and he started up, mouth agape and eyes staring. + +"Lord, Jarsper!" cried the Corporal, "what is it, comrade?" + +"It's gone, Dick!" he gasped, "my little reader's been stole." + +But now, even as he turned towards the door, Barnabas laid a +detaining hand upon his arm. + +"Not stolen--lost!" said he, "and indeed, I'm not at all surprised!" +Here Barnabas smiled his quick, bright smile. + +"Sir--sir?" stammered Mr. Shrig, "oh, Pal, d'ye mean--?" + +"That I found it, yes," said Barnabas, "and here it is." + +Mr. Shrig took his little book, opened it, closed it, thrust it into +his pocket, and took it out again. + +"Sir," said he, catching Barnabas by the hand, "this here little +book is more to me nor gold or rubies. Sir, you are my pal,--and +consequent the Corp's also, and this 'ere chaffing-crib is allus +open to you. And if ever you want a man at your back--I'm your man, +and v'en not me--there's my pal Dick, ain't there, Di--" + +Mr. Shrig stopped suddenly and stood with his head to one side as +one that listens. And thus, upon the stillness came the sound of one +who strode along the narrow passage-way outside, whistling as he went. + +"'Sally in our Alley,' I think?" said Mr. Shrig. + +"Yes," said Barnabas, wondering. + +"V'ich means as I'm vanted, ah!--and vanted precious qvick too," +saying which, Mr. Shrig caught up his "castor," seized the nobbly +stick, crossed to the door, and came back again. + +"Dick," said he, "I'll get you to look after my little reader for me, +--I ain't a-going to risk losing it again." + +"Right you are, Jarsper," nodded the Corporal. + +"And sir," continued Mr. Shrig, turning towards Barnabas with the +book in his hand, "you said, I think, as you'd like to see what I'd +got inside o' this 'ere.--If so be you're in the same mind about it, +why--'ere it is." And Mr. Shrig laid the little book on the table +before Barnabas. "And v'ot's more, any time as you're passing, drop +in to the 'Gun,' and drink a glass o' the Vun and Only vith Dick and +me." So Mr. Shrig nodded, unlocked the door, shut it very gently +behind him, and his footsteps died away along the echoing passage. + +Then, while the Corporal puffed at his long pipe, Barnabas opened +the little book, and turning the pages haphazard presently came to +one where, painfully written in a neat, round hand, he read this: + + CAPITAL COVES + + EXTRA-SPECIALS + ___________________________________________________________________ + |Name. |When |Date of |Sentence. |Date of | + | |spotted. |Murder. | |Execution.| + | ______________________| _________|________| __________|__________| + |James Aston (Porter) |Feb. 2 |March 30|Hanged |April 5 | + |Digbeth Andover (Gent) |March 3 |April 28|Transported|May 5 | + |John Barnes (Sailor) |March 10 |Waiting |Waiting |Waiting | + |Sir Richard Brock(Bart)|April 5 |May 3 |Hanged |May 30 | + |Thomas Beal (Tinker) |March 23 |April 15|Hanged |May 30 | + |_______________________|__________|________|___________|__________| + +There were many such names all carefully set down in alphabetical +order, and Barnabas read them through with perfunctory interest. +But--half-way down the list of B's his glance was suddenly arrested, +his hands clenched themselves, and he grew rigid in his +chair--staring wide-eyed at a certain name. In a while he closed the +little book, yet sat there very still, gazing at nothing in +particular, until the voice of the Corporal roused him somewhat. + +"A wonderful man, my comrade Jarsper, sir?" + +"Yes," said Barnabas absently. + +"Though he wouldn't ha' passed as a Grenadier,--not being tall enough, +you see." + +"No," said Barnabas, his gaze still fixed. + +"But as a trap, sir,--as a limb o' the law, he ain't to be +ekalled--nowheres nor nohow." + +"No," said Barnabas, rising. + +"What? are you off, sir--must you march?" + +"Yes," said Barnabas, taking up his hat, "yes, I must go." + +"'Olborn way, sir?" + +"Yes." + +"Why then--foller me, sir,--front door takes you into Gray's Inn +Lane--by your left turn and 'Olborn lays straight afore you,--this +way, sir." But, being come to the front door of the "Gun," Barnabas +paused upon the threshold, lost in abstraction again, and staring at +nothing in particular while the big Corporal watched him with a +growing uneasiness. + +"Is it your 'ead, sir?" he inquired suddenly. + +"Head?" repeated Barnabas. + +"Not troubling you, is it, sir?" + +"No,--oh no, thank you," answered Barnabas, and stretched out his +hand. "Good-by, Corporal, I'm glad to have met you, and the One and +Only was excellent." + +"Thankee, sir. I hope as you'll do me and my comrade the honor to +try it again--frequent. Good-by, sir." But standing to watch +Barnabas as he went, the Corporal shook his head and muttered to +himself, for Barnabas walked with a dragging step, and his chin upon +his breast. + +Holborn was still full of the stir and bustle, the rush and roar of +thronging humanity, but now Barnabas was blind and deaf to it all, +for wherever he looked he seemed to see the page of Mr. Shrig's +little book with its list of carefully written names,--those +names beginning with B.--thus: + + _________________________________________________________ + |Name. |When |Date |Sentence.|Date of | + | |spotted.|of Murder. | |Execution.| + |_____________|________|___________|_________|__________| + |Sir Richard | | | | | + |Brock (Bart.)|April 5 | May 3 | Hanged | May 30 | + |_____________|________|___________|_________|__________| + |Thomas Beal | | | | | + |(Tinker) |March 23| April 15 | Hanged | May 30 | + |_____________|________|___________|_________|__________| + |Ronald | | | | | + |Barrymaine | May 12 | Waiting | Waiting | Waiting | + |_____________|________|___________|_________|__________| + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + + +CONCERNING THE DUTY OF FATHERS; MORE ESPECIALLY THE VISCOUNT'S +"ROMAN" + +It was about two o'clock in the afternoon that Barnabas knocked at +the door of the Viscount's chambers in Half-moon Street and was duly +admitted by a dignified, albeit somewhat mournful gentleman in blue +and silver, who, after a moment of sighing hesitancy, ushered him +into a small reception room where sat a bullet-headed man with one +eye and a remarkably bristly chin, a sinister looking person who +stared very hard with his one eye, and sucked very hard, with much +apparent relish and gusto, at the knob of the stick he carried. At +sight of this man the mournful gentleman averted his head, and +vented a sound which, despite his impressive dignity, greatly +resembled a sniff, and, bowing to Barnabas, betook himself upstairs +to announce the visitor. Hereupon the one-eyed man having surveyed +Barnabas from head to foot with his solitary orb, drew the knob of +his stick from his mouth, dried it upon his sleeve, looked at it, +gave it a final rub, and spoke. + +"Sir," said he in a jovial voice that belied his sinister aspect, +"did you 'ear that rainbow sniff?" + +"Rainbow?" said Barnabas. + +"Well,--wallet, then,--footman--the ornamental cove as jest popped +you in 'ere. Makes one 'undred and eleven of 'em!" + +"One hundred and eleven what?" + +"Sniffs, sir,--s-n-i-double-f-s! I've took the trouble to count 'em, +--nothing else to do. I ain't got a word out of 'im yet, an' I've +been sittin' 'ere ever since eight o'clock s'mornin'. I'm a +conwivial cock, I am,--a sociable cove, yes, sir, a s-o-s-h-able +cove as ever wore a pair o' boots. Wot I sez is,--though a bum, why +not a sociable bum, and try to make things nice and pleasant, and I +does my best, give you my word! But Lord! all my efforts is wasted +on that 'ere rainbow--nothing but sniffs!" + +"Why then--who--what are you?" + +"I'm Perks and Condy, wines and sperrits,--eighty-five pound, +eighteen, three--that's me, sir." + +"Do you mean that you are--in possession--here?" + +"Just that, sir,--ever since eight o'clock s'morning--and nothing +but sniffs--so fur." Here the bullet-headed man nodded and eyed the +knob of his stick hungrily. But at this moment the door opened, and +the dignified (though mournful) gentleman appeared, and informed +Barnabas (with a sigh) that "his Lordship begged Mr. Beverley would +walk upstairs." + +Upstairs accordingly Barnabas stepped, and guided by a merry +whistling, pushed open a certain door, and so found the Viscount +busily engaged in the manufacture of a paper dart, composed of a +sheet of the Gazette, in the midst of which occupation he paused to +grip Barnabas by the hand. + +"Delighted to see you, Bev," said he heartily, "pray sit down, my +dear fellow--sit anywhere--no, not there--that's the toast, deuce +take it! Oh, never mind a chair, bed'll do, eh? Yes, I'm rather +late this morning, Bev,--but then I was so late last night that I +was devilish early, and I'm making up for it,--must have steady +nerves for the fifteenth, you know. Ah, and that reminds me!" Here +the Viscount took up his unfinished dart and sighed over it. +"I'm suffering from a rather sharp attack of Romanism, my dear fellow, +my Honored Parent has been at it again, Bev, and then, I dropped two +hundred pounds in Jermyn Street last night." + +"Dropped it! Do you mean you lost it, or were you robbed?" inquired +Barnabas the Simple. Now when he said this, the Viscount stared at +him incredulously, but, meeting the clear gaze of the candid gray +eyes, he smiled all at once and shook his head. + +"Gad!" he exclaimed, "what a strange fellow you are, Bev. And yet I +wouldn't have you altered, no, damme! you're too refreshing. You ask +me 'did I lose it, or was I robbed?' I answer you,--both, my dear +fellow. It was a case of sharps and flats, and--I was the flat." + +"Ah,--you mean gambling, Dick?" + +"Gambling, Bev,--at a hell in Jermyn Street." + +"Two hundred pounds is a great deal of money to lose at cards," said +Barnabas, shaking his head gravely. + +"Humph!" murmured the Viscount, busied upon his paper dart again, +"you should congratulate me, I think, that it was no more,--might +just as easily have been two thousand, you see, indeed I wonder it +wasn't. Egad! the more I think of it, the more fortunate I consider +myself. Yes, I certainly think you should congratulate me. Now--watch +me hit Sling!" and the Viscount poised his completed dart. + +"Captain Slingsby--here?" exclaimed Barnabas, glancing about. + +"Under the settee, yonder," nodded the Viscount, "wrapped up in the +table-cloth." + +"Table-cloth!" repeated Barnabas. + +"By way of military cloak," explained the Viscount. "You see--Sling +was rather--mellow, last night, and--at such times he always imagines +he's campaigning again--insists upon sleeping on the floor." + +Now, looking where the Viscount pointed, Barnabas espied the touzled +head of Captain Slingsby of the Guards protruding from beneath the +settee, and reposing upon a cushion. The Captain's features were +serene, and his breathing soft and regular, albeit deepening, ever +and anon, into a gentle snore. + +"Poor old Sling!" said the Viscount, leaning forward the better to +aim his missile, "in two hours' time he must go and face the Ogre, +--poor old Sling! Now watch me hit him!" So saying Viscount Devenham +launched his paper dart which, gliding gracefully through the air, +buried its point in the Captain's whisker, whereupon that warrior, +murmuring plaintively, turned over and fell once more gently +a-snoring. + +"Talking about the Ogre--" began the Viscount. + +"You mean--Jasper Gaunt?" Barnabas inquired. + +"Precisely, dear fellow, and, talking of him, did you happen to +notice a--fellow, hanging about downstairs,--a bristly being with +one eye, Bev?" + +"Yes, Dick." + +"Ha!" said the Viscount nodding, "and talking of him, brings me back +to my Honored Roman--thus, Bev. Chancing to find myself +in--ha--hum--a little difficulty, a--let us say--financial tightness, +Bev. I immediately thought of my father, which,--under the +circumstances was, I think, very natural--and filial, my dear fellow. +I said to myself, here is a man, the author of my being, who, though +confoundedly Roman, is still my father, and, as such, owes certain +duties to his son, sacred duties, Bev, not to be lightly esteemed, +blinked, or set aside,--eh, Bev?" + +"Undoubtedly!" said Barnabas. + +"I, therefore, ventured to send him a letter, post-haste, gently +reminding him of those same duties, and acquainting him with +my--ah--needy situation,--which was also very natural, I think." + +"Certainly!" said Barnabas, smiling. + +"But--would you believe it, my dear fellow, he wrote, or rather, +indited me an epistle, or, I should say, indictment, in his most +Roman manner which--but egad! I'll read it to you, I have it here +somewhere." And the Viscount began to rummage among the bedclothes, +to feel and fumble under pillow and bolster, and eventually dragged +forth a woefully crumpled document which he smoothed out upon his +knees, and from which he began to read as follows: + + MY DEAR HORATIO. + +"As soon as I saw that' t--i--o,' Bev, I knew it was no go. Had it +been merely a--c--e I should have nourished hopes, but the 't--i--o' +slew 'em--killed 'em stone dead and prepared me for a screed in my +Honored Roman's best style, bristling with the Divine Right of +Fathers, and, Bev--I got it. Listen:" + + Upon reading your long and very eloquent letter, I was surprised + to learn, firstly, that you required money, and secondly to observe + that you committed only four solecisms in spelling, + +("Gives me one at the very beginning, you'll notice, +Bev.") + + As regards the money, you will, I am sure, be amazed, nay astounded, + to learn that you have already exceeded your allowance by some five + hundred pounds-- + +("So I was, Bev, begad--I thought it was eight.") + + As regards your spelling-- + +("Ah! here he leads again with his left, and gets one in,--low, +Bev, low!") + + As regards your spelling, as you know, I admire originality in + all things; but it has, hitherto, been universally conceded that the + word "eliminate" shall not and cannot begin with the letters i-l-l! + "Vanquish" does not need a k. "Apathy" is spelled with but one p-- + while never before have I beheld "anguish" with a w. + +("Now, Bev, that's what I call coming it a bit too strong!" sighed +the Viscount, shaking his head; "'anguish' is anguish however you +spell it! And, as for the others, let me tell you when a fellow has +a one-eyed being with bristles hanging about his place, he isn't +likely to be over particular as to his p's and q's, no, damme! Let's +see, where were we? ah! here it is,--'anguish' with a 'w'!") + + I quite agree with your remarks, viz. that a father's duties to + his son are sacred and holy-- + +("This is where I counter, Bev, very neatly,--listen! He quite +agrees that,--") + + --a father's duties to his son are sacred and holy, and not to be + lightly esteemed, blinked, or set aside-- + +("Aha! had him there, Bev,--inside his guard, eh?") + + I also appreciate, and heartily endorse your statement that it is + to his father that a son should naturally turn for help-- + +("Had him again--a leveller that time, egad!") + + naturally turn for help, but, when the son is constantly turning, + then, surely, the father may occasionally turn too, like the worm. + The simile, though unpleasant, is yet strikingly apt. + +("Hum! there he counters me and gets one back, I suppose, Bev? Oh, +I'll admit the old boy is as neat and quick with his pen as he used +to be with his hands. He ends like this:") + + I rejoice to hear that you are well in health, and pray that, + despite the forthcoming steeplechase, dangerous as I hear it is, you + may so continue. Upon this head I am naturally somewhat anxious, + since I possess only one son. And I further pray that, wilfully + reckless though he is, he may yet be spared to be worthy of the name + that will be his when I shall have risen beyond it. + + BAMBOROUGH AND REVELSDEN. + +The Viscount sighed, and folded up his father's letter rather +carefully. + +"He's a deuced old Roman, of course," said he, "and yet--!" Here the +Viscount turned, and slipped the letter back under his pillow with a +hand grown suddenly gentle. "But there you are, Bev! Not a word about +money,--so downstairs Bristles must continue to sit until--" + +"If," said Barnabas diffidently, "if you would allow me to lend--" + +"No, no, Bev--though I swear it's uncommon good of you. But really I +couldn't allow it. Besides, Jerningham owes me something, I believe, +at least, if he doesn't he did, and it's all one anyway. I sent the +Imp over to him an hour ago; he'll let me have it, I know. Though I +thank you none the less, my dear fellow, on my soul I do! But--oh +deuce take me--you've nothing to drink! what will you take--?" + +"Nothing, thanks, Dick. As a matter of fact, I came to ask you a +favor--" + +"Granted, my dear fellow!" + +"I want you to ask Captain Slingsby to introduce me to Jasper Gaunt." + +"Ah?" said the Viscount, coming to his elbow, "you mean on behalf of +that--" + +"Of Barrymaine, yes." + +"It's--it's utterly preposterous!" fumed the Viscount. + +"So you said before, Dick." + +"You mean to--go on with it?" + +"Of course!" + +"You are still determined to befriend a--" + +"More than ever, Dick." + +"For--Her sake?" + +"For Her sake. Yes, Dick," said Barnabas, beginning to frown a little. +"I mean to free him from Gaunt, and rescue him from Chichester--if I +can." + +"But Chichester is about the only friend he has left, Bev." + +"On the contrary, I think Chichester is his worst enemy." + +"But--my dear fellow! Chichester is the only one who has stood by +him in his disgrace, though why, I can't imagine." + +"I think I can tell you the reason, and in one word," said Barnabas, +his face growing blacker. + +"Well, Bev,--what is it?" + +"Cleone!" The Viscount started. + +"What,--you think--? Oh, impossible! The fellow would never have a +chance, she despises him, I know." + +"And fears him too, Dick." + +"Fears him? Gad! what do you mean, Bev?" + +"I mean that, unworthy though he may be, she idolizes her brother." + +"Half-brother, Bev." + +"And for his sake, would sacrifice her fortune,--ah! and herself!" + +"Well?" + +"Well, Dick, Chichester knows this, and is laying his plans +accordingly." + +"How?" + +"He's teaching Barrymaine to drink, for one thing--" + +"He didn't need much teaching, Bev." + +"Then, he has got him in his power,--somehow or other, anyhow, +Barrymaine fears him, I know. When the time comes, Chichester means +to reach the sister through her love for her brother, and--before he +shall do that, Dick--" Barnabas threw up his head and clenched his +fists. + +"Well, Bev?" + +"I'll--kill him, Dick." + +"You mean--fight him, of course?" + +"It would be all one," said Barnabas grimly. + +"And how do you propose to--go about the matter--to save Barrymaine?" + +"I shall pay off his debts, first of all." + +"And then?" + +"Take him away with me." + +"When?" + +"To-morrow, if possible--the sooner the better." + +"And give up the race, Bev?" + +"Yes," said Barnabas, sighing, "even that if need be." + +Here the Viscount lay back among his pillows and stared up at the +tester of the bed, and his gaze was still directed thitherwards when +he spoke: + +"And you would do all this--" + +"For--Her sake," said Barnabas softly, "besides, I promised, Dick." + +"And you have seen her--only once, Bev!" + +"Twice, Dick." + +Again there was silence while the Viscount stared up at the tester +and Barnabas frowned down at the clenched fist on his knee. + +"Gad!" said the Viscount suddenly, "Gad, Beverley, what a deuced +determined fellow you are!" + +"You see--I love her, Dick." + +"And by the Lord, Bev, shall I tell you what I begin to think?" + +"Yes, Dick." + +"Well, I begin to think that in spite of--er--me, and hum--all the +rest of 'em, in spite of everything--herself included, if need be, +--you'll win her yet." + +"And shall I tell you what I begin to think, Dick?" + +"Yes." + +"I begin to think that you have never--loved her at all." + +"Eh?" cried the Viscount, starting up very suddenly, "what?--never +lov--oh, Gad, Beverley! what the deuce should make you think that?" + +"Clemency!" said Barnabas. + +The Viscount stared, opened his mouth, shut it, ran his fingers +through his hair, and fell flat upon his pillows again. + +"So now," said Barnabas the persistent, "now you know why I am so +anxious to meet Jasper Gaunt." + +"Gaunt!" said the Viscount dreamily, "Gaunt!" + +"Captain Slingsby has to see him this afternoon,--at least so you +said, and I was wondering--" + +"Slingsby! Oh, egad I forgot! so he has,--curricle's ordered for +half-past three. Will you oblige me by prodding him with your cane, +Bev? Don't be afraid,--poke away, my dear fellow, Sling takes a +devil of a lot of waking." + +Thus admonished, Barnabas presently succeeded in arousing the +somnolent Slingsby, who, lifting a drowsy head, blinked sleepily, +and demanded in an injured tone: + +"Wha' the dooce it was all about, b'gad?" Then having yawned +prodigiously and come somewhat to himself, he proceeded to crawl +from under the settee, when, catching sight of Barnabas, he sprang +lightly to his feet and greeted him cordially. + +"Ah, Beverley!" he cried,--"how goes it? Glad you woke me--was +having a devil of a dream. Thought the 'Rascal' had strained his +'off' fore-leg, and was out of the race! What damnable things dreams +are, b'gad!" + +"My dear Sling," said the Viscount, "it is exactly a quarter past +three." + +"Oh, is it, b'gad! Well?" + +"And at four o'clock I believe you have an appointment with Gaunt." + +"Gaunt!" repeated the Captain, starting, and Barnabas saw all the +light and animation die out of his face, "Gaunt,--yes, I--b'gad!--I +'d forgotten, Devenham." + +"You ordered your curricle for half-past three, didn't you?" + +"Yes, and I've no time to bathe--ought to shave, though, and oh, +damme,--look at my cravat!" + +"You'll find everything you need in my dressing-room, Sling." + +The Captain nodded his thanks, and forthwith vanished into the +adjacent chamber, whence he was to be heard at his ablutions, +puffing and blowing, grampus-like. To whom thus the Viscount, +raising his voice: "Oh, by the way, Sling, Beverley wants to go with +you." Here the Captain stopped, as it seemed in the very middle of a +puff, and when he spoke it was in a tone of hoarse incredulity: + +"Eh,--b'gad, what's that?" + +"He wants you to introduce him to Jasper Gaunt." + +Here a sudden explosive exclamation, and, thereafter, the Captain +appeared as in the act of drying himself, his red face glowing from +between the folds of the towel while he stared from the Viscount to +Barnabas with round eyes. + +"What!" he exclaimed at last, "you, too, Beverley! Poor devil, have +you come to it--and so soon?" + +"No," said Barnabas, shaking his head, "I wish to see him on behalf +of another--" + +"Eh? Another? Oh--!" + +"On behalf of Mr. Ronald Barrymaine." + +"Of Barrym--" Here the Captain suddenly fell to towelling himself +violently, stopped to stare at Barnabas again, gave himself another +futile rub or two, and, finally, dropped the towel altogether. +"On behalf of--oh b'gad!" he exclaimed, and incontinent vanished +into the dressing-room. But, almost immediately he was back again, +this time wielding a shaving brush. "Wish to see--Gaunt, do you?" he +inquired. + +"Yes," said Barnabas. + +"And," said the Captain, staring very hard at the shaving brush, +"not--on your own account?" + +"No," answered Barnabas. + +"But on behalf--I think you said--of--" + +"Of Ronald Barrymaine," said Barnabas. + +"Oh!" murmured the Captain, and vanished again. But now Barnabas +followed him. + +"Have you any objection to my going with you?" he inquired. + +"Not in the least," answered the Captain, making hideous faces at +himself in the mirror as he shaved, "oh, no--delighted, 'pon my soul, +b'gad--only--" + +"Well?" + +"Only, if it's time you're going to ask for--it's no go, my +boy--hard-fisted old rasper, you know the saying,--(Bible, I think), +figs, b'gad, and thistles, bread from stones, but no mercy from +Jasper Gaunt." + +"I don't seek his mercy," said Barnabas. + +"Why, then, my dear Beverley--ha! there's Jenk come up to say the +curricle's at the door." + +Sure enough, at the moment, the Viscount's gentleman presented +himself to announce the fact, albeit mournfully and with a sigh. He +was about to bow himself out again when the Viscount stayed him with +an upraised finger. + +"Jenkins," said he, "my very good Jenk!" + +"Yes, m'lud?" said Jenkins. + +"Is the person with the--ah--bristles--still downstairs?" + +"He is, m'lud," said Jenkins, with another sigh. + +"Then tell him to possess his soul in patience, Jenk,--for I fear he +will remain there a long, long time." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + + +OF THE LUCK OF CAPTAIN SLINGSBY, OF THE GUARDS + +"You don't mind if we--drive about a bit, do you, Beverley?" + +"Not in the least." + +"I--er--I generally go the longest way round when I have to call on--" + +"On Gaunt?" + +"Yes." + +Now as they went, Barnabas noticed that a change had come over his +companion, his voice had lost much of its jovial ring, his eye its +sparkle, while his ruddy cheeks were paler than their wont; moreover +he was very silent, and sat with bent head and with his square +shoulders slouched dejectedly. Therefore Barnabas must needs cast +about for some means of rousing him from this depression. + +"You drive a very handsome turnout," said he at last. + +"It is neat, isn't it?" nodded Slingsby, his eye brightening. + +"Very!" said Barnabas, "and the horses--" + +"Horses!" cried the Captain, almost himself again, "ha, +b'gad--there's action for you--and blood too! I was a year matching +'em. Cost me eight hundred guineas--and cheap at the money--but--" + +"Well?" + +"After all, Beverley, they--aren't mine, you see." + +"Not yours?" + +"No. They're--his!" + +"You mean--Gaunt's?" + +The Captain nodded gloomily. + +"Yes," said he, "my horses are his, my curricle's his, my clothes +are his--everything's his. So am I, b'gad! Oh, you needn't look so +infernal incredulous--fact, I assure you. And, when you come to +think of it--it's all cursed humorous, isn't it?" and here the +Captain contrived to laugh, though it rang very hollow, to be sure. + +"You owe--a great deal then?" said Barnabas. + +"Owe?" said the Captain, turning to look at him, "I'm in up to my +neck, and getting deeper. Owe! B'gad, Beverley--I believe you!" But +now, at sight of gravefaced Barnabas, he laughed again, and this +time it sounded less ghoul-like. "Debt is a habit," he continued +sententiously, "that grows on one most damnably, and creditors are +the most annoying people in the world--so confoundedly unreasonable! +Of course I pay 'em--now and then--deserving cases, y' know. Fellow +called on me t' other day,--seemed to know his face. 'Who are you?' +says I. 'I'm the man who makes your whips, sir,' says he. 'And +devilish good whips too!' says I, 'how much do I owe you?' 'Fifteen +pounds, sir,' says he, 'I wouldn't bother you only'--well, it +seemed his wife was sick--fellow actually blubbered! So of course I +rang for my rascal Danby, Danby's my valet, y' know. 'Have you any +money, Danby?' says I. 'No sir,' says he; queer thing, but Danby +never has, although I pay him regularly--devilish improvident fellow, +Danby! So I went out and unearthed Jerningham--and paid the fellow +on the spot--only right, y' know." + +"But why not pay your debts with your own money?" Barnabas inquired. + +"For the very good reason that it all went,--ages ago!" + +"Why, then," said Barnabas, "earn more." + +"Eh?" said the Captain, staring, "earn it? My dear Beverley, I never +earned anything in my life, except my beggarly pay, and that isn't +enough even for my cravats." + +"Well, why not begin?" + +"Begin? To earn money? How?" + +"You might work," suggested Barnabas. + +"Work?" repeated the Captain, starting, "eh, what? Oh, I see, you're +joking, of course,--deuced quaint, b'gad!" + +"No, I'm very serious," said Barnabas thoughtfully. + +"Are you though! But what the deuce kind of work d'you suppose I'm +fit for?" + +"All men can work!" said Barnabas, more thoughtfully than before. + +"Well,--I can ride, and shoot, and drive a coach with any one." + +"Anything more?" + +"No,--not that I can think of." + +"Have you never tried to work, then,--hard work, I mean?" + +"Oh Lord, no! Besides, I've always been too busy, y'know. I've never +had to work. Y' see, as luck would have it, I was born a gentleman, +Beverley." + +"Yes," nodded Barnabas, more thoughtful than ever, "but--what is a +gentleman?" + +"A gentleman? Why--let me think!" said the Captain, manoeuvring his +horses skilfully as they swung into the Strand. + +And when he had thought as far as the Savoy he spoke: + +"A gentleman," said he, "is a fellow who goes to a university, but +doesn't have to learn anything; who goes out into the world, but +doesn't have to--work at anything; and who has never been +blackballed at any of the clubs. I've done a good many things in my +time, but I've never had to work." + +"That is a great pity!" sighed Barnabas. + +"Oh! is it, b'gad! And why?" + +"Because hard work ennobles a man," said Barnabas. + +"Always heard it was a deuce of a bore!" murmured the Captain. + +"Exertion," Barnabas continued, growing a little didactic perhaps, +"exertion is--life. By idleness come degeneration and death." + +"Sounds cursed unpleasant, b'gad!" said the Captain. + +"The work a man does lives on after him," Barnabas continued, +"it is his monument when he is no more, far better than your +high-sounding epitaphs and stately tombs, yes, even though it be +only the furrow he has ploughed, or the earth his spade has turned." + +"But,--my dear fellow, you surely wouldn't suggest that I should +take up--digging?" + +"You might do worse," said Barnabas, "but--" + +"Ha!" said the Captain, "well now, supposing I was a--deuced good +digger,--a regular rasper, b'gad! I don't know what a digger earns, +but let's be moderate and say five or six pounds a week. Well, what +the deuce good d'you suppose that would be to me? Why, I still owe +Gaunt, as far as I can figure it up, about eighty thousand pounds, +which is a deuced lot more than it sounds. I should have been +rotting in the Fleet, or the Marshalsea, years ago if it hadn't been +for my uncle's gout, b'gad!" + +"His gout?" + +"Precisely! Every twinge he has--up goes my credit. I'm his only heir, +y'know, and he's seventy-one. At present he's as sound as a bell, +--actually rode to hounds last week, b'gad! Consequently my +credit's--nowhere. Jolly old boy, though--deuced fond of him--ha! +there's Haynes! Over yonder! Fellow driving the phaeton with the +black-a-moor in the rumble." + +"You mean the man in the bright green coat?" + +"Yes. Call him 'Pea-green Haynes'--one of your second-rate, ultra +dandies. Twig his vasty whiskers, will you! Takes his fellow hours +to curl 'em. And then his cravat, b'gad!" + +"How does he turn his head?" inquired Barnabas. + +"Never does,--can't! I lost a devilish lot to him at hazard a few +years ago--crippled me, y' know. But talking of my uncle--devilish +fond of him--always was." + +"But mark you, Beverley, a man has no right--no business to go +on living after he's seventy, at least, it shows deuced bad +taste, I think--so thoughtless, y'know. Hallo! why there's Ball +Hughes--driving the chocolate-colored coach, and got up like a +regular jarvey. Devilish rich, y'know--call him 'The Golden +Ball'--deuce of a fellow! Pitch and toss, or whist at five pound +points, damme! Won small fortune from Petersham at battledore and +shuttlecock,--played all night too." + +"And have you lost to him also?" + +"Of course?" + +"Do you ever win?" + +"Oh, well--now and then, y'know, though I'm generally unlucky. Must +have been under--Aldeboran, is it?--anyhow, some cursed star or other. +Been dogged by ill-luck from my cradle, b'gad! On the turf, in the +clubs and bells, even in the Peninsular!" + +"So you fought in the Peninsular?" + +"Oh, yes." + +"And did you gamble there too?" + +"Naturally--whenever I could." + +"And did you lose?" + +"Generally. Everything's been against me, y'know--even my size." + +"How so?" + +"Well, there was a fellow in the Eighty-eighth, name of Crichton. +I'd lost to him pretty heavily while we were before Ciudad Rodrigo. +The night before the storming--we both happened to have volunteered, +y'know--'Crichton,' says I, 'I'll go you double or quits I'm into +the town to-morrow before you are.' 'Done!' says he. Well, we +advanced to the attack about dawn, about four hundred of us. The +breach was wide enough to drive a battery through, but the enemy had +thrown up a breast-work and fortified it during the night. But up we +went at the 'double,' Crichton and I in front, you may be sure. As +soon as the Frenchies opened fire, I began to run,--so did Crichton, +but being longer in the leg, I was at the breach first, and began to +scramble over the débris. Crichton was a little fellow, y' know, but +game all through, and active as a cat, and b'gad, presently above +the roar and din, I could hear him panting close behind me. Up we +went, nearer and nearer, with our fellows about a hundred yards in +our rear, clambering after us and cheering as they came. I was close +upon the confounded breastwork when I took a musket-ball through my +leg, and over I went like a shot rabbit, b'gad! Just then Crichton +panted up. 'Hurt?' says he. 'Only my leg,' says I, 'go on, and good +luck to you.' 'Devilish rough on you, Sling!' says he, and on he went. +But he'd only gone about a couple of yards when he threw up his arms +and pitched over on his face. 'Poor Crichton's done for!' says I to +myself, and made shift to crawl over to him. But b'gad! he saw me +coming, and began to crawl too. So there we were, on our hands and +knees, crawling up towards the Frenchies as hard as we could go. My +leg was deuced--uncomfortable, y' know, but I put on a spurt, and +managed to draw level with him. 'Hallo, Sling!' says he, 'here's +where you win, for I'm done!' and over he goes again. 'So am I, for +that matter,' says I--which was only the truth, Beverley. So b'gad, +there we lay, side by side, till up came our fellows, yelling like +fiends, past us and over us, and charged the breastwork with the +bayonet,--and carried it too! Presently, up came two stragglers,--a +corporal of the Eighty-eighth and a sergeant of 'Ours.' 'Hi, +Corporal,' yells Crichton, 'ten pounds if you can get me over the +breastwork--quick's the word!' 'Sergeant,' says I, 'twenty pounds if +you get me over first.' Well, down went the Corporal's musket and the +Sergeant's pike, and on to their backs we scrambled--a deuced +painful business for both of us, I give you my word, Beverley. So we +began our race again--mounted this time. But it was devilish bad +going, and though the Sergeant did his best, I came in a very bad +second. You see, I'm no light weight, and Crichton was." + +"You lost, then?" + +"Oh, of course, even my size is against me, you see." Hereupon, once +more, and very suddenly, the Captain relapsed into his gloomy mood, +nor could Barnabas dispel it; his efforts were rewarded only by +monosyllables until, swinging round into a short and rather narrow +street, he brought his horses to a walk. + +"Here we are, Beverley!" + +"Where?" Barnabas inquired. + +"Kirby Street,--his street. And there's the house,--his house," and +Captain Slingsby pointed his whip at a high, flat-fronted house. It +was a repellent-looking place with an iron railing before it, and +beyond this railing a deep and narrow area, where a flight of damp +steps led down to a gloomy door. The street was seemingly a quiet one, +and, at this hour, deserted save for themselves and a solitary man +who stood with his back to them upon the opposite side of the way, +apparently lost in profound thought. A very tall man he was, and +very upright, despite the long white hair that showed beneath his hat, +which, like his clothes, was old and shabby, and Barnabas noticed +that his feet were bare. This man Captain Slingsby incontinent +hailed in his characteristic fashion. + +"Hi,--you over there!" he called. "Hallo!" The man never stirred. +"Oho! b'gad, are you deaf? Just come over here and hold my horses +for me, will you?" The man raised his head suddenly and turned. So +quickly did he turn that the countless gleaming buttons that he wore +upon his coat rang a jingling chime. Now, looking upon this strange +figure, Barnabas started up, and springing from the curricle, +crossed the street and looked upon the man with a smile. + +"Have you forgotten me?" said Barnabas. The man smiled in turn, and +sweeping off the weather-beaten hat, saluted him with an old-time +bow of elaborate grace. + +"Sir." he answered in his deep, rich voice, "Billy Button never +forgets--faces. You are Barnaby Bright--Barnabas, 't is all the same. +Sir, Billy Button salutes you." + +"Why, then," said Barnabas, rather diffidently, seeing the other's +grave dignity, "will you oblige me by--by holding my friend's horses? +They are rather high-spirited and nervous." + +"Nervous, sir? Ah, then they need me. Billy Button shall sing to them, +horses love music, and, like trees, are excellent listeners." +Forthwith Billy Button crossed the street with his long, stately +stride, and taking the leader's bridle, fell to soothing the horses +with soft words, and to patting them with gentle, knowing hands. + +"B'gad!" exclaimed the Captain, staring, "that fellow has been used +to horses--once upon a time. Poor devil!" As he spoke he glanced +from Billy Button's naked feet and threadbare clothes to his own +glossy Hessians and immaculate garments, and Barnabas saw him wince +as he turned towards the door of Jasper Gaunt's house. Now when +Barnabas would have followed, Billy Button caught him suddenly by +the sleeve. + +"You are not going--there?" he whispered, frowning and nodding +towards the house. + +"Yes." + +"Don't!" he whispered, "don't! An evil place, a place of, sin and +shadows, of sorrow, and tears, and black despair. Ah, an evil place! +No place for Barnaby Bright." + +"I must," said Barnabas. + +"So say they all. Youth goes in, and leaves his youth behind; men go +in, and leave all strength and hope behind; age goes in, and creeps +out--to a grave. Hear me, Barnaby Bright. There is one within there +already marked for destruction. Death follows at his heel, for evil +begetteth evil, and the sword, the sword. He is already doomed. +Listen,--blood! I've seen it upon the door yonder,--a bloody hand! I +know, for They have told me--They--the Wise Ones. And so I come here, +sometimes by day, sometimes by night, and I watch--I watch. But this +is no place for you,--'t is the grave of youth, don't go--don't go!" + +"I must," repeated Barnabas, "for another's sake." + +"Then must the blighting shadow fall upon you, too,--ah, yes, I know. +Oh, Barnaby,--Barnaby Bright!" + +Here, roused by the Captain's voice, rather hoarser than usual, +Barnabas turned and saw that the door of the house was open, and +that Captain Slingsby stood waiting for him with a slender, +youthful-seeming person who smiled; a pale-faced, youngish man, with +colorless hair, and eyes so very pale as to be almost imperceptible +in the pallor of his face. Now, even as the door closed, Barnabas +could hear Billy Button singing softly to the horses. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV + + +HOW BARNABAS MET JASPER GAUNT, AND WHAT CAME OF IT + +Barnabas followed the Captain along a somewhat gloomy hall, up a +narrow and winding staircase, and here, halfway up, was a small +landing with an alcove where stood a tall, wizen-faced clock with +skeleton hands and a loud, insistent, very deliberate tick; so, up +more stairs to another hall, also somewhat gloomy, and a door which +the pale-eyed, smiling person obligingly opened, and, having ushered +them into a handsomely furnished chamber, disappeared. The Captain +crossed to the hearth, and standing before the empty grate, put up +his hand and loosened his high stock with suddenly petulant fingers, +rather as though he found some difficulty in breathing; and, looking +at him, Barnabas saw that the debonair Slingsby had vanished quite; +in his place was another--a much older man, haggard of eye, with a +face peaked, and gray, and careworn beneath the brim of the jaunty +hat. + +"My dear Beverley," said he, staring down into the empty grate, +"if you 're ever in need--if you're ever reduced to--destitution, +then, in heaven's name, go quietly away and--starve! Deuced +unpleasant, of course, but it's--sooner over, b'gad!" + +At this moment the smiling person reappeared at a different door, +and uttered the words: + +"Captain Slingsby,--if _you_ please." Hereupon the Captain visibly +braced himself, squared his shoulders, took off his hat, crossed the +room in a couple of strides, and Barnabas was alone. + +Now as he sat there waiting, he gradually became aware of a sound +that stole upon the quiet, a soft, low sound, exactly what he could +not define, nevertheless it greatly perturbed him. Therefore he rose, +and approaching that part of the room whence it proceeded, he saw +another door. And then, all at once, as he stood before this door, +he knew what the sound was, and why it had so distressed him; and, +even as the knowledge came, he opened the door and stepped into the +room beyond. + +And this is what he saw: + +A bare little room, or office; the pale, smiling gentleman, who +lounged in a cushioned chair, a comb in one hand, and in the other a +small pocket mirror, by the aid of which he was attending to a +diminutive tuft of flaxen whisker; and a woman, in threadbare +garments, who crouched upon a bench beside the opposite wall, her +face bowed upon her hands, her whole frame shaken by great, +heart-broken, gasping sobs,--a sound full of misery, and of +desolation unutterable. + +At the opening of the door, the pale gentleman started and turned, +and the woman looked up with eyes swollen and inflamed by weeping. + +"Sir," said the pale gentleman, speaking softly, yet in the tone of +one used to command, "may I ask what this intrusion means?" Now as +he looked into the speaker's pallid eyes, Barnabas saw that he was +much older than he had thought. He had laid aside the comb and mirror, +and now rose in a leisurely manner, and his smile was more +unpleasant than ever as he faced Barnabas. + +"This place is private, sir--you understand, private, sir. May I +suggest that you--go, that you--leave us?" As he uttered the last +two words, he thrust out his head and jaw in a very ugly manner, +therefore Barnabas turned and addressed himself to the woman. + +"Pray, madam," said he, "tell me your trouble; what is the matter?" +But the woman only wrung her hands together, and stared with great, +frightened eyes at the colorless man, who now advanced, smiling still, +and tapped Barnabas smartly on the shoulder. + +"The trouble is her own, sir, the matter is--entirely a private one," +said he, fixing Barnabas with his pale stare, "I repeat, sir,--a +private one. May I, therefore, suggest that you withdraw--at once?" + +"As often as you please, sir," retorted Barnabas, +bowing. + +"Ah!" sighed the man, thrusting out his head again, "and what do you +want--here?" + +"First, is your name Jasper Gaunt?" + +"No; but it is as well known as his--better to a great many." + +"And your name is--?" + +"Quigly." + +"Then, Mr. Quigly, pray be seated while I learn this poor creature's +sorrow." + +"I think--yes, I think you'd better go," said Mr. Quigly,--"ah, +yes--and at once, or--" + +"Or?" said Barnabas, smiling and clenching his fists. + +"Or it will be the worse--for you--" + +"Yes?" + +"And for your friend the Captain." + +"Yes?" + +"And you will give this woman more reason for her tears!" + +Then, looking from the pale, threatening eyes, and smiling lips of +the man, to the trembling fear of the weeping woman, and remembering +Slingsby's deathly cheek and shaking hand, a sudden, great anger +came upon Barnabas; his long arm shot out and, pinning Mr. Quigly by +the cravat, he shook him to and fro in a paroxysm of fury. Twice he +raised his cane to strike, twice he lowered it, and finally loosing +his grip, Mr. Quigly staggered back to the opposite wall, and leaned +there, panting. + +Hereupon Barnabas, somewhat shocked at his own loss of self-restraint, +re-settled his cuff, straightened his cravat, and, when he spoke, +was more polite than ever. + +"Mr. Quigly, pray sit down," said he; "I have no wish to thrash you,--it +would be a pity to spoil my cane, so--oblige me by sitting down." + +Mr. Quigly opened his mouth as if to speak, but, glancing at Barnabas, +thought better of it; yet his eyes grew so pale that they seemed all +whites as he sank into the chair. + +"And now," said Barnabas, turning to the crouching woman, "I don't +think Mr. Quigly will interrupt us again, you may freely tell your +trouble--if you will." + +"Oh, sir,--it's my husband! He's been in prison a whole year, and +now--now he's dying--they've killed him. It was fifty pounds a year +ago. I saved, and scraped, and worked day and night, and a month +ago--I brought the fifty pounds. But then--Oh, my God!--then they +told me I must find twenty more--interest, they called it. Twenty +pounds! why, it would take me months and months to earn so much, +--and my husband was dying!--dying! But, sir, I went away despairing. +Then I grew wild,--desperate--yes, desperate--oh, believe it, sir, +and I,--I--Ah, sir--what won't a desperate woman do for one she loves? +And so I--trod shameful ways! To-day I brought the twenty pounds, +and now--dear God! now they say it must be twenty-three. Three +pounds more, and I have no more--and I can't--Oh, I--can't go back +to it again--the shame and horror--I--can't, sir!" So she covered +her face again, and shook with the bitter passion of her woe. + +And, after a while, Barnabas found voice, though his voice was very +hoarse and uneven. + +"I think," said he slowly, "yes, I think my cane could not have a +worthier end than splintering on your villain's back, Mr. Quigly." + +But, even as Barnabas advanced with very evident purpose, a tall +figure stood framed in the open doorway. + +"Ah, Quigly,--pray what is all this?" a chill, incisive voice +demanded. Barnabas turned, and lowering the cane, stood looking +curiously at the speaker. A tall, slender man he was, with a face +that might have been any age,--a mask-like face, smooth and long, +and devoid of hair as it was of wrinkles; an arresting face, with +its curving nostrils, thin-lipped, close-shut mouth, high, prominent +brow, and small, piercingly-bright eyes; quick eyes, that glinted +between their red-rimmed, hairless lids, old in their experience of +men and the ways of men. For the rest, he was clad in a rich yet +sober habit, unrelieved by any color save for the gleaming seals at +his fob, and the snowy lace at throat and wrist; his hair--evidently +a wig--curled low on either cheek, and his hands were well cared for, +with long, prehensile fingers. + +"You are Jasper Gaunt, I think?" said Barnabas at last. + +"At your service, sir, and you, I know, are Mr. Barnabas Beverley." + +So they stood, fronting each other, the Youth, unconquered as yet, +and therefore indomitable, and the Man, with glittering eyes old in +their experience of men and the ways of men. + +"You wished to see me on a matter of business, Mr. Beverley?" + +"Yes." + +"Then pray step this way." + +"No," said Barnabas, "first I require your signature to this lady's +papers." + +Jasper Gaunt smiled, and shrugged his shoulders slightly. + +"Such clients as this, sir,--I leave entirely to Mr. Quigly." + +"Then, in this instance, sir, you will perhaps favor me by giving +the matter your personal attention!" + +Jasper Gaunt hesitated, observed the glowing eye, flushed cheek, +and firm-set lips of the speaker, and being wise in men and their +ways,--bowed. + +"To oblige you, Mr. Beverley, with pleasure. Though I understand +from Mr. Quigly that she is unable to meet--" + +"Seventy-eight pounds, sir! She can pay it all--every blood-stained, +tear-soaked farthing. She should meet it were it double--treble the +sum!" said Barnabas, opening his purse. + +"Ah, indeed, I see! I see!" nodded Jasper Gaunt. "Take the money, +Quigly, I will make out the receipt. If you desire, you shall see me +sign it, Mr. Beverley." So saying, he crossed to the desk, wrote the +document, and handed it to Barnabas, with a bow that was almost +ironical. + +Then Barnabas gave the precious paper into the woman's eager fingers, +and looked down into the woman's shining eyes. + +"Sir," said she between trembling lips, "I cannot thank you,--I--I +cannot. But God sees, and He will surely repay." + +"Indeed," stammered Barnabas, "I--it was only three pounds, after all, +and--there,--go,--hurry away to your husband, and--ah! that reminds +me,--he will want help, perhaps!" Here Barnabas took out his card, +and thrust it into her hand. "Take that to my house, ask to see my +Steward, Mr. Peterby,--stay, I'll write the name for you, he will +look after you, and--good-by!" + +"It is a truly pleasant thing to meet with heartfelt gratitude, sir," +said Jasper Gaunt, as the door closed behind the woman. "And now I +am entirely at your service,--this way, sir." + +Forthwith Barnabas followed him into another room, where sat the +Captain, his long legs stretched out before him, his chin on his +breast, staring away at vacancy. + +"Sir," said Jasper Gaunt, glancing from Barnabas to the Captain and +back again, "he will not trouble us, I think, but if you wish him to +withdraw--?" + +"Thank you--no," answered Barnabas, "Captain Slingsby is my friend!" +Jasper Gaunt bowed, and seated himself at his desk opposite Barnabas. +His face was in shadow, for the blind had been half-drawn to exclude +the glare of the afternoon sun, and he sat, or rather lolled, in a +low, deeply cushioned chair, studying Barnabas with his eyes that +were so bright and so very knowing in the ways of mankind; very +still he sat, and very quiet, waiting for Barnabas to begin. Now on +the wall, immediately behind him, was a long, keen-bladed dagger, +that glittered evilly where the light caught it; and as he sat there +so very quiet and still, with his face in the shadow, it seemed to +Barnabas as though he lolled there dead, with the dagger smitten +sideways through his throat, and in that moment Barnabas fancied he +could hear the deliberate tick-tock of the wizen-faced clock upon +the stairs. + +"I have come," began Barnabas at last, withdrawing his eyes from the +glittering steel with an effort, "I am here on behalf of one--in +whom I take an interest--a great interest." + +"Yes, Mr. Beverley?" + +"I have undertaken to--liquidate his debts." + +"Yes, Mr. Beverley." + +"To pay--whatever he may owe, both principal and interest." + +"Indeed, Mr. Beverley! And--his name?" + +"His name is Ronald Barrymaine." + +"Ronald--Barrymaine!" There was a pause between the words, and the +smooth, soft voice had suddenly grown so harsh, so deep and vibrant, +that it seemed incredible the words could have proceeded from the +lips of the motionless figure lolling in the chair with his face in +the shadow and the knife glittering behind him. + +"I have made out to you a draft for more than enough, as I judge, to +cover Mr. Barrymaine's liabilities." + +"For how much, sir?" + +"Twenty-two thousand pounds." + +Then Jasper Gaunt stirred, sighed, and leaned forward in his chair. + +"A handsome sum, sir,--a very handsome sum, but--" and he smiled and +shook his head. + +"Pray what do you mean by 'but'?" demanded Barnabas. + +"That the sum is--inadequate, sir." + +"Twenty-two thousand pounds is not enough then?" + +"It is--not enough, Mr. Beverley." + +"Then, if you will tell me the precise amount, I will make up the +deficiency." But, here again, Jasper Gaunt smiled his slow smile and +shook his head. + +"That, I grieve to say, is quite impossible, Mr. Beverley." + +"Why?" + +"Because I make it a rule never to divulge my clients' affairs to a +third party; and, sir,--I never break my rules." + +"Then--you refuse to tell me?" + +"It is--quite impossible." + +So there fell a silence while the wide, fearless eyes of Youth +looked into the narrow, watchful eyes of Experience. Then Barnabas +rose, and began to pace to and fro across the luxurious carpet; he +walked with his head bent, and the hands behind his back were +tightly clenched. Suddenly he stopped, and throwing up his head faced +Jasper Gaunt, who sat lolling back in his chair again. + +"I have heard," said he, "that this sum was twenty thousand pounds, +but, as you say, it may be more,--a few pounds more, or a few +hundreds more." + +"Precisely, Mr. Beverley." + +"I am, therefore, going to make you an offer--" + +"Which I must--refuse." + +"And my offer is this: instead of twenty thousand pounds I will +double the sum." + +Jasper Gaunt's lolling figure grew slowly rigid, and leaning across +the desk, he stared up at Barnabas under his hairless brows. Even +Captain Slingsby stirred and lifted his heavy head. + +"Forty thousand pounds!" said Jasper Gaunt, speaking almost in a +whisper. + +"Yes," said Barnabas, and sitting down, he folded his arms a little +ostentatiously. Jasper Gaunt's head drooped, and he stared down at +the papers on the desk before him, nor did he move, only his long, +white fingers began to tap softly upon his chair-arms, one after the +other. + +"I will pay you forty thousand pounds," said Barnabas. Then, all in +one movement as it seemed, Gaunt had risen and turned to the window, +and stood there awhile with his back to the room. + +"Well?" inquired Barnabas at last. + +"I--cannot, sir." + +"You mean--will not!" said Barnabas, clenching his fists. + +"Cannot, sir." As Gaunt turned, Barnabas rose and approached him +until barely a yard separated them, until he could look into the +eyes that glittered between their hairless lids, very like the +cruel-looking dagger on the wall. + +"Very well," said Barnabas, "then I'll treble it. I'll pay you sixty +thousand pounds! What do you say? Come--speak!" But now, the eyes so +keen and sharp to read men and the ways of men wavered and fell +before the indomitable steadfastness of unconquered Youth; the long, +white hands beneath their ruffles seemed to writhe with griping, +contorted fingers, while upon his temple was something that +glittered a moment, rolled down his cheek, and so was gone. + +"Speak!" said Barnabas. + +Yet still no answer came, only Jasper Gaunt sank down in his chair +with his elbows on the desk, his long, white face clasped between +his long, white hands, staring into vacancy; but now his smooth brow +was furrowed, his narrow eyes were narrower yet, and his thin lips +moved as though he had whispered to himself "sixty thousand pounds!" + +"Sir,--for the last time--do you accept?" demanded Barnabas. + +Without glancing up, or even altering the direction of his vacant +stare, and with his face still framed between his hands, Jasper +Gaunt shook his head from side to side, once, twice, and thrice; a +gesture there was no mistaking. + +Then Barnabas fell back a step, with clenched fist upraised, but in +that moment the Captain was before him and had caught his arm. + +"By Gad, Beverley!" he exclaimed in a shaken voice, "are you mad?" + +"No," said Barnabas, "but I came here to buy those bills, and buy +them I will! If trebling it isn't enough, then--" + +"Ah!" cried Slingsby, pointing to the usurer's distorted face, +"can't you see? Don't you guess? He can't sell! No money-lender of +'em all could resist such an offer. I tell you he daren't sell, the +bills aren't his! Come away--" + +"Not his!" cried Barnabas, "then whose?" + +"God knows! But it's true,--look at him!" + +"Tell me," cried Barnabas, striving to see Gaunt's averted eyes, +"tell me who holds these bills,--if you have one spark of +generosity--tell me!" + +But Jasper Gaunt gave no sign, only the writhing fingers crept +across his face, over staring eyes and twitching lips. + +So, presently, Barnabas suffered Captain Slingsby to lead him from +the room, and down the somewhat dark and winding stair, past the +wizen-faced clock, out into the street already full of the glow of +evening. + +"It's a wonder to me," said the Captain, "yes, it's a great wonder +to me, that nobody has happened to kill Gaunt before now." + +So the Captain frowned, sighed, and climbed up to his seat. But, +when Barnabas would have followed, Billy Button touched him on the +arm. + +"Oh, Barnaby!" said he, "oh, Barnaby Bright, look--the day is dying, +the shadows are coming,--in a little while it will be night. But, oh +Youth, alas! alas! I can see the shadows have touched you already!" +And so, with a quick upflung glance at the dismal house, he turned, +waved his hand, and sped away on noiseless feet, and so was gone. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI + + +OF AN ETHICAL DISCUSSION, WHICH THE READER IS ADVISED TO SKIP + +Oho! for the rush of wind in the hair, for the rolling thunder of +galloping hoofs, now echoing on the hard, white road, now muffled in +dewy grass. + +Oho! for the horse and his rider and the glory of them; for the long, +swinging stride that makes nothing of distance, for the tireless +spring of the powerful loins, for the masterful hand on the bridle, +strong, yet gentle as a caress, for the firm seat--the balance and +sway that is an aid to speed, and proves the born rider. And what +horse should this be but Four-legs, his black coat glossy and +shining in the sun, his great, round hoofs spurning the flying earth, +all a-quiver with high courage, with life and the joy of it? And who +should be the rider but young Barnabas? + +He rides with his hat in his whip-hand, that he may feel the wind, +and with never a look behind, for birds are carolling from the cool +freshness of dewy wood and copse, in every hedge and tree the young +sun has set a myriad gems flashing and sparkling; while, out of the +green distance ahead, Love is calling; brooks babble of it, birds +sing of it, the very leaves find each a small, soft voice to whisper +of it. + +So away--away rides Barnabas by village green and lonely cot, past +hedge and gate and barn, up hill and down hill,--away from the dirt +and noise of London, away from its joys and sorrows, its splendors +and its miseries, and from the oncoming, engulfing shadow. Spur and +gallop, Barnabas,--ride, youth, ride! for the shadow has already +touched you, even as the madman said. + +Therefore while youth yet abides, while the sun yet shines,--ride, +Barnabas, ride! + +Now as he went, Barnabas presently espied a leafy by-lane, and +across this lane a fence had been erected,--a high fence, but with a +fair "take-off" and consequently, a most inviting fence. At this, +forthwith, Barnabas rode, steadied Four-legs in his stride, touched +him with the spur, and cleared it with a foot to spare. Then, all at +once, he drew rein and paced over the dewy grass to where, beneath +the hedge, was a solitary man who knelt before a fire of twigs +fanning it to a blaze with his wide-eaved hat. + +He was a slender man, and something stooping of shoulder, and his +hair shone silver-white in the sunshine. Hearing Barnabas approach, +he looked up, rose to his feet, and so stood staring as one in doubt. +Therefore Barnabas uncovered his head and saluted him with grave +politeness. + +"Sir," said he, reining in his great horse, "you have not forgotten +me, I hope?" + +"No indeed, young sir," answered the Apostle of Peace, with a +dawning smile of welcome. "But you are dressed very differently from +what I remember. The quiet, country youth has become lost, and +transfigured into the dashing Corinthian. What a vast difference +clothes can make in one! And yet your face is the same, your +expression unchanged. London has not altered you yet, and I hope it +never may. No, sir, your face is not one to be forgotten,--indeed it +reminds me of other days." + +"But we have only met once before," said Barnabas. + +"True! And yet I seem to have known you years ago,--that is what +puzzles me! But come, young sir,--if you have time and inclination +to share a vagrant's breakfast, I can offer you eggs and new milk, +and bread and butter,--simple fare, but more wholesome than your +French ragouts and highly-seasoned dishes." + +"You are very kind," said Barnabas, "the ride has made me hungry, +--besides, I should like to talk with you." + +"Why, then--light down from that great horse of yours, and join me. +The grass must be both chair and table, but here is a tree for your +back, and the bank for mine." + +So, having dismounted and secured his horse's bridle to a convenient +branch, Barnabas sat himself down with his back to the tree, and +accepted the wandering Preacher's bounty as freely as it was offered. +And when the Preacher had spoken a short grace, they began to eat, +and while they ate, to talk, as follows: + +_Barnabas_. "It is three weeks, I think, since we met?" + +_The Preacher_. "A month, young sir." + +_Barnabas_. "So long a time?" + +_The Preacher_. "So short a time. You have been busy, I take it?" + +_Barnabas_. "Yes, sir. Since last we met I have bought a house and set +up an establishment in London, and I have also had the good fortune +to be entered for the Gentleman's Steeplechase on the fifteenth." + +_The Preacher_. "You are rich, young sir?" + +_Barnabas_. "And I hope to be famous also." + +_The Preacher_. "Then indeed do I begin to tremble for you." + +_Barnabas_ (staring). "Why so?" + +_The Preacher_. "Because wealth is apt to paralyze effort, and Fame is +generally harder to bear, and far more dangerous, than failure." + +_Barnabas_. "How dangerous, sir?" + +_The Preacher_. "Because he who listens too often to the applause of +the multitude grows deaf to the voice of Inspiration, for it is a +very small, soft voice, and must be hearkened for, and some call it +Genius, and some the Voice of God--" + +_Barnabas_. "But Fame means Power, and I would succeed for the sake of +others beside myself. Yes,--I must succeed, and, as I think you once +said, all things are possible to us! Pray, what did you mean?" + +_The Preacher_. "Young sir, into each of us who are born into this +world God puts something of Himself, and by reason of this Divine +part, all things are possible." + +_Barnabas_. "Yet the world is full of failures." + +_The Preacher_. "Alas! yes; but only because men do not realize power +within them. For man is a selfish creature, and Self is always +grossly blind. But let a man look within himself, let him but become +convinced of this Divine power, and the sure and certain knowledge +of ultimate success will be his. So, striving diligently, this power +shall grow within him, and by and by he shall achieve great things, +and the world proclaim him a Genius." + +_Barnabas_. "Then--all men might succeed." + +_The Preacher_. "Assuredly! for success is the common heritage of Man. +It is only Self, blind, ignorant Self, who is the coward, crying 'I +cannot! I dare not! It is impossible!'" + +_Barnabas_. "What do you mean by 'Self'?" + +_The Preacher_. "I mean the grosser part, the slave that panders to +the body, a slave that, left unchecked, may grow into a tyrant, a +Circe, changing Man to brute." + +Here Barnabas, having finished his bread and butter, very +thoughtfully cut himself another slice. + +_Barnabas_ (still thoughtful). "And do you still go about preaching +Forgetfulness of Self, sir?" + +_The Preacher_. "And Forgiveness, yes. A good theme, young sir, +but--very unpopular. Men prefer to dwell upon the wrongs done them, +rather than cherish the memory of benefits conferred. But, +nevertheless, I go up and down the ways, preaching always." + +_Barnabas_. "Why, then, I take it, your search is still unsuccessful." + +_The Preacher_. "Quite! Sometimes a fear comes upon me that she may be +beyond my reach--" + +_Barnabas_. "You mean--?" + +_The Preacher_. "Dead, sir. At such times, things grow very black +until I remember that God is a just God, and therein lies my sure +and certain hope. But I would not trouble you with my griefs, young +sir, more especially on such a glorious morning,--hark to the +throstle yonder, he surely sings of Life and Hope. So, if you will, +pray tell me of yourself, young sir, of your hopes and ambitions." + +_Barnabas_. "My ambitions, sir, are many, but first,--I would be a +gentleman." + +_The Preacher_ (nodding). "Good! So far as it goes, the ambition is a +laudable one." + +_Barnabas_ (staring thoughtfully at his bread and butter). "The first +difficulty is to know precisely what a gentleman should be. Pray, sir, +what is your definition?" + +_The Preacher_. "A gentleman, young sir, is (I take it) one born with +the Godlike capacity to think and feel for others, irrespective of +their rank or condition." + +_Barnabas_. "Hum! One who is unselfish?" + +_The Preacher_. "One who possesses an ideal so lofty, a mind so +delicate, that it lifts him above all things ignoble and base, yet +strengthens his hands to raise those who are fallen--no matter how +low. This, I think, is to be truly a gentleman, and of all gentle +men Jesus of Nazareth was the first." + +_Barnabas_ (shaking his head). "And yet, sir, I remember a whip of +small cords." + +_The Preacher_. "Truly, for Evil sometimes so deadens the soul that it +can feel only through the flesh." + +_Barnabas_. "Then--a man may fight and yet be a gentleman?" + +_The Preacher_. "He who can forgive, can fight." + +_Barnabas_. "Sir, I am relieved to know that. But must Forgiveness +always come after?" + +_The Preacher_. "If the evil is truly repented of." + +_Barnabas_. "Even though the evil remain?" + +_The Preacher_. "Ay, young sir, for then Forgiveness becomes truly +divine." + +_Barnabas_. "Hum!" + +_The Preacher_. "But you eat nothing, young sir." + +_Barnabas_. "I was thinking." + +_The Preacher_. "Of what?" + +_Barnabas_. "Sir, my thought embraced you." + +_The Preacher_. "How, young sir?" + +_Barnabas_. "I was wondering if you had ever heard of a man named +Chichester?" + +_The Preacher_ (speaking brokenly, and in a whisper). "Sir!--young +sir,--you said--?" + +_Barnabas_ (rising). "Chichester!" + +_The Preacher_ (coming to his knees). "Sir,--oh, sir,--this +man--Chichester is he who stole away--my daughter,--who blasted her +honor and my life,--who--" + +_Barnabas_. "No!" + +_The Preacher_ (covering his face). "Yes,--yes! God help me, it's true! +But in her shame I love her still, oh, my pride is dead long ago. I +remember only that I am her father, with all a father's loving pity, +and that she--" + +_Barnabas_. "And that she is the stainless maid she always was--" + +"Sir," cried the Preacher, "oh, sir,--what do you mean?" and +Barnabas saw the thin hands clasp and wring themselves, even as he +remembered Clemency's had done. + +"I mean," answered Barnabas, "that she fled from pollution, and +found refuge among honest folk. I mean that she is alive and well, +that she lives but to bless your arms and feel a father's kiss of +forgiveness. If you would find her, go to the 'Spotted Cow,' near +Frittenden, and ask for 'Clemency'!" + +"Clemency!" repeated the Preacher, "Clemency means mercy. And she +called herself--Clemency!" Then, with a sudden, rapturous gesture, +he lifted his thin hands, and with his eyes upturned to the blue +heaven, spoke. + +"Oh, God!" he cried, "Oh, Father of Mercy, I thank Thee!" And so he +arose from his knees, and turning about, set off through the golden +morning towards Frittenden, and Clemency. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII + + +IN WHICH THE BO'SUN DISCOURSES ON LOVE AND ITS SYMPTOMS + +Oho! for the warmth and splendor of the mid-day sun; for the dance +and flurry of leafy shadows on the sward; for stilly wayside pools +whose waters, deep and dark in the shade of overhanging boughs, are +yet dappled here and there with glory; for merry brooks leaping +and laughing along their stony beds; for darkling copse and sunny +upland,--oho! for youth and life and the joy of it. + +To the eyes of Barnabas, the beauty of the world about him served +only to remind him of the beauty of her who was compounded of all +things beautiful,--the One and Only Woman, whose hair was yellow +like the ripening corn, whose eyes were deep and blue as the infinite +heaven, whose lips were red as the poppies that bloomed beside the +way, and whose body was warm with youth, and soft and white as the +billowy clouds above. + +Thus on galloped Barnabas with the dust behind and the white road +before, and with never a thought of London, or its wonders, or the +gathering shadow. + +It was well past noon when he beheld a certain lonely church where +many a green mound and mossy headstone marked the resting-place of +those that sleep awhile. And here, beside the weather-worn porch, +were the stocks, that "place of thought" where Viscount Devenham had +sat in solitary, though dignified meditation. A glance, a smile, and +Barnabas was past, and galloping down the hill towards where the +village nestled in the valley. Before the inn he dismounted, and, +having seen Four-legs well bestowed, and given various directions to +a certain sleepy-voiced ostler, he entered the inn, and calling for +dinner, ate it with huge relish. Now, when he had done, came the +landlord to smoke a pipe with him,--a red-faced man, vast of paunch +and garrulous of tongue. + +"Fine doin's there be up at t' great 'ouse, sir," he began. + +"You mean Annersley House?" + +"Ay, sir. All the quality is there,--my son's a groom there an' 'e +told me, so 'e did. Theer ain't nobody as ain't either a Markus or a +Earl or a Vi'count, and as for Barry-nets, they're as thick as flies, +they are,--an' all to meet a little, old 'ooman as don't come up to +my shoulder! But then--she's a Duchess, an' that makes all the +difference!" + +"Yes, of course," said Barnabas. + +"A little old 'ooman wi' curls, as don't come no-wise near so 'igh +as my shoulder! Druv up to that theer very door as you see theer, in +'er great coach an' four, she did,--orders the steps to be lowered, +--comes tapping into this 'ere very room with 'er little cane, she do, +--sits down in that theer very chair as you're a-sittin' in, she do, +fannin' 'erself with a little fan--an' calls for--now, what d' ye +suppose, sir?" + +"I haven't the least idea." + +"She calls, sir,--though you won't believe me, it aren't to be +expected,--no, not on my affer-daver,--she being a Duchess, ye see--" + +"Well, what did she call for?" inquired Barnabas, rising. + +"Sir, she called for--on my solemn oath it's true--though I don't ax +ye to believe me, mind,--she sat in that theer identical chair,--an' +mark me, 'er a Duchess,--she sat in that cheer, a-fannin' 'erself +with 'er little fan, an' calls for a 'arf of Kentish ale--'Westerham +brew,' says she; an' 'er a Duchess! In a tankard! But I know as you +won't believe me,--nor I don't ax any man to,--no, not if I went +down on my bended marrer-bones--" + +"But I do believe you," said Barnabas. + +"What--you do?" cried the landlord, almost reproachfully. + +"Certainly! A Duchess is, sometimes, almost human." + +"But you--actooally--believe me?" + +"Yes." + +"Well--you surprise me, sir! Ale! A Duchess! In a tankard! No, it +aren't nat'ral. Never would I ha' believed as any one would ha' +believed such a--" + +But here Barnabas laughed, and taking up his hat, sallied out into +the sunshine. + +He went by field paths that led him past woods in whose green +twilight thrushes and blackbirds piped, by sunny meadows where larks +mounted heavenward in an ecstasy of song, and so, eventually he +found himself in a road where stood a weather-beaten finger-post, +with its two arms wide-spread and pointing: + + TO LONDON. TO HAWKHURST + +Here Barnabas paused a while, and bared his head as one who stands +on hallowed ground. And looking upon the weather-worn finger-post, +he smiled very tenderly, as one might who meets an old friend. Then +he went on again until he came to a pair of tall iron gates, +hospitable gates that stood open as though inviting him to enter. +Therefore he went on, and thus presently espied a low, rambling +house of many gables, about which were trim lawns and stately trees. +Now as he stood looking at this house, he heard a voice near by, a +deep, rolling bass upraised in song, and the words of it were these: + + "What shall we do with the drunken sailor, + Heave, my lads, yo-ho! + Why, put him in the boat and roll him over, + Put him in the boat till he gets sober, + Put him in the boat and roll him over, + With a heave, my lads, yo-ho!" + +Following the direction of this voice, Barnabas came to a lawn +screened from the house by hedges of clipped yew. At the further end +of this lawn was a small building which had been made to look as +much as possible like the after-cabin of a ship. It had a door midway, +with a row of small, square windows on either side, and was flanked +at each end by a flight of wooden steps, with elaborately carved +hand-rails, that led up to the quarterdeck above, which was +protected by more carved posts and rails. Here a stout pole had been +erected and rigged with block and fall, and from this, a flag +stirred lazily in the gentle wind. + +Now before this building, his blue coat laid by, his shirt sleeves +rolled up, his glazed hat on the back of his head, was the Bo'sun, +polishing away at a small, brass cannon that was mounted on a +platform, and singing lustily as he worked. So loudly did he sing, +and so engrossed was he, that he did not look up until he felt +Barnabas touch him. Then he started, turned, stared, hesitated, and, +finally, broke into a smile. + +"Ah, it's you, sir,--the young gemman as bore away for Lon'on +alongside Master Horatio, his Lordship!" + +"Yes," said Barnabas, extending his hand, "how are you, Bo'sun?" + +"Hearty, sir, hearty, I thank ye!" Saying which he touched his +forehead, rubbed his hand upon his trousers, looked at it, rubbed it +again, and finally gave it to Barnabas, though with an air of apology. +"Been making things a bit ship-shape, sir, 'count o' this here day +being a occasion,--but I'm hearty, sir, hearty, I thank ye." + +"And the Captain," said Barnabas with some hesitation. "How is the +Captain?" + +"The Cap'n, sir," answered the Bo'sun, "the Cap'n is likewise hearty." + +"And--Lady Cleone--is she well, is she happy?" + +"Why, sir, she's as 'appy as can be expected--under the circumstances." + +"What circumstances?" + +"Love, sir." + +"Love!" exclaimed Barnabas, "why, Bo'sun--what do you mean?" + +"I mean, sir, as she's fell in love at last-- + +"How do you know--who with--where is she--?" + +"Well, sir, I know on account o' 'er lowness o' sperrits,--noticed +it for a week or more. Likewise I've heered 'er sigh very frequent, +and I've seen 'er sit a-staring up at the moon--ah, that I have! +Now lovers is generally low in their sperrits, I've heered tell, +and they allus stare very 'ard at the moon,--why, I don't know, +but they do,--leastways, so I've--" + +"But--in love--with whom? Can I see her? Where is she? Are you sure?" + +"And sartain, sir. Only t' other night, as I sat a-smoking my pipe +on the lawn, yonder,--she comes out to me, and nestles down under my +lee--like she used to years ago. 'Jerry, dear,' says she, 'er voice +all low and soft-like, 'look at the moon,--how beautiful it is!' says +she, and--she give a sigh. 'Yes, my lady,' says I. 'Oh, Jerry,' says +she, 'call me Clo, as you used to do.' 'Yes, my Lady Clo,' says I. +But she grapples me by the collar, and stamps 'er foot at me, all +in a moment. 'Leave out the 'lady,'' says she. 'Yes, Clo,' says I. +So she nestles an' sighs and stares at the moon again. 'Jerry, dear,' +says she after a bit, 'when will the moon be at the full?' 'To-morrer, +Clo,' says I. And after she's stared and sighed a bit longer--'Jerry, +dear,' says she again, 'it's sweet to think that while we are +looking up at the moon--others perhaps are looking at it too, I mean +others who are far away. It--almost seems to bring them nearer, +doesn't it? Then I knowed as 't were love, with a big L, sartin and +sure, and--" + +"Bo'sun," said Barnabas, catching him by the arm, "who is it she +loves?" + +"Well, sir,--I aren't quite sure, seeing as there are so many on 'em +in 'er wake, but I think,--and I 'ope, as it's 'is Lordship, Master +Horatio." + +"Ah!" said Barnabas, his frowning brow relaxing. + +"If it ain't 'im,--why then it's mutiny,--that's what it is, sir!" + +"Mutiny?" + +"Ye see, sir," the Bo'sun went on to explain, "orders is orders, and +if she don't love Master Horatio--well, she ought to." + +"Why?" + +"Because they was made for each other. Because they was promised to +each other years ago. It were all arranged an' settled 'twixt Master +Horatio's father, the Earl, and Lady Cleone's guardian, the Cap'n." + +"Ah!" said Barnabas, "and where is she--and the Captain?" + +"Out, sir; an' she made him put on 'is best uniform, as he only +wears on Trafalgar Day, and such great occasions. She orders out the +fam'ly coach, and away they go, 'im the very picter o' what a +post-captain o' Lord Nelson should be (though to be sure, there's a +darn in his white silk stocking--the one to starboard, just abaft +the shoe-buckle, and, therefore, not to be noticed, and I were allus +'andy wi' my needle), and her--looking the picter o' the handsomest +lady, the loveliest, properest maid in all this 'ere world. Away +they go, wi' a fair wind to sarve 'em, an' should ha' dropped anchor +at Annersley House a full hour ago." + +"At Annersley?" said Barnabas. "There is a reception there, I hear?" + +"Yes, sir, all great folk from Lon'on, besides country folk o' +quality,--to meet the Duchess o' Camberhurst, and she's the greatest +of 'em all. Lord! There's enough blue blood among 'em to float a +Seventy-four. Nat'rally, the Cap'n wanted to keep a good offing to +windward of 'em. 'For look ye, Jerry,' says he, 'I'm no confounded +courtier to go bowing and scraping to a painted old woman, with a +lot of other fools, just because she happens to be a duchess,--no, +damme!' and down 'e sits on the breech o' the gun here. But, just +then, my lady heaves into sight, brings up alongside, and comes to +an anchor on his knee. 'Dear,' says she, with her round, white arm +about his neck, and her soft, smooth cheek agin his, 'dear, it's +almost time we began to dress.' 'Dress?' says he, 'what for, Clo,--I +say, what d'ye mean?' 'Why, for the reception,' says she. 'To-day is +my birthday' (which it is, sir, wherefore the flag at our peak, +yonder), 'and I know you mean to take me,' says she, 'so I told +Robert we should want the coach at three. So come along and +dress,--like a dear.' The Cap'n stared at 'er, dazed-like, give +me a look, and,--well--" the Bo'sun smiled and shook his head. +"Ye see, sir, in some ways the Cap'n 's very like a ordinary man, +arter all!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII + + +HOW BARNABAS CLIMBED A WALL + +Now presently, as he went, he became aware of a sound that was not +the stir of leaves, nor the twitter of birds, nor the music of +running waters, though all these were in his ears,--for this was +altogether different; a distant sound that came and went, that +swelled to a murmur, sank to a whisper, yet never wholly died away. +Little by little the sound grew plainer, more insistent, until, +mingled with the leafy stirrings, he could hear a plaintive melody, +rising and falling, faint with distance. + +Hereupon Barnabas halted suddenly, his chin in hand, his brow +furrowed in thought, while over his senses stole the wailing melody +of the distant violins. A while he stood thus, then plunged into the +cool shadow of a wood, and hurried on by winding tracks, through +broad glades, until the wood was left behind, until the path became +a grassy lane; and ever the throbbing melody swelled and grew. It +was a shady lane, tortuous and narrow, but on strode Barnabas until, +rounding a bend, he beheld a wall, an ancient, mossy wall of red +brick; and with his gaze upon this, he stopped again. But the melody +called to him, louder now and more insistent, and mingled with the +throb of the violins was the sound of voices and laughter. + +Then, standing on tip-toe, Barnabas set his hands to the coping of +the wall, and drawing himself up, caught a momentary vision of +smiling gardens, of green lawns where bright figures moved, of +winding walks and neat trimmed hedges, ere, swinging himself over, +he dropped down among a bed of Sir George Annersley's stocks. + +Before him was a shady walk winding between clipped yews, and, +following this, Barnabas presently espied a small arbor some +distance away. Now between him and this arbor was a place where four +paths met, and where stood an ancient sun-dial with quaintly carved +seats. And here, the sun making a glory of her wondrous hair, was my +Lady Cleone, with the Marquis of Jerningham beside her. She sat with +her elbow on her knee and her dimpled chin upon her palm, and, even +from where he stood, Barnabas could see again the witchery of her +lashes that drooped dark upon the oval of her cheek. + +The Marquis was talking earnestly, gesturing now and then with his +slender hand that had quite lost its habitual languor, and stooping +that he might look into the drooping beauty of her face, utterly +regardless of the havoc he thus wrought upon the artful folds of his +marvellous cravat. All at once she looked up, laughed and shook her +head, and, closing her fan, pointed with it towards the distant house, +laughing still, but imperious. Hereupon the Marquis rose, albeit +unwillingly, and bowing, hurried off to obey her behest. Then Cleone +rose also, and turning, went on slowly toward the arbor, with head +drooping as one in thought. + +And now, with his gaze upon that shapely back, all youthful +loveliness from slender foot to the crowning glory of her hair, +Barnabas sighed, and felt his heart leap as he strode after her. But, +even as he followed, oblivious of all else under heaven, he beheld +another back that obtruded itself suddenly upon the scene, a broad, +graceful back in a coat of fine blue cloth,--a back that bore itself +with a masterful swing of the shoulders. And, in that instant, +Barnabas recognized Sir Mortimer Carnaby. + +Cleone had reached the arbor, but on the threshold turned to meet +Sir Mortimer's sweeping bow. And now she seemed to hesitate, then +extended her hand, and Sir Mortimer followed her into the arbor. My +lady's cheeks were warm with rich color, her eyes were suddenly and +strangely bright as she sank into a chair, and Sir Mortimer, +misinterpreting this, had caught and imprisoned her hands. + +"Cleone," said he, "at last!" The slender hands fluttered in his +grasp, but his grasp was strong, and, ere she could stay him, he was +down before her on his knee, and speaking quick and passionately. + +"Cleone!--hear me! nay, I will speak! All the afternoon I have tried +to get a word with you, and now you must hear me--you shall. And +yet you know what I would say. You know I love you, and have done +from the first hour I saw you. And from that hour I've hungered for +your, Cleone, do you hear? Ah, tell me you love me!" + +But my lady sat wide-eyed, staring at the face amid the leaves +beyond the open window,--a face so handsome, yet so distorted; saw +the gleam of clenched teeth, the frowning brows, the menacing gray +eyes. + +Sir Mortimer, all unconscious, had caught her listless hands to his +lips, and was speaking again between his kisses. + +"Speak, Cleone! You know how long I have loved you,--speak and bid +me hope! What, silent still? Why, then--give me that rose from your +bosom,--let it be hope's messenger, and speak for you." + +But still my lady sat dumb, staring up at the face amid the leaves, +the face of Man Primeval, aglow with all the primitive passions; +beheld the drawn lips and quivering nostrils, the tense jaw savage +and masterful, and the glowing eyes that threatened her. And, in +that moment, she threw tip her head rebellious, and sighed, and +smiled,--a woman's smile, proud, defiant; and, uttering no word, +gave Sir Mortimer the rose. Then, even as she did so, sprang to her +feet, and laughed, a little tremulously, and bade Sir Mortimer Go! Go! +Go! Wherefore, Sir Mortimer, seeing her thus, and being wise in the +ways of women, pressed the flower to his lips, and so turned and +strode off down the path. And when his step had died away Cleone +sank down in the chair, and spoke. + +"Come out--spy!" she called. And Barnabas stepped out from the leaves. +Then, because she knew what look was in his eyes, she kept her own +averted; and because she was a woman young, and very proud, she +lashed him with her tongue. + +"So much for your watching and listening!" said she. + +"But--he has your rose!" said Barnabas. + +"And what of that?" + +"And he has your promise!" + +"I never spoke--" + +"But the rose did!" + +"The rose will fade and wither--" + +"But it bears your promise--" + +"I gave no promise, and--and--oh, why did you--look at me!" + +"Look at you?" + +"Why did you frown at me?" + +"Why did you give him the rose?" + +"Because it was so my pleasure. Why did you frown at me with eyes +like--like a devil's?" + +"I wanted to kill him--then!" + +"And now?" + +"Now, I wish him well of his bargain, and my thanks are due to him." + +"Why?" + +"Because, without knowing it, he has taught me what women are." + +"What do you mean?" + +"I--loved you, Cleone. To me you were one apart--holy, immaculate--" + +"Yes?" said Cleone very softly. + +"And I find you--" + +"Only a--woman, sir,--who will not be watched, and frowned at, and +spied upon." + +"--a heartless coquette--" said Barnabas. + +"--who despises eavesdroppers, and will not be spied upon, or +frowned at!" + +"I did not spy upon you," cried Barnabas, stung at last, "or if I did, +God knows it was well intended." + +"How, sir?" + +"I remembered the last time we three were together,--in Annersley +Wood." Here my lady shivered and hid her face. "And now, you gave +him the rose! Do you want the love of this man, Cleone?" + +"There is only one man in all the world I despise more, and his name +is--Barnabas," said she, without looking up. + +"So you--despise me, Cleone?" + +"Yes--Barnabas." + +"And I came here to tell you that I--loved you--to ask you to be my +wife--" + +"And looked at me with Devil's eyes--" + +"Because you were mine, and because he--" + +"Yours, Barnabas? I never said so." + +"Because I loved you--worshipped you, and because--" + +"Because you were--jealous, Barnabas!" + +"Because I would have my wife immaculate--" + +"But I am not your--wife." + +"No," said Barnabas, frowning, "she must be immaculate." + +Now when he said this he heard her draw a long, quivering sigh, and +with the sigh she rose to her feet and faced him, and her eyes were +wide and very bright, and the fan she held snapped suddenly across +in her white fingers. + +"Sir," she said, very softly, "I whipped you once, if I had a whip +now, your cheek should burn again." + +"But I should not ask you to kiss it,--this time!" said Barnabas. + +"Yes," she said, in the same soft voice, "I despise you--for +a creeping spy, a fool, a coward--a maligner of women. Oh, +go away,--pray go. Leave me, lest I stifle." + +But now, seeing the flaming scorn of him in her eyes, in the +passionate quiver of her hands, he grew afraid, cowed by her very +womanhood. + +"Indeed," he stammered, "you are unjust. I--I did not mean--" + +"Go!" said she, cold as ice, "get back over the wall. Oh! I saw you +climb over like a--thief! Go away, before I call for help--before I +call the grooms and stable-boys to whip you out into the road where +you belong--go, I say!" And frowning now, she stamped her foot, and +pointed to the wall. Then Barnabas laughed softty, savagely, and, +reaching out, caught her up in his long arms and crushed her to him. + +"Call if you will, Cleone," said he, "but listen first! I said to +you that my wife should come to me immaculate--fortune's spoiled +darling though she be,--petted, wooed, pampered though she is,--and, +by God, so you shall! For I love you, Cleone, and if I live, I will +some day call you 'wife,'--in spite of all your lovers, and all the +roses that ever bloomed. Now, Cleone,--call them if you will." So +saying he set her down and freed her from his embrace. But my +lady, leaning breathless in the doorway, only looked at him +once,--frowning a little, panting a little,--a long wondering look +beneath her lashes, and, turning, was gone among the leaves. Then +Barnabas picked up the broken fan, very tenderly, and put it into +his bosom, and so sank down into the chair, his chin propped upon +his fist, frowning blackly at the glory of the afternoon. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX + + +IN WHICH THE PATIENT READER IS INTRODUCED TO AN ALMOST HUMAN DUCHESS + +"Very dramatic, sir! Though, indeed, you missed an opportunity, +and--gracious heaven, how he frowns!" A woman's voice, sharp, +high-pitched, imperious. + +Barnabas started, and glancing up, beheld an ancient lady, very +small and very upright; her cheeks were suspiciously pink, her curls +suspiciously dark and luxuriant, but her eyes were wonderfully young +and handsome; one slender mittened hand rested upon the ivory head +of a stick, and in the other she carried a small fan. + +"Now, he stares!" she exclaimed, as she met his look. "Lud, how he +stares! As if I were a ghost, or a goblin, instead of only an old +woman with raddled cheeks and a wig. Oh, yes! I wear a wig, sir, and +very hideous I look without it! But even I was young once upon a +time--many, many years ago, and quite as beautiful as She, indeed, +rather more so, I think,--and I should have treated you exactly as +She did--only more so,--I mean Cleone. Your blonde women are either +too cold or overpassionate,--I know, for my hair was as yellow as +Cleone's, hundreds of years ago, and I think, more abundant. To-day, +being only a dyed brunette, I am neither too cold nor over-passionate, +and I tell you, sir, you deserved it, every word." + +Here Barnabas rose, and, finding nothing to say, bowed. + +"But," continued the ancient lady, sweeping him with a quick, +approving gaze, "I like your face, and y-e-s, you have a very good +leg. You also possess a tongue, perhaps, and can speak?" + +"Given the occasion, madam," said Barnabas, smiling. + +"Ha, sir! do I talk so much then? Well, perhaps I do, for when a +woman ceases to talk she's dead, and I'm very much alive indeed. So +you may give me your arm, sir, and listen to me, and drop an +occasional remark while I take breath,--your arm, sir!" And here the +small, ancient lady held out a small, imperious hand, while her +handsome young eyes smiled up into his. + +"Madam, you honor me!" + +"But I am only an old woman,--with a wig!" + +"Age is always honorable, madam." + +"Now that is very prettily said, indeed you improve, sir. Do you +know who I am?" + +"No, madam; but I can guess." + +"Ah, well,--you shall talk to me. Now, sir,--begin. Talk to me of +Cleone." + +"Madam--I had rather not." + +"Eh, sir,--you won't?" + +"No, madam." + +"Why, then, I will!" Here the ancient lady glanced up at Barnabas +with a malicious little smile. "Let me see, now--what were her words? +'Spy,' I think. Ah, yes--'a creeping spy,' 'a fool' and 'a coward.' +Really, I don't think I could have bettered that--even in my best +days,--especially the 'creeping spy.'" + +"Madam," said Barnabas in frowning surprise, "you were listening?" + +"At the back of the arbor," she nodded, "with my ear to the panelling, +--I am sometimes a little deaf, you see." + +"You mean that you were--actually prying--?" + +"And I enjoyed it all very much, especially your 'immaculate' speech, +which was very heroic, but perfectly ridiculous, of course. Indeed, +you are a dreadfully young, young sir, I fear. In future, I warn you +not to tell a woman, too often, how much you respect her, or she'll +begin to think you don't love her at all. To be over-respectful +doesn't sit well on a lover, and 'tis most unfair and very trying to +the lady, poor soul!" + +"To hearken to a private conversation doesn't sit well on a lady, +madam, or an honorable woman." + +"No, indeed, young sir. But then, you see, I'm neither. I'm only a +Duchess, and a very old one at that, and I think I told you I wore a +wig? But 'all the world loves a lover,' and so do I. As soon as ever +I saw you I knew you for a lover of the 'everything-or-nothing' type. +Oh, yes, all lovers are of different types, sir, and I think I know +'em all. You see, when I was young and beautiful--ages ago--lovers +were a hobby of mine,--I studied them, sir. And, of 'em all, I +preferred the 'everything-or-nothing, fire-and-ice, kiss-me-or-kill-me' +type. That was why I followed you, that was why I watched and listened, +and, I grieve to say, I didn't find you as deliciously brutal as I +had hoped." + +"Brutal, madam? Indeed, I--" + +"Of course! When you snatched her up in your arms,--and I'll admit +you did it very well,--when you had her there, you should have +covered her with burning kisses, and with an oath after each. Girls +like Cleone need a little brutality and--Ah! there's the Countess! +And smiling at me quite lovingly, I declare! Now I wonder what rod +she has in pickle for me? Dear me, sir, how dusty your coat is! And +spurred boots and buckskins are scarcely the mode for a garden fête. +Still, they're distinctive, and show off your leg to advantage, +better than those abominable Cossack things,--and I doat upon a good +leg--" But here she broke off and turned to greet the Countess,--a +large, imposing, bony lady in a turban, with the eye and the beak of +a hawk. + +"My dearest Letitia!" + +"My dear Duchess,--my darling Fanny, you 're younger than ever, +positively you are,--I'd never have believed it!" cried the Countess, +more hawk-like than ever. "I heard you were failing fast, but now I +look at you, dearest Fanny, I vow you don't look a day older than +seventy." + +"And I'm seventy-one, alas!" sighed the Duchess, her eyes young with +mischief. "And you, my sweetest creature,--how well you look! Who +would ever imagine that we were at school together, Letitia!" + +"But indeed I was--quite an infant, Fanny." + +"Quite, my love, and used to do my sums for me. But let me present +to you a young friend of mine, Mr.--Mr.--dear, dear! I quite +forget--my memory is going, you see, Letitia! Mr.--" + +"Beverley, madam," said Barnabas. + +"Thank you,--Beverley, of course! Mr. Beverley--the Countess of Orme." + +Hereupon Barnabas bowed low before the haughty stare of the keen, +hawk-like eyes. + +"And now, my sweet Letty," continued the Duchess, "you are always so +delightfully gossipy--have you any news,--any stories to laugh over?" + +"No, dear Fanny, neither the one nor the other--only--" + +"'Only,' my love?" + +"Only--but you've heard it already, of course,--you would be the +very first to know of it!" + +"Letitia, my dear--I always hated conundrums, you'll remember." + +"I mean, every one is talking of it, already." + +"Heigho! How warm the sun is!" + +"Of course it may be only gossip, but they do say Cleone Meredith +has refused the hand of your grandnephew." + +"Jerningham, oh yes," added the Duchess, "on the whole, it's just as +well." + +"But I thought--" the hawk-eyes were very piercing indeed. "I feared +it would be quite a blow to you--" + +The Duchess shook her head, with a little ripple of laughter. + +"I had formed other plans for him weeks ago,--they were quite +unsuited to each other, my love." + +"I'm delighted you take it so well, my own Fanny," said the Countess, +looking the reverse. "We leave almost immediately,--but when you +pass through Sevenoaks, you must positively stay with me for a day +or two. Goodby, my sweet Fanny!" So the two ancient ladies gravely +curtsied to each other, pecked each other on either cheek, and, with +a bow to Barnabas, the Countess swept away with an imposing rustle +of her voluminous skirts. + +"Cat!" exclaimed the Duchess, shaking her fan at the receding figure; +"the creature hates me fervently, and consequently, kisses me--on +both cheeks. Oh, yes, indeed, sir, she detests me--and quite +naturally. You see, we were girls together,--she's six months my +junior, and has never let me forget it,--and the Duke--God rest +him--admired us both, and, well,--I married him. And so Cleone has +actually refused poor Jerningham,--the yellow-maned minx!" + +"Why, then--you didn't know of it?" inquired Barnabas. + +"Oh, Innocent! of course I didn't. I'm not omniscient, and I only +ordered him to propose an hour ago. The golden hussy! the proud jade! +Refuse my grand-nephew indeed! Well, there's one of your rivals +disposed of, it seems,--count that to your advantage, sir!" + +"But," said Barnabas, frowning and shaking his head, "Sir Mortimer +Carnaby has her promise!" + +"Fiddlesticks!" + +"She gave him the rose!" said Barnabas, between set teeth. The +Duchess tittered. + +"Dear heart! how tragic you are!" she sighed. "Suppose she did,--what +then? And besides--hum! This time it is young D'Arcy, it seems,--callow, +pink, and quite harmless." + +"Madam?" said Barnabas, wondering. + +"Over there--behind the marble faun,--quite harmless, and very pink, +you'll notice. I mean young D'Arcy--not the faun. Clever minx! Now I +mean Cleone, of course--there she is!" Following the direction of the +Duchess's pointing fan, Barnabas saw Cleone, sure enough. Her eyes +were drooped demurely before the ardent gaze of the handsome, +pink-cheeked young soldier who stood before her, and in her white +fingers she held--a single red rose. Now, all at once, (and as +though utterly unconscious of the burning, watchful eyes of Barnabas) +she lifted the rose to her lips, and, smiling, gave it into the +young soldier's eager hand. Then they strolled away, his epaulette +very near the gleaming curls at her temple. + +"Lud, young sir!" exclaimed the Duchess, catching Barnabas by the +coat, "how dreadfully sudden you are in your movements--" + +"Madam, pray loose me!" + +"Why?" + +"I'm going--I cannot bear--any more!" + +"You mean--?" + +"I mean that--she has--" + +"A very remarkable head, she is as resourceful as I was--almost." + +"Resourceful!" exclaimed Barnabas, "she is--" + +"An extremely clever girl--" + +"Madam, pray let me go." + +"No, sir! my finger is twisted in your buttonhole,--if you pull +yourself away I expect you'll break it, so pray don't pull; naturally, +I detest pain. And I have much to talk about." + +"As you will, madam," said Barnabas, frowning. + +"First, tell me--you're quite handsome when you frown,--first, sir, +why weren't you formally presented to me with the other guests?" + +"Because I'm not a guest, madam." + +"Sir--explain yourself." + +"I mean that I came--over the wall, madam." + +"The wall! Climbed over?" + +"Yes, madam!" + +"Dear heaven! The monstrous audacity of the man! You came to see +Cleone, of course?" + +"Yes, madam." + +"Ah, very right,--very proper! I remember I had a lover--in the +remote ages, of course,--who used to climb--ah, well,--no matter! +Though his wall was much higher than yours yonder." Here the Duchess +sighed tenderly. "Well, you came to see Cleone, you found her,--and +nicely you behaved to each other when you met! Youth is always so +dreadfully tragic! But then what would love be without a little +tragedy? And oh--dear heaven!--how you must adore each other! Oh, +Youth! Youth!--and there's Sir George Annersley--!" + +"Then, madam, you must excuse me!" said Barnabas, glancing furtively +from the approaching figures to the adjacent wall. + +"Oh dear, no. Sir George is with Jerningharn and Major Piper, a +heavy dragoon--the heaviest in all the world, I'm sure. You must +meet them." + +"No, indeed--I--" + +"Sir," said the Duchess, buttonholing him again, "I insist! Oh, Sir +George--gentlemen!" she called. Hereupon three lounging figures +turned simultaneously, and came hurrying towards them. + +"Why, Duchess!" exclaimed Sir George, a large, mottled gentleman in +an uncomfortable cravat, "we have all been wondering what had become +of your Grace, and--" Here Sir George's sharp eye became fixed upon +Barnabas, upon his spurred boots, his buckskins, his dusty coat; and +Sir George's mouth opened, and he gave a tug at his cravat. + +"Deuce take me--it's Beverley!" exclaimed the Marquis, and held out +his hand. + +"What--you know each other?" the Duchess inquired. + +"Mr. Beverley is riding in the steeplechase on the fifteenth," the +Marquis answered. Hereupon Sir George stared harder than ever, and +gave another tug at his high cravat, while Major Piper, who had been +looking very hard at nothing in particular, glanced at Barnabas with +a gleam of interest and said "Haw!" + +As for the Duchess, she clapped her hands. + +"And he never told me a word of it!" she exclaimed. "Of course all +my money is on Jerningham,--though 'Moonraker' carries the odds, but +I must have a hundred or two on Mr. Beverley for--friendship's sake." + +"Friendship!" exclaimed the Marquis, "oh, begad!" Here he took out +his snuff-box, tapped it, and put it in his pocket again. + +"Yes, gentlemen," smiled the Duchess, "this is a friend of mine +who--dropped in upon me, as it were, quite unexpectedly--over the +wall, in fact." + +"Wall!" exclaimed Sir George. + +"The deuce you did, Beverley!" said the Marquis. + +As for Major Piper, he hitched his dolman round, and merely said: + +"Haw!" + +"Yes," said Barnabas, glancing from one to the other, "I am a +trespasser here, and, Sir George, I fear I damaged some of your +flowers!" + +"Flowers!" repeated Sir George, staring from Barnabas to the Duchess +and back again, "Oh!" + +"And now--pray let me introduce you," said the Duchess. "My friend +Mr. Beverley--Sir George Annersley. Mr. Beverley--Major Piper." + +"A friend of her Grace is always welcome here, sir," said Sir George, +extending a mottled hand. + +"Delighted!" smiled the Major, saluting him in turn. "Haw!" + +"But what in the world brings you here, Beverley?" inquired the +Marquis. + +"I do," returned his great-aunt. "Many a man has climbed a wall on +my account before to-day, Marquis, and remember I'm only +just--seventy-one, and growing younger every hour,--now am I not, +Major?" + +"Haw!--Precisely! Not a doubt, y' Grace. Soul and honor! Haw!" + +"Marquis--your arm, Mr. Beverley--yours! Now, Sir George, show us +the way to the marquee; I'm dying for a dish of tea, I vow I am!" + +Thus, beneath the protecting wing of a Duchess was Barnabas given +his first taste of Quality and Blood. Which last, though blue beyond +all shadow of doubt, yet manifested itself in divers quite ordinary +ways as,--in complexions of cream and roses; in skins sallow and +wrinkled; in noses haughtily Roman or patricianly Greek, in noses +mottled and unclassically uplifted; in black hair, white hair, yellow, +brown, and red hair;--such combinations as he had seen many and many +a time on village greens, and at country wakes and fairs. Yes, all +was the same, and yet--how vastly different! For here voices were +softly modulated, arms and hands gracefully borne, heads carried high, +movement itself an artful science. Here eyes were raised or lowered +with studied effect; beautiful shoulders, gracefully shrugged, +became dimpled and irresistible; faces with perfect profiles were +always--in profile. Here, indeed, Age and Homeliness went clothed in +magnificence, and Youth and Beauty walked hand in hand with Elegance; +while everywhere was a graceful ease that had been learned and +studied with the Catechism. Barnabas was in a world of silks and +satins and glittering gems, of broadcloth and fine linen, where such +things are paramount and must be lived up to; a world where the +friendship of a Duchess may transform a nobody into a SOMEBODY, to +be bowed to by the most elaborate shirtfronts, curtsied to by the +haughtiest of turbans, and found worthy of the homage of bewitching +eyes, seductive dimples, and entrancing profiles. + +In a word, Barnabas had attained--even unto the World of Fashion. + + + + +CHAPTER XL + + +WHICH RELATES SUNDRY HAPPENINGS AT THE GARDEN FÊTE + +"Gad, Beverley! how the deuce did y' do it?" + +"Do what, Marquis?" + +"Charm the Serpent! Tame the Dragon!" + +"Dragon?" + +"Make such a conquest of her Graceless Grace of Camberhurst, my +great-aunt? I didn't know you were even acquainted,--how long have +you known her?" + +"About an hour," said Barnabas. + +"Eh--an hour? But, my dear fellow, you came to see her--over the wall, +you know,--she said so, and--" + +"She said so, yes, Marquis, but--" + +"But? Oh, I see! Ah, to be sure! She is my great-aunt, of course, +and my great-aunt, Beverley, generally thinks, and does, and +says--exactly what she pleases. Begad! you never can tell what she'll +be up to next,--consequently every one is afraid of her, even +those high goddesses of the beau monde, those exclusive grandes dames, +my Ladies Castlereagh, Jersey, Cowper and the rest of 'em--they're +all afraid of my small great-aunt, and no wonder! You see, she's +old--older than she looks, and--with a perfectly diabolical memory! +She knows not only all their own peccadillos, but the sins of their +great-grandmothers as well. She fears nothing on the earth, or under +the earth, and respects no one--not even me. Only about half an hour +ago she informed me that I was a--well, she told me precisely what I +was,--and she can be painfully blunt, Beverley,--just because Cleone +happens to have refused me again." + +"Again?" said Barnabas inquiringly. + +"Oh, yes! She does it regularly. Begad! she's refused me so often +that it's grown into a kind of formula with us now. I say, 'Cleone, +do!' and she answers, 'Bob, don't!' But even that's something,--lots +of 'em haven't got so far as that with her." + +"Sir Mortimer Carnaby, for instance!" said Barnabas, biting his lip. + +"Hum!" said the Marquis dubiously, deftly re-settling his cravat, +"and what of--yourself, Beverley?" + +"I have asked her--only twice, I think." + +"Ah, and she--refused you?" + +"No," sighed Barnabas, "she told me she--despised me." + +"Did she so? Give me your hand--I didn't think you were so strong in +the running. With Cleone's sort there's always hope so long as she +isn't sweet and graciously indifferent." + +"Pray," said Barnabas suddenly, "pray where did you get that rose, +Marquis?" + +"This? Oh, she gave it to me." + +"Cleone?" + +"Of course." + +"But--I thought she'd refused you?" + +"Oh, yes--so she did; but that's just like Cleone, frowning one +moment, smiling the next--April, you know." + +"And did she--kiss it first?" + +"Kiss it? Why--deuce take me, now I come to think of it,--so +she did,--at least--What now, Beverley?" + +"I'm--going!" said Barnabas. + +"Going? Where?" + +"Back--over the wall!" + +"Eh!--run away, is it?" + +"As far," said Barnabas, scowling, "as far as possible. Good-by, +Marquis!" And so he turned and strode away, while the Marquis stared +after him, open-mouthed. But as he went, Barnabas heard a voice +calling his name, and looking round, beheld Captain Chumly coming +towards him. A gallant figure he made (despite grizzled hair and +empty sleeve), in all the bravery of his white silk stockings, and +famous Trafalgar coat, which, though a little tarnished as to +epaulettes and facings, nevertheless bore witness to the Bo'sun's +diligent care; he was, indeed, from the crown of his cocked hat down +to his broad, silver shoe-buckles, the very pattern of what a +post-captain of Lord Nelson should be. + +"Eh, sir!" he exclaimed, with his hand outstretched in greeting, +"are ye blind, I say are ye blind and deaf? Didn't you hear her +Grace hailing you? Didn't ye see me signal you to 'bring to'?" + +"No, sir," answered Barnabas, grasping the proffered hand. + +"Oho!" said the Captain, surveying Barnabas from head to foot, +"so you've got 'em on, I see, and vastly different you look in your +fine feathers. But you can sink me,--I say you can scuttle and sink +me if I don't prefer you in your homespun! You'll be spelling your +name with as many unnecessary letters, and twirls, and flourishes as +you can clap in, nowadays, I'll warrant." + +"Jack Chumly, don't bully the boy!" said a voice near by; and +looking thitherward, Barnabas beheld the Duchess seated at a small +table beneath a shady tree, and further screened by a tall hedge; a +secluded corner, far removed from the throng, albeit a most +excellent place for purposes of observation, commanding as it did a +wide view of lawns and terraces. "As for you, Mr. Beverley," +continued the Duchess, with her most imperious air, "you may bring a +seat--here, beside me,--and help the Captain to amuse me." + +"Madam," said Barnabas, his bow very solemn and very deep, "I am +about to leave, and--with your permission--I--" + +"You have my permission to--sit here beside me, sir. So! A dish of +tea? No? Ah, well--we were just talking of you; the Captain was +describing how he first met you--" + +"Bowing to a gate-post, mam,--on my word as a sailor and a Christian, +it was a gate-post,--I say, an accurs--a confoundedly rotten old +stick of a gate-post." + +"I remember," sighed Barnabas. + +"And to-day, sir," continued the Captain, "to-day you must come +clambering over a gentleman's garden wall to bow and scrape to a--" + +"Don't dare to say--another stick, Jack Chumly!" cried the Duchess. + +"I repeat, sir, you must come trespassing here, to bow--I say bah! +and scrape--" + +"I say tush!" interpolated the Duchess demurely. + +"To an old--" + +"Painted!" suggested the Duchess. + +"Hum!" said the Captain, a little hipped, "I say--ha!--lady, sir--" + +"With a wig!" added the Duchess. + +"And with a young and handsome,--I say a handsome and roguish pair +of eyes, sir, that need no artificial aids, mam, nor ever will!" + +"Three!" cried the Duchess, clapping her hands. "Oh, Jack! Jack +Chumly! you, like myself, improve with age! As a midshipman you were +too callow, as a lieutenant much too old and serious, but now that +you are a battered and wrinkled young captain, you can pay as pretty +a compliment as any other gallant youth. Actually three in one hour, +Mr. Beverley." + +"Compliments, mam!" snorted the Captain, with an angry flap of his +empty sleeve, "Compliments, I scorn 'em! I say pish, mam,--I say bah! +I speak only the truth, mam, as well you know." + +"Four!" cried the Duchess, with a gurgle of youthful laughter. +"Oh, Jack! Jack! I protest, as you sit there you are growing more +youthful every minute." + +"Gad so, mam! then I'll go before I become a mewling infant--I say a +puling brat, mam." + +"Stay a moment, Jack. I want you to explain your wishes to Mr. Beverley +in regard to Cleone's future." + +"Certainly, your Grace--I say by all means, mam." + +"Very well, then I'll begin. Listen--both of you. Captain Chumly, +being a bachelor and consequently an authority on marriage, has, +very properly, chosen whom his ward must marry; he has quite settled +and arranged it all, haven't you, Jack?" + +"Quite, mam, quite." + +"Thus, Cleone is saved all the bother and worry of choosing for +herself, you see, Mr. Beverley, for the Captain's choice is fixed,-- +isn't it, Jack?" + +"As a rock, mam--I say as an accurs--ha! an adamantine crag, mam. +My ward shall marry my nephew, Viscount Devenham, I am determined +on it--" + +"Consequently, Mr. Beverley, Cleone will, of course, +marry--whomsoever she pleases!" + +"Eh, mam? I say, what?--I say--" + +"Like the feminine creature she is, Mr. Beverley!" + +"Now by Og,--I say by Og and Gog, mam! She is my ward, and so long +as I am her guardian she shall obey--" + +"I say boh! Jack Chumly,--I say bah!" mocked the Duchess, nodding +her head at him. "Cleone is much too clever for you--or any other man, +and there is only one woman in this big world who is a match for her, +and that woman is--me. I've watched her growing up--day by day--year +after year into--just what I was--ages ago,--and to-day she +is--almost as beautiful,--and--very nearly as clever!" + +"Clever, mam? So she is, but I'm her guardian and--she loves +me--I think, and--" + +"Of course she loves you, Jack, and winds you round her finger +whenever she chooses--" + +"Finger, mam! finger indeed! No, mam, I can be firm with her." + +"As a candle before the fire, Jack. She can bend you to all the +points of your compass. Come now, she brought you here this +afternoon against your will,--now didn't she?" + +"Ah!--hum!" said the Captain, scratching his chin. + +"And coaxed you into your famous Trafalgar uniform, now didn't she?" + +"Why as to that, mam, I say--" + +"And petted you into staying here much longer than you intended, now +didn't she?" + +"Which reminds me that it grows late, mam," said the Captain, taking +out his watch and frowning at it. "I must find my ward. I say I will +bring Cleone to make you her adieux." So saying, he bowed and strode +away across the lawn. + +"Poor Jack," smiled the Duchess, "he is such a dear, good, obedient +child, and he doesn't know it. And so your name is Beverley, hum! Of the +Beverleys of Ashleydown? Yet, no,--that branch is extinct, I know. Pray +what branch are you? Why, here comes Sir Mortimer Carnaby,--heavens, +how handsome he is! And you thrashed him, I think? Oh, I know all +about it, sir, and I know--why!" + +"Then," said Barnabas, somewhat taken aback, "you'll know he +deserved it, madam." + +"Mm! Have you met him since?" + +"No, indeed, nor have I any desire to!" + +"Oh, but you must," said the Duchess, and catching Sir Mortimer's +gaze, she smiled and beckoned him, and next moment he was bowing +before her. "My dear Sir Mortimer," said she, "I don't think you are +acquainted with my friend, Mr. Beverley?" + +"No," answered Sir Mortimer with a perfunctory glance at Barnabas. + +"Ah! I thought not. Mr. Beverley--Sir Mortimer Carnaby." + +"Honored, sir," said Sir Mortimer, as they bowed. + +"Mr. Beverley is, I believe, an opponent of yours, Sir Mortimer?" +pursued the Duchess, with her placid smile. + +"An opponent! indeed, your Grace?" said he, favoring Barnabas with +another careless glance. + +"I mean--in the race, of course," smiled the Duchess. "But oh, happy +man! So you have been blessed also?" + +"How, Duchess?" + +"I see you wear Cleone's favor,--you've been admitted to the Order +of the Rose, like all the others." And the Duchess tittered. + +"Others, your Grace! What others?" + +"Oh, sir, their name is Legion. There's Jerningham, and young Denton, +and Snelgrove, and Ensign D'Arcy, and hosts beside. Lud, Sir Mortimer, +where are your eyes? Look there! and there! and there again!" And, +with little darting movements of her fan, she indicated certain +young gentlemen, who strolled to and fro upon the lawn; now, in the +lapel of each of their coats was a single, red rose. "There's safety +in numbers, and Cleone was always cautious!" said the Duchess, and +tittered again. + +Sir Mortimer glanced from those blooms to the flower in his own coat, +and his cheek grew darkly red, and his mouth took on a cruel look. + +"Ah, Duchess," he smiled, "it seems our fair Cleone has an original +idea of humor,--very quaint, upon my soul!" And so he laughed, and +bowing, turned away. + +"Now--watch!" said the Duchess, "there!" As she spoke, Sir Mortimer +paused, and with a sudden fierce gesture tore the rose from his coat +and tossed it away. "Now really," said the Duchess, leaning back and +fanning herself placidly, "I think that was vastly clever of me; you +should be grateful, sir, and so should Cleone--hush!--here she comes, +at last." + +"Where?" inquired Barnabas, glancing up hastily. + +"Ssh! behind us--on the other side of the hedge--clever minx!" + +"Why then--" + +"Sit still, sir--hush, I say!" + +"So that is the reason," said Cleone's clear voice, speaking within +a yard of them, "that is why you dislike Mr. Beverley?" + +"Yes, and because of his presumption!" said a second voice, at the +sound of which Barnabas flushed and started angrily, whereupon the +Duchess instantly hooked him by the buttonhole again. + +"His presumption in what, Mr. Chichester?" + +"In his determined pursuit of you." + +"Is he in pursuit of me?" + +"Cleone--you know he is!" + +"But how do you happen to know?" + +"From his persecution of poor Ronald, for one thing." + +"Persecution, sir?" + +"It amounted to that. He found his way to Ronald's wretched lodging, +and tempted the poor fellow with his gold,--indeed almost commanded +Ronald to allow him to pay off his debts--" + +"But Ronald refused, of course?" said Cleone quickly. + +"Of course! I was there, you see, and this Beverley is a stranger!" + +"A stranger--yes." + +"And yet, Cleone, when your unfortunate brother refused his +money,--this utter stranger, this Good Samaritan,--actually went +behind Ronald's back and offered to buy up his debts! Such a thing +might be done by father for son, or brother for brother, but why +should any man do so much for an utter stranger--?" + +"Either because he is very base, or very--noble!" said Cleone. + +"Noble! I tell you such a thing is quite impossible--unheard of! No +man would part with a fortune to benefit a stranger--unless he had a +powerful motive!" + +"Well?" said Cleone softly. + +"Well, Cleone, I happen to know that motive is--yourself!" Here the +Duchess, alert as usual, caught Barnabas by the cravat, and only just +in time. + +"Sit still--hush!" she whispered, glancing up into his distorted +face, for Mr. Chichester was going on in his soft, deliberate voice: + +"Oh, it is all very simple, Cleone, and very clumsy,--thus, see you. +In the guise of Good Samaritan this stranger buys the debts of the +brother, trusting to the gratitude of the sister. He knows your pride, +Cleone, so he would buy your brother and put you under lasting +obligation to himself. The scheme is a little coarse, and very +clumsy,--but then, he is young." + +"And you say--he tried to pay these debts--without Ronald's knowledge? +Are you sure--quite sure?" + +"Quite! And I know, also, that when Ronald's creditor refused, he +actually offered to double--to treble the sum! But, indeed, you +would be cheap at sixty thousand pounds, Cleone!" + +"Oh--hateful!" she cried. + +"Crude, yes, and very coarse, but, as I said before, he is +young--what, are you going?" + +"Yes--no. Pray find my guardian and bring him to me." + +"First, tell me I may see you again, Cleone, before I leave for +London?" + +"Yes," said Cleone, after a momentary hesitation. + +Thereafter came the tread of Mr. Chichester's feet upon the gravel, +soft and deliberate, like his voice. + +Then Barnabas sighed, a long, bitter sigh, and looking up--saw +Cleone standing before him. + +"Ah, dear Godmother!" said she lightly, "I hope your Grace was able +to hear well?" + +"Perfectly, my dear, thank you--every word," nodded the Duchess, +"though twice Mr. Beverley nearly spoilt it all. I had to hold him +dreadfully tight,--see how I've crumpled his beautiful cravat. +Dear me, how impetuous you are, sir! As for you, Cleone, sit down, +my dear,--that's it!--positively I'm proud of you,--kiss me,--I mean +about the roses. It was vastly clever! You are myself over again." + +"Your Grace honors me!" said Cleone, her eyes demure, but with a +dimple at the corner of her red mouth. + +"And I congratulate you. I was a great success--in my day. Ah me! +I remember seeing you--an hour after you were born. You were very +pink, Cleone, and as bald as--as I am, without my wig. No--pray sit +still,--Mr. Beverley isn't looking at you, and he was just as bald, +once, I expect--and will be again, I hope. Even at that early age +you pouted at me, Cleone, and I liked you for it. You are pouting +now, Miss! To-day Mr. Beverley frowns at me, and I like him for +it,--besides, he's very handsome when he frowns, don't you think, +Cleone?" + +"Madam--" began Barnabas, with an angry look. + +"Ah! now you're going to quarrel with me,--well there's the +Major,--I shall go. If you must quarrel with some one,--try Cleone, +she's young, and, I think, a match for you. Oh, Major! Major Piper, +pray lend your arm and protection to a poor, old, defenceless woman." +So saying, the Duchess rose, and the Major, bowing gallantly gave her +the limb she demanded, and went off with her, 'haw'-ing in his best +and most ponderous manner. + +Barnabas sat, chin in hand, staring at the ground, half expecting +that Cleone would rise and leave him. But no! My lady sat leaning +back in her chair, her head carelessly averted, but watching him +from the corners of her eyes. A sly look it was, a searching, +critical look, that took close heed to all things, as--the fit and +excellence of his clothes; the unconscious grace of his attitude; +the hair that curled so crisp and dark at his temples; the woeful +droop of his lips;--a long, inquisitive look, a look wholly feminine. +Yes, he was certainly handsome, handsomer even than she had thought. +And finding him so, she frowned, and, frowning, spoke: + +"So you meant to buy me, sir--as you would a horse or dog?" + +"No," said Barnabas, without looking up, and speaking almost humbly. + +"It would have been the same thing, sir," she continued, a little +more haughtily in consequence. "You would have put upon me an +obligation I could never, never have hoped to repay?" + +"Yes, I see my error now," said Barnabas, his head sinking lower. +"I acted for the best, but I am a fool, and a clumsy one it seems. I +meant only to serve you, to fulfil the mission you gave me, and I +blundered--because I am--very ignorant. If you can forgive me, do so." + +Now this humility was new in him, and because of this, and because +she was a woman, she became straightway more exacting, and questioned +him again. + +"But why--why did you do it?" + +"You asked me to save your brother, and I could see no other way--" + +"How so? Please explain." + +"I meant to free him from the debt which is crushing him down and +unmanning him." + +"But--oh, don't you see--he would still be in debt--to you?" + +"I had forgotten that!" sighed Barnabas. + +"Forgotten it?" she repeated. + +"Quite!" + +Surely no man could lie, whose eyes were so truthful and steadfast. + +"And so you went and offered to--buy up his debts?" + +"Yes." + +"For three times the proper sum?" + +"I would have paid whatever was asked." + +"Why?" + +"Because I promised you to help him," answered Barnabas, staring at +the ground again. + +"You must be--very rich?" said Cleone, stealing another look at him. + +"I am." + +"And--supposing you had taken over the debt, who did you think would +ever repay you?" + +"It never occurred to me." + +"And you would have done--all this for a--stranger?" + +"No, but because of the promise I gave." + +"To me?" + +"Yes,--but, as God sees me, I would have looked for no recompense at +your hands." + +"Never?" + +"Never--unless--" + +"Unless, sir?" + +"Unless I--I had dreamed it possible that you--could ever +have--loved me." Barnabas was actually stammering, and he was +looking at her--pleadingly, she knew, but this time my lady kept +her face averted, of course. Wherefore Barnabas sighed, and his +head drooping, stared at the ground again. And after he had stared +thus, for perhaps a full minute, my lady spoke, but with her face +still averted. + +"The moon is at the full to-night, I think?" + +_Barnabas_ (lifting his head suddenly). "Yes." + +_Cleone_ (quite aware of his quick glance). "And--how do you like--the +Duchess?" + +_Barnabas_ (staring at the ground again). "I don't know." + +_Cleone_ (with unnecessary emphasis). "Why, she is the dearest, best, +cleverest old godmother in all the world, sir!" + +_Barnabas_ (humbly). "Yes." + +_Cleone_ (with a side glance). "Are you riding back to London to-night?" + +_Barnabas_ (nodding drearily). "Yes." + +_Cleone_ (watching him more keenly). "It should be glorious to gallop +under a--full-orbed moon." + +_Barnabas_ (shaking his head mournfully). "London is a great way +from--here." + +_Cleone_ (beginning to twist a ring on her finger nervously). +"Do you remember the madman we met--at Oakshott's Barn?" + +_Barnabas_ (sighing). "Yes. I met him in London, lately." + +_Cleone_ (clasping her hands together tightly). "Did he talk about--the +moon again?" + +_Barnabas_ (still sighing, and dense), "No, it was about some shadow, +I think." + +_Cleone_ (frowning at him a little). "Well--do you remember what he +prophesied--about--an 'orbed moon'--and 'Barnaby Bright'?" + +_Barnabas_ (glancing up with sudden interest). "Yes,--yes, he said we +should meet again at Barnaby Bright--under an orbed moon!" + +_Cleone_ (head quite averted now, and speaking over her shoulder). +"Do you remember the old finger-post--on the Hawkhurst road?" + +_Barnabas_ (leaning towards her eagerly). "Yes--do you mean--Oh, +Cleone--?" + +_Cleone_ (rising, and very demure). "Here comes the Duchess with my +Guardian--hush! At nine o'clock, sir." + + + + +CHAPTER XLI + + +IN WHICH BARNABAS MAKES A SURPRISING DISCOVERY, THAT MAY NOT +SURPRISE THE READER IN THE LEAST + +Evening, with the promise of a glorious night later on; evening, +full of dewy scents, of lengthening shadows, of soft, unaccountable +noises, of mystery and magic; and, over all, a rising moon, big and +yellow. Thus, as he went, Barnabas kept his eyes bent thitherward, +and his step was light and his heart sang within him for gladness, it +was in the very air, and in the whole fair world was no space for +care or sorrow, for his dreams were to be realized at a certain +finger-post on the Hawkhurst road, on the stroke of nine. Therefore, +as he strode along, being only human after all, Barnabas fell a +whistling to himself under his breath. And his thoughts were all of +Cleone, of the subtle charm of her voice, of the dimple in her chin, +of her small, proud feet, and her thousand sly bewitchments; but, at +the memory of her glowing beauty, his flesh thrilled and his breath +caught. Then, upon the quietude rose a voice near by, that spoke from +where the shadows lay blackest,--a voice low and muffled, speaking +as from the ground: + +"How long, oh Lord, how long?" + +And, looking within the shadow, Barnabas beheld one who lay face +down upon the grass, and coming nearer, soft-footed, he saw the +gleam of silver hair, and stooping, touched the prostrate figure. +Wherefore the heavy head was raised, and the mournful voice spoke +again: + +"Is it you, young sir? You will grieve, I think, to learn that my +atonement is not complete, my pilgrimage unfinished. I must wander +the roads again, preaching Forgiveness, for, sir,--Clemency is gone, +my Beatrix is vanished. I am--a day too late! Only one day, sir, and +there lies the bitterness." + +"Gone!" cried Barnabas, "gone?" + +"She left the place yesterday, very early in the morning,--fled +away none knows whither,--I am too late! Sir, it is very bitter, but +God's will be done!" + +Then Barnabas sat down in the shadow, and took the Preacher's hand, +seeking to comfort him: + +"Sir," said he gently, "tell me of it." + +"Verily, for it is soon told, sir. I found the place you mentioned, +I found there also, one--old like myself, a sailor by his look, who +sat bowed down with some grievous sorrow. And, because of my own joy, +I strove to comfort him, and trembling with eagerness, hearkening +for the step of her I had sought so long, I told him why I was there. +So I learned I was too late after all,--she had gone, and his grief +was mine also. He was very kind, he showed me her room, a tiny +chamber under the eaves, but wondrous fair and sweet with flowers, +and all things orderly, as her dear hands had left them. And so we +stayed there a while,--two old men, very silent and full of sorrow. +And in a while, though he would have me rest there the night, I left, +and walked I cared not whither, and, being weary, lay down here +wishful to die. But I may not die until my atonement be complete, +and mayhap--some day I shall find her yet. For God is a just God, +and His will be done. Amen!" + +"But why--why did she go?" cried Barnabas. + +"Young sir, the answer is simple, the man Chichester had discovered +her refuge. She was afraid!" Here the Apostle of Peace fell silent, +and sat with bent head and lips moving as one who prayed. When at +last he looked up, a smile was on his lips. "Sir," said he, +"it is only the weak who repine, for God is just, and I know I shall +find her before I die!" So saying he rose, though like one who is +very weary, and stood upon his feet. + +"Where are you going?" Barnabas inquired. + +"Sir, my trust is in God, I take to the road again." + +"To search for her?" + +"To preach for her. And when I have preached sufficiently, God will +bring me to her. So come, young sir, if you will, let us walk +together as far as we may." Thus, together, they left the shadow and +went on, side by side, in the soft radiance of the rising moon. + +"Sir," said Barnabas after a while, seeing his companion was very +silent, and that his thin hands often griped and wrung each other, +--that gesture which was more eloquent than words,--"Sir, is there +anything I can do to lighten your sorrow?" + +"Yes, young sir, heed it well, let it preach to you this great truth, +that all the woes arid ills we suffer are but the necessary outcome +of our own acts. Oh sir,--young sir, in you and me, as in all other +men, there lies a power that may help to make or mar the lives of +our fellows, a mighty power, yet little dreamed of, and we call it +Influence. For there is no man but he must, of necessity, influence, +to a more or less degree, the conduct of those he meets, whether he +will or no,--and there lies the terror of it! Thus, to some extent, +we become responsible for the actions of our neighbors, even after +we are dead, for Influence is immortal. Man is a pebble thrown into +the pool of Life,--a splash, a bubble, and he is gone! But--the +ripples of Influence he leaves behind go on widening and ever +widening until they reach the farthest bank. Oh, had I but dreamed of +this in my youth, I might have been--a happy man to-night, +and--others also. In helping others we ourselves are blessed, for a +noble thought, a kindly word, a generous deed, are never lost; such +things cannot go to waste, they are our monuments after we are dead, +and live on forever." + +So, talking thus, they reached a gate, and, beyond the gate, a road, +white beneath the moon, winding away between shadowy hedges. + +"You are for London, I fancy, young sir?" + +"Yes." + +"Then we part here. But before I bid you God speed, I would +know your name; mine is Darville--Ralph Darville." + +"And mine, sir, is Barnabas--Beverley." + +"Beverley!" said the Preacher, glancing up quickly, "of Ashleydown?" + +"Sir," said Barnabas, "surely they are all dead?" + +"True, true!" nodded the Preacher, "the name is extinct. That is how +the man--Chichester came into the inheritance. I knew the family well, +years ago. The brothers died abroad, Robert, the elder, with his +regiment in the Peninsula, Francis, in battle at sea, and Joan--like +my own poor Beatrix, was unhappy, and ran away, but she was never +heard of again." + +"And her name was Joan?" said Barnabas slowly, "Joan--Beverley?" + +"Yes." + +"Sir, Joan Beverley was my mother! I took her name--Beverley--for a +reason." + +"Your mother! Ah, I understand it now; you are greatly like her, at +times, it was the resemblance that puzzled me before. But, sir--if +Joan Beverley was your mother, why then--" + +"Then, Chichester has no right to the property?" + +"No!" + +"And--I have?" + +"If you can prove your descent." + +"Yes," said Barnabas, "but--to whom?" + +"You must seek out a Mr. Gregory Dyke, of Lincoln's Inn; he is the +lawyer who administered the estate--" + +"Stay," said Barnabas, "let me write it down." + +"And now, young sir," said the Preacher, when he had answered all +the eager questions of Barnabas as fully as he might, "now, young sir, +you know I have small cause to love the man--Chichester, but, remember, +you are rich already, and if you take this heritage also,--he will be +destitute." + +"Sir," said Barnabas, frowning, "better one destitute and starving, +than that many should be wretched, surely." + +The Preacher sighed and shook his head. + +"Young sir, good-by," said he, "I have a feeling we may meet again, +but life is very uncertain, therefore I would beg of you to remember +this: as you are strong, be gentle; as you are rich, generous; and +as you are young, wise. But, above all, be merciful, and strive to +forgive wrongs." So they clasped hands, then, sighing, the Preacher +turned and plodded on his lonely way. But, long after he had +vanished down the moonlit road, Barnabas stood, his fists clenched, +his mouth set, until he was roused by a sound near by, a very small +sound like the jingle of distant spurs. Therefore, Barnabas lifted +his head, and glanced about him, but seeing no one, presently went +his way, slow of foot and very thoughtful. + + + + +CHAPTER XLII + + +IN WHICH SHALL BE FOUND FURTHER MENTION OF A FINGER-POST + +The hands of Natty Bell's great watch were pointing to the hour of +nine, what time Barnabas dismounted at the cross-roads, and +tethering Four-legs securely, leaned his back against the ancient +finger-post to wait the coming of Cleone. + +Now being old, and having looked upon many and divers men (and women) +in its day, it is to be supposed that the ancient finger-post took +more or less interest in such things as chanced in its immediate +vicinity. Thus, it is probable that it rightly defined why this +particular long-legged human sighed so often, now with his gaze upon +the broad disc of the moon, now upon a certain point of the road +ahead, and was not in the least surprised to see Barnabas start +forward, bareheaded, to meet her who came swift and light of foot; +to see her pause before him, quick-breathing, blushing, sighing, +trembling; to see how glance met glance; to see him stoop to kiss the +hand she gave him, and all--without a word. Surprised? not a bit of +it, for to a really observant finger-post all humans (both he and she) +are much alike at such times. + +"I began to fear you wouldn't come," said Barnabas, finding voice at +last. + +"But to-night is--Barnaby Bright, and the prophecy must be fulfilled, +sir. And--oh, how wonderful the moon is!" Now, lifting her head to +look at it, her hood must needs take occasion to slip back upon her +shoulders, as if eager to reveal her loveliness,--the high beauty of +her face, the smooth round column of her throat, and the shining +wonder of her hair. + +"Cleone--how beautiful you are!" + +And here ensued another silence while Cleone gazed up at the moon, +and Barnabas at Cleone. + +But the ancient finger-post (being indeed wonderfully knowing--for a +finger-post) well understood the meaning of such silences, and was +quite aware of the tremble of the strong fingers that still held hers, +and why, in the shadow of her cloak, her bosom hurried so. Oh! be +sure the finger-post knew the meaning of it all, since humans, of +every degree, are only men and women after all. + +"Cleone, when will you--marry me?" + +Now here my lady stole a quick glance at him, and immediately looked +up at the moon again, because the eyes that could burn so fiercely +could hold such ineffable tenderness also. + +"You are very--impetuous, I think," she sighed. + +"But I--love you," said Barnabas, "not only for your beauty, but +because you are Cleone, and there is no one else in the world like +you. But, because I love you so much, it--it is very hard to tell +you of it. If I could only put it into fine-sounding phrases--" + +"Don't!" said my lady quickly, and laid a slender (though very +imperious) finger upon his lips. + +"Why?" Barnabas inquired, very properly kissing the finger and +holding it there. + +"Because I grow tired of fine phrases and empty compliments, and +because, sir--" + +"Have you forgotten that my name is Barnabas?" he demanded, kissing +the captive finger again, whereupon it struggled--though very feebly, +to be sure. + +"And because, Barnabas, you would be breaking your word." + +"How?" + +"You must only tell me--that, when 'the sun is shining, and friends +are within call,'--have you forgotten your own words so soon?" + +Now, as she spoke Barnabas beheld the dimple--that most elusive +dimple, that came and went and came again, beside the scarlet lure +of her mouth; therefore he drew her nearer until he could look, for +a moment, into the depths of her eyes. But here, seeing the glowing +intensity of his gaze, becoming aware of the strong, compelling arm +about her, feeling the quiver of the hand that held her own, lo! in +that instant my lady, with her sly bewitchments, her coquettish airs +and graces, was gone, and in her place was the maid--quick-breathing, +blushing, trembling, all in a moment. + +"Ah, no!" she pleaded, "Barnabas, no!" Then Barnabas sighed, and +loosed his clasp--but behold! the dimple was peeping at him again. +And in that moment he caught her close, and thus, for the first time, +their lips met. + +Oh, privileged finger-post to have witnessed that first kiss! To +have seen her start away and turn; to have felt her glowing cheek +pressed to thy hoary timbers; to have felt the sweet, quick tumult +of her bosom! Oh, thrice happy finger-post! To have seen young +Barnabas, radiant-faced, and with all heaven in his eyes! Oh, most +fortunate of finger-posts to have seen and felt all this, and to +have heard the rapture thrilling in his voice: + +"Cleone!" + +"Oh!" she whispered, "why--why did you?" + +"Because I love you!" + +"No other man ever dared to--" + +"Heaven be praised!" + +"Upon--the mouth!" she added, her face still hidden. + +"Then I have set my seal upon it." + +"And now,--am I--immaculate?" + +"Oh--forgive me!" + +"No!" + +"Look at me." + +"No!" + +"Are you angry?" + +"Yes, I--think I am, Barnabas,--oh, very!" + +"Forgive me!" said Barnabas again. + +"First," said my lady, throwing up her head, "am I--heartless and +a--coquette?" + +"No, indeed, no! Oh, Cleone, is it possible you could learn to--love +me, in time?" + +"I--I don't know." + +"Some day, Cleone?" + +"I--I didn't come to answer--idle questions, sir," says my lady, +suddenly demure. "It must be nearly half-past nine--I must go. I +forgot to tell you--Mr. Chichester is coming to meet me to-night--" + +"To meet you? Where?" demanded Barnabas, fierce-eyed all at once. + +"Here, Barnabas. But don't look so--so murderous!" + +"Chichester--here!" + +"At a quarter to ten, Barnabas. That is why I must go at--half-past +nine--Barnabas, stop! Oh, Barnabas, you're crushing me! Not again, +sir,--I forbid you--please, Barnabas!" + +So Barnabas loosed her, albeit regretfully, and stood watching while +she dexterously twisted, and smoothed, and patted her shining hair +into some semblance of order; and while so doing, she berated him, +on this wise: + +"Indeed, sir, but you're horribly strong. And very hasty. And your +hands are very large. And I fear you have a dreadful temper. And I +know my hair is all anyhow,--isn't it?" + +"It is beautiful!" sighed Barnabas. + +"Mm! You told me that in Annersley Wood, sir." + +"You haven't forgotten, then?" + +"Oh, no," answered Cleone, shaking her head, "but I would have you +more original, you see,--so many men have told me that. Ah! now +you're frowning again, and it's nearly time for me to go, and I +haven't had a chance to mention what I came for, which, of course, +is all your fault, Barnabas. To-day, I received a letter from Ronald. +He writes that he has been ill, but is better. And yet, I fear, he +must be very weak still, for oh! it's such poor, shaky writing. Was +he very ill when you saw him?" + +"No," answered Barnabas. + +"Here is the letter,--will you read it? You see, I have no one who +will talk to me about poor Ronald, no one seems to have any pity for +him,--not even my dear Tyrant." + +"But you will always have me, Cleone!" + +"Always, Barnabas?" + +"Always." + +So Barnabas took Ronald Barrymaine's letter, and opening it, saw +that it was indeed scrawled in characters so shaky as to be +sometimes almost illegible; but, holding it in the full light of the +moon, he read as follows: + + DEAREST OF SISTERS,--I was unable to keep the appointment + I begged for in my last, owing to a sudden indisposition, + and, though better now, I am still ailing. I fear my many + misfortunes are rapidly undermining my health, and + sometimes I sigh for Death and Oblivion. But, dearest Cleone, + I forbid you to grieve for me, I am man enough, I hope, + to endure my miseries uncomplainingly, as a man and a gentleman + should. Chichester, with his unfailing kindness, has offered me + an asylum at his country place near Headcorn, where I hope to + regain something of my wonted health. But for Chichester I + tremble to think what would have been my fate long + before this. At Headcorn I shall at least be nearer you, + my best of sisters, and it is my hope that you may be + persuaded to steal away now and then, to spend an hour + with two lonely bachelors, and cheer a brother's solitude. + Ah, Cleone! Chichester's devotion to you is touching, such + patient adoration must in time meet with its reward. By + your own confession you have nothing against him but + the fact that he worships you too ardently, and this, most + women would think a virtue. And remember, he is your + luckless brother's only friend. This is the only man who + has stood by me in adversity, the only man who can help + me to retrieve the past, the only man a truly loving sister + should honor with her regard. All women are more or + less selfish. Oh, Cleone, be the exception and give my + friend the answer he seeks, the answer he has sought of + you already, the answer which to your despairing brother + means more than you can ever guess, the answer whereby + you can fulfil the promise you gave our dying mother to + help + + Your unfortunate brother, + + RONALD BARRYMAINE. + +Now, as he finished reading, Barnabas frowned, tore the letter +across in sudden fury, and looked up to find Cleone frowning also: + +"You have torn my letter!" + +"Abominable!" said Barnabas fiercely. + +"How dared you?" + +"It is the letter of a coward and weakling!" + +"My brother, sir!" + +"Half-brother." + +"And you insult him!" + +"He would sell you to a--" Barnabas choked. + +"Mr. Chichester is my brother's friend." + +"His enemy!" + +"And poor Ronald is sick--" + +"With brandy!" + +"Oh--not that!" she cried sharply, "not that!" + +"Didn't you know?" + +"I only--dreaded it. His father--died of it. Oh, sir--oh, Barnabas! +there is no one else who will help him--save him from--that! You +will try, won't you?" + +"Yes," said Barnabas, setting his jaw, "no one can help a man +against his will, but I'll try. And I ask you to remember that if I +succeed or not, I shall never expect any recompense from you, never!" + +"Unless, Barnabas--" said Cleone, softly. + +"Unless--oh, Cleone, unless you should--some day learn to--love +me--just a little, Cleone?" + +"Would--just a little, satisfy you?" + +"No," said Barnabas, "no, I want you all--all--all. Oh, Cleone, will +you marry me?" + +"You are very persistent, sir, and I must go." + +"Not yet,--pray not yet." + +"Please, Barnabas. I would not care to see Mr. Chichester--to-night." + +"No," sighed Barnabas, "you must go. But first,--will you--?" + +"Not again, Barnabas!" And she gave him her two hands. So he stopped +and kissed them instead. Then she turned and left him standing +bareheaded under the finger-post. But when she had gone but a little +way she paused and spoke to him over her shoulder: + +"Will you--write to me--sometimes?" + +"Oh--may I?" + +"Please, Barnabas,--to tell me of--my brother." + +"And when can I see you again?" + +"Ah! who can tell?" she answered. And so, smiling a little, blushing +a little, she hastened away. + +Now, when she was gone, Barnabas stooped, very reverently, and +pressed his lips to the ancient finger-post, on that spot where her +head had rested, and sighed, and turned towards his great, black +horse. + +But, even as he did so, he heard again that soft sound that was like +the faint jingle of spurs, the leaves of the hedge rustled, and out +into the moonlight stepped a tall figure, wild of aspect, bareheaded +and bare of foot; one who wore his coat wrong side out, and who, +laying his hand upon his bosom, bowed in stately fashion, once to +the moon and once to him. + + "Oh, Barnaby Bright, Barnaby Bright, + The moon's awake, and shines all night!" + +"Do you remember, Barnaby Bright, how I foretold we should meet +again--under an orbed moon? Was I not right? She's fair, Barnaby, +and passing fair, and very proud,--but all good, beautiful women are +proud, and hard in the winning,--oh, I know! Billy Button knows! My +buttons jingled, so I turned my coat, though I'm no turn-coat; once +a friend, always a friend. So I followed you, Barnaby Bright, I came +to warn you of the shadow,--it grows blacker every day,--back there +in the great city, waiting for you, Barnaby Bright, to smother +you--to quench hope, and light, and life itself. But I shall be there, +--and She. Aha! She shall forget all things then--even her pride. +Shadows have their uses, Barnaby, even the blackest. I came a long +way--oh, I followed you. But poor Billy is never weary, the Wise +Ones bear him up in their arms sometimes. So I followed you--and +another, also, though he didn't know it. Oho! would you see me +conjure you a spirit from the leaves yonder,--ah! but an evil spirit, +this! Shall I? Watch now! See, thus I set my feet! Thus I lift my +arms to the moon!" + +So saying, the speaker flung up his long arms, and with his gaze +fixed upon a certain part of the hedge, lifted his voice and spoke: + +"Oho, lurking spirit among the shadows! Ho! come forth, I summon ye. +The dew is thick amid the leaves, and dew is an evil thing for +purple and fine linen. Oho, stand forth, I bid ye." + +There followed a moment's utter silence, then--another rustle amid +the leaves, and Mr. Chichester stepped out from the shadows. + +"Ah, sir," said Barnabas, consulting his watch, "you are just +twenty-three minutes before your time. Nevertheless you are, I think, +too late." + +Mr. Chichester glanced at Barnabas from head to foot, and, observing +his smile, Barnabas clenched his fists. + +"Too late, sir?" repeated Mr. Chichester softly, shaking his head, +"no,--indeed I think not. Howbeit there are times and occasions when +solitude appeals to me; this is one. Pray, therefore, be good enough +to--go, and--ah--take your barefooted friend with you." + +"First, sir," said Barnabas, bowing with aggressive politeness, +"first, I humbly beg leave to speak with you, to--" + +"Sir," said Mr. Chichester, gently tapping a nettle out of existence +with his cane, "sir, I have no desire for your speeches, they, like +yourself, I find a little trying, and vastly uninteresting. I prefer +to stay here and meditate a while. I bid you good night, sir, a +pleasant ride." + +"None the less, sir," said Barnabas, beginning to smile, "I fear I +must inflict myself upon you a moment longer, to warn you that I--" + +"To warn me? Again? Oh, sir, I grow weary of your warnings, I do +indeed! Pray go away and warn somebody else. Pray go, and let me +stare upon the moon and twiddle my thumbs until--" + +"If it is the Lady Cleone you wait for, she is gone!" said Youth, +quick and impetuous. + +"Ah!" sighed Mr. Chichester, viewing Barnabas through narrowed eyes, +"gone, you say? But then, young sir," here he gently poked a +dock-leaf into ruin, "but then, Cleone is one of your tempting, warm, +delicious creatures! Cleone is a skilled coquette to whom all men +are--men. To-night it is--you, to-morrow--" Mr. Chichester's right +hand vanished into his bosom as Barnabas strode forward, but, on the +instant, Billy Button was between them. + +"Stay, my Lord!" he cried, "look upon this face,--'t is the face of +my friend Barnaby Bright, but, my Lord, it is also the face of +Joan's son. You've heard tell of Joan, poor Joan who was unhappy, +and ran away, and got lost,--you'll mind Joan Beverley?" Now, in the +pause that followed, as Mr. Chichester gazed at Barnabas, his +narrowed eyes opened, little by little, his compressed lips grew +slowly loose, and the tasselled cane slipped from his fingers, and +lay all neglected. + +"Sir," said Barnabas at last, "this is what I would have told you. I +am the lawful son of Joan Beverley, whose maiden name I took for--a +purpose. I have but to prove my claim and I can dispossess you of +the inheritance you hold, which is mine by right. But, sir, I have +enough for my needs, and I am, therefore, prepared to forego my just +claim--on a condition." + +Mr. Chichester neither moved nor spoke. + +"My condition," Barnabas continued, "is this. That, from this hour, +you loose whatever hold you have upon Ronald Barrymaine,--that you +have no further communication with him, either by word or letter. +Failing this, I institute proceedings at once, and will dispossess +you as soon as may be. Sir, you have heard my condition, it is for +you to answer." + +But, as he ended, Billy Button pointed a shaking finger downwards at +the grass midway between them, and spoke: + +"Look!" he whispered, "look! Do you not see it--bubbling so dark, +--down there among the grass? Ah! it reaches your feet, Barnaby +Bright. But--look yonder! it rises to his heart,--look!" and with a +sudden, wild gesture, he pointed to Chichester's rigid figure. +"Blood!" he cried, "blood!--cover it up! Oh, hide it--hide it!" Then, +turning about, he sped away, his muffled buttons jingling faintly as +he went, and so was presently gone. + +Then Barnabas loosed his horse and mounted, and, with never a glance +nor word to the silent figure beneath the finger-post, galloped away +London-wards. + +Now, had it been possible for a worn and decrepit finger-post to be +endued with the faculty of motion (which, in itself, is a ridiculous +thought, of course), it is probable that this particular one would +have torn itself up bodily, and hastened desperately after Barnabas +to point him away--away, east or west, or north or south,--anywhere, +so long as it was far enough from him who stood so very still, and +who stared with such eyes so long upon the moon, with his right hand +still hidden in his breast, while the vivid mark glowed, and glowed +upon the pallor of his cheek. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIII + + +IN WHICH BARNABAS MAKES A BET, AND RECEIVES A WARNING + +The fifteenth of July was approaching, and the Polite World, the +World of Fashion, was stirred to its politest depths. In the clubs +speculation was rife, the hourly condition of horses and riders was +discussed gravely and at length, while betting-books fluttered +everywhere. In crowded drawing-rooms and dainty boudoirs, love and +horse-flesh went together, and everywhere was a pleasurable +uncertainty, since there were known to be at least four competitors +whose chances were practically equal. Therefore the Polite World, +gravely busied with its cards or embroidery, and at the same time +striving mentally to compute the exact percentage of these chances, +was occasionally known to revoke, or prick its dainty finger. + +Even that other and greater world, which is neither fashionable nor +polite,--being too busy gaining the wherewithal to exist,--even in +fetid lanes and teeming streets, in dingy offices and dingier places +still, the same excitement prevailed; busy men forgot their business +awhile; crouching clerks straightened their stooping backs, became +for the nonce fabulously rich, and airily bet each other vast sums +that Carnaby's "Clasher" would do it in a canter, that Viscount +Devenham's "Moonraker" would have it in a walk-over, that the +Marquis of Jerningham's "Clinker" would leave the field nowhere, and +that Captain Slingsby's "Rascal" would run away with it. + +Yes, indeed, all the world was agog, rich and poor, high and low. +Any barefooted young rascal scampering along the kennel could have +named you the four likely winners in a breath, and would willingly +have bet his ragged shirt upon his choice, had there been any takers. + +Thus, then, the perspicacious waiter at the "George" who, it will be +remembered, on his own avowal usually kept his eyes and ears open, +and could, therefore, see as far through a brick wall as most, knew +at once that the tall young gentleman in the violet coat with silver +buttons, the buckled hat and glossy Hessians, whose sprigged +waistcoat and tortuous cravat were wonders among their kind, was +none other than a certain Mr. Beverley, who had succeeded in +entering his horse at the last possible moment, and who, though an +outsider with not the remotest chance of winning, was, nevertheless, +something of a buck and dandy, the friend of a Marquis and Viscount, +and hence worthy of all respect. Therefore the perspicacious waiter +at the "George" viewed Barnabas with the eye of reverence, his back +was subservient, and his napkin eloquent of eager service, also he +bowed as frequently and humbly as such expensive and elegant attire +merited; for the waiter at the "George" had as just and reverent a +regard for fine clothes as any fine gentleman in the Fashionable +World. + +"A chair, sir!" Here a flick of the officious napkin. "Now shall we +say a chop, sir?" Here a smiling obeisance. "Or shall we make it a +steak, sir--cut thick, sir--medium done, and with--" + +"No, thank you," said Barnabas, laying aside hat and cane. + +"No, sir? Very good, sir! Certainly not, sir! A cut o' b'iled beef +might suit, p'raps,--with carrots? or shall we say--" + +"Neither, thank you, but you can bring me a bottle of Burgundy and +the Gazette." + +"Burgundy, sir--Gazette? Certainly, sir--" + +"And--I'm expecting a gentleman here of the name of Smivvle--" + +"Certainly, sir! Burgundy, Gazette, Gent name of Sniffle, yessir! +Hanythink else, sir?" + +"Yes, I should like pens and ink and paper." + +"Yessir--himmediately, sir." Hereupon, and with many and divers bows +and flicks of the napkin, the waiter proceeded to set out the +articles in question, which done, he flicked himself out of the room. +But he was back again almost immediately, and had uncorked the +bottle and filled the glass with a flourish, a dexterity, a +promptness, accorded only to garments of the very best and most +ultra-fashionable cut. Then, with a bow that took in bestarched +cravat, betasselled Hessians, and all garments between, the waiter +fluttered away. So, in a while, Barnabas took pen and paper, and +began the following letter: + + * * * * * + + MY DEAR FATHER AND NATTY BELL,--Since writing + my last letter to you, I have bought a house near St. + James's, and set up an establishment second to none. I + will confess that I find myself like to be overawed by my + retinue of servants, and their grave and decorous politeness; + I also admit that dinner is an ordeal of courses,-- + each of which, I find, requires a different method of attack; + for indeed, in the Polite World, it seems that eating is + cherished as one of its most important functions, hence, + dining is an art whereof the proper manipulation of the + necessary tools is an exact science. However, by treating + my servants with a dignified disregard, and by dint of + using my eyes while at table, I have committed no great + solecism so far, I trust, and am rapidly gaining in knowledge + and confidence. + + I am happy to tell you that I have the good fortune + to be entered for the Gentlemen's Steeplechase, a most + exclusive affair, which is to be brought off at Eltham on + the fifteenth of next month. From all accounts it will + be a punishing Race, with plenty of rough going,-- + plough, fallow, hedge and ditch, walls, stake-fences and + water. The walls and water-jump are, I hear, the worst. + + Now, although I shall be riding against some of the + best horsemen in England, still I venture to think I + can win, and this for three reasons. First, because I intend + to try to the uttermost--with hand and heel and head. + Secondly, because I have bought a horse--such a horse + as I have only dreamed of ever possessing,--all fire and + courage, with a long powerful action--Oh, Natty Bell, + if you could but see him! Rising six, he is, with tushes + well through,--even your keen eye could find no flaw in + him, though he is, perhaps, a shade long in the cannon. + And, thirdly, I am hopeful to win because I was taught + horse-craft by that best, wisest of riders, Natty Bell. + Very often, I remember, you have told me, Natty Bell, + that races are won more by judgment of the rider than by + the speed of the horse, nor shall I forget this. Thus + then, sure of my horse, sure of myself, and that kind + Destiny which has brought me successfully thus far, I + shall ride light-hearted and confident. + + Yet, my dears, should I win or lose, I would have you + remember me always as + + Your dutiful, loving + + BARNABAS. + + * * * * * + +Now, as Barnabas laid down his pen, he became aware of voices and +loud laughter from the adjacent coffee-room, and was proceeding to +fold and seal his letter when he started and raised his head, roused +by the mention of his own name spoken in soft, deliberate tones that +he instantly recognized: + +"Ah, so you have met this Mr. Beverley?" + +"Yes," drawled another, deeper voice, "the Duchess introduced him to +me. Who the deuce is he, Chichester?" + +"My dear Carnaby, pray ask Devenham, or Jerningham, he's their +protege--not mine." + +"Sir," broke in the Viscount's voice, speaking at its very iciest,-- +"Mr. Beverley is--my friend!" + +"And mine also, I trust!" thus the Marquis. + +"Exactly!" rejoined Mr. Chichester's smooth tones, "and, consequently, +despite his mysterious origin, he is permitted to ride in the +Steeplechase among the very élite of the sporting world--" + +"And why not, b'gad?" Captain Slingsby's voice sounded louder and +gruffer than usual, "I'll warrant him a true-blue,--sportsman every +inch, and damme! one of the right sort too,--sit a horse with any +man,--bird at a fence, and ready to give or take odds on his chances, +I'll swear--" + +"Now really," Mr. Chichester's tone was softer than ever, "he would +seem to be a general favorite here. Still, it would, at least, +be--interesting to know exactly who and what he is." + +"Yes," Sir Mortimer's voice chimed in, "and only right in justice to +ourselves. Seems to me, now I come to think of it, I've seen him +somewhere or other, before we were introduced,--be shot if I know +where, though." + +"In the--country, perhaps?" the Viscount suggested. + +"Like as not," returned Sir Mortimer carelessly. "But, as Chichester +says, it _is_ devilish irregular to allow any Tom, Dick, or Harry to +enter for such a race as this. If, as Sling suggests, the fellow is +willing to back himself, it would, at least, be well to know that he +could cover his bets." + +"Sir Mortimer!" the Viscount's tone was colder and sharper than +before, "you will permit me, in the first place, to tell you that +his name is neither Tom, nor Dick, nor Harry. And in the second place, +I would remind you that the gentleman honors me with his friendship. +And in the third place, that I suffer no one to cast discredit upon +my friends. D'you take me, Sir Mortimer?" + +There followed a moment of utter stillness, then the sudden scrape +and shuffle of feet, and thereafter Carnaby's voice, a little raised +and wholly incredulous: + +"What, Viscount,--d'you mean to take this fellow's part--against me?" + +"Most certainly, if need be." + +But here, before Sir Mortimer could reply, all five started and +turned as the door opened and Barnabas appeared on the threshold. + +"Viscount," said he, "for that I thank you most sincerely, most +deeply. But, indeed, it will not be necessary, seeing I am here to +do it for myself, and to answer such questions as I think--proper." + +"Ah, Mr.--Beverley!" drawled Sir Mortimer, seating himself on the +tale and crossing his legs, "you come pat, and since you are here, I +desire a word with you." + +"As many as you wish, sir," answered Barnabas, and he looked very +youthful as he bowed his curly head. + +"It would seem, Mr. Beverley, that you are something of a mystery, +and I, for one, don't like mysteries. Then it has been suggested +that you and I have met before our introduction, and, egad! now I +come to look at you more attentively, your face does seem familiar, +and I am curious to know who you may happen to be?" + +"Sir," said Barnabas, looking more youthful than ever, "such rare +condescension, such lively interest in my concerns, touches +me--touches me deeply," and he bowed, lower than before. + +"Suppose, sir," retorted Sir Mortimer, his cheek flushing a little, +"suppose you answer my question, and tell me plainly who and what +you are?" and he stared at Barnabas, swinging his leg to and fro as +he awaited his reply. + +"Sir," said Barnabas, "I humbly beg leave to remark, that as to who +I am can concern only my--friends. As to what I am concerns only my +Maker and myself--" + +"Oh, vastly fine," nodded Sir Mortimer, "but that's no answer." + +"And yet I greatly fear it must suffice--for you, sir," sighed +Barnabas. Sir Mortimer's swinging foot grew still, and he frowned +suddenly. + +"Now look you, sir," said he slowly, and with a menace in his eyes, +"when I trouble to ask a question, I expect an answer--" + +"Alas, sir,--even your expectations may occasionally be disappointed," +said Barnabas, beginning to smile aggressively. "But, as to my +resources, I do not lack for money, and am ready, here and now, to +lay you, or any one else, a thousand guineas that I shall be one of +the first three to pass the winning-post on the fifteenth." + +Sir Mortimer's frown grew more ominous, the flush deepened in his +cheeks, and his powerful right hand clenched itself, then he laughed. + +"Egad! you have plenty of assurance, sir. It is just possible that +you may have ridden--now and then?" + +"Sufficiently to know one end of a horse from the other, sir," +retorted Barnabas, his smile rather grim. + +"And you are willing to bet a thousand guineas that you ride third +among all the best riders in the three kingdoms, are you?" + +"No, sir," said Barnabas, shaking his head, "the bet was a rash one, +--I humbly beg leave to withdraw it. Instead, I will bet five +thousand guineas that I pass the winning-post before you do, Sir +Mortimer." + +Carnaby's smile vanished, and he stared up at calm-eyed Barnabas in +open-mouthed astonishment. + +"You're not mad, are you?" he demanded at last, his red under-lip +curling. + +"Sir," said Barnabas, taking out his memorandum, "it is now your +turn to answer. Do you take my bet?" + +"Take it!" cried Sir Mortimer fiercely, "yes! I'll double it--make +it ten thousand guineas, sir!" + +"Fifteen if you wish," said Barnabas, his pencil poised. + +"No, by God! but I'll add another five and make it an even twenty +thousand!" + +"May I suggest you double instead, and make it thirty?" inquired +Barnabas. + +"Ha!--may I venture to ask how much higher you are prepared to go?" + +"Why, sir," said Barnabas thoughtfully, "I have some odd six hundred +thousand pounds, and I am prepared to risk--a half." + +"Vastly fine, sir!" laughed Sir Mortimer, "why not put it at a round +million and have done with it. No, egad! I want something more than +your word--" + +"You might inquire of my bankers," Barnabas suggested. + +"Twenty thousand will suit me very well, sir!" nodded Sir Mortimer. + +"Then you take me at that figure, Sir Mortimer?" + +"Yes, I bet you twenty thousand guineas that you do not pass the +winning-post ahead of me! And what's more,--non-starters to forfeit +their money! Oh, egad,--I'll take you!" + +"And I also," said Mr. Chichester, opening his betting-book. "Gentlemen, +you are all witnesses of the bet. Come, Viscount,--Slingsby,--here's +good money going a-begging--why not gather it in--eh, Marquis?" But +the trio sat very silent, so that the scratch of Sir Mortimer's pencil +could be plainly heard as he duly registered his bet, which done, +he turned his attention to Barnabas again, looking him up and down +with his bold, black eyes. + +"Hum!" said he musingly, "it sticks in my mind that I have seen +you--somewhere or other, before we met at Sir George Annersley's. +Perhaps you will tell me where?" + +"With pleasure, sir," answered Barnabas, putting away his memorandum +book, "it was in Annersley Wood, rather early in the morning. And +you wore--" + +"Annersley--Wood!" Sir Mortimer's careless, lounging air vanished, +and he stared at Barnabas with dilating eyes. + +"And you wore, I remember, a bottle-green coat, which I had the +misfortune to tear, sir." + +And here there fell a silence, once more, but ominous now, and full +of menace; a pregnant stillness, wherein the Viscount sat leaned +forward, his hands clutching his chair-arms, his gaze fixed upon +Barnabas; as for the Marquis, he had taken out his snuff-box and, in +his preoccupation, came very near inhaling a pinch; while Captain +Slingsby sat open-mouthed. Then, all at once, Sir Mortimer was on +his feet and had caught up a heavy riding-whip, and thus he and +Barnabas fronted each other, eye to eye,--each utterly still, yet +very much on the alert. + +But now upon this tense silence came the soft, smooth tones of +Mr. Chichester: + +"Pray, Mr. Beverley, may I speak a word with you--in private?" + +"If the company will excuse us," Barnabas replied; whereupon +Mr. Chichester rose and led the way into the adjoining room, +and, closing the door, took a folded letter from his pocket. + +"Sir," said he, "I would remind you that the last time we met, +you warned me,--indeed you have a weakness for warning people, it +seems,--you also threatened me that unless I agreed to--certain +conditions, you would dispossess me of my inheritance--" + +"And I repeat it," said Barnabas. + +"Oh, sir, save your breath and listen," smiled Mr. Chichester, +"for let me tell you, threats beget threats, and warnings, warnings! +Here is one, which I think--yes, which I venture to think you will +heed!" So saying, he unfolded the letter and laid it upon the table. +Barnabas glanced at it, hesitated, then stooping, read as follows: + + DEAR LADY CLEONE,--I write this to warn you that the person calling + himself Mr. Beverley, and posing as a gentleman of wealth and + breeding, is, in reality, nothing better than a rich vulgarian, one + Barnabas Barty, son of a country inn-keeper. The truth of which + shall be proved to your complete satisfaction whenever you will, by: + + Yours always humbly to command, + + WILFRED CHICHESTER. + +Now when he had finished reading, Barnabas sank down into a chair, +and, leaning his elbows upon the table, hid his face between his +hands; seeing which, Mr. Chichester laughed softly, and taking up +the letter, turned to the door. "Sir," said he, "as I mentioned +before, threats beget threats. Now,--you move, and I move. I tell you, +if you presume to interfere with me again in any way,--or with my +future plans in any way, then, in that same hour, Cleone shall know +you for the impudent impostor you are!" So Mr. Chichcster laughed +again, and laid his hand upon the latch of the door. But Barnabas +sat rigid, and did not move or lift his heavy head even when the +door opened and closed, and he knew he was alone. + +Very still lie sat there, crouched above the table, his face hidden +in his hands, until he was roused by a cough, the most perfectly +discreet and gentleman-like cough in the world, such a cough, indeed, +as only a born waiter could emit. + +"Sir," inquired the waiter, his napkin in a greater flutter than ever, +as Barnabas looked up, "sir,--is there hanythink you're wanting, sir?" + +"Yes," said Barnabas, heavily, "you can--give me--my hat!" + + + + +CHAPTER XLIV + + +OF THE TRIBULATIONS OF THE LEGS OF THE GENTLEMAN-IN-POWDER + +The Gentleman-in-Powder, aware of a knocking, yawned, laid aside the +"Gazette," and getting upon his legs (which, like all things truly +dignified, were never given to hurry), they, in due season, brought +him to the door, albeit they shook with indignant quiverings at the +increasing thunder of each repeated summons. Therefore the +Gentleman-in-Powder, with his hand upon the latch, having paused +long enough to vindicate and compose his legs, proceeded to open the +portal of Number Five, St. James's Square; but, observing the person +of the importunate knocker, with that classifying and discriminating +eye peculiar to footmen, immediately frowned and shook his head: + +"The hother door, me man,--marked 'tradesmen,'" said he, the angle +of his nose a little more supercilious than usual, "and ring only, +_if_ you please." Having said which, he shut the door again; that +is to say,--very nearly, for strive as he might, his efforts were +unavailing, by reason of a round and somewhat battered object which, +from its general conformation, he took to be the end of a formidable +bludgeon or staff. But, applying his eye to the aperture, he saw +that this very obtrusive object was nothing more or less than a leg +(that is to say, a wooden one), which was attached to the person of +a burly, broad-shouldered, fiercely bewhiskered man in clothes of +navy-blue, a man whose hairy, good-natured visage was appropriately +shaded by a very shiny glazed hat. + +"Avast there!" said this personage in deep, albeit jovial tones, +"ease away there, my lad,--stand by and let old Timbertoes come +aboard!" + +But the Gentleman-in-Powder was not to be cajoled. He sniffed. + +"The hother door, me good feller!" he repeated, relentless but +dignified, "and ring only, _if_ you pl--" + +The word was frozen upon his horrified lip, for Timbertoes had +actually set his blue-clad shoulder to the door, and now, bending +his brawny back, positively began to heave at it with might and main, +cheering and encouraging himself meanwhile with sundry nautical +"yo ho's." And all this in broad daylight! In St. James's Square! + +Whereupon ensued the following colloquy: + +_The Gentleman-in-Powder_ (pushing from within. Shocked and amazed). +"Wot's this? Stop it! Get out now, d'ye hear!" + +_Timbertoes_ (pushing from without. In high good humor). "With a ho, +my hearties, and a merrily heave O!" + +_The Gentleman-in-Powder_ (struggling almost manfully, though legs +highly agitated). "I--I'll give you in c-charge! I'll--" + +_Timbertoes_ (encouraging an imaginary crew). "Cheerily! Cheerily! +heave yo ho!" + +_The Gentleman-in-Powder_ (losing ground rapidly. Condition of legs +indescribable). "I never--see nothing--like this here! I'll--" + +_Timbertoes_ (all shoulders, whiskers and pig-tail). "With a heave and +a ho, and up she rises O!" + +_The Gentleman-in-Powder_ (extricating his ruffled dignity from +between wall and door). "Oh, very good,--I'll give you in charge for +this, you--you feller! Look at me coat! I'll send for a constable. +I'll--" + +_Timbertoes_. "Belay, my lad! This here's Number Five, ain't it?" + +_The Gentleman-in-Powder_ (glancing down apprehensively at his +quivering legs). "Yes,--and I'll--" + +_Timbertoes_. "Cap'n Beverley's craft, ain't it?" + +_The Gentleman-in-Powder_ (re-adjusting his ruffled finery). "_Mister_ +Beverley occipies this here res-eye-dence!" + +_Timbertoes_ (_nodding_). "Mister Beverley,--oh, ah, for sure. Well, +is 'e aboard?" + +_The Gentleman-in-Powder_ (with lofty sarcasm). "No, 'e ain't! Nor a +stick, nor a stock, nor yet a chair, nor a table. And, wot's more, +'e ain't one to trouble about the likes o' you, neether." + +_Timbertoes_. "Belay, my lad, and listen. I'm Jerry Tucker, late +Bo'sun in 'is Britannic Majesty's navy,--'Bully-Sawyer,' Seventy-four. +D'ye get that? Well, now listen again. According to orders I hove +anchor and bore up for London very early this morning, but being +strange to these 'ere waters, was obleeged to haul my wind and stand +off and on till I fell in with a pilot, d'ye see. But, though late, +here I am all ship-shape and a-taunto, and with despatches safe and +sound. Watch, now!" Hereupon the Bo'sun removed the glazed hat, held +it to his hairy ear, shook it, nodded, and from somewhere in its +interior took out and held up three letters. + +"D'ye see those, my lad?" he inquired. + +_The Gentleman-in-Powder_ (haughtily). "I ain't blind!" + +_Timbertoes_. "Why then--you'll know what they are, p'raps?" + +_The Gentleman-in-Powder_ (witheringly). "Nor I ain't a fool, neether." + +_Timbertoes_ (dubiously). "Ain't you, though?" + +_The Gentleman-in-Powder_ (legs again noticeably agitated). "No, I +ain't. I've got all _my_ faculties about _me_." + +_Timbertoes_ (shaking head incredulously). "Ah! but where do you stow +'em away?" + +_The Gentleman-in-Powder_ (legs convulsed). "And--wot's more, I've got +my proper amount o' limbs too!" + +_Timbertoes_. "Limbs? If it's legs you're meaning, I should say as +you'd got more nor your fair share,--you're all legs, you are! Why, +Lord! you're grow'd to legs so surprising, as I wonder they don't +walk off with you, one o'these here dark nights, and--lose you!" + +But at this juncture came Peterby, sedate, grave, soft of voice as +became a major-domo and the pink of a gentleman's gentleman, before +whose quick bright eye the legs of the Gentleman-in-Powder grew, as +it were, suddenly abashed, and to whom the Bo'sun, having made a leg, +forthwith addressed himself. + +"Sarvent, sir--name o' Jerry Tucker, late Bo'sun, 'Bully-Sawyer,' +Seventy-four; come aboard with despatches from his Honor Cap'n +Chumly and my Lady Cleone Meredith. To see Mr. Barnabas Beverley, +Esquire. To give these here despatches into Mr. Beverley Esquire's +own 'and. Them's my orders, sir." + +"Certainly, Bo'sun," said Peterby; and, to the Gentleman-in-Powder, +his bow was impressive; "pray step this way." + +So the Bo'sun, treading as softly as his wooden leg would allow, +stumped after him upstairs and along a thickly carpeted corridor, to +a certain curtained door upon which Peterby gently knocked, and +thereafter opening, motioned the Bo'sun to enter. + +It was a small and exquisitely furnished, yet comfortable room, +whose luxurious appointments,--the rich hangings, the rugs upon the +floor, the pictures adorning the walls,--one and all bore evidence +to the rare taste, the fine judgment of this one-time poacher of +rabbits, this quiet-voiced man with the quick, bright eyes, and the +subtly humorous mouth. But, just now, John Peterby was utterly +serious as he glanced across to where, bowed down across the +writing-table, his head pillowed upon his arms, his whole attitude +one of weary, hopeless dejection, sat Barnabas Beverley, Esquire. A +pen was in his lax fingers, while upon the table and littering the +floor were many sheets of paper, some half covered with close writing, +some crumpled and torn, some again bearing little more than a name; +but in each and every case the name was always the same. Thus, John +Peterby, seeing this drooping, youthful figure, sighed and shook his +head, and went out, closing the door behind him. + +"Is that you, John?" inquired Barnabas, with bowed head. + +"No, sir, axing your pardon, it be only me, Jerry Tucker, Bo'sun, +--'Bully-Sawyer,' Seventy--" + +"Bo'sun!" With the word Barnabas was upon his feet. "Why, Bo'sun," +he cried, wringing the sailor's hand, "how glad I am to see you!" + +"Mr. Beverley, sir," began the Bo'sun, red-faced and diffident by +reason of the warmth of his reception, "I've come aboard with +despatches, sir. I bring you a letter from his Honor the Cap'n, from +'er Grace the Duchess, and from Lady Cleone, God bless her!" + +"A letter from--her!" Then taking the letters in hands that were +strangely unsteady, Barnabas crossed to the window, and breaking the +seal of a certain one, read this: + + DEAR MR. BARNABAS (the 'Beverley' crossed out),--Her Grace, my dear + god-mother, having bullied my poor Tyrant out of the house, and + quarrelled with me until she is tired, has now fixed her mind upon + you. She therefore orders her dutiful god-daughter to write you these, + hoping that thereby you may be induced to yield yourself a willing + slave to her caprices and come down here for a few days. Though the + very dearest and best of women, my god-mother, as you may remember, + possesses a tongue, therefore--be warned, sir! My Tyrant at this + precise moment sits in the 'round house,' whither he has retreated + to solace his ruffled feelings with tobacco. So, I repeat, sir, be + warned! And yet, though indeed, 't is strange, and passing strange, + she speaks of you often, and seems to hold you in her kind regard. + But, for all that, do not be misled, sir; for the Duchess is always + the Duchess,--even to poor me. A while ago, she insisted on playing a + game of chess; as I write the pieces lie scattered on the floor. + _I_ shan't pick them up,--why should I? So you see her Grace is + quite herself to-day. Nevertheless, should you determine to run the + risk, you will, I think, find a welcome awaiting you from, + + Yours, dear sir, + + CLEONE MEREDITH. + + P.S.--The Bo'sun assures me the moon will last another week. + +This Postscript Master Barnabas must needs read three times over, +and then, quick and furtive, press the letter to his lips ere he +thrust it into his bosom, and opened and read the Captain's: + + The Gables, + Hawkhurst. + + Written in the Round-house, + + June 29, 18--. + + MY DEAR BEVERLEIGH,--How is Fashion and the + Modish World? as trivial as usual, I'll warrant me. The + latest sensation, I believe, is Cossack Trousers,--have + you tried 'em yet? But to come to my mutton, as the + Mounseers say. + + The Duchess of Camberhurst, having honored my + house with her presence--and consequently set it in an + uproar, I am constantly running foul of her, though + more often she is falling aboard of me. To put it plainly, + what with cross-currents, head-seas, and shifting winds + that come down suddenly and blow great guns from every + point of the compass, I am continually finding myself + taken all a-back, as it were, and since it is quite + impossible to bring to and ride it out, am consequently + forced to go about and run for it, and continually pooped, + even then,--for a woman's tongue is, I'm sure, worse + than any following sea. + + Hence, my sweet Clo, with her unfailing solicitude + for me, having observed me flying signals of distress, has + contrived to put it into my head that your presence might + have a calming effect. Therefore, my dear boy, if you + can manage to cast off the grapples of the Polite World + for a few days, to run down here and shelter a battered + old hulk under your lee, I shall be proud to have you as + my guest. + + Yours faithfully to serve, + + JOHN CHUMLY. + + P.S.--Pray bring your valet; you will need him, her + Grace insists on dressing for dinner. Likewise my Trafalgar + coat begins to need skilled patching, here and there; + it is getting beyond the Bo'sun. + + +Here again Barnabas must needs pause to read over certain of the +Captain's scrawling characters, and a new light was in his eyes as +he broke the seal of her Grace's epistle. + + MY DEAR MR. BEVERLEY,--The country down here, + though delightfully Arcadian and quite idyllic (hayricks + are so romantic, and I always adored cows--in pictures), + is dreadfully quiet, and I freely confess that I generally + prefer a man to a hop-pole (though I do wear a wig), and + the voice of a man to the babble of brooks, or the trill of + a skylark,--though I protest, I wouldn't be without + them (I mean the larks) for the world,--they make me + long for London so. + + Then again, the Captain (though a truly dear soul, + and the most gallant of hosts) treats me very much as + though I were a ship, and, beside, he is so dreadfully + gentle. + + As for Cleone, dear bird, she yawns until my own + eyes water (though, indeed, she has very pretty teeth), + and, on the whole, is very dutiful and quarrels with me + whenever I wish. 'T is quite true she cannot play chess; + she also, constantly, revokes at Whist, and is quite as + bad-tempered over it as I am. Cards, I fear, are altogether + beyond her at present,--she is young. Of course time may + change this, but I have grave doubts. In this deplorable + situation I turn to you, dear Mr. Beverley (Cleone knew + your address, it seems), and write these hasty lines to + ntreat,--nay, to command you to come and cheer our solitude. + Cleone has a new gown she is dying to wear, and I have + much that you must patiently listen to, so that I may + truly subscribe myself' + + Your grateful friend, + + FANNY CAMBERURST. + + P.S.--I have seen the finger-post on the London Road. + +And now, having made an end of reading, Barnabas sighed and smiled, +and squared his stooping shoulders, and threw up his curly head, and +turning, found the Bo'sun still standing, hat in fist, lost in +contemplation of the gilded ceiling. Hereupon Barnabas caught his +hand, and shook it again, and laughed for very happiness. + +"Bo'sun, how can I thank you!" said he, "these letters have given me +new hope--new life! and--and here I leave you to stand, dolt that I +am! And with nothing to drink, careless fool that I am. Sit down, man, +sit down--what will you take, wine? brandy?" + +"Mr. Beverley, sir," replied the Bo'sun diffidently, accepting the +chair that Barnabas dragged forward, "you're very kind, sir, but if +I might make so bold,--a glass of ale, sir--?" + +"Ale!" cried Barnabas. "A barrel if you wish!" and he tugged at the +bell, at whose imperious summons the Gentleman-in-Powder appearing +with leg-quivering promptitude, Barnabas forthwith demanded +"Ale,--the best, and plenty of it! And pray ask Mr. Peterby to come +here at once!" he added. + +"Sir," said the Bo'sun as the door closed, "you'll be for steering a +course for Hawkhurst, p'r'aps?" + +"We shall start almost immediately," said Barnabas, busily +collecting those scattered sheets of paper that littered floor and +table; thus he was wholly unaware of the look that clouded the +sailor's honest visage. + +"Sir," said the Bo'sun, pegging thoughtfully at a rose in the carpet +with his wooden leg, "by your good leave, I'd like to ax 'ee a +question." + +"Certainly, Bo'sun, what is it?" inquired Barnabas, looking up from +the destruction of the many attempts of his first letter to Cleone. + +"Mr. Beverley, sir," said the Bo'sun, pegging away at the carpet as +he spoke, "is it--meaning no offence, and axing your pardon,--but +are you hauling your wind and standing away for Hawkhurst so prompt +on 'account o' my Lady Cleone?" + +"Yes, Bo'sun, on account of our Lady Cleone." + +"Why, then, sir," said the Bo'sun, fixing his eyes on the ceiling +again, "by your leave--but,--why, sir?" + +"Because, Bo'sun, you and I have this in common, that we both--love +her." + +Here the Bo'sun dropped his glazed hat, and picking it up, sat +turning it this way and that, in his big, brown fingers. + +"Why, then, sir," said he, looking up at Barnabas suddenly, +"what of Master Horatio, his Lordship?" + +"Why, Bo'sun, I told him about it weeks ago. I had to. You see, he +honors me with his friendship." + +The Bo'sun nodded, and broke into his slow smile: + +"Ah, that alters things, sir," said he. "As for loving my lady--why? +who could help it?" + +"Who, indeed, Bo'sun!" + +"Though I'd beg to remind you, sir, as orders _is_ orders, and +consequently she's bound to marry 'is Lordship--some day--" + +"Or--become a mutineer!" said Barnabas, as the door opened to admit +Peterby, who (to the horror of the Gentleman-in-Powder, and despite +his mutely protesting legs), actually brought in the ale himself; yet, +as he set it before the Bo'sun, his sharp eyes were quick to notice +his young master's changed air, and brightened as if in sympathy. + + +"I want you, John, to know my good friend Bo'sun Jerry," said +Barnabas, "a Trafalgar man--" + +"'Bully-Sawyer,' Seventy-four!" added the Bo'sun, rising and +extending his huge hand. + +"We are all going to Hawkhurst, at once, John," continued Barnabas, +"so pack up whatever you think necessary--a couple of valises will +do, and tell Martin I'll have the phaeton,--it's roomier; and I'll +drive the bays. And hurry things, will you, John?" + +So John Peterby bowed, solemn and sedate as ever, and went upon his +errand. But it is to be remarked that as he hastened downstairs, his +lips had taken on their humorous curve, and the twinkle was back in +his eyes; also he nodded his head, as who would say: + +"I thought so! The Lady Cleone Meredith, eh? Well,--the sooner the +better!" + +Thus the Bo'sun had barely finished his ale, when the +Gentleman-in-Powder appeared to say the phaeton was at the door. + +And a fine, dashing turn-out it was, too, with its yellow wheels, +its gleaming harness, and the handsome thorough-breds pawing +impatient hoofs. + +Then, the Bo'sun having duly ensconced himself, with Peterby in the +rumble as calm and expressionless as the three leather valises under +the seat, Barnabas sprang in, caught up the reins, nodded to Martin +the gray-haired head groom, and giving the bays their heads, they +were off and away for Hawkhurst and the Lady Cleone Meredith, +whirling round corners and threading their way through traffic at a +speed that caused the Bo'sun to clutch the seat with one hand, and +the glazed hat with the other, and to remark in his diffident way +that: + +"These here wheeled craft might suit some, but for comfort and +safety give me an eight-oared galley!" + + + + +CHAPTER XLV + + +HOW BARNABAS SOUGHT COUNSEL OF THE DUCHESS "BO'SUN?" + +"Sir?" + +"Do you know the Duchess of Camberhurst well?" + +"Know her, sir?" repeated the Bo'sun, giving a dubious pull at his +starboard whisker; "why, Mr. Beverley, sir, there's two things as I +knows on, as no man never did know on, nor never will know on,--and +one on 'em's a ship and t' other's a woman." + +"But do you know her well enough to like and--trust?" + +"Why, Mr. Beverley, sir, since you ax me, I'll tell you--plain and +to the p'int. We'll take 'er Grace the Duchess and say, clap her +helm a-lee to tack up ag'in a beam wind, a wind, mind you, as ain't +strong enough to lift her pennant,--and yet she'll fall off and miss +her stays, d'ye see, or get took a-back and yaw to port or starboard, +though, if you ax me why or wherefore, I'll tell you as how,--her +being a woman and me only a man,--I don't know. Then, again, on the +contrary, let it blow up foul--a roaring hurricane say, wi' the seas +running high, ah! wi' the scud flying over her top-s'l yard, and she'll +rise to it like a bird, answer to a spoke, and come up into the +wind as sweet as ever you see. The Duchess ain't no fair-weather +craft, I'll allow, but in 'owling, raging tempest she's staunch, sir, +--ah, that she is,--from truck to keelson! And there y'are, Mr. Beverley, +sir!" + +"Do you mean," inquired Barnabas, puzzled of look, "that she is to +be depended on--in an emergency?" + +"Ay, sir--that she is!" + +"Ah!" said Barnabas, nodding, "I'm glad to know that, Bo'sun,--very +glad." And here he became thoughtful all at once. Yet after a while +he spoke again, this time to Peterby. + +"You are very silent, John." + +"I am--your valet, sir!" + +"Then, oh! man," exclaimed Barnabas, touching up the galloping bays +quite unnecessarily, "oh, man--forget it a while! Here we sit--three +men together, with London miles behind us, and the Fashionable World +further still. Here we sit, three men, with no difference between us, +except that the Bo'sun has fought and bled for this England of ours, +you have travelled and seen much of the world, and I, being the +youngest, have done neither the one nor the other, and very little +else--as yet. So, John,--be yourself; talk, John, talk!" + +Now hereupon John Peterby's grave dignity relaxed, a twinkle dawned +in his eyes, and his lips took on their old-time, humorous curve. +And lo! the valet became merged and lost in the cosmopolitan, the +dweller in many cities, who had done and seen much, and could tell +of such things so wittily and well that the miles passed unheeded, +while the gallant bays whirled the light phaeton up hill and down +dale, contemptuous of fatigue. + +It needs not here to describe more fully this journey whose tedium +was unnoticed by reason of good-fellowship. Nor of the meal they ate +at the "Chequers" Inn at Tonbridge, and how they drank (at the +Bo'sun's somewhat diffident suggestion) a health "to his Honor the +Cap'n, and the poor old 'Bully-Sawyer,' Seventy-four." + +And thus Barnabas, clad in purple and fine linen and driving his own +blood horses, talked and laughed with a one-legged mariner, and +sought the companionship of his own valet; which irregularity must +be excused by his youth and inexperience, and the lamentable fact +that, despite his purple and fine linen, he was, as yet, only a man, +alas! + +Thus, then, as evening fell, behold them spinning along that winding +road where stood a certain ancient finger-post pointing the wayfarer: + + TO LONDON. TO HAWKHURST + +At sight of which weather-worn piece of timber. Barnabas must needs +smile, though very tenderly, and thereafter fall a-sighing. But all +at once he checked his sighs to stare in amazement, for there, +demurely seated beneath the finger-post, and completely engrossed in +her needlework, was a small, lonely figure, at sight of which +Barnabas pulled up the bays in mid-career. + +"Why--Duchess!" he exclaimed, and, giving Peterby the reins, stepped +out of the phaeton. + +"Ah! is that you, Mr. Beverley?" sighed the Duchess, looking up from +her embroidery, which, like herself, was very elaborate, very dainty, +and very small. "You find me here, sitting by the wayside,--and a +very desolate figure I must look, I'm sure,--you find me here because +I have been driven away by the tantrums of an undutiful god-daughter, +and the barbarity of a bloodthirsty buccaneer. I mean the Captain, +of course. And all because I had the forethought to tell Cleone her +nose was red,--which it was,--sunburn you know, and because I +remarked that the Captain was growing as rotund as a Frenchman, +which he is,--I mean fat, of course. All Frenchmen are fat--at least +some are. And then he will wear such a shabby old coat! So here I am, +Mr. Beverley, very lonely and very sad, but industrious you see, +quite as busy as Penelope, who used to spin webs all day long,--which +sounds as though she were a spider instead of a classical lady who +used to undo them again at night,--I mean the webs, not the spiders. +But, indeed, you're very silent, Mr. Beverley, though I'm glad to +see you are here so well to time." + +"To time, madam?" + +"Because, you see, I 've won my bet. Oh yes, indeed, I bet about +everything nowadays,--oh, feverishly, sir, and shall do, until the +race is over, I suppose." + +"Indeed, Duchess?" + +"Yes. I bet Cleone an Indian shawl against a pair of beaded mittens +that you would be here, to-day, before ten o'clock. So you see, you +are hours before your time, and the mittens are mine. Talking of +Cleone, sir, she's in the orchard. She's also in a shocking +temper--indeed quite cattish, so you'd better stay here and talk to +me. But then--she's alone, and looking vastly handsome, I'll admit, +so, of course, you're dying to be gone--now aren't you?" + +"No," Barnabas replied, and turning, bade Peterby drive on to the +house. + +"Then you ought to be!" retorted the Duchess, shaking an admonitory +finger at him, yet smiling also as the carriage rolled away. +"Youth can never prefer to listen to a chattering old woman--in a wig!" + +"But you see, madam, I need your help, your advice," said Barnabas +gravely. + +"Ah, now I love giving people advice! It's so pleasant and--easy!" + +"I wish to confide in you,--if I may." + +"Confidences are always interesting--especially in the country!" + +"Duchess, I--I--have a confession to make." + +"A confession, sir? Then I needn't pretend to work any +longer--besides, I always prick myself. There!" And rolling the very +small piece of embroidery into a ball, she gave it to Barnabas. +"Pray sir, hide the odious thing in your pocket. Will you sit beside +me? No? Very well--now, begin, sir!" + +"Why, then, madam, in the first place, I--" + +"Yes?" + +"I--that is to say,--you--must understand that--in the first place--" + +"You've said 'first place' twice!" nodded the Duchess as he paused. + +"Yes--Oh!--Did I? Indeed I--I fear it is going to be even harder to +speak of than I thought, and I have been nerving myself to tell you +ever since I started from London." + +"To tell me what?" + +"That which may provoke your scorn of me, which may earn me Cleone's +bitterest contempt." + +"Why then, sir--don't say another word about it--" + +"Ah, but I must--indeed I must! For I know now that to balk at it, +to--to keep silent any longer would be dishonorable--and the act of +a coward!" + +"Oh dear me!" sighed the Duchess, "I fear you are going to be +dreadfully heroic about something!" + +"Let us say--truthful, madam!" + +"But, sir,--surely Truthfulness, after all, is merely the last +resource of the hopelessly incompetent! Anyhow it must be very +uncomfortable, I'm sure," said the Duchess, nodding her head. Yet +she was quick to notice the distress in his voice, and the gleam of +moisture among the curls at his temple, hence her tone was more +encouraging as she continued. "Still, sir, speak on if you wish, +for even a Duchess may appreciate honor and truth--in another, +of course,--though she does wear a wig!" + +"Believe me," sighed Barnabas, beginning to stride restlessly to and +fro, "the full significance of my conduct never occurred to me +until it was forced on my notice by--by another, and then--" he +paused and brushed the damp curls from his brow. "To-day I tried to +write to Cleone--to tell her everything, but I--couldn't." + +"So you decided to come and tell me first, which was very nice of you," +nodded the Duchess, "oh, very right and proper! Well, sir, I'm +listening." + +"First, then," said Barnabas, coming to a halt, and looking down at +her steadfast-eyed, "you must know that my real name is--Barty." + +"Barty?" repeated the Duchess, raising her brows. "Mm! I like +Beverley much better." + +"Beverley was my mother's name. She was Joan Beverley." + +"Joan? Joan Beverley? Why y-e-s, I think I remember her, and the +talk there was. Joan? Ah yes, to be sure,--very handsome, +and--disappeared. No one knew why, but now,--I begin to understand. +You would suggest--" + +"That she became the honorable wife of my father, John Barty, the +celebrated pugilist and ex-champion of England, now keeper of a +village inn," said Barnabas, speaking all in a breath, but +maintaining his steadfast gaze. + +"Eh?" cried the Duchess, and rose to her feet with astonishing +ease for one of her years, "eh, sir, an innkeeper! And your +mother--actually married him?" and the Duchess shivered. + +"Yes, madam. I am their lawful son." + +"Dreadful!" cried the Duchess, "handsome Joan Beverley--married to +an--inn-keeper! Horrible! She'd much better have died--say, in a +ditch--so much more respectable!" + +"My father is an honorable man!" said Barnabas, with upflung head. + +"Your father is--an inn-keeper!" + +"And--my father, madam!" + +"The wretch!" exclaimed the Duchess. "Oh, frightful!" and she +shivered again. + +"And his son--loves Cleone!" + +"Dreadful! Frightful" cried the Duchess. "An inn-keeper's son! Beer +and skittles and clay pipes! Oh, shocking!" And here, shuddering for +the third time as only a great lady might, she turned her back on him. + +"Ah," cried Barnabas, "so you scorn me--already?" + +"Of course." + +"For being--an inn-keeper's son?" + +"For--telling of it!" + +"And yet," said Barnabas, "I think Barnabas Barty is a better man +than Barnabas Beverley, and a more worthy lover; indeed I know he is. +And, as Barnabas Barty, I bid your Grace good-by!" + +"Where are you going?" + +"To the village inn, madam, my proper place, it seems. +But--to-morrow morning, unless you have told Cleone, I shall. And now, +if your Grace will have the kindness to send my servant to me--" + +"But--why tell Cleone?" inquired the Duchess over her shoulder; +"there is one alternative left to you." + +"Then, madam, in heaven's name,--tell it me!" cried Barnabas eagerly. + +"A ridiculously simple one, sir." + +"Oh, madam--what can I do--pray tell me." + +"You must--disown this inn-keeping wretch, of course. You must cast +him off--now, at once, and forever!" + +"Disown him--my father!" + +"Certainly," + +Barnabas stared wide-eyed. Then he laughed, and uncovering his head, +bowed deeply. + +"Madam," said he, "I have the honor to bid your Grace good-by!" + +"You--will tell Cleone then?" + +"To-morrow morning." + +"Why?" + +"Because I love her. Because I, therefore, hate deceit, and because +I--" + +"Well?" + +"And because Mr. Chichester knows already." + +"Ah! You mean that he has forced your hand, sir, and now you would +make the best of it--" + +"I mean that he has opened my eyes, madam." + +"And to-morrow you will tell Cleone?" + +"Yes." + +"And, of course, she will scorn you for an impudent impostor?" + +Now at this Barnabas flinched, for these were Chichester's own words, +and they bore a double sting. + +"And yet--I must tell her!" he groaned. + +"And afterwards, where shall you go?" + +"Anywhere," he sighed, with a hopeless gesture. + +"And--the race?" + +"Will be run without me." + +"And your friends--the Marquis, Viscount Devenham, and the rest?" + +"Will, I expect, turn their gentlemanly backs upon me--as you +yourself have done. So, madam, I thank you for your past kindness, +and bid you--good-by" + +"Stop, sir!" + +"Of what avail, madam?" sighed Barnabas, turning away. + +"Come back--I command you!" + +"I am beneath your Grace's commands, henceforth," said Barnabas, and +plodded on down the road. + +"Then I--beg of you!" + +"Why?" he inquired, pausing. + +"Because--oh, because you are running off with my precious needlework, +of course. In your pocket, sir,--the left one!" So, perforce, +Barnabas came back, and standing again beneath the finger-post, gave +the Duchess her very small piece of embroidery. But, behold! his hand +was caught and held between two others, which, though very fragile, +were very imperious. + +"Barnabas," said the Duchess very softly, "oh, dear me, I'm glad you +told me, oh very! I hoped you would!" + +"Hoped? Why--why, madam, you--then you knew?" + +"All about it, of course! Oh, you needn't stare--it wasn't witchcraft, +it was this letter--read it." And taking a letter from her reticule, +she gave it to Barnabas, and watched him while he read: + + + TO HER GRACE THE DUCHESS OF CAMBERHURST. + + MADAM,--In justice to yourself I take occasion to + warn your Grace against the person calling himself Barnabas + Beverley. He is, in reality, an impudent impostor of + humble birth and mean extraction. His real name and + condition I will prove absolutely to your Grace at another + time. + + Your Grace's most humble obedt. + + WILFRED CHICHESTER. + + +"So you see I'm not a witch, sir,--oh no, I'm only an old woman, with, +among many other useful gifts, a very sharp eye for faces, a +remarkable genius for asking questions, and the feminine capacity +for adding two and two together and making them--eight. So, upon +reading this letter, I made inquiries on my own account with the +result that yesterday I drove over to a certain inn called the +'Coursing Hound,' and talked with your father. Very handsome he is +too--as he always was, and I saw him in the hey-day of his fame, +remember. Well, I sipped his ale,--very good ale I found it, and +while I sipped, we talked. He is very proud of his son, it seems, +and he even showed me a letter this son had written him from the +'George' inn at Southwark. Ha! Joan Beverley was to have married an +ugly old wretch of a marquis, and John Barty is handsome still. But +an inn-keeper, hum!" + +"So--that was why my mother ran away, madam?" + +"And Wilfred Chichester knows of this, and will tell Cleone, of +course!" + +"I think not--at least not yet," answered Barnabas thoughtfully,-- +"you see, he is using this knowledge as a weapon against me." + +"Why?" + +"I promised to help Ronald Barrymaine--" + +"That wretched boy! Well?" + +"And the only way to do so was to remove him from Chichester's +influence altogether. So I warned Mr. Chichester that unless he +forswore Barrymaine's society, I would, as Joan Beverley's son and +heir to the Beverley heritage, prove my claim and dispossess him." + +"You actually threatened Wilfred Chichester with this, and forgot +that in finding you your mother's son, he would prove you to be your +father's also?" + +"Yes, I--I only remembered my promise." + +"The one you gave Cleone, which she had no right to exact--as I told +her--" + +"But, madam--" + +"Oh, she confessed to me all about it, and how you had tried to pay +Ronald's debts for him out of your own pocket,--which was very +magnificent but quite absurd." + +"Yes," sighed Barnabas, "so now I am determined to free him from +Chichester first--" + +"By dispossessing Chichester?" + +"Yes, madam." + +"But--can't you see, if you force him to expose you it will mean +your social ruin?" + +"But then I gave--Her--my promise." + +"Oh, Barnabas," said the Duchess, looking up at him with her young, +beautiful eyes that were so like Cleone's, "what a superb fool you +are! And your father _is_ only a village inn-keeper!" + +"No, madam,--he was champion of all England as well." + +"Oh!" sighed the Duchess, shaking her head, "that poor Sir Mortimer +Carnaby! But, as for you, sir, you 're a fool, either a very clumsy, +or a very--unselfish one,--anyhow, you're a fool, you know!" + +"Yes," sighed Barnabas, his head hanging, "I fear I am." + +"Oh yes,--you're quite a fool--not a doubt of it!" said the Duchess +with a nod of finality. "And yet, oh, dear me! I think it may be +because I'm seventy-one and growing younger every day, or perhaps +because I'm so old that I have to wear a wig, but my tastes are so +peculiar that there are some fools I could almost--love. So you may +give me your arm,--Barnabas." + +He obeyed mechanically, and they went on down the road together in +silence until they came to a pair of tall, hospitable gates, and +here Barnabas paused, and spoke wonderingly: + +"Madam, you--you surely forget I am the son of--" + +"A champion of all England, Barnabas. But, though you can thrash Sir +Mortimer Carnaby, Wilfred Chichester is the kind of creature that +only a truly clever woman can hope to deal with, so you may leave him +to me!" + +"But, madam, I--" + +"Barnabas, quite so. But Wilfred Chichester always makes me shudder, +and I love to shudder--now and then, especially in the hot weather. +And then everything bores me lately--Cleone, myself,--even Whist, so +I'll try my hand at another game--with Wilfred Chichester as an +opponent." + +"But, Duchess, indeed I--" + +"Very true, Barnabas! but the matter is quite settled. And now, you +are still determined to--confess your father to Cleone, I suppose?" + +"Yes, I dare not speak to her otherwise, how could I, knowing myself +an--" + +"Impudent impostor, sir? Quite so and fiddlesticks! Heigho! you are +so abominably high-minded and heroic, Barnabas,--it's quite +depressing. Cleone is only a human woman, who powders her nose when +it's red, and quite right too--I mean the powder of course, not the +redness. Oh! indeed she's very human, and after all, your mother was +a Beverley, and I know you are rich and--ah! there she is--on the +terrace with the Captain, and I'm sure she has seen you, Barnabas, +because she's so vastly unconscious. Observe the pose of her +head,--she has a perfect neck and shoulders, and she knows it. There! +see her kissing the Captain,--that's all for my benefit, the yellow +minx! just because I happened to call him a 'hunks,' and so he is--though +I don't know what I meant,--because he refused to change that dreadful +old service coat. There! now she's patting his cheek--the golden jade! +Now--watch her surprise when she pretends to catch sight of us!" + +Hereupon, as they advanced over the smooth turf, the Duchess raised +her voice. + +"My bird!" she called in dulcet tones, "Clo dear, Cleone my lamb, +here is Barnabas, I found him--under the finger-post, my dove!" + +My lady turned, gave the least little start in the world, was +surprised, glad, demure, all in the self-same minute, and taking the +arm of her Tyrant, who had already begun a truly nautical greeting, +led him, forthwith, down the terrace steps, the shining curls at her +temple brushing his shabby coat-sleeve as they came. + +"Ha!" cried the Captain, "my dear fellow, we're glad--I say we're +all of us glad to see you. Welcome to 'The Gables,'--eh, Clo?" + +And Cleone? With what gracious ease she greeted him! With what clear +eyes she looked at him! With what demure dignity she gave him her +white hand to kiss! As though--for all the world as though she could +ever hope to deceive anything so old and so very knowing as the +ancient finger-post upon the London road! + +"Clo dear," said the Duchess, "they're going to talk horses and +racing, and bets and things,--I know they are,--your arm, my love. +Now,--lead on, gentlemen. And now, my dear," she continued, speaking +in Cleone's ear as Barnabas and the Captain moved on, "he +simply--adores you!" + +"Really, God-mother--how clever of you!" said Cleone, her eyes brim +full of merriment, "how wonderful you are!" + +"Yes, my lady Pert,--he worships you and, consequently, is deceiving +you with every breath he draws!" + +"Deceiving me--!" + +"With every moment he lives!" + +"But--oh, God-mother--!" + +"Cleone,--he is not what he seems!" + +"Deceiving me?" + +"His very name is false!" + +"What do you mean? Ah no, no--I'm sure he would not, and yet--oh, +God-mother,--why?" + +"Because--hush, Cleone--he's immensely rich, one of the wealthiest +young men in London, and--hush! He would be--loved for himself alone. +So, Cleone,--listen,--he may perhaps come to you with some wonderful +story of poverty and humble birth. He may tell you his father was +only a--a farmer, or a tinker, or a--an inn-keeper. Oh dear me,--so +delightfully romantic! Therefore, loving him as you do--" + +"I don't!" + +"With every one of your yellow hairs--" + +"I do--_not_!" + +"From the sole of your foot--" + +"God-mother!" + +"To the crown of your wilful head,--oh, Youth, Youth!--you may let +your heart answer as it would. Oh Fire! Passion! Romance! (yes, yes, +Jack,--we're coming!) Your heart, I say, Cleone, may have its way, +because with all his wealth he has a father who--hush!--at one time +was the greatest man in all England,--a powerful man, Clo,--a famous +man, indeed a man of the most--striking capabilities. So, when your +heart--(dear me, how impatient Jack is!) Oh, supper? Excellent, for, +child, now I come to think of it, I'm positively swooning with hunger!" + + + + +CHAPTER XLVI + + +WHICH CONCERNS ITSELF WITH SMALL THINGS IN GENERAL, AND A PEBBLE IN +PARTICULAR + +To those who, standing apart from the rush and flurry of life, look +upon the world with a seeing eye, it is, surely, interesting to +observe on what small and apparently insignificant things great +matters depend. To the student History abounds with examples, and to +the philosopher they are to be met with everywhere. + +But how should Barnabas (being neither a student nor a philosopher) +know, or even guess, that all his fine ideas and intentions were to +be frustrated, and his whole future entirely changed by nothing more +nor less than--a pebble, an ordinary, smooth, round pebble, as +innocent-seeming as any of its kind, yet (like young David's) +singled out by destiny to be one of these "smaller things"? + +They were sitting on the terrace, the Duchess, Cleone, Barnabas, and +the Captain, and they were very silent,--the Duchess, perhaps, +because she had supped adequately, the Captain because of his long, +clay pipe, Cleone because she happened to be lost in contemplation +of the moon, and Barnabas, because he was utterly absorbed in +contemplation of Cleone. + +The night was very warm and very still, and upon the quietude stole +a sound--softer, yet more insistent than the whisper of wind among +leaves,--a soothing, murmurous sound that seemed to make the +pervading quiet but the more complete. + +"How cool the brook sounds!" sighed the Duchess at last, "and the +perfume of the roses,--oh dear me, how delicious! Indeed I think the +scent of roses always seems more intoxicating after one has supped +well, for, after all, one must be well-fed to be really romantic,--eh, +Jack?" + +"Romantic, mam!" snorted the Captain, "romantic,--I say bosh, mam! I +say--" + +"And then--the moon, Jack!" + +"Moon? And what of it, mam,--I say--" + +"Roses always smell sweeter by moonlight, Jack, and are far more +inclined to--go to the head--" + +"Roses!" snorted the Captain, louder than before, "you must be +thinking of rum, mam, rum--" + +"Then, Jack, to the perfume of roses, add the trill of a +nightingale--" + +"And of all rums, mam, give me real old Jamaica--" + +"And to the trill of a nightingale, add again the murmur of an +unseen brook, Jack--" + +"Eh, mam, eh? Nightingales, brooks? I say--oh, Gad, mam!" and the +Captain relapsed into tobacco-puffing indignation. + +"What more could youth and beauty ask? Ah, Jack, Jack!" sighed the +Duchess, "had you paid more attention to brooks and nightingales, +and stared at the moon in your youth, you might have been a green +young grandfather to-night, instead of a hoary old bachelor in a +shabby coat--sucking consolation from a clay pipe!" + +"Consolation, mam! For what--I say, I demand to know for what?" + +"Loneliness, Jack!" + +"Eh, Duchess,--what, mam? Haven't I got my dear Clo, and the Bo'sun, +eh, mam--eh?" + +"The Bo'sun, yes,--he smokes a pipe, but Cleone can't, so she looks +at the moon instead,--don't you dear?" + +"The moon, God-mother?" exclaimed Cleone, bringing her gaze +earthwards on the instant. "Why I,--I--the moon, indeed!" + +"And she listens to the brook, Jack,--don't you, my dove?" + +"Why, God-mother, I--the brook? Of course not!" said Cleone. + +"And, consequently, Jack, you mustn't expect to keep her much +longer--" + +"Eh!" cried the bewildered Captain, "what's all this, Duchess,--I say, +what d'ye mean, mam?" + +"Some women," sighed the Duchess, "some women never know they're in +love until they've married the wrong man, and then it's too late, +poor things. But our sweet Clo, on the contrary--" + +"Love!" snorted the Captain louder than ever, "now sink me, mam,--I +say, sink and scuttle me; but what's love got to do with Clo, eh, mam?" + +"More than you think, Jack--ask her!" + +But lo! my lady had risen, and was already descending the terrace +steps, a little hurriedly perhaps, yet in most stately fashion. +Whereupon Barnabas, feeling her Grace's impelling hand upon his +arm, obeyed the imperious command and rising, also descended the +steps,--though in fashion not at all stately,--and strode after +my lady, and being come beside her, walked on--yet found nothing +to say, abashed by her very dignity. But, after they had gone thus +some distance, venturing to glance at her averted face, Barnabas +espied the dimple beside her mouth. + +"Cleone," said he suddenly, "what _has_ love to do with you?" + +Now, for a moment, she looked up at him, then her lashes drooped, +and she turned away. + +"Oh, sir," she answered, "lift up your eyes and look upon the moon!" + +"Cleone, has love--come to you--at last? Tell me!" But my lady +walked on for a distance with head again averted, and--with never a +word. "Speak!" said Barnabas, and caught her hand (unresisting now), +and held it to his lips. "Oh, Cleone,--answer me!" + +Then Cleone obeyed and spoke, though her voice was tremulous and low. + +"Ah, sir," said she, "listen to the brook!" + +Now it so chanced they had drawn very near this talkative stream, +whose voice reached them--now in hoarse whisperings, now in throaty +chucklings, and whose ripples were bright with the reflected glory +of the moon. Just where they stood, a path led down to these +shimmering waters,--a narrow and very steep path screened by bending +willows; and, moved by Fate, or Chance, or Destiny, Barnabas +descended this path, and turning, reached up his hands to Cleone. + +"Come!" he said. And thus, for a moment, while he looked up into her +eyes, she looked down into his, and sighed, and moved towards him, +and--set her foot upon the pebble. + +And thus, behold the pebble had achieved its purpose, for, next +moment Cleone was lying in his arms, and for neither of them was +life or the world to be ever the same thereafter. + +Yes, indeed, the perfume of the roses was full of intoxication +to-night; the murmurous brook whispered of things scarce dreamed of; +and the waning moon was bright enough to show the look in her eyes +and the quiver of her mouth as Barnabas stooped above her. + +"Cleone!" he whispered, "Cleone--can you--do you--love me? Oh, my +white lady,--my woman that I love,--do you love me?" + +She did not speak, but her eyes answered him; and, in that moment +Barnabas stooped and kissed her, and held her close, and closer, +until she sighed and stirred in his embrace. + +Then, all at once, he groaned and set her down, and stood before her +with bent head. + +"My dear," said he, "oh, my dear!" + +"Barnabas?" + +"Forgive me,--I should have spoken,--indeed, I meant to,--but I +couldn't think,--it was so sudden,--forgive me! I didn't mean to +even touch your hand until I had confessed my deceit. Oh, my dear, +--I am not--not the fine gentleman you think me. I am only a very +--humble fellow. The son of a village--inn-keeper. Your eyes +were--kind to me just now, but, oh Cleone, if so humble a fellow +is--unworthy, as I fear,--I--I will try to--forget." + +Very still she stood, looking upon his bent head, saw the quiver of +his lips, and the griping of his strong hands. Now, when she spoke, +her voice was very tender. + +"Can you--ever forget?" + +"I will--try!" + +"Then--oh, Barnabas, don't! Because I--think I could--love +this--humble fellow, Barnabas." + +The moon, of course, has looked on many a happy lover, yet where +find one, before or since, more radiant than young Barnabas; and the +brook, even in its softest, most tender murmurs, could never hope to +catch the faintest echo of Cleone's voice or the indescribable thrill +of it. + +And as for the pebble that was so round, so smooth and +innocent-seeming, whether its part had been that of beneficent sprite, +or malevolent demon, he who troubles to read on may learn. + + + + +CHAPTER XLVII + + +HOW BARNABAS FOUND HIS MANHOOD + +"Oh--hif you please, sir!" + +Barnabas started, and looking about, presently espied a figure in +the shadow of the osiers; a very small figure, upon whose diminutive +jacket were numerous buttons that glittered under the moon. + +"Why--it's Milo of Crotona!" said Cleone. + +"Yes, my lady--hif you please, it are," answered Milo of Crotona, +touching the peak of his leather cap. + +"But--what are you doing here? How did you know where to find us?" + +"'Cause as I came up the drive, m'lady, I jest 'appened to see you +a-walking together,--so I followed you, I did, m'lady." + +"Followed us?" repeated Cleone rather faintly. "Oh!" + +"And then--when I seen you slip, m'lady, I thought as 'ow I'd +better--wait a bit. So I waited, I did." And here, again, Milo +of Crotona touched the peak of his cap, and looked from Barnabas +to Cleone's flushing loveliness with eyes wide and profoundly +innocent,--a very cherub in top-boots, only his buttons (Ah, his +buttons!) seemed to leer and wink one to another, as much as to say: +"Oh yes! Of course! to--be--sure?" + +"And what brings you so far from London?" inquired Barnabas, rather +hurriedly. + +"Coach, sir,--box seat, sir!" + +"And you brought your master with you, of course,--is the Viscount +here?" + +"No, m'lady. I 'ad to leave 'im be'ind 'count of 'im being unfit to +travel--" + +"Is he ill?" + +"Oh, no, not hill, m'lady,--only shot, 'e is." + +"Shot!" exclaimed Barnabas, "how--where?" + +"In the harm, sir,--all on 'count of 'is 'oss,--'Moonraker' sir." + +"His horse?" + +"Yessir. 'S arternoon it were. Ye see, for a long time I ain't been +easy in me mind about them stables where 'im and you keeps your +'osses, sir, 'count of it not being safe enough,--worritted I 'ave, +sir. So 's arternoon, as we was passing the end o' the street, I +sez to m'lud, I sez, 'Won't your Ludship jest pop your nob round the +corner and squint your peepers at the 'osses?' I sez. So 'e laughs, +easy like, and in we pops. And the first thing we see was your 'ead +groom, Mr. Martin, wiv blood on 'is mug and one peeper in mourning +a-wrastling wiv two coves, and our 'ead groom, Standish, wiv another +of 'em. Jest as we run up, down goes Mr. Martin, but--afore they +could maul 'im wiv their trotters, there's m'lud wiv 'is fists an' +me wiv a pitchfork as 'appened to lie 'andy. And very lively it were, +sir, for a minute or two. Then off goes a barker and off go the coves, +and there's m'lud 'olding onto 'is harm and swearing 'eavens 'ard. +And that's all, sir." + +"And these men were--trying to get at the horses?" + +"Ah! Meant to nobble 'Moonraker,' they did,--'im bein' one o' the +favorites, d' ye see, sir, and it looked to me as if they meant to +do for your 'oss, 'The Terror', as well." + +"And is the Viscount much hurt?" + +"Why no, sir. And it were only 'is whip-arm. 'Urts a bit o' course, +but 'e managed to write you a letter, 'e did; an' 'ere it is." + +So Barnabas took the letter, and holding it in the moonlight where +Cleone could see it, they, together, made out these words: + + MY DEAR BEV,--There is durty work afoot. Some Raskells have tried + to lame 'Moonraker,' but thanks to my Imp and your man Martin, quite + unsuccessfully. How-beit your man Martin--regular game for all his + years--has a broken nob and one ogle closed up, and I a ball through + my arm, but nothing to matter. But I am greatly pirtirbed for the + safety of 'Moonraker' and mean to get him into safer quarters and + advise you to do likewise. Also, though your horse 'The Terror,' as + the stable-boys call him, is not even in the betting, it almost seems, + from what I can gather, that they meant to nobble him also. + Therefore I think you were wiser to return at once, and I am anxious + to see you on another matter as well. Your bets with Carnaby and + Chichester have somehow got about and are the talk of the town, and + from what I hear, much to your disparagement, I fear. + + A pity to shorten your stay in the country, but under the + circumstances, most advisable. + + Yours ever, etc., + + DICK. + + P.S. My love and service to the Duchess, Cleone and the Capt. + +Now here Barnabas looked at Cleone, and sighed, and Cleone sighing +also, nodded her head: + +"You must go," said she, very softly, and sighed again. + +"Yes, I must go, and yet--it is so very soon, Cleone!" + +"Yes, it is dreadfully soon, Barnabas. But what does he mean by +saying that people are talking of you to your disparagement? How +dare they? Why should they?" + +"I think because I, a rank outsider, ventured to lay a wager against +Sir Mortimer Carnaby." + +"Do you mean you bet him that you would win the race, Barnabas?" + +"No,--only that I would beat Sir Mortimer Carnaby." + +"But, oh Barnabas,--he _is_ the race! Surely you know he and the +Viscount are favorites?" + +"Oh, yes!" + +"Then you do think you can win?" + +"I mean to try--very hard!" said Barnabas, beginning to frown a +little. + +"And I begin to think," said Cleone, struck by his resolute eyes and +indomitable mouth, "oh, Barnabas--I begin to think you--almost may." + +"And if I did?" + +"Then I should be very--proud of you." + +"And if I lost?" + +"Then you would be--" + +"Yes?" + +"Just--" + +"Yes, Cleone?" + +"My, Barnabas! Ah, no, no!" she whispered suddenly, "you are +crushing me--dreadfully, and besides, that boy has terribly sharp +eyes!" and Cleone nodded to where Master Milo stood, some distance +away, with his innocent orbs lifted pensively towards the heavens, +more like a cherub than ever. + +"But he's not looking, and oh, Cleone,--how can I bear to leave you +so soon? You are more to me than anything else in the world. You are +my life, my soul,--my honor,--oh my dear!" + +"Do you--love me so very much, Barnabas?" said she, with a sudden +catch in her voice. + +"And always must! Oh my dear, my dear,--don't you know? But indeed, +words are so small and my love is so great that I fear you can never +quite guess, or I tell it all." + +"Then, Barnabas,--you will go?" + +"Must I, Cleone? It will be so very hard to lose you--so soon." + +"But a man always chooses the harder course, doesn't he, Barnabas? +And, dear, you cannot lose me,--and so you will go, won't you?" + +"Yes, I'll go--because I love you!" + +Then Cleone drew him deeper into the shade of the willows, and with +a sudden, swift gesture, reached up her hands and set them about his +neck. + +"Oh my dear," she murmured, "oh Barnabas dear, I think I can +guess--now. And I'm sure--the boy--can't see us--here!" + +No, surely, neither this particular brook nor any other water-brook, +stream or freshet, that ever sang, or sighed, or murmured among the +reeds, could ever hope to catch all the thrilling tenderness of the +sweet soft tones of Cleone's voice. + +A brook indeed? Ridiculous! + +Therefore this brook must needs give up attempting the impossible, +and betake itself to offensive chuckles and spiteful whisperings, +and would have babbled tales to the Duchess had that remarkable, +ancient lady been versed in the language of brooks. As it was, she +came full upon Master Milo still intent upon the heavens, it is true, +but in such a posture that his buttons stared point-blank and quite +unblushingly towards a certain clump of willows. + +"Oh Lud!" exclaimed the Duchess, starting back, "dear me, what a +strange little boy! What do you want here, little man?" + +Milo of Crotona turned and--looked at her. And though his face was +as cherubic as ever, there was haughty reproof in every button. + +"Who are you?" demanded the Duchess; "oh, gracious me, what a pretty +child!" + +Surely no cherub--especially one in such knowing top-boots--could be +reasonably expected to put up with this! Master Milo's innocent brow +clouded suddenly, and the expression of his glittering buttons grew +positively murderous. + +"I'm Viscount Devenham's con-fee-dential groom, mam, I am!" said he +coldly, and with his most superb air. + +"Groom?" said the Duchess, staring, "what a very small one, to be +sure!" + +"It ain't inches as counts wiv 'osses, mam,--or hany-think else, mam, +--it's nerves as counts, it is." + +"Why, yes, you seem to have plenty of nerve!" + +"Well, mam, there ain't much as I trembles at, there ain't,--and +when I do, I don't show it, I don't." + +"And such a pretty child, too!" sighed the Duchess. + +"Child, mam? I ain't no child, I'm a groom, I am. Child yourself, mam!" + +"Lud! I do believe he's even paying me compliments! How old are you, +boy?" + +"A lot more 'n you think, and hoceans more 'n I look, mam." + +"And what's your name?" + +"Milo, mam,--Milo o' Crotona, but my pals generally calls me Tony, +for short, they do." + +"Milo of Crotona!" repeated the Duchess, with her eyes wider than +ever, "but he was a giant who slew an ox with his fist, and ate it +whole!" + +"Why, mam, I'm oncommon fond of oxes,--roasted, I am." + +"Well," said the Duchess, "you are the very smallest giant I ever saw." + +"Why, you ain't werry large yourself, mam, you ain't." + +"No, I fear I am rather petite," said the Duchess with a trill of +girlish laughter. "And pray, Giant, what may you be doing here?" + +"Come up on the coach, I did,--box seat, mam,--to take Mr. Beverley +back wiv me 'cause 'is 'oss ain't safe, and--" + +"Not safe,--what do you mean, boy?" + +"Some coves got in and tried to nobble 'Moonraker' and 'im--" + +"Nobble, boy?" + +"Lame 'em, mam,--put 'em out o' the running." + +"The wretches!" + +"Yes'm. Ye see us sportsmen 'ave our worritting times, we do." + +"But where is Mr. Beverley?" + +"Why, I ain't looked, mam, I ain't,--but they're down by the +brook--behind them bushes, they are." + +"Oh, are they!" said the Duchess, "Hum!" + +"No mam,--'e's a-coming, and so's she." + +"Why, Barnabas," cried the Duchess, as Cleone and he stepped out of +the shadow, "what's all this I hear about your horse,--what is the +meaning of it?" + +"That I must start for London to-night, Duchess." + +"Leave to-night? Absurd!" + +"And yet, madam, Cleone seems to think I must, and so does Viscount +Devenham,--see what he writes." So the Duchess took the Viscount's +letter and, having deciphered it with some difficulty, turned upon +Barnabas with admonishing finger upraised: + +"So you 've been betting, eh? And with Sir Mortimer Carnaby and +Mr. Chichester of all people?" + +"Yes, madam." + +"Ah! You backed the Viscount, I suppose?" + +"No,--I backed myself, Duchess." + +"Gracious goodness--" + +"But only to beat Sir Mortimer Carnaby--" + +"The other favorite. Oh, ridiculous! What odds did they give you?" + +"None." + +"You mean--oh, dear me!--you actually backed yourself--at even money?" + +"Yes, Duchess." + +"But you haven't a chance, Barnabas,--not a chance! You didn't bet +much, I hope?" + +"Not so much as I intended, madam." + +"Pray what was the sum?" + +"Twenty thousand pounds." + +"Not--each?" + +"Yes, madam." + +"Forty thousand pounds! Against a favorite! Cleone, my dear," +said the Duchess, with one of her quick, incisive nods, "Cleone, +this Barnabas of ours is either a madman or a fool! And yet--stoop +down, sir,--here where I can see you,--hum! And yet, Cleone, +there are times when I think he is perhaps a little wiser than he +seems,--nothing is so baffling as simplicity, my dear! If you wished +to be talked about, Barnabas, you have succeeded admirably,--no wonder +all London is laughing over such a preposterous bet. Forty thousand +pounds! Well, it will at least buy you notoriety, and that is next to +fame." + +"Indeed, I hadn't thought of that," said Barnabas. + +"And supposing your horse had been lamed and you couldn't ride,--how +then?" + +"Why, then, I forfeit the money, madam." + +Now here the Duchess frowned thoughtfully, and thereafter said +"ha!" so suddenly, that Cleone started and hurried to her side. + +"Dear God-mother, what is it?" + +"A thought, my dear!" + +"But--" + +"Call it a woman's intuition if you will." + +"What is your thought, dear?" + +"That you are right, Cleone,--he must go--at once!" + +"Go? Barnabas?" + +"Yes; to London,--now--this very instant! Unless you prefer to +forfeit your money, Barnabas?" + +But Barnabas only smiled and shook his head. + +"You would be wiser!" + +"But I was never very wise, I fear," said Barnabas. + +"And--much safer!" + +"Oh, God-mother,--do you think there is--danger, then?" + +"Yes, child, I do. Indeed, Barnabas, you were wiser and safer to +forfeit your wagers and stay here with me and--Cleone!" + +But Barnabas only sighed and shook his head. + +"Cleone," said the Duchess, "speak to him." + +So blushing a little, sighing a little, Cleone reached out her hand +to Barnabas, while the Duchess watched them with her young, bright +eyes. + +"Oh, Barnabas, God-mother is very wise, and if--there is danger--you +mustn't go--for my sake." + +But Barnabas shook his head again, and taking in his strong clasp +the pleading hand upon his arm, turned to the Duchess. + +"Madam," said he, "dear Duchess, to-night I have found my manhood, +for to-night I have learned that a man must ever choose the hardest +course and follow it--to the end. To-night Cleone has taught me--many +things." + +"And you will--stay?" inquired the Duchess. + +"I must go!" said Barnabas. + +"Then good-by--Barnabas!" said her Grace, looking up at him with a +sudden, radiant smile, "good-by!" said she very softly, "it is a +fine thing to be a gentleman, perhaps,--but it is a godlike thing to +be--a man!" So saying, she gave him her hand, and as Barnabas +stooped to kiss those small, white fingers, she looked down at his +curly head with such an expression as surely few had ever seen +within the eyes of this ancient, childless woman, her Grace of +Camberhurst. + +"Now Giant!" she called, as Barnabas turned towards Cleone, +"come here, Giant, and promise me to take care of Mr. Beverley." + +"Yes, mam,--all right, mam,--you jest leave 'im to me," replied +Master Milo with his superb air, "don't you worrit on 'is account, +'e'll be all right along o' me, mam, 'e will." + +"For that," cried the Duchess, catching him by two of his gleaming +buttons, "for that I mean to kiss you, Giant!" The which, despite +his reproving blushes, she did forthwith. + +And Cleone and Barnabas? Well, it so chanced, her Grace's back was +towards them; while as for Master Milo--abashed, and for once +forgetful of his bepolished topboots, he became in very truth a child, +though one utterly unused to the motherly touch of a tender woman's +lips; therefore he suffered the embrace with closed eyes,--even his +buttons were eclipsed, and, in that moment, the Duchess whispered +something in his ear. Then he turned and followed after Barnabas, +who was already striding away across the wide lawn, his head carried +high, a new light in his eyes and a wondrous great joy at his heart, +--a man henceforth--resolute to attempt all things, glorying in his +strength and contemptuous of failure, because of the trill of a +woman's voice and the quick hot touch of a woman's soft lips, whose +caress had been in no sense--motherly. And presently, being come to +the hospitable gates, he turned with bared head to look back at the +two women, the one a childless mother, old and worn, yet wise with +years, and the maid, strong and proud in all the glory of her warm, +young womanhood. Side by side with arms entwined they stood, to +watch young Barnabas, and in the eyes of each, an expression so much +alike, yet so dissimilar. Then, with a flourish of his hat, Barnabas +went on down the road, past the finger-post, with Milo of Crotona's +small top-boots twinkling at his side. + +"Sir," said he suddenly, speaking in an awed tone, "is she a real +Doochess--the little old 'un?" + +"Yes," nodded Barnabas, "very real. Why, Imp?" + +"'Cos I called 'er a child, I did--Lord! An' then she--she kissed me, +she did, sir--which ain't much in my line, it ain't. But she give +me a guinea, sir, an' she likewise whispered in my ear, she did." + +"Oh?" said Barnabas, thinking of Cleone--"whispered, did she?" + +"Ah! she says to me--quick like, sir,--she says, 'tell 'im,' she +says--meaning you, sir, 'tell 'im to beware o' Wilfred Chichester!' +she says." + + + + +CHAPTER XLVIII + + +IN WHICH "THE TERROR," HITHERTO KNOWN AS "FOUR-LEGS," +JUSTIFIES HIS NEW NAME + +The chill of dawn was in the air as the chaise began to rumble over +the London cobble-stones, whereupon Master Milo (who for the last +hour had slumbered peacefully, coiled up in his corner like a kitten) +roused himself, sat suddenly very upright, straightened his cap and +pulled down his coat, broad awake all at once, and with his eyes as +round and bright as his buttons. + +"Are you tired, Imp?" inquired Barnabas, yawning. + +"Tired, sir, ho no, sir--not a bit, I ain't." + +"But you haven't slept much." + +"Slep', sir? I ain't slep'. I only jest 'appened to close me eyes, +sir. Ye see, I don't need much sleep, I don't,--four hours is enough +for any man,--my pal Nick says so, and Nick knows a precious lot, 'e +do." + +"Who is Nick?" + +"Nick's a cobbler, sir,--boots and shoes,--ladies' and gents', and a +very good cobbler 'e is too, although a cripple wiv a game leg. Me +and 'im's pals, sir, and though we 'as our little turn-ups 'count of +'im coming it so strong agin the Quality, I'm never very 'ard on 'im +'count of 'is crutch, d'ye see, sir." + +"What do you mean by the 'Quality,' Imp?" + +"Gentle-folks, sir,--rich folks like you an' m'lud. 'I'd gillertine +the lot, if I'd my way,' he says, 'like the Frenchies did in +Ninety-three,' 'e says. But 'e wouldn't reelly o'course, for Nick's +very tender-hearted, though 'e don't like it known. So we 're pals, +we are, and I often drop in to smoke a pipe wiv 'im--" + +"What! Do you smoke, Imp?" + +"Why, yes, o' course, sir,--all grooms smokes or chews, but I +prefers a pipe--allus 'ave, ah! ever since I were a kid. But I +mostly only 'as a pipe when I drop in on my pal Nick in Giles's Rents." + +"Down by the River?" inquired Barnabas. + +"Yessir. And now, shall I horder the post-boy to stop?" + +"What for?" + +"Well, the stables is near by, sir, and I thought as you might like +to take a glimp at the 'osses,--just to make your mind easy, sir." + +"Oh, very well!" said Barnabas, for there was something in the boy's +small, eager face that he could not resist. + +Therefore, having paid and dismissed the chaise, they turned into a +certain narrow by-street. It was very dark as yet, although in the +east was a faint, gray streak, and the air struck so chill, after +the warmth of the chaise, that Barnabas shivered violently, and, +happening to glance down, he saw that the boy was shivering also. On +they went, side by side, between houses of gloom and silence, and +thus, in a while, came to another narrow street, or rather, blind +alley, at the foot of which were the stables. + +"Hush, sir!" said the Imp, staring away to where the stable +buildings loomed up before them, shadowy and indistinct in the dawn. +"Hush, sir!" he repeated, and Barnabas saw that he was creeping +forward on tip-toe, and, though scarce knowing why, he himself did +the same. + +They found the great swing doors fast, bolted from within, and, in +this still dead hour, save for their own soft breathing, not a sound +reached them. Then Barnabas laughed suddenly, and clapped Master +Milo upon his small, rigid shoulder. + +"There, Imp,--you see it's all right!" said he, and then paused, and +held his breath. + +"Did ye hear anythink?" whispered the boy. + +"A chain--rattled, I think." + +"And 't was in The Terror's' stall,--there? didn't ye hear somethink +else, sir?" + +"No!" + +"I did,--it sounded like--" the boy's voice tailed off suddenly and, +upon the silence, a low whistle sounded; then a thud, as of some one +dropping from a height, quickly followed by another,--and thus two +figures darted away, impalpable as ghosts in the dawn, but the alley +was filled with the rush and patter of their flight. Instantly +Barnabas turned in pursuit, then stopped and stood utterly still, +his head turned, his eyes wide, glaring back towards the gloom of +the stables. For, in that moment, above the sudden harsh jangling of +chains from within, above the pattering footsteps of the fugitives +without, was an appalling sound rising high and ever higher--shrill, +unearthly, and full of horror and torment unspeakable. And now, +sudden as it had come, it was gone, but in its place was another +sound,--a sound dull and muffled, but continuous, and pierced, all +at once, by the loud, hideous whinnying of a horse. Then Barnabas +sprang back to the doors, beating upon them with his fists and +calling wildly for some one to open. + +And, in a while, a key grated, a bolt shrieked; the doors swung back, +revealing Martin, half-dressed and with a lantern in his hand, while +three or four undergrooms hovered, pale-faced, in the shadows behind. + +"My horse!" said Barnabas, and snatched the lantern. + +"'The Terror'!" cried Milo, "this way, sir!" + +Coming to a certain shadowy corner, Barnabas unfastened and threw +open the half-door; and there, rising from the gloom of the stall, +was a fiendish, black head with ears laid back, eyes rolling, and +teeth laid bare,--cruel teeth, whose gleaming white was hatefully +splotched,--strong teeth, in whose vicious grip something yet dangled. + +"Why--what's he got there!" cried Martin suddenly, and then-- +"Oh, my God! sir,--look yonder!" and, covering his eyes, he pointed +towards a corner of the stall where the light of the lantern fell. +And--twisted and contorted,--something lay there; something +hideously battered, and torn, and trampled; something that now lay +so very quiet and still, but which had left dark splashes and stains +on walls and flooring; something that yet clutched the knife which +was to have hamstrung and ended the career of Four-legs once and for +all; something that had once been a man. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIX + + +WHICH, BEING SOMEWHAT IMPORTANT, IS CONSEQUENTLY SHORT + +"My dear fellow," said the Viscount, stifling a yawn beneath the +bedclothes, "you rise with the lark,--or should it be linnet? Anyhow, +you do, you know. So deuced early!" + +"I am here early because I haven't been to bed, Dick." + +"Ah, night mail? Dev'lish uncomfortable! Didn't think you'd come back +in such a deuce of a hurry, though!" + +"But you wanted to see me, Dick, what is it?" + +"Why,--egad, Bev, I'm afraid it's nothing much, after all. +It's that fellow Smivvle's fault, really." + +"Smivvle?" + +"Fellow actually called here yesterday--twice, Bev. Dev'lish +importunate fellow y'know. Wanted to see you,--deuced insistent +about it, too!" + +"Why?" + +"Well, from what I could make out, he seemed to think--sounds +ridiculous so early in the morning,--but he seemed to fancy you were +in some kind of--danger, Bev." + +"How, Dick?" + +"Well, when I told him he couldn't see you because you had driven +over to Hawkhurst, the fellow positively couldn't sit still--deuced +nervous, y'know,--though probably owing to drink. 'Hawkhurst!' says +he, staring at me as if I were a ghost, my dear fellow, 'yes,' says I, +'and the door's open, sir!' 'I see it is,' says he, sitting tight. +'But you must get him back!' 'Can't be done!' says I. 'Are you his +friend?' says he. 'I hope so,' says I. 'Then,' says he, before I +could remind him of the door again, 'then you must get him back-- +at once!' I asked him why, but he only stared and shook his head, +and so took himself off. I'll own the fellow shook me rather, Bev, +--he seemed so very much in earnest, but, knowing where you were, I +wouldn't have disturbed you for the world if it hadn't been for the +horses." + +"Ah, yes--the horses!" said Barnabas thoughtfully. "How is your +arm now, Dick?" + +"A bit stiff, but otherwise right as a trivet, Bev. But now--about +yourself, my dear fellow,--what on earth possessed you to lay +Carnaby such a bet? What a perfectly reckless fellow you are! Of +course the money is as good as in Carnaby's pocket already, not to +mention Chichester's--damn him! As I told you in my letter, the +affair has gone the round of the clubs,--every one is laughing at +the 'Galloping Countryman,' as they call you. Jerningham came within +an ace of fighting Tufton Green of the Guards about it, but the +Marquis is deuced knowing with the barkers, and Tufton, very wisely, +thought better of it. Still, I'm afraid the name will stick--!" + +"And why not, Dick? I am a countryman, indeed quite a yokel in many +ways, and I shall certainly gallop--when it comes to it." + +"Which brings us back to the horses, Bev. I 've been thinking we +ought to get 'em away--into the country--some quiet place like--say, +the--the 'Spotted Cow,' Bev." + +"Yes, the 'Spotted Cow' should do very well; especially as Clemency--" + +"Talking about the horses, Bev," said the Viscount, sitting up in +bed and speaking rather hurriedly, "I protest, since the rascally +attempt on 'Moonraker' last night, I've been on pins and needles, +positively,--nerve quite gone, y'know, Bev. If 'Moonraker' didn't +happen to be a horse, he'd be a mare,--of course he would,--but I +mean a nightmare. I've thought of him all day and dreamed of him all +night, oh, most cursed, y'know! Just ring for my fellow, will you, +Bev?--I'll get up, and we'll go round to the stables together." + +"Quite unnecessary, Dick." + +"Eh? Why?" + +"Because I have just left there." + +"Are the horses all right, Bev?" + +"Yes, Dick." + +"Ah!" sighed the Viscount, falling back among his pillows, "and +everything is quite quiet, eh?" + +"Very quiet,--now, Dick." + +"Eh?" cried the Viscount, coming erect again, "Bev, what d' you mean?" + +"I mean that three men broke in again to-night--" + +"Oh, Lord!" exclaimed the Viscount, beginning to scramble out of bed. + +"But we drove them off before they had done--what they came for." + +"Did you, Bev,--did you? ah,--but didn't you catch any of 'em?" + +"No; but my horse did." + +"Your horse? Oh, Beverley,--d'you mean he--" + +"Killed him, Dick!" + +Once more the Viscount sank back among his pillows and stared up at +the ceiling a while ere he spoke again-- + +"By the Lord, Bev," said he, at last, "the stable-boys might well +call him 'The Terror'!" + +"Yes," said Barnabas, "he has earned his name, Dick." + +"And the man was--dead, you say?" + +"Hideously dead, Dick,--and in his pocket we found this!" and +Barnabas produced a dirty and crumpled piece of paper, and put it +into the Viscount's reluctant hand. "Look at it, Dick, and tell me +what it is." + +"Why, Bev,--deuce take me, it's a plan of our stables! And they've +got it right, too! Here's 'Moonraker's' stall marked out as pat as +you please, and 'The Terror's,' but they've got his name wrong--" + +"My horse had no name, Dick." + +"But there's something written here." + +"Yes, look at it carefully, Dick." + +"Well, here's an H, and an E, and--looks like 'Hera,' Bev!" + +"Yes, but it isn't. Look at that last letter again, Dick!" + +"Why, I believe--by God, Bev,--it's an E!" + +"Yes,--an E, Dick." + +"'Here'!" said the Viscount, staring at the paper; "why, then--why, +Bev,--it was--your horse they were after!" + +"My horse,--yes, Dick." + +"But he's a rank outsider--he isn't even in the betting! In heaven's +name, why should any one--" + +"Look on the other side of the paper, Dick." + +Obediently, the Viscount turned the crumpled paper over, and +thereafter sat staring wide-eyed at a name scrawled thereon, and +from it to Barnabas and back again; for the name he saw was this: + + RONALD BARRYMAINE ESQUIRE. + +"And Dick," said Barnabas, "it is in Chichester's handwriting." + + + + +CHAPTER L + + +IN WHICH RONALD BARRYMAINE SPEAKS HIS MIND + +The whiskers of Mr. Digby Smivvle were in a chastened mood, indeed +their habitual ferocity was mitigated to such a degree that they +might almost be said to wilt, or droop. Mr. Digby Smivvle drooped +likewise; in a word, Mr. Smivvle was despondent. + +He sat in one of the rickety chairs, his legs stretched out to the +cheerless hearth, and stared moodily at the ashes of a long dead fire. +At the opening of the door he started and half rose, but seeing +Barnabas, sank back again. + +"Beverley," he cried, "thank heaven you're safe back again--that is +to say--" he went on, striving to speak in his ordinary manner, +"that is to say,--I mean--ah--in short, my dear Beverley, I'm +delighted to see you!" + +"Pray what do you mean by safe?" + +"What do I mean?" repeated Mr. Smivvle, beginning to fumble for his +whisker with strangely clumsy fingers, "why, I mean--safe, sir,--a +very natural wish, surely?" + +"Yes," said Barnabas, "and you wished to see me, I think?" + +"To see you?" echoed Mr. Smivvle, still feeling for his whisker,--"why, +yes, of course--" + +"At least, the Viscount told me so." + +"Ah? Deuced obliging of the Viscount,--very!" + +"Are you alone?" Barnabas inquired, struck by Mr. Smivvle's +hesitating manner, and he glanced toward the door of what was +evidently a bedroom. + +"Alone, sir," said Mr. Smivvle, "is the precise and only word for it. +You have hit the nail exactly--upon the nob, sir." Here, having +found his whisker, Mr. Smivvle gave it a fierce wrench, loosed it, +and clenching his fist, smote himself two blows in the region of the +heart. "Sir," said he, "you behold in me a deserted and therefore +doleful ruminant chewing reflection's solitary cud. And, sir,--it is +a bitter cud, cursedly so,--wherein the milk of human kindness is +curdled, sir, curdled most damnably, my dear Beverley! In a word, my +friend Barry--wholly forgetful of those sacred bonds which the +hammer of Adversity alone can weld,--scorning Friendship's holy +obligations, has turned his back upon Smivvle,--upon Digby,--upon +faithful Dig, and--in short has--ah--hopped the mutual perch, sir." + +"Do you mean he has left you?" + +"Yes, sir. We had words this morning--a good many and, the end of it +was--he departed--for good, and all on your account!" + +"My account?" + +"And with a month's rent due, not to mention the Spanswick's wages, +and she has a tongue! 'Oh, Death, where is thy sting?'" + +"But how on my account?" + +"Sir, in a word, he resented my friendship for you. Sir, Barrymaine +is cursed proud, but so am I--as Lucifer! Sir, when the blood of a +Smivvle is once curdled, it's curdled most damnably, and the heart +of a Smivvle,--as all the world knows,--becomes a--an accursed flint, +sir." Here Mr. Smivvle shook his head and sighed again. "Though I +can't help wondering what the poor fellow will do without me at hand +to--ah--pop round the corner for him. By the way, do you happen to +remember if you fastened the front door securely?" + +"No." + +"I ask because the latch is faulty,--like most things about +here,--and in this delightful Garden of Hatton and the--ah--hot-beds +adjoining there are weeds, sir, of the rambling species which, given +opportunity--will ramble anywhere. Several of 'em--choice exotics, +too! have found their way up here lately,--one of 'em got in here +this very morning after Barrymaine had gone,--characteristic +specimen in a fur cap. But, as I was saying, you may have noticed +that Chichester is not altogether--friendly towards you?" + +"Chichester?" said Barnabas. "Yes!" + +"And it would almost seem that he's determined that Barrymaine +shall--be the same. Poor fellow's been very strange lately,--Gaunt's +been pressing him again worse than ever,--even threatened him with +the Marshalsea. Consequently, the flowing bowl has continually +brimmed--Chichester's doing, of course,--and he seems to consider +you his mortal enemy, and--in short, I think it only right to--put +you on your guard." + +"You mean against--Chichester?" + +"I mean against--Barrymaine!" + +"Ah!" said Barnabas, chin in hand, "but why?" + +"Well, you'll remember that the only time you met him he was +inclined to be--just a l-ee-tle--violent, perhaps?" + +"When he attacked me with the bottle,--yes!" sighed Barnabas, +"but surely that was only because he was drunk?" + +"Y-e-s, perhaps so," said Mr. Smivvle, fumbling for his whisker again, +"but this morning he--wasn't so drunk as usual." + +"Well?" + +"And yet he was more violent than ever--raved against you like a +maniac." + +"But--why?" + +"It was just after he had received another of Jasper Gaunt's +letters,--here it is!" and, stooping, Mr. Smivvle picked up a +crumpled paper that had lain among the ashes, and smoothing it out, +tendered it to Barnabas. "Read it, sir,--read it!" he said earnestly, +"it will explain matters, I think,--and much better than I can. Yes +indeed, read it, for it concerns you too!" So Barnabas took the letter, +and this is what he read: + + DEAR MR. BARRYMAINE,--In reply to your favor, _re_ interest, + requesting more time, I take occasion once more to remind you that I + am no longer your creditor, being merely his agent, as Mr. Beverley + himself could, and will, doubtless, inform you. + + I am, therefore, compelled to demand payment within thirty days + from date; otherwise the usual steps must be taken in lieu of same. + + Yours obediently, + + JASPER GAUNT. + +Now when Barnabas had read the letter a sudden fit of rage possessed +him, and, crumpling the paper in his fist, he dashed it down and set +his foot upon it. + +"A lie!" he cried, "a foul, cowardly lie!" + +"Then you--you didn't buy up the debt, Beverley?" + +"No! no!--I couldn't,--Gaunt had sold already, and by heaven I +believe the real creditor is--" + +"Ha!" cried Smivvle, pointing suddenly, "the door wasn't fastened, +Beverley,--look there!" + +Barnabas started, and glancing round, saw that the door was opening +very slowly, and inch by inch; then, as they watched its stealthy +movement, all at once a shaggy head slid into view, a round head, +with a face remarkably hirsute as to eyebrow and whisker, and +surmounted by a dingy fur cap. + +"'Scuse me, gents!" said the head, speaking hoarsely, and rolling +its eyes at them, "name o' Barrymaine,--vich on ye might that be, now?" + +"Ha?" cried Mr. Smivvle angrily, "so you're here again, are you!" + +"'Scuse me, gents!" said the head, blinking its round eyes at them, +"name o' Barrymaine,--no offence,--vich?" + +"Come," said Mr. Smivvle, beginning to tug at his whiskers,-- +"come, get out,--d'ye hear!" + +"But, axing your pardons, gents,--vich on ye might be--name o' +Barrymaine?" + +"What do you want with him--eh?" demanded Mr. Smivvle, his whiskers +growing momentarily more ferocious, "speak out, man!" + +"Got a letter for 'im--leastways it's wrote to 'im," answered the +head, "'ere's a B, and a Nay, and a Nar, and another on 'em, and a +Vy,--that spells Barry, don't it? Then, arter that, comes a M., and +a--" + +"Oh, all right,--give it me!" said Mr. Smivvle, rising. + +"Are you name o' Barrymaine?" + +"No, but you can leave it with me, and I--" + +"Leave it?" repeated the head, in a slightly injured tone, "leave it? +axing your pardons, gents,--but burn my neck if I do! If you ain't +name o' Barrymaine v'y then--p'r'aps this is 'im a-coming upstairs +now,--and werry 'asty about it, too!" And, sure enough, hurried feet +were heard ascending; whereupon Mr. Smivvle uttered a startled +exclamation, and, motioning Barnabas to be seated in the dingiest +corner, strode quickly to the door, and thus came face to face with +Ronald Barrymaine upon the threshold. + +"Why, Barry!" said he, standing so as to block Barrymaine's view of +the dingy corner, "so you've come back, then?" + +"Come back, yes!" returned the other petulantly, "I had to,--mislaid +a letter, must have left it here, somewhere. Did you find it?" + +"Axing your pardon, sir, but might you be name o' Barrymaine, no +offence, but might you?" + +The shaggy head had slid quite into the room now, bringing after it +a short, thick-set person clad after the fashion of a bargeman. + +"Yes; what do you want?" + +"Might this 'ere be the letter as you come back for,--no offence, +but might it?" + +"Yes! yes," cried Barrymaine, and, snatching it, he tore it fiercely +across and across, and made a gesture as if to fling the fragments +into the hearth, then thrust them into his pocket instead. "Here's a +shilling for you," said he, turning to the bargeman, "that is--Dig, +l-lend me a shilling, I--" Ronald Barrymaine's voice ended abruptly, +for he had caught sight of Barnabas sitting in the dingy corner, and +now, pushing past Smivvle, he stood staring, his handsome features +distorted with sudden fury, his teeth gleaming between his parted +lips. + +"So it's--you, is it?" he demanded. + +"Yes," said Barnabas, and stood up. + +"So--you're--back again, are you?" + +"Thank you, yes," said Barnabas, "and quite safe!" + +"S-safe?" + +"As yet," answered Barnabas. + +"You aren't d-drunk, are you?" + +"No," said Barnabas, "nor are you, for once." + +Barrymaine clenched his fists and took a step towards Barnabas, but +spying the bargeman, who now lurched forward, turned upon him in a +fury. + +"What the d-devil d' you want? Get out of the way, d' ye hear?--get +out, I say!" + +"Axing your pardon, sir, an' meaning no offence, but summat was said +about a bob, sir--vun shilling!" + +"Damnation! Give the fellow his s-shilling, Dig, and then k-kick him +out." + +Hereupon Mr. Smivvle, having felt through his pockets, slowly +produced the coin demanded, and handing it to the bargeman, pointed +to the door. + +"No,--see him downstairs--into the street, Dig. And you needn't +hurry back, I'm going to speak my mind to this f-fellow--once and +for all! So l-lock the street door, Dig." + +Mr. Smivvle hesitated, glanced at Barnabas, shrugged his shoulders +and followed the bargeman out of the room. As the door closed, +Barrymaine sprang to it, and, turning the key, faced Barnabas with +arms folded, head lowered, and a smile upon his lips: + +"Now," said he, "you are going to listen to me--d'you hear? We are +going to understand each other before you leave this room! D'you see?" + +"Yes," said Barnabas. + +"Oh!" he cried bitterly, "I know the sort of c-crawling thing you are, +Gaunt has warned me--" + +"Gaunt is a liar!" said Barnabas. + +"I say,--he's told me,--are you listening? Y-you think, because +you've bought my debts, you've bought me, too, body and soul, +and--through me--Cleone! Ah, but you haven't,--before that happens +y-you'll be dead and rotting--and I, and she as well. Are you +listening?--she as well! You think you've g-got me--there beneath +your foot--b-but you haven't, no, by God, you haven't--" + +"I tell you Gaunt is a liar!" repeated Barnabas. "I couldn't buy +your debts because he had sold them already. Come with me, and I'll +prove it,--come and let me face him with the truth--" + +"The truth? You? Oh, I might have guessed you'd come creeping round +here to see S-Smivvle behind my back--as you do my sister--" + +"Sir!" said Barnabas, flushing. + +"What--do you dare deny it? Do you d-dare deny that you have met +her--by stealth,--do you? do you? Oh, I know of your secret meetings +with her. I know how you have imposed upon the credulity of a +weak-minded old woman and a one-armed d-dotard sufficiently to get +yourself invited to Hawkhurst. But I tell you this shall stop,--it +shall! Yes, by God,--you shall give me your promise to c-cease your +persecution of my sister before you leave this room, or--" + +"Or?" said Barnabas. + +"Or it will be the w-worse for you!" + +"How?" + +"I--I'll k-kill you!" + +"Murder me?" + +"It's no m-murder to kill your sort!" + +"Then it _is_ a pistol you have in your pocket, there?" + +"Yes--l-look at it!" And, speaking, Barrymaine drew and levelled the +weapon with practised hand. "Now listen!" said he. "You will s-sit +down at that table there, and write Gaunt to g-give me all the time +I need for your c-cursed interest--" + +"But I tell you--" + +"Liar!" cried Barrymaine, advancing a threatening step. "Liar,--I +know! Then, after you've done that,--you will swear never to see or +c-communicate with my sister again, or I'll shoot you dead where you +stand,--s-so help me God!" + +"You are mad," said Barnabas, "I am not your creditor, and--" + +"Liar! I know!" repeated Barrymaine. + +"And yet," said Barnabas, fronting him, white-faced, across the table, +"I think--I'm sure, there are four things you don't know. The first +is that Lady Cleone has promised to marry me--some day--" + +"Go on to the next, liar!" + +"The second is that my stables were broken into again, this +morning,--the third is that my horse killed the man who was trying +to hamstring him,--and the fourth is that in the dead man's pocket +I found--this!" And Barnabas produced that crumpled piece of paper +whereon was drawn the plan of the stables. + +Now, at the sight of this paper, Barrymaine fell back a step, his +pistol-hand wavered, fell to his side, and sinking into a chair, he +seemed to shrink into himself as he stared dully at a worn patch in +the carpet. + +"Only one beside myself knows of this," said Barnabas. + +"Well?" The word seemed wrung from Barrymaine's quivering lips. He +lay back in the rickety chair, his arms dangling, his chin upon his +breast, never lifting his haggard eyes, and, almost as he spoke, the +pistol slipped from his lax fingers and lay all unheeded. + +"Not another soul shall ever know," said Barnabas earnestly, +"the world shall be none the wiser if you will promise to stop,--now, +--to free yourself from Chichester's influence, now,--to let me help +you to redeem the past. Promise me this, and I, as your friend, will +tear up this damning evidence--here and now." + +"And--if I--c-can't?" + +Barnabas sighed, and folding up the crumpled paper, thrust it back +into his pocket. + +"You shall have--a week, to make up your mind. You know my address, +I think,--at least, Mr. Smivvle does." So saying, Barnabas stepped +towards the door, but, seeing the look on Barrymaine's face, he +stooped very suddenly, and picked up the pistol. Then he unlocked +the door and went out, closing it behind him. Upon the dark stairs +he encountered Mr. Smivvle, who had been sitting there making +nervous havoc of his whiskers. + +"Gad, Beverley!" he exclaimed, "I ought not to have left you alone +with him,--deuce of a state about it, 'pon my honor. But what could +I do,--as I sat here listening to you both I was afraid." + +"So was I," said Barnabas. "But he will be quiet now, I think. Here +is one of his pistols, you'd better hide it. And--forget your +differences with him, for if ever a man needed a friend, he does. As +for your rent, don't worry about that, I'll send it round to you +this evening. Good-by." + +So Barnabas went on down the dark stairs, and being come to the door +with the faulty latch, let himself out into the dingy street, and +thus came face to face with the man in the fur cap. + +"Lord, Mr. Barty, sir," said that worthy, glancing up and down the +street with a pair of mild, round eyes, "you can burn my neck if I +wasn't beginning to vorry about you, up theer all alone vith that +'ere child o' mine. For, sir, of all the Capital coves as ever I see, +--'e's vun o' the werry capital-est." + + + + +CHAPTER LI + + +WHICH TELLS HOW AND WHY MR. SHRIG'S CASE WAS SPOILED + +"Why," exclaimed Barnabas, starting, "is that you, Mr. Shrig?" + +"As ever vas, sir. I ain't partial to disguises as a rule, but +circumstances obleeges me to it now and then," sighed Mr. Shrig as +they turned into Hatton Garden. "Ye see, I've been keeping a eye--or +as you might say, a fatherly ogle on vun o' my fambly, vich is the +v'y and the v'erefore o' these 'ere v'iskers. Yesterday, I vas a +market gerdener, vith a basket o' fine wegetables as nobody 'ad +ordered,--the day afore, a sailor-man out o' furrin parts, as +vos a-seeking and a-searchin' for a gray-'eaded feyther as didn't +exist,--to-day I'm a riverside cove as 'ad found a letter--a letter +as I'd stole--" + +"Stolen!" repeated Barnabas. + +"Vell, let's say borreyed, sir,--borreyed for purposes o' obserwation, +--out o' young Barrymaine's pocket, and werry neatly I done it too!" +Here Mr. Shrig chuckled softly, checked himself suddenly, and shook +his placid head. "But life ain't all lavender, sir,--not by no +manner o' means, it ain't," said he dolefully. "Things is werry +slack vith me,--nothing in the murder line this veek, and only vun +sooicide, a couple o' 'ighvay robberies, and a 'sault and battery! +You can scrag me if I know v'ot things is coming to. And then, to +make it vorse, I 've jest 'ad a loss as vell." + +"I'm sorry for that, Mr. Shrig, but--" + +"A loss, sir, as I shan't get over in a 'urry. You'll remember +V'istlin' Dick, p'r'aps,--the leary, flash cove as you give such a +leveller to, the first time as ever I clapped my day-lights on ye?" + +"Yes, I remember him." + +"Veil sir,' e's been and took, and gone, and got 'isself kicked to +death by an 'orse!" + +"Eh,--a horse?" exclaimed Barnabas, starting. + +"An 'orse, sir, yes. Vich I means to say is coming it a bit low down +on _me_, sir,--sich conduct ain't 'ardly fair, for V'istlin' Dick +vos a werry promising cove as Capitals go. And now to see 'im cut +off afore 'is time, and in such a outrageous, onnat'ral manner, +touches me up, Mr. Barty, sir,--touches me up werry sharp it do! For +arter all, a nice, strong gibbet vith a good long drop is qvicker, +neater, and much more pleasant than an 'orse's 'oof,--now ain't it? +Still," said Mr. Shrig, sighing and shaking his head again, +"things is allus blackest afore the dawn, sir, and--'twixt you and +me,--I'm 'oping to bring off a nice little murder case afore long--" + +"Hoping?" + +"Veil--let's say--expecting, sir. Quite a bang up affair it'll be +too,--nobs, all on 'em, and there's three on 'em concerned. I'll call +the murderer Number Vun, Number Two is the accessory afore the fact, +and Number Three is the unfort'nate wictim. Now sir, from private +obserwation, the deed is doo to be brought off any time in the next +three veeks, and as soon as it's done, v'y then I lays my right 'and +on Number Vun, and my left 'and on Number Two, and--" + +"But--what about Number Three?" inquired Barnabas. + +Mr. Shrig paused, glanced at Barnabas, and scratched his ear, +thoughtfully. + +"V'y sir," said he at last, "Number Three vill be a corp." + +"A what?" said Barnabas. + +"A corp, sir--a stiff--" + +"Do you mean--dead?" + +"Ah,--I mean werry much so!" nodded Mr. Shrig. + +"Number Three vill be stone cold,--somev'eres in the country it'll +'appen, I fancy,--say in a vood! And the leaves'll keep a-fluttering +over 'im, and the birds'll keep a-singing to 'im,--oh, Number +Three'll be comfortable enough,--'e von't 'ave to vorry about +nothink no more, it'll be Number Vun and Number Two as'll do the +vorrying, and me--till I gets my 'ooks on 'em, and then--" + +"But," said Barnabas earnestly, "why not try to prevent it?" + +"Prewent it, sir?" said Mr. Shrig, in a tone of pained surprise. +"Prewent it? Lord, Mr. Barty, sir--then vere vould my murder case be? +Besides, I ain't so onprofessional as to step in afore my time. +Prewent it? No, sir. My dooty is to apprehend a man _arter_ the crime, +not afore it." + +"But surely you don't mean to allow this unfortunate person to be +done to death?" + +"Sir," said Mr. Shrig, beginning to finger his ear again, "unfort'nate +wictims is born to be--vell, let's say--unfort'nate. You can't 'elp +'em being born wictims. I can't 'elp it,--nobody can't, for natur' +vill 'ave 'er own vay, sir, and I ain't vun to go agin natur' nor +yet to spile a good case,--good cases is few enough. Oh, life ain't +all lavender, as I said afore,--burn my neck if it is!" And here +Mr. Shrig shook his head again, sighed again, and walked on in a +somewhat gloomy silence. + +Now, all at once, as they turned into the rush and roar of Holborn, +Barnabas espied a face amid the hurrying throng; a face whose proud, +dark beauty there was no mistaking despite its added look of sorrow; +and a figure whose ripe loveliness the threadbare cloak could not +disguise. For a moment her eyes looked up into his, dark and +suddenly wide,--then, quick and light of foot, she was gone, lost in +the bustling crowd. + +But, even so, Barnabas turned and followed, striding on and on until +at length he saw again the flutter of the threadbare cloak. And, +because of its shabbiness, he frowned and hastened his steps, and +because of the look he had read in her eyes, he paused again, yet +followed doggedly nevertheless. She led him down Holborn Hill past +the Fleet Market, over Blackfriars Bridge, and so, turning sharp to +the right, along a somewhat narrow and very grimy street between +rows of dirty, tumble-down houses, with, upon the right hand, +numerous narrow courts and alley-ways that gave upon the turgid river. +Down one of these alleys the fluttering cloak turned suddenly, yet +when Barnabas reached the corner, behold the alley was quite deserted, +save for a small and pallid urchin who sat upon a rotting stump, +staring at the river, with a pallid infant in his arms. + +"Which way did the lady go?" inquired Barnabas. + +"Lady?" said the urchin, staring. + +"Yes. She wore a cloak,--a gray cloak. Where did she go?" and +Barnabas held up a shilling. Instantly the urchin rose and, swinging +the pallid infant to his ragged hip, pattered over the cobbles with +his bare feet, and with one small, dirty claw extended. + +"A bob!" he cried in a shrill, cracked voice, "gimme it, sir! Yus, +--yus,--I'll tell ye. She's wiv Nick--lives dere, she do. Now gimme +th' bob,--she's in dere!" And he pointed to a narrow door at the +further end of the alley. So Barnabas gave the shilling into the +eager clutching fingers, and approaching the door, knocked upon the +rotting timbers with the head of his cane. + +"Come in!" roared a mighty voice. Hereupon Barnabas pushed open the +crazy door, and descending three steps, found himself in a small, +dark room, full of the smell of leather. And here, its solitary +inmate, was a very small man crouched above a last, with a hammer in +his hand and an open book before him. His head was bald save for a +few white hairs that stood up, fiercely erect, and upon his short, +pugnacious nose he wore a pair of huge, horn-rimmed spectacles. + +"What's for you, sir?" he demanded in the same great, fierce voice, +viewing Barnabas over his spectacles with sharp, bright eyes. +"If it's a pair o' Hessians you'll be wanting--" + +"It isn't," said Barnabas, "I--" + +"Or a fine pair o' dancing shoes--?" + +"No, thank you, I want to--" + +"Or a smart pair o' bang up riding-jacks--?" + +"No," said Barnabas again, "I came here to see--" + +"You can't 'ave 'em! And because why?" demanded the little man, his +fierce eyes growing fiercer as he stared at Barnabas from modish hat +to flowered waistcoat, "because I don't make for the Quality. +Quality--bah! If I 'ad my way, I'd gillertine 'em all,--ah, that I +would! Like the Frenchies did when they revolutioned. I'd cut off +their 'eads! By the dozen! With j'y!" + +"You are Nick, the Cobbler, I think?" + +"And what if I am? I'd chop off their 'eads, I tell ye,--with j'y +and gusto!" + +"And pray where is Clemency?" + +"Eh?" exclaimed the little cobbler, pushing up his horn spectacles, +"'oo did ye say?" + +"Where is the lady who came in here a moment ago?" + +"Lady?" said the cobbler, shaking his round, bald head, "Lord, sir, +your heyes 'as been a-deceiving of you!" + +"I am--her friend!" + +"Friend!" exclaimed the cobbler, "to which I says--Hookey Walker, sir! +'Andsome gells don't want friends o' your kind. Besides, she ain't +here--you can see that for yourself. Your heyes 'as been a-deceiving +of you,--try next door." + +"But I must see her," said Barnabas, "I wish to help her,--I have +good news for her--" + +"Noos?" said the cobbler, "Oh? Ah! Well go and tell your noos to +someone else as ain't so 'andsome,--Mrs. Snummitt, say, as lives +next door,--a widder,--respectable, but with only one heye,--try +Mrs. Snummitt." + +"Ah,--perhaps she's in the room yonder," said Barnabas, "anyhow, I +mean to see--" + +"No ye don't!" cried the little cobbler, seizing a crutch that leant +near him, and springing up with astonishing agility, "no ye don't, +my fine gentleman,--she ain't for you,--not while I'm 'ere to +protect her!" and snatching up a long awl, he flourished it above +his head. "I'm a cobbler, oh yes,--but then I'm a valiant cobbler, +as valiant as Sir Bedevere, or Sir Lancelot, or any of 'em,--every +bit,--come and try me!" and he made a pass in the air with the awl +as though it had been a two-edged sword. But, at this moment, the +door of the inner room was pushed open and Clemency appeared. She +had laid aside her threadbare cloak, and Barnabas was struck afresh +by her proud, dark loveliness. + +"You good, brave Nick!" said she, laying her hand upon the little +cripple's bent shoulder, "but we can trust this gentleman, I know." + +"Trust him!" repeated the cobbler, peering at Barnahas, more +particularly at his feet, "why, your boots _is_ trustworthy--now I +come to look at 'em, sir," + +"Boots?" said Barnabas. + +"Ah," nodded the cobbler, "a man wears his character into 'is boots +a sight quicker than 'e does into 'is face,--and I can read boots +and shoes easier than I can print,--and that's saying summat, for I'm +a great reader, I am. Why didn't ye show me your boots at first +and have done with it?" saying which the cobbler snorted and sat down; +then, having apparently swallowed a handful of nails, he began to +hammer away lustily, while Barnabas followed Clemency into the inner +room, and, being there, they stood for a long moment looking on each +other in silence. + +And now Barnabas saw that, with her apron and mobcap, the country +serving-maid had vanished quite. In her stead was a noble woman, +proud and stately, whose clear, sad eyes returned his gaze with a +gentle dignity; Clemency indeed was gone, but Beatrix had come to +life. Yet, when he spoke, Barnabas used the name he had known her by +first. + +"Clemency," said he, "your father is seeking for you." + +"My--father!" she exclaimed, speaking in a whisper. "You have +seen--my father? You know him?" + +"Yes. I met him--not long ago. His name is Ralph Darville, he told me, +and he goes up and down the countryside searching for you--has done +so, ever since he lost you, and he preaches always Forgiveness and +Forgetfulness of Self!" + +"My father!" she whispered again with quivering lips. "Preaching?" + +"He tramps the roads hoping to find you, Clemency, and he preaches +at country wakes and fairs because, he told me, he was once a very +selfish man, and unforgiving." + +"And--oh, you have seen him, you say,--lately?" she cried. + +"Yes. And I sent him to Frittenden--to the 'Spotted Cow.' But +Clemency, he was just a day too late." + +Now when Barnabas said this, Clemency uttered a broken cry, and +covered her face. + +"Oh, father!" she whispered, "if I had only known,--if I could but +have guessed! Oh, father! father!" + +"Clemency, why did you run away?" + +"Because I--I was afraid!" + +"Of Chichcster?" + +"No!" she cried in sudden scorn, "him I only--hate!" + +"Then--whom did you fear?" + +Clemency was silent, but, all at once, Barnabas saw a burning flush +that crept up, over rounded throat and drooping face, until it was +lost in the dark shadow of her hair. + +"Was it--the Viscount?" Barnabas demanded suddenly. + +"No--no, I--I think it was--myself. Oh, I--I am very wretched +and--lonely!" she sobbed, "I want--my father!" + +"And he shall be found," said Barnabas, "I promise you! But, until +then, will you trust me, Clemency, as--as a sister might trust her +brother? Will you let me take you from this dreary place,--will you, +Clemency? I--I'll buy you a house--I mean a--a cottage--in the +country--or anywhere you wish." + +"Oh, Mr. Beverley!" she sighed, looking up at him with tear-dimmed +eyes, but with the ghost of a smile hovering round her scarlet lips, +"I thank you,--indeed, indeed I do, but how can I? How may I?" + +"Quite easily," said Barnabas stoutly, "oh quite--until I bring your +father to you." + +"Dear, dear father!" she sighed. "Is he much changed, I wonder? Is +he well,--quite well?" + +"Yes, he is very well," answered Barnabas, "but you--indeed you +cannot stay here--" + +"I must," she answered. "I can earn enough for my needs with my +needle, and poor little Nick is very kind--so gentle and considerate +in spite of his great, rough voice and fierce ways. I think he is +the gentlest little man in all the world. He actually refused to +take my money at first, until I threatened to go somewhere else." + +"But how did you find your way to--such a place as this?" + +"Milo brought me here." + +"The Viscount's little imp of a groom?" + +"Yes, though he promised never to tell--_him_ where I was, and Milo +always keeps his word. And you, Mr. Beverley, you will promise also, +won't you?" + +"You mean--never to tell the Viscount of your whereabouts?" + +Clemency nodded. + +"Yes," said Barnabas, "I will promise, but--on condition that you +henceforth will regard me as a brother. That you will allow me the +privilege of helping you whenever I may, and will always turn to me +in your need. Will you promise me this, Clemency?" And Barnabas held +out his hand. + +"Yes," she answered, smiling up into his earnest eyes, "I think I +shall be--proud to--have you for a brother." And she put her hand +into his. + +"Ah! so you're a-going, are ye?" demanded the cobbler, disgorging +the last of the nails as Barnabas stepped into the dark little shop. + +"Yes," said Barnabas, "and, if you think my boots sufficiently +trustworthy, I should like to shake your hand." + +"Eh?" exclaimed the cobbler, "shake 'ands with old Nick, sir? But +you're one o' the Quality, and I 'ates the Quality--chop off their +'eads if I 'ad my way, I would! and my 'and's very dirty--jest +let me wipe it a bit,--there sir, if you wish to! and 'ere's +'oping to see you again. Though, mark you, the Frenchies was quite +right,--there's nothing like the gillertine, I say. Good arternoon, sir." + +Then Barnabas went out into the narrow, grimy alley, and closed the +crazy door behind him. But he had not gone a dozen yards when he +heard Clemency calling his name, and hastened back. + +"Mr. Beverley," said she, "I want to ask you--something else--about +my father--" + +"Yes," said Barnabas, as she hesitated. + +"Does he think I am--does he know that--though I ran away with--a +beast, I--ran away--from him, also,--does he know--?" + +"He knows you for the sweet, pure woman you are," said Barnabas as +she fell silent again, "he knows the truth, and lives but to find +you again--my sister!" Now, when he said this, Barnabas saw within +her tearful eyes the light of a joy unutterable; so he bared his head +and, turning about, strode quickly away up the alley. + +Being come into the narrow, dingy street, he suddenly espied Mr. Shrig +who leaned against a convenient post and stared with round eyes at +the tumble-down houses opposite, while upon his usually placid brow +he wore a frown of deep perplexity. + +"So you followed me?" exclaimed Barnabas. + +"V'y, sir, since you mention it,--I did take that 'ere liberty. This +is a werry on-savory neighborhood at most times, an' the air's werry +bad for--fob-seals, say,--and cravat-sparklers at all times. Sich +things 'as a 'abit o' wanishing theirselves avay." Having said which, +Mr. Shrig walked on beside Barnabas as one who profoundly meditates, +for his brow was yet furrowed deep with thought. + +"Why so silent, Mr. Shrig?" inquired Barnabas as they crossed +Blackfriars Bridge. + +"Because I'm vorking out a problem, sir. For some time I've been +trying to add two and two together, and now I'm droring my +conclusions. So you know Old Nick the cobbler, do you, sir?" + +"I didn't--an hour ago." + +"Sir, when you vos in his shop, I took the liberty o' peeping in at +the winder." + +"Indeed?" + +"And I seen that theer 'andsome gal." + +"Oh, did you?" + +"I likewise 'eered her call your name--Beverley, I think?" + +"Yes,--well?" + +"Beverley!" repeated Mr. Shrig. + +"Yes." + +"But your name's--Barty!" + +"True, but in London I'm known as Beverley, Mr. Shrig." + +"Not--not--_the_ Beverley? Not the bang up Corinthian? Not the +Beverley as is to ride in the steeplechase?" + +"Yes," said Barnabas, "the very same,--why?" + +"Now--dang me for a ass!" exclaimed Mr. Shrig, and, snatching off +the fur cap, he dashed it to the ground, stooped, picked it up, and +crammed it back upon his head,--all in a moment. + +"Why--what's the matter?" + +"Matter!" said Mr. Shrig, "matter, sir? Veil, vot vith your qviet, +innocent looks and vays, and vot vith me a-adding two and two +together and werry carefully making 'em--three, my case is +spiled--won't come off,--can't come off,--mustn't come off!" + +"What in the world do you mean?" + +"Mean, sir? I mean as, if Number Vun is the murderer, and Number Two +is the accessory afore the fact,--then Number Three--the unfort'nate +wictim is--vait a bit!" Here, pausing in a quiet corner of Fleet +Market, Mr. Shrig dived into his breast and fetched up his little +book. "Sir," said he, turning over its pages with a questing finger, +"v'en I borreyed that theer letter out o' young B.'s pocket, I made +so free as to take a copy of it into my little reader,--'ere it is, +--jest take a peep at it." + +Then, looking where he pointed, Barnabas read these words, very +neatly set down: + + MY DEAR BARRYMAINE,--I rather suspect Beverley will not ride in the + race on the Fifteenth. Just now he is at Hawkhurst visiting Cleone! + He is with--your sister! If you are still in the same mind about a + certain project, no place were better suited. If you are still set + on trying for him, and I know how determined you are where your honor, + or Cleone's, is concerned, the country is the place for it, and I + will go with you, though I am convinced he is no fighter, and will + refuse to meet you, on one pretext or another. However, you may as + well bring your pistols,--mine are at the gun-smith's.--Yours always, + + WILFRED CHICHESTER + +"So you see, sir," sighed Mr. Shrig, as he put away the little book, +"my case is spiled,--can't come off,--mustn't come off! For if young +B. is Number Vun, the murderer, and C. is Number Two, the accessory +afore the fact, v'y then Number Three, the unfort'nate wictim is--you, +sir,--you! And you--" said Mr. Shrig, sighing deeper than ever, +"you 'appen to be my pal!" + + + + +CHAPTER LII + + +OF A BREAKFAST, A ROMAN PARENT, AND A KISS + +Bright rose the sun upon the "White Hart" tavern that stands within +Eltham village, softening its rugged lines, gilding its lattices, +lending its ancient timbers a mellower hue. + +This inn of the "White Hart" is an ancient structure and very +unpretentious (as great age often is), and being so very old, it has +known full many a golden dawn. But surely never, in all its length +of days, had it experienced quite such a morning as this. All night +long there had been a strange hum upon the air, and now, early though +the hour, Eltham village was awake and full of an unusual bustle and +excitement. And the air still hummed, but louder now, a confused +sound made up of the tramp of horse-hoofs, the rumble of wheels, the +tread of feet and the murmur of voices. From north and south, from +east and west, a great company was gathering, a motley throng of +rich and poor, old and young: they came by high road and by-road, by +lane and footpath, from sleepy village and noisy town,--but, one and +all, with their faces set towards the ancient village of Eltham. +For to-day is the fateful fifteenth of July; to-day the great +Steeplechase is to be run--seven good miles across country from point +to point; to-day the very vexed and all-important question as to +which horse out of twenty-three can jump and gallop the fastest over +divers awkward obstacles is to be settled once and for all. + +Up rose the sun higher and higher, chasing the morning mists from +dell and dingle, filling the earth with his glory and making glad +the heart of man, and beast, and bird. + +And presently, from a certain casement in the gable of the "White +Hart," his curls still wet with his ablutions, Barnabas thrust his +touzled head to cast an anxious glance first up at the cloudless +blue of the sky, then down at the tender green of the world about, +and to breathe in the sweet, cool freshness of the morning. But +longest and very wistfully he gazed to where, marked out by small +flags, was a track that led over field, and meadow, and winding +stream, over brown earth newly turned by the plough, over hedge, and +ditch, and fence, away to the hazy distance. And, as he looked, his +eye brightened, his fingers clenched themselves and he frowned, yet +smiled thereafter, and unfolding a letter he held, read as follows: + + OUR DEAR LAD,--Yours received, and we are rejoyced to know you so + successful so far. Yet be not over confident, says your father, and + bids me remind you as a sow's ear ain't a silk purse, Barnabas, nor + ever can be. Your description of horse reads well, though brief. But + as to the Rayce, Barnabas, though you be a rider born, yet having + ridden a many rayces in my day, I now offer you, my dear lad, a word + of advice. In a rayce a man must think as quick as he sees, and act + as quick as he thinks, and must have a nice judgment of payce. Now + here comes my word of advice. + + 1. Remember that many riders beat themselves by over-eagerness. + Well--let 'em, Barnabas. + + 2. Don't rush your fences, give your mount time, and steady him + about twenty yards from the jump. + + 3. Remember that a balking horse generally swerves to the left, + Barnabas. + + 4. Keep your eye open for the best take-offs and landings. + + 5. Gauge your payce, save your horse for raycing at finish. + + 6. Remember it's the last half-mile as counts, Barnabas. + + 7. So keep your spurs till they 're needed, my lad. + + A rayce, Barnabas lad, is very like a fight, after all. Given a good + horse it's the man with judgment and cool head as generally wins. So, + Barnabas, keep your temper. This is all I have to say, or your father, + only that no matter how near you come to turning yourself into a + fine gentleman, we have faith as it won't spoil you, and that you + may come a-walking into the old 'Hound' one of these days just the + same dear Barnabas as we shall always love and remember. + + Signed: + + NATL. BELL. + GON BARTY. + +Now, as he conned over these words of Natty Bell, a hand was laid +upon his shoulder, and, glancing round, he beheld the Viscount in +all the bravery of scarlet hunting frock, of snowy buckskins and +spurred boots, a little paler than usual, perhaps, but as gallant a +figure as need be. + +"What, Bev!" he exclaimed, "not dressed yet?" + +"Why I've only just woke up, Dick!" + +"Woke up! D' you mean to say you've actually--been asleep?" demanded +the Viscount reproachfully. "Gad! what a devilish cold-blooded fish +you are, Bev! Haven't closed a peeper all night, myself. Couldn't, +y' know, what with one deuced thing or another. So I got up, hours +ago, went and looked at the horses. Found your man Martin on guard +with a loaded pistol in each pocket, y' know,--deuced trustworthy +fellow. The horses couldn't look better, Bev. Egad! I believe they +know to-day is--the day! There's your 'Terror' pawing and fidgeting, +and 'Moonraker' stamping and quivering--" + +"But how is your arm, Dick?" + +"Arm?" said the Viscount innocently. "Oh,--ah, to be sure,--thanks, +couldn't be better, considering." + +"Are you--quite sure?" persisted Barnabas, aware of the Viscount's +haggard cheek and feverish eye. + +"Quite, Bev, quite,--behold! feel!" and doubling his fist, he smote +Barnabas a playful blow in the ribs. "Oh, my dear fellow, it's +going to be a grand race though,--ding-dong to the finish! And it's +dry, thank heaven, for 'Moonraker''s no mud-horse. But I shall be +glad when we line up for the start, Bev." + +"In about--four hours, Dick." + +"Yes! Devilish long time till eleven o'clock!" sighed the Viscount, +seating himself upon the bed and swinging his spurred heels +petulantly to and fro. "And I hate to be kept waiting, Bev--egad, I +do!" + +"Viscount, do you love the Lady Cleone?" + +"Eh? Who? Love? Now deuce take it, Beverley, how sudden you are!" + +"Do you love her, Dick?" + +"Love her--of course, yes--aren't we rivals? Love her, certainly, oh +yes--ask my Roman parent!" And the Viscount frowned blackly, and ran +his fingers through his hair. + +"Why then," said Barnabas, "since you--honor me with your friendship, +I feel constrained to tell you that she has given me to--to +understand she will--marry me--some day." + +"Eh? Oh! Marry you? The devil! Oh, has she though!" and hereupon the +Viscount stared, whistled, and, in that moment, Barnabas saw that +his frown had vanished. + +"Will you--congratulate me, Dick?" + +"My dear fellow," cried the Viscount, springing up, "with all my +heart!" + +"Dick," said Barnabas, as their hands met, "would you give me your +hand as readily had it been--Clemency?" + +Now here the Viscount's usually direct gaze wavered and fell, while +his pallid cheek flushed a dull red. He did not answer at once, but +his sudden frown was eloquent. + +"Egad, Bev, I--since you ask me--I don't think I should." + +"Why?" + +"Oh well, I suppose--you see--oh, I'll be shot if I know!" + +"You--don't love her, do you, Dick?" + +"Clemency? Of course not--that is--suppose I do--what then?" + +"Why then she'd make a very handsome Viscountess, Dick." + +"Beverley," said the Viscount, staring wide-eyed, "are you mad?" + +"No," Barnabas retorted, "but I take you to be an honorable man, my +Lord." + +The Viscount sprang to his feet, clenched his fists, then took two +or three turns across the room. + +"Sir," said he, in his iciest tones, "you presume too much on my +friendship." + +"My Lord," said Barnabas, "with your good leave I'll ring for my +servant." Which he did, forthwith. + +"Sir," said the Viscount, pale and stern, and with folded arms, +"your remark was, I consider, a direct reflection upon my honor." + +"My Lord," answered Barnabas, struggling with his breeches, +"your honor is surely your friend's, also?" + +"Sir," said the Viscount, with arms still folded, and sitting very +upright on the bed, "were I to--call you out for that remark I +should be only within my rights." + +"My Lord," answered Barnabas, struggling with his shirt, "were you +to call from now till doomsday--I shouldn't come." + +"Then, sir," said the Viscount, cold and sneering, "a whip, +perhaps,--or a cane might--" + +But at this juncture, with a discreet knock, Peterby entered, and, +having bowed to the scowling Viscount, proceeded to invest Barnabas +with polished boots, waistcoat and scarlet coat, and to tie his +voluminous cravat, all with that deftness, that swift and silent +dexterity which helped to make him the marvel he was. + +"Sir," said he, when Barnabas stood equipped from head to foot, +"Captain Slingsby's groom called to say that his master and the +Marquis of Jerningham are expecting you and Viscount Devenham to +breakfast at 'The Chequers'--a little higher up the street, sir. +Breakfast is ordered for eight o'clock." + +"Thank you, Peterby," said Barnabas, and, bowing to the Viscount, +followed him from the room and downstairs, out into the dewy +freshness of the morning. To avoid the crowded street they went by a +field-path behind the inn, a path which to-day was beset by, and +wound between, booths and stalls and carts of all sorts. And here +was gathered a motley crowd; bespangled tumblers and acrobats, +dark-browed gipsy fortune-tellers and horse-coupers, thimble-riggers, +showmen, itinerant musicians,--all those nomads who are to be found +on every race-course, fair, and village green, when the world goes +a-holiday making. Through all this bustling throng went our two +young gentlemen, each remarkably stiff and upright as to back, and +each excessively polite, yet walking, for the most part, in a +dignified silence, until, having left the crowd behind, Barnabas +paused suddenly in the shade of a deserted caravan, and turned to his +companion. + +"Dick!" said he smiling, and with hand outstretched. + +"Sir?" said the Viscount, frowning and with eyes averted. + +"My Lord," said Barnabas, bowing profoundly, "if I have offended +your Lordship--I am sorry, but--" + +"But, sir?" + +"But your continued resentment for a fancied wrong is so much +stronger than your avowed friendship for me, it would seem--that +henceforth I--" + +With a warning cry the Viscount sprang forward and, turning in a +flash, Barnabas saw a heavy bludgeon in the air above him; saw the +Viscount meet it with up-flung arm; heard the thud of the blow, a +snarling curse; saw a figure dart away and vanish among the jungle +of carts; saw the Viscount stagger against the caravan and lean there, +his pale face convulsed with pain. + +"Oh, Bev," he groaned, "my game arm, ye know. Hold me up, I--" + +"Dick!" cried Barnabas, supporting the Viscount's writhing figure, +"oh, Dick--it was meant for me! Are you much hurt?" + +"No--nothing to--mention, my dear fellow. Comes a bit--sharp at first, +y' know,--better in a minute or two." + +"Dick--Dick, what can I do for you?" + +"Nothing,--don't worry, Bev,--right as ninepence in a minute, y' know!" +stammered the Viscount, trying to steady his twitching mouth. + +"Come back," pleaded Barnabas, "come back and let me bathe it--have +it attended to." + +"Bathe it? Pooh!" said the Viscount, contriving to smile, "pain's +quite gone, I assure you, my dear fellow. I shall be all right now, +if--if you don't mind giving me your arm. Egad, Bev, some one seems +devilish determined you shan't ride to-day!" + +"But I shall--now, thanks to you, Dick!" + +So they presently walked on together, but no longer unnaturally +stiff as to back, for arm was locked in arm, and they forgot to be +polite to each other. + +Thus, in a while, they reached the "Chequers" inn, and were +immediately shown into a comfortable sanded parlor where breakfast +was preparing. And here behold Captain Slingsby lounging upon two +chairs and very busily casting up his betting book, while the Marquis, +by the aid of a small, cracked mirror, that chanced to hang against +the wall, was frowning at his reflection and pulling at the folds of +a most elaborate cravat with petulant fingers. + +"Ah, Beverley--here's the dooce of a go!" he exclaimed, "that fool +of a fellow of mine has actually sent me out to ride in a 'Trone +d'Amour' cravat, and I've only just discovered it! The rascal knows +I always take the field in an 'Osbaldistone' or 'Waterfall.' Now how +the dooce can I be expected to ride in a thing like this! Most +distressing, by Jove it is!" + +"Eight thousand guineas!" said the Captain, yawning. "Steepish, b'gad, +steepish! Eight thousand at ten to one--hum! Now, if Fortune should +happen to smile on me to-day--by mistake, of course--still, if she +does, I shall clear enough to win free of Gaunt's claws for good and +all, b'gad!" + +"Then I shall be devilish sorry to have to beat you, Sling, my boy!" +drawled the Marquis, "yes, doocid sorry,--still--" + +"Eh--what? Beat the 'Rascal,' Jerny? Not on your weedy 'Clinker,' +b'gad--" + +"Oh, but dooce take me, Sling, you'd never say the 'Rascal' was the +better horse? Why, in the first place, there's too much daylight +under him for your weight--besides--" + +"But, my dear Jerny, you must admit that your 'Clinker' 's inclined +to be just--a le-e-etle cow-hocked, come now, b'gad?" + +"And then--as I've often remarked, my dear Sling, the 'Rascal' is +too long in the pasterns, not to mention--" + +"B'gad! give me a horse with good bellows,--round, d' ye see, well +ribbed home--" + +"My dear Sling, if you could manage to get your 'Rascal' four new +legs, deeper shoulders, and, say, fuller haunches, he might possibly +stand a chance. As it is, Sling, my boy, I commiserate you--but hallo! +Devenham, what's wrong? You look a little off color." + +"Well, for one thing, I want my breakfast," answered the Viscount. + +"So do I!" cried the Captain, springing to his feet, "but, b'gad, +Dick, you do look a bit palish round the gills, y' know." + +"Effect of hunger and a bad night, perhaps." + +"Had a bad night, hey, Dick? Why, so did I," said the Captain, +frowning. "Dreamed that the 'Rascal' fell and broke his neck, poor +devil, and that I was running like the wind--jumping hedges and +ditches with Jasper Gaunt close at my heels--oh, cursed unpleasant, +y'know! What--is breakfast ready? Then let's sit down, b'gad, I'm +famished!" + +So down they sat forthwith and, despite the Viscount's arm, and the +Marquis of Jerningham's cravat, a very hearty and merry meal they +made of it. + +But lo! as they prepared to rise from the table, voices were heard +beyond the door, whereupon the Viscount sat up suddenly to listen. + +"Why--egad!" he exclaimed, "I do believe it's my Roman!" + +"No, by heaven!" said the Marquis, also listening, "dooce take me if +it isn't my great-aunt--her Graceless Grace, by Jove it is!" + +Even as he spoke, the door opened and the Duchess swept in, all +rustling silks and furbelows, very small, very dignified, and very +imperious. Behind her, Barnabas saw a tall, graceful figure, +strangely young-looking despite his white hair, which he wore tied +behind in a queue, also his clothes, though elegant, were of a +somewhat antiquated fashion; but indeed, this man with his kindly +eyes and gentle, humorous mouth, was not at all like the Roman +parent Barnabas had pictured. + +"Ah, gentlemen!" cried the Duchess, acknowledging their four bows +with a profound curtsy, "I am here to wish you success--all four of +you--which is quite an impossible wish of course--still, I wish it. +Lud, Captain Slingsby, how well you look in scarlet! Marquis--my fan! +Mr. Beverley--my cane! A chair? thank you, Viscount. Yes indeed, +gentlemen, I've backed you all--I shall gain quite a fortune if you +all happen to win--which you can't possibly, of course,--still, one +of you will, I hope,--and--oh, dear me, Viscount, how pale you are! +Look at him, Bamborough--it's his arm, I know it is!" + +"Arm, madam?" repeated the Viscount with an admirable look of +surprise, "does your Grace suggest--" + +But here the Earl of Bamborough stepped into the room and, closing +the door, bowed to the company. + +"Gentlemen," said he, "I have the honor to salute you! +Viscount--your most dutiful, humble, obedient father to command." + +"My Lord," answered the Viscount, gravely returning his father's bow, +"your Lordship's most obliged and grateful son!" + +"My dear Devenham," continued the Earl solemnly, "being, I fear, +something of a fogy and fossil, I don't know if you Bucks allow the +formality of shaking hands. Still, Viscount, as father and son--or +rather son and father, it may perhaps be permitted us? How are you, +Viscount?" + +Now as they clasped hands, Barnabas saw the Viscount set his jaw +grimly, and something glistened upon his temple, yet his smile was +quite engaging as he answered: + +"Thank you, my Lord,--never better!" + +"Yes," said his Lordship, as he slowly relinquished the Viscount's +hand, "your Grace was right, as usual,--it is his arm!" + +"Then of course he cannot ride, Bamborough--you will forbid it?" + +"On the contrary, madam, he must ride. Being a favorite, much money +has changed hands already on his account, and, arm or no arm, he +must ride now--he owes it to his backers. You intend to, of course, +Horatio?" + +"My Lord, I do." + +"It's your right arm, luckily, and a horseman needs only his left. +You ride fairly well, I understand, Viscount?" + +"Oh, indifferent well, sir, I thank you. But allow me to present my +friend to your Lordship,--Mr. Beverley--my father!" + +So Barnabas shook hands with the Viscount's Roman parent, and, +meeting his kindly eyes, saw that, for all their kindliness, they +were eyes that looked deep into the heart of things. + +"Come, gentlemen," cried the Duchess rising, "if you have quite +finished breakfast, take me to the stables, for I'm dying to see the +horses, I vow I am. Lead the way, Viscount. Mr. Beverley shall give +me his arm." + +So towards the stables they set forth accordingly, the Duchess and +Barnabas well to the rear, for, be it remarked, she walked very +slowly. + +"Here it is, Barnabas," said she, as soon as the others were out of +ear-shot. + +"What, madam?" + +"Oh, dear me, how frightfully dense you are, Barnabas!" she exclaimed, +fumbling in her reticule. "What should it be but a letter, to be +sure--Cleone's letter." + +"A letter from Cleone! Oh, Duchess--" + +"Here--take it. She wrote it last night--poor child didn't sleep a +wink, I know, and--all on your account, sir. I promised I'd deliver +it for her,--I mean the letter--that's why I made Bamborough bring +me here. So you see I've kept my word as I always do--that +is--sometimes. Oh, dear me, I'm so excited--about the race, I +mean--and Cleone's so nervous--came and woke me long before dawn, +and there were tears on her lashes--I know because I felt 'em when I +kissed them--I mean her eyes. And Patten dressed me in such a hurry +this morning--which was really my fault, and I know my wig's not +straight--and there you stand staring at it as though you wanted +to kiss it--I mean Cleone's letter, not my wig. That ridiculous +Mr. Tressider told Cleone that it was the best course he ever hoped +to ride over--meaning 'the worst' of course, so Cleone's quite +wretched, dear lamb--but oh, Barnabas, it would be dreadful if-- +if you were--killed--oh!" And the Duchess shivered and turned away. + +"Would you mind? So much, madam?" + +"Barnabas--I never had a son--or a daughter--but I think I know just +how--your mother would be feeling--now!" + +"And I do not remember my mother!" said Barnabas. + +"Poor, poor Joan!" sighed the Duchess, very gently. "Were she here I +think she would--but then she was much taller than I, and--oh, boy, +stoop--stoop down, you great, tall Barnabas--how am I ever to reach +you if you don't?" + +Then Barnabas stooped his head, and the Duchess kissed him--even as +his own mother might have done, and so, smiling a little tremulously, +turned away. "There! Barnabas," she sighed. "And now--oh, I know you +are dying to read your letter--of course you are, so pray sir,--go +back and fetch my fan,--here it is, it will serve as an excuse, +while I go on to look at the horses." And with a quick, smiling nod, +she hurried away across the paddock after the others. Then Barnabas +broke the seal of Cleone's letter, and--though to be sure it might +have been longer--he found it all sufficient. Here it is: + + The Palace Grange, + Eltham, + Midnight. + + Ever Dearest,--The race is to-morrow and, because I love you greatly, + so am I greatly afraid for you. And dear, I love you because you are + so strong, and gentle, and honorable. And therefore, here on my knees + I have prayed God to keep you ever in his care, my Barnabas. + + CLEONE. + + + + +CHAPTER LIII + + +IN WHICH SHALL BE FOUND SOME ACCOUNT OF THE GENTLEMAN'S STEEPLECHASE + +Truly it is a great day for "The Terror," hitherto known as +"Four-legs," and well he knows it. + +Behold him as he stands, with his velvet muzzle upon old Martin's +shoulder, the while the under-grooms, his two-legged slaves, hover +solicitously about him! Behold the proud arch of his powerful neck, +the knowing gleam of his rolling eye, the satiny sheen of his velvet +coat! See how he flings up his shapely head to snuff the balmy air of +morning, the while he paws the green earth with a round, bepolished +hoof. + +Yes, indeed, it is a great day for "The Terror," and well he knows it. + +"He looks very well, Martin!" says Barnabas. + +"And 'e's better than 'e looks, sir!" nods Martin. "And they're +laying thirty to one ag'in you, sir!" + +"So much, Martin?" + +"Ah, but it'll be backed down a bit afore you get to the post, I +reckon, so I got my fifty guineas down on you a good hour ago." + +"Why, Martin, do you mean you actually backed me--to win--for fifty +guineas?" + +"Why, y'see sir," said Martin apologetically, "fifty guineas is all +I've got, sir!" + +Now at this moment, Barnabas became aware of a very shiny glazed hat, +which bobbed along, among other hats of all sorts and shapes, now +hidden, now rising again--very like a cock-boat in a heavy sea; and, +presently, sure enough, the Bo'sun hove into view, and bringing +himself to an anchor, made a leg, touched the brim of his hat, and +gripped the hand Barnabas extended. + +"Mr. Beverley, sir," said he, "I first of all begs leave to say as, +arter Master Horatio his Lordship, it's you as I'd be j'yful to see +come into port first, or--as you might say--win this 'ere race. +Therefore and wherefore I have laid five guineas on you, sir, by +reason o' you being you, and the odds so long. Secondly, sir, I were +to give you this here, sir, naming no names, but she says as you'd +understand." + +Hereupon the Bo'sun took off the glazed hat, inserted a hairy paw, +and brought forth a single, red rose. + +So Barnabas took the rose, and bowed his head above it, and +straightway forgot the throng and bustle about him, and all things +else, yea even the great race itself until, feeling a touch upon his +arm, he turned to find the Earl of Bamborough beside him. + +"He is very pale, Mr. Beverley!" said his Lordship, and, glancing +whither he looked, Barnabas saw the Viscount who was already mounted +upon his bay horse "Moonraker." + +"Can you tell me, sir," pursued the Earl, "how serious his hurt +really is?" + +"I know that he was shot, my Lord," Barnabas answered, "and that he +received a violent blow upon his wounded arm this morning, but he is +very reticent." + +Here the Viscount chanced to catch sight of them, and, with his +groom at "Moonraker's" head, paced up to them. + +"Viscount," said his Lordship, looking up at his son with wise, dark +eyes, "your arm is troubling you, I see." + +"Indeed, sir, it might be--a great deal worse." + +"Still, you will be under a disadvantage, for it will be a punishing +race for horse and man." + +"Yes, sir." + +"And--you will do your best, of course, Horatio?" + +"Of course, sir." + +"But--Horace, may I ask you to remember--that your father has--only +one son?" + +"Yes, sir,--and, father, may I tell you that--that thoughtless +though he may be, he never forgets that--he _is_ your son!" Saying +which the Viscount leaned down from his saddle, with his hand +stretched out impulsively, and, this time, his father's clasp was +very light and gentle. So the Earl bowed, and turning, walked away. + +"He's--deuced Roman, of course, Bev," said the Viscount, staring +hard after his father's upright figure, "but there are times when +he's--rather more--than human!" And sighing, the Viscount nodded and +rode off. + +"Only ten minutes more, sir!" said Martin. + +"Well, I'm ready, Martin," answered Barnabas, and, setting the rose +in his breast very securely, he swung himself lightly into the saddle, +and with the old groom at "The Terror's" head, paced slowly out of +the paddock towards the starting post. + +Here a great pavilion had been set up, an ornate contrivance of silk +and gold cords, and gay with flags and bunting, above which floated +the Royal Standard of England, and beneath which was seated no less +ornate a personage than the First Gentleman in Europe--His Royal +Highness the Prince Regent himself, surrounded by all that was +fairest and bravest in the Fashionable and Sporting World. Before +this pavilion the riders were being marshalled in line, a gallant +sight in their scarlet coats, and, each and every, mounted upon a +fiery animal every whit as high-bred as himself; which fact they +manifested in many and divers ways, as--in rearing and plunging, in +tossing of heads, in lashing of heels, in quivering, and snorting, +and stamping--and all for no apparent reason, yet which is the +prerogative of your thoroughbred all the world over. + +Amidst this confusion of tossing heads and manes, Barnabas caught a +momentary glimpse of the Viscount, some way down the line, his face +frowning and pale; saw the Marquis alternately bowing gracefully +towards the great, gaudy pavilion, soothing his plunging horse, +and re-settling his cravat; caught a more distant view of +Captain Slingsby, sitting his kicking sorrel like a centaur; and +finally, was aware that Sir Mortimer Carnaby had ridden up beside him, +who, handsome and debonair, bestrode his powerful gray with a +certain air of easy assurance, and laughed softly as he talked with +his other neighbor, a thinnish, youngish gentleman in sandy whiskers, +who giggled frequently. + +"....very mysterious person," Sir Mortimer was saying, "nobody +knows him, devilish odd, eh, Tressider? Tufton Green dubbed him the +'Galloping Countryman,'--what do you think of the name?" + +"Could have suggested a better, curse me if I couldn't, yes, Carnaby, +oh damme! Why not 'the Prancing Ploughman,' or 'the Cantering +Clodhopper'?" Here Sir Mortimer laughed loudly, and the thinnish, +youngish gentleman giggled again. + +Barnabas frowned, but looking down at the red rose upon his breast, +he smiled instead, a little grimly, as he settled his feet in the +stirrups, and shortening his reins, sat waiting, very patiently. Not +so "The Terror." Patient, forsooth! He backed and sidled and tossed +his head, he fidgeted with his bit, he glared viciously this way and +that, and so became aware of other four-legged creatures like himself, +notably of Sir Mortimer's powerful gray near by, and in his heart he +scorned them, one and all, proud of his strength and might, and sure +of himself because of the hand upon his bridle. Therefore he snuffed +the air with quivering nostril, and pawed the earth with an +impatient hoof,--eager for the fray. + +Now all at once Sir Mortimer laughed again, louder than before, and +in that same moment his gray swerved and cannoned lightly against +"The Terror," and--reared back only just in time to avoid the +vicious snap of two rows of gleaming teeth. + +"Damnation!" cried Sir Mortimer, very nearly unseated, "can't you +manage that brute of yours!" and he struck savagely at "The Terror" +with his whip. But Barnabas parried the blow, and now--even as they +stared and frowned upon each other, so did their horses, the black +and the gray, glare at each other with bared teeth. + +But, here, a sudden shout arose that spread and spread, and swelled +into a roar; the swaying line of horsemen surges forward, bends, +splits into plunging groups, and man and horse are off and away--the +great Steeplechase has begun. + +Half a length behind Carnaby's gray gallops "The Terror," fire in +his eye, rage in his heart, for there are horses ahead of him, and +that must not be. Therefore he strains upon the bit, and would fain +lengthen his stride, but the hand upon his bridle is strong and +compelling. + +On sweeps the race, across the level and up the slope; twice Sir +Mortimer glances over his shoulder, and twice he increases his pace, +yet, as they top the rise, "The Terror" still gallops half a length +behind. + +Far in advance races Tressider, the thinnish, youngish gentleman in +sandy whiskers, hotly pressed by the Marquis, and with eight or nine +others hard in their rear; behind these again, rides the Viscount, +while to the right of Barnabas races Slingsby on his long-legged +sorrel, with the rest thundering on behind. And now before them is +the first jump--a hedge with the gleam of water beyond; and the +hedge is high, and the water broad. Nearer it looms, and +nearer--half a mile away! a quarter! less! Tressider's horse rises +to it, and is well over, with the Marquis hard on his heels. But now +shouts are heard, and vicious cries, as several horses, refusing, +swerve violently; there is a crash! a muffled cry--some one is down. +Then, as Barnabas watches, anxious-eyed, mindful of the Viscount's +injured arm--"Moonraker" shoots forward and has cleared it gallantly. + +And now it is that "The Terror" feels the restraining bit relax and +thereupon, with his fierce eyes ever upon the gray flanks of his +chosen foe, he tosses his great head, lengthens his stride, and with +a snort of defiance sweeps past Carnaby's gray, on and on, with +thundering hoofs and ears laid back, while Barnabas, eyeing the +hedge with frowning brows, gauges his distance,--a hundred yards! +fifty! twenty-five! steadies "The Terror" in his stride and sends +him at it--feels the spring and sway of the powerful loins,--a rush +of wind, and is over and away, with a foot to spare. But behind him +is the sound of a floundering splash,--another! and another! The air +is full of shouts and cries quickly lost in the rush of wind and the +drumming of galloping hoofs, and, in a while, turning his head, he +sees Slingsby's "Rascal" racing close behind. + +"Bit of a rasper, that, b'gad!" bellows the Captain, radiant of face. +"Thinned 'em out a bit, ye know, Beverley. Six of 'em--down and out +of it b'gad! Carnaby's behind, too,--foot short at the water. Told +you it would be--a good race, and b'gad--so it is!" + +Inch by inch the great, black horse and the raking sorrel creep up +nearer the leaders, and, closing in with the Viscount, Barnabas +wonders to see the ghastly pallor of his cheek and the grim set of +mouth and jaw, till, glancing at the sleeve of his whip-arm, he sees +there a dark stain, and wonders no more. And the race is but begun! + +"Dick!" he cried. + +"That you, Bev?" + +"Your arm, Dick,--keep your hand up!" + +"Arm, Bev--right as a trivet!" + +And to prove his words, the Viscount flourished his whip in the air. + +"Deuce take me! but Jerningham's setting a devilish hot pace," he +cried. "Means to weed out the unlikely ones right away. Gad! there's +riding for you!--Tressider's 'Pilot''s blown already--Marquis hasn't +turned a hair!" + +And indeed the Marquis, it would seem, has at last ceased to worry +over his cravat, and has taken the lead, and now, stooped low in the +saddle, gallops a good twelve yards in front of Tressider. + +"Come on Bev!" cries the Viscount and, uttering a loud "view hallo," +flourishes his whip. "Moonraker" leaps forward, lengthens his stride, +and away he goes fast and furious, filling the air with flying clods, +on and on,--is level with Tressider,--is past, and galloping neck +and neck with the Marquis. + +Onward sweeps the race, over fallow and plough, over hedge and ditch +and fence, until, afar off, Barnabas sees again the gleam of +water--a jump full thirty feet across. Now, as he rides with +"The Terror" well in hand, Barnahas is aware of a gray head with +flaring nostrils, of a neck outstretched, of a powerful shoulder, a +heaving flank, and Carnaby goes by. "The Terror" sees this too and, +snorting, bores savagely upon the bit--but in front of him gallops +Tressider's chestnut, and beside him races the Captain's sorrel. So, +foot by foot, and yard by yard, the gray wins by. Over a +hedge--across a ditch, they race together till, as they approach the +water-jump, behold! once more "The Terror" gallops half a length +behind Sir Mortimer's gray. + +The Marquis and the Viscount, racing knee and knee, have increased +their twelve yards by half, and now, as Barnabas watches, down go +their heads, in go their spurs, and away go chestnut and bay, fast +and faster, take off almost together, land fairly, and are steadied +down again to a rolling gallop. + +And now, away races Carnaby, with Barnabas hard upon his left, the +pace quickens to a stretching gallop,--the earth flies beneath them. +Barnabas marks his take-off and rides for it--touches "The Terror" +with his spur and--in that moment, Carnaby's gray swerves. Barnabas +sees the danger and, clenching his teeth, swings "The Terror" aside, +just in time; who, thus balked, yet makes a brave attempt,--leaps, +is short, and goes down with a floundering splash, flinging Barnabas +clear. + +Half-stunned, half-blinded, plastered with mud and ooze, Barnabas +staggers up to his feet, is aware in a dazed manner that horses are +galloping down upon him, thundering past and well-nigh over him; is +conscious also that "The Terror" is scrambling up and, even as he +gets upon his legs, has caught the reins, vaulted into the saddle, +and strikes in his spurs,--whereat "The Terror" snorts, rears and +sets off after the others. And a mighty joy fills his heart, for now +the hand upon his bridle restrains him no longer--nay, rather urges +him forward; and far in the distance gallop others of his kind, +others whom he scorns, one and all--notably a certain gray. Therefore +as he spurns the earth beneath him faster and faster, the heart of +"The Terror" is uplifted and full of rejoicing. + +But,--bruised, bleeding and torn, all mud from heel to head, and +with a numbness in his brain Barnabas rides, stooped low in the +saddle, for he is sick and very faint. His hat is gone, and the cool +wind in his hair revives him somewhat, but the numbness remains. Yet +it is as one in a dream that he finds his stirrups, and is vaguely +conscious of voices about him--a thudding of hoofs and the creak of +leather. As one in a dream he lifts "The Terror" to a fence that +vanishes and gives place to a hedge which in turn is gone, or is +magically transfigured into an ugly wall. And, still as one in a +dream, he is thereafter aware of cries and shouting, and knows that +horses are galloping beside him--riderless. But on and ever on races +the great, black horse--head stretched out, ears laid back, iron +hoofs pounding--on and on, over hedge and ditch and wall--over fence +and brook--past blown and weary stragglers--his long stride unfaltering +over ploughland and fallowland, tireless, indomitable--on and ever on +until Barnabas can distinguish, at last, the horsemen in front. + +Therefore, still as one in a dream, he begins to count them to +himself, over and over again. Yet, count how he will, can make them +no more than seven all told, and he wonders dully where the rest may +be. + +Well in advance of the survivors the Viscount is going strong, with +Slingsby and the Marquis knee and knee behind; next rides Carnaby +with two others, while Tressider, the thinnish, youngish gentleman, +brings up the rear. Inch by inch Barnabas gains upon him, draws level +and is past, and so "The Terror" once more sees before him Sir +Mortimer's galloping gray. + +But now--something is wrong in front,--there is a warning yell from +the Marquis--up flashes the Captain's long arm, for "Moonraker" has +swerved suddenly, unaccountably,--loses his stride, and falls back +until he is neck and neck with "The Terror." Thus, still as one in a +dream, Barnabas is aware, little by little, that the Viscount's hat +and whip are gone, and that he is swaying oddly in the saddle with +"Moonraker's" every stride--catches a momentary glimpse of a pale, +agonized face, and hears the Viscount speaking: + +"No go, Bev!" he pants. "Oh, Bev, I'm done! 'Moonraker's' game, +but--I'm--done, Bev--arm, y'know--devilish shame, y'know--" + +And Barnabas sees that the Viscount's sleeve is all blood from the +elbow down. And in that moment Barnabas casts off the numbness, and +his brain clears again. + +"Hold on, Dick!" he cries. + +"Can't Bev,--I--I'm done. Tried my best--but--I--" Barnabas reaches +out suddenly--but is too far off--the Viscount lurches forward, +loses his stirrups, sways--and "Moonraker" gallops--riderless. But +help is at hand, for Barnabas sees divers rustic onlookers who run +forward to lift the Viscount's inanimate form. Therefore he turns +him back to the race, and bends all his energies upon this, the last +and grimmest part of the struggle; as for "The Terror," he vents a +snort of joyful defiance, for now he is galloping again in full view +of Sir Mortimer Carnaby's foam-flecked gray. + +And now--it's hey! for the rush and tear of wind through the hair! +for the muffled thunder of galloping hoofs! for the long, racing +stride, the creak of leather! Hey! for the sob and pant and strain +of the conflict! + +Inch by inch the great, black horse creeps up, but Carnaby sees him +coming, and the gray leaps forward under his goading heels,--is up +level with Slingsby and the Marquis,--but with "The Terror" always +close behind. + +Over a hedge,--across a ditch,--and down a slope they race together, +--knees in, heads low,--to where, at the bottom, is a wall. An +ancient, mossy wall it is, yet hideous for all that, an almost +impossible jump, except in one place, a gap so narrow that but one +may take it at a time. And who shall be first? The Marquis is losing +ground rapidly--a foot--a yard--six! and losing still, races now a +yard behind Barnabas. Thus, two by two, they thunder down upon the +gap that is but wide enough for one. Slingsby is plying his whip, +Carnaby is rowelling savagely, yet, neck and neck, the sorrel and +the gray race for the jump, with Barnabas and the Marquis behind. + +"Give way, Slingsby!" shouts Sir Mortimer. + +"Be damned if I do!" roars the Captain, and in go his spurs. + +"Pull over, Slingsby!" shouts Sir Mortimer. + +"No, b'gad! Pull over yourself," roars the Captain. "Give way, +Carnaby--I have you by a head!" + +An exultant yell from Slingsby,--a savage shout from Sir Mortimer--a +sudden, crunching thud, and the gallant sorrel is lying a twisted, +kicking heap, with Captain Slingsby pinned beneath. + +"What, Beverley!" he cries, coming weakly to his elbow, "well ridden, +b'gad! After him! The 'Rascal' 's done for, poor devil! So am I, +--it's you or Carnaby now--ride, Beverley, ride!" And so, as Barnabas +flashes past and over him, Captain Slingsby of the Guards sinks back, +and lies very white and still. + +A stake-fence, a hedge, a ditch, and beyond that a clear stretch to +the winning-post. + +At the fence, Carnaby sees "The Terror's" black head some six yards +behind; at the hedge, Barnabas has lessened the six to three; and at +the ditch once again the great, black horse gallops half a length +behind the powerful gray. And now, louder and louder, shouts come +down the wind! + +"The gray! It's Carnaby's gray! Carnaby's 'Clasher' wins! 'Clasher'! +'Clasher'!" + +But, slowly and by degrees, the cries sink to a murmur, to a buzzing +drone. For, what great, black horse is this which, despite Carnaby's +flailing whip and cruel, rowelling spur, is slowly, surely creeping +up with the laboring gray? Who is this, a wild, bare-headed figure, +grim and bloody, stained with mud, rent and torn, upon whose miry +coat yet hangs a crushed and fading rose? + +Down the stretch they race, the black and the gray, panting, sobbing, +spattered with foam, nearer and nearer, while the crowd rocks and +sways about the great pavilion, and buzzes with surprise and +uncertainty. + +Then all at once, above this sound, a single voice is heard, a +mighty voice, a roaring bellow, such, surely, as only a mariner +could possess. + +"It's Mr. Beverley, sir!" roars the voice. "Beverley! +Beverley--hurrah!" + +Little by little the crowd takes up the cry until the air rings with +it, for now the great, black horse gallops half a length ahead of +the sobbing gray, and increases his lead with every stride, by +inches--by feet! On and on until his bridle is caught and held, and +he is brought to a stand. Then, looking round, Barnabas sees the +Marquis rein up beside him, breathless he is still, and splashed +with mud and foam, but smiling and debonair as he reaches out his +hand. + +"Congratulations, Beverley!" he pants. "Grand race!--I caught +Carnaby--at the post. Now, if it hadn't been for--my cravat--" But +here the numbness comes upon Barnabas again, and, as one in a dream, +he is aware that his horse is being led through the crowd--that he +is bowing to some one in the gaudy pavilion, a handsome, tall, and +chubby gentleman remarkable for waistcoat and whiskers. + +"Well ridden, sir!" says the gentleman. "Couldn't have done it +better myself, no, by Gad I couldn't--could I, Sherry?" + +"No, George, by George you couldn't!" answered a voice. + +"Must take a run down to Brighton, Mr.--Mr.--ah, yes--Beverley. +Show you some sport at Brighton, sir. A magnificent race, +--congratulate you, sir. Must see more of you!" + +Then, still as one in a dream, Barnabas bows again, sees Martin at +"The Terror's" bridle, and is led back, through a pushing, jostling +throng all eager to behold the winner, and thus, presently finds +himself once more in the quiet of the paddock behind the "White Hart" +inn. + +Stiffly and painfully he descends from the saddle, hears a feeble +voice call his name and turning, beholds a hurdle set in the shade +of a tree, and upon the hurdle the long, limp form of Captain +Slingsby, with three or four strangers kneeling beside him. + +"Ah, Beverley!" said he faintly. "Glad you beat Carnaby, he--crowded +me a bit--at the wall, y' know. Poor old 'Rascal' 's gone, +b'gad--and I'm going, but prefer to--go--out of doors,--seems more +room for it somehow--give me the sky to look at. Told you it would +be a grand race, and--b'gad, so it was! Best I--ever rode--or ever +shall. Eh--what, Beverley? No, no--mustn't take it--so hard, dear +fellow. B'gad it--might be worse, y' know. I--might have lost, +and--lived--been deeper in Gaunt's clutches than ever,--then. As it +is, I'm going beyond--beyond his reach--for good and all. Which is +the purest--bit of luck I ever had. Lift me up a little--will you, +Beverley? Deuced fine day, b'gad! And how green the grass is--never +saw it so green before--probably because--never troubled to look +though, was always so--deuced busy, b'gad!--The poor old 'Rascal' +broke his back, Beverley--so did I. They--shot 'The Rascal,' but--" + +Here the Captain sighed, and closed his eyes wearily, but after a +moment opened them again. + +"A fine race, gentlemen!" said he, addressing the silent group, +"a fine race well ridden--and won by--my friend, Beverley. I'll +warrant him a--true-blue, gentlemen. Beverley, I--I congratulate--" + +Once more he closed his eyes, sighed deeply and, with the sigh, +Captain Slingsby of the Guards had paid his debts--for good and all. + + + + +CHAPTER LIV + + +WHICH CONCERNS ITSELF CHIEFLY WITH A LETTER + +And now, the "Galloping Countryman" found himself famous, and, being +so, made the further, sudden discovery that all men were his +"warmest friends," nay, even among the gentler sex this obtained, +for the most dragon-like dowagers, the haughtiest matrons, became +infinitely gracious; noble fathers were familiarly jocose; the +proudest beauties wore, for him, their most bewitching airs, since +as well as being famous, he was known to be one of the wealthiest +young men about town; moreover His Royal Highness had deigned to +notice him, and Her Grace of Camberhurst was his professed friend. +Hence, all this being taken into consideration, it is not surprising +that invitations poured in upon him, and that the doors of the most +exclusive clubs flew open at his step. + +Number Five St. James's Square suddenly became a rendezvous of Sport +and Fashion, before its portal were to be seen dashing turn-outs of +all descriptions, from phaetons to coaches; liveried menials, +bearing cards, embossed, gild-edged, and otherwise, descended upon St. +James's Square in multi-colored shoals; in a word, the Polite World +forthwith took Barnabas to its bosom, which, though perhaps a +somewhat cold and flinty bosom, made up for such minor deficiencies +by the ardor of its embrace. By reason of these things, the legs of +the Gentleman-in-Powder were exalted,--that is to say, were in a +perpetual quiver of superior gratification, and Barnabas himself +enjoyed it all vastly--for a week. + +At the end of which period behold him at twelve o'clock in the +morning, as he sits over his breakfast (with the legs of the +Gentleman-in-Powder planted, statuesque, behind his chair), frowning +at a stupendous and tumbled pile of Fashionable note-paper, and +Polite cards. + +"Are these all?" he inquired, waving his hand towards the letters. + +"Them, sir, is--hall!" answered the Gentleman-in-Powder. + +"Then ask Mr. Peterby to come to me," said Barnabas, his frown +growing blacker. + +"Cer-tainly, sir!" Here the Gentleman-in-Powder posed his legs, bowed, +and took them out of the room. Then Barnabas drew a letter from his +pocket and began to read as follows: + + The Gables, + Hawkhurst. + + MY DEAR BARNABAS,--As Cleone's letter looks very + long (she sits opposite me at this precise moment writing + to you, and blushing very prettily over something her + pen has just scribbled--I can't quite see what, the table + is too wide), mine shall be short, that is, as short as + possible. Of course we are all disappointed not to have seen + you here since the race--that terrible race (poor, dear + Captain Slingsby,--how dreadful it was!) but of course, + it is quite right you should stay near the Viscount during + his illness. I rejoice to hear he is so much better. I am + having my town house, the one in Berkeley Square, put in + order, for Cleone has had quite enough of the country, + I think, so have I. Though indeed she seems perfectly + content (I mean Cleone) and is very fond of listening to the + brook. O Youth! O Romance! Well, I used to listen + to brooks once upon a time--before I took to a wig. + As for yourself now, Barnabas, the Marquis writes to + tell me that your cravats are 'all the thing,' and your + waistcoats 'all the go,' and that your new coat with the + opened cuff finds very many admirers. This is very well, + but since Society has taken you up and made a lion of you, + it will necessarily expect you to roar occasionally, just + to maintain your position. And there are many ways of + roaring, Barnabas. Brummell (whom I ever despised) + roared like an insolent cat--he was always very precise + and cat-like, and dreadfully insolent, but insolence palls, + after a while--even in Society. Indeed I might give you + many hints on Roaring, Barnabas, but--considering the + length of Cleone's letter, I will spare you more, nor even + give you any advice though I yearn to--only this: Be + yourself, Barnabas, in Society or out, so shall I always + subscribe myself: + + Your affectionate friend, + + FANNY CAMBERHURST. + + 3 P.M.--I have opened this letter to tell you that + Mr. Chichester and Ronald called here and stayed an hour. + Ronald was full of his woes, as usual, so I left him to + Cleone, and kept Mr. Chichester dancing attendance on + me. And, oh dear me! to see the white rage of the + man! It was deliciously thrilling, and I shivered most + delightfully. + +"You sent for me, sir?" said Peterby, as Barnabas re-folded the +letter. + +"Yes, John. Are you sure there is no other letter this morning +from--from Hawkhurst?" + +"Quite, sir." + +"Yet the Duchess tells me that the Lady Cleone wrote me also. This +letter came by the post this morning?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"And no other? It's very strange!" + +But here, the Gentleman-in-Powder re-appeared to say that the +Marquis of Jerningham desired to see Mr. Beverley on a matter of +importance, and that nobleman presenting himself, Peterby withdrew. + +"Excuse this intrusion, my dear Beverley," said the Marquis as the +door closed, "doocid early I know, but the--ah--the matter is +pressing. First, though, how's Devenham, you saw him last night as +usual, I suppose?" + +"Yes," answered Barnabas, shaking hands, "he ought to be up and +about again in a day or two." + +"Excellent," nodded the Marquis, "I'll run over to Half-moon Street +this afternoon. Is Bamborough with him still?" + +"No, his Lordship left yesterday." + +"Ha!" said the Marquis, and taking out his snuff-box, he looked at it, +tapped it, and put it away again. "Poor old Sling," said he gently, +"I miss him damnably, y'know, Beverley." + +"Marquis," said Barnabas, "what is it?" + +"Well, I want you to do me a favor, my dear fellow, and I don't know +how to ask you--doocid big favor--ah--I was wondering if you would +consent to--act for me?" + +"Act for you?" repeated Barnabas, wholly at a loss. + +"Yes, in my little affair with Carnaby--poor old Sling, d' you see. +What, don't you twig, Beverley, haven't you heard?" + +"No!" answered Barnabas, "you don't mean that you and Carnaby are +going--to fight?" + +"Exactly, my dear fellow, of course! He fouled poor old Sling at the +wall, y'know--you saw it, I saw it, so naturally I mean to call him +to account for it. And he can't refuse--I spoke doocid plainly, and +White's was full. He has the choice of weapons,--pistols I expect. +Personally, I should like it over as soon as possible, and anywhere +would do, though Eltham for preference, Beverley. So if you will +oblige me--" + +But here, once again the Gentleman-in-Powder knocked to announce: +"Mr. Tressider." + +The thinnish, youngish gentleman in sandy whiskers entered with a +rush, but, seeing the Marquis, paused. + +"What, then--you 're before me, are you, Jerningham?" he exclaimed; +then turning, he saluted Barnabas, and burst into a torrent of speech. +"Beverley!" he cried, "cursed early to call, but I'm full o' +news--bursting with it, damme if I'm not--and tell it I must! First, +then, by Gad!--it was at White's you'll understand, and the +card-room was full--crammed, sir, curse me if it wasn't, and there's +Carnaby and Tufton Green, and myself and three or four others, +playing hazard, d'ye see,--when up strolls Jerningham here. 'It's +your play, Carnaby,' says I. 'Why then,' says the Marquis,--'why then,' +says he, 'look out for fouling!' says he, cool as a cucumber, curse +me! 'Eh--what?' cries Tufton, 'why--what d' ye mean?' 'Mean?' says +the Marquis, tapping his snuff-box, 'I mean that Sir Mortimer Carnaby +is a most accursed rascal' (your very words, Marquis, damme if they +weren't). Highly dramatic, Beverley--could have heard a pin +drop--curse me if you couldn't! End of it was they arranged a +meeting of course, and I was Carnaby's second, but--" + +"Was?" repeated the Marquis. + +"Yes, was,--for begad! when I called on my man this morning he'd +bolted, damme if he hadn't!" + +"Gone?" exclaimed the Marquis in blank amazement. + +"Clean gone! Bag and baggage! I tell you he's bolted, but--with all +due respect to you, Marquis, only from his creditors. He was +devilish deep in with Gaunt, I know, beside Beverley here. Oh damme +yes, he only did it to bilk his creditors, for Carnaby was always +game, curse me if he wasn't!" + +Hereupon the Marquis had recourse to his snuff-box again. + +"Under the circumstances," said he, sighing and shaking his head, +"I think I'll go and talk with our invalid--" + +"No good, my boy, if you mean Devenham," said Tressider, shaking his +head, "just been there,--Viscount's disappeared too--been away all +night!" + +"What?" cried Barnabas, springing to his feet, "gone?" + +"Damme if he hasn't! Found his fellow in the devil of a way about it, +and his little rascal of a groom blubbering on the stairs." + +"Then I must dress! You'll excuse me, I know!" said Barnabas, and +rang for Peterby. But his hand was even yet upon the bellrope when +stumbling feet were heard outside, the door was flung wide, and the +Viscount himself stood upon the threshold. + +Pale and haggard of eye, dusty and unkempt, he leaned there, then +staggering to a chair he sank down and so lay staring at the floor. + +"Oh, Bev!" he groaned, "she's gone--Clemency's gone, I--I can't find +her, Bev!" + +Now hereupon the Marquis very quietly took up his hat and, nodding +to Barnabas, linked his arm in Tressider's and went softly from the +room, closing the door behind him. + +"Dick!" cried Barnabas, bending over him, "my dear fellow!" + +"Ever since you spoke, I--I've wanted her, Bev. All through my +illness I've hungered for her--the sound of her voice,--the touch of +her hand. As soon as I was strong enough--last night, I think it +was--I went to find her, to--to kneel at her feet, Bev. I drove down +to Frittenden and oh, Bev--she was gone! So I started back--looking +for her all night. My arm bothered me--a bit, you know, and I didn't +think I could do it. But I kept fancying I saw her before me in the +dark. Sometimes I called to her--but she--never answered, she's--gone, +Bev, and I--" + +"Oh, Dick--she left there weeks ago--" + +"What--you knew?" + +"Yes, Dick." + +"Then oh, Bev,--tell me where!" + +"Dick, I--can't!" + +"Why--why?" + +"I promised her to keep it secret." + +"Then--you won't tell me?" + +"I can't." + +"Won't! won't! Ah, but you shall, yes, by God!" + +"Dick, I--" + +"By God, but you shall, I say you shall--you must--where is she?" +The Viscount's pale cheek grew suddenly suffused, his eyes glared +fiercely, and his set teeth gleamed between his pallid lips. +"Tell me!" he demanded. + +"No," said Barnabas, and shook his head. + +Then, in that moment the Viscount sprang up and, pinning him with +his left hand, swung Barnabas savagely to the wall. + +"She's mine!" he panted, "mine, I tell you--no one shall take her +from me, neither you nor the devil himself. She's mine--mine. Tell +me where she is,--speak before I choke you--speak!" + +But Barnabas stood rigid and utterly still. Thus, in a while, the +griping fingers fell away, the Viscount stepped back, and groaning, +bowed his head. + +"Oh, Bev," said he, "forgive me, I--I'm mad I think. I want her so +and I can't find her. And I had a spill last night--dark road you see, +and only one hand,--and I'm not quite myself in consequence. I'll +go--" + +But, as he turned toward the door, Barnabas interposed. + +"Dick, I can't let you go like this--what do you intend to do?" + +"Will you tell me where she is?" + +"No, but--" + +"Then, sir, my further movements need not concern you." + +"Dick, be reasonable,--listen--" + +"Have the goodness to let me pass, sir." + +"You are faint, worn out--stay here, Dick, and I--" + +"Thanks, Beverley, but I accept favors from my friends only--pray +stand aside." + +"Dick, if you'll only wait, I'll go to her now--this moment--I'll +beg her to see you--" + +"Very kind, sir!" sneered the Viscount, "you are--privileged it seems. +But, by God, I don't need you, or any one else, to act as go-between +or plead my cause. And mark me, sir! I'll find her yet. I swear to +you I'll never rest until I find her again. And now, sir, once and +for all, I have the honor to wish you a very good day!" saying which +the Viscount bowed, and, having re-settled his arm in its sling, +walked away down the corridor, very upright as to back, yet a little +uncertain in his stride nevertheless, and so was gone. + +Then Barnabas, becoming aware of the polite letters, and cards, +embossed, gilt-edged and otherwise, swept them incontinent to the +floor and, sinking into a chair, set his elbows upon the table, and +leaning his head upon his hands fell into a gloomy meditation. It +was thus that the Gentleman-in-Powder presently found him, and, +advancing into the room with insinuating legs, coughed gently to +attract his attention, the which proving ineffectual, he spoke: + +"Ex-cuse me, sir, but there is a--person downstairs, sir--at the door, +sir!" + +"What kind of person?" inquired Barnabas without looking up. + +"A most ex-tremely low person, sir--very common indeed, sir. Won't +give no name, sir, won't go away, sir. A very 'orrid person--in +gaiters, sir." + +"What does he want?" said Barnabas, with head still bent. + +"Says as 'ow 'e 'as a letter for you, sir, but--" + +Barnabas was on his feet so quickly that the Gentleman-in-Powder +recoiled in alarm. + +"Show him up--at once!" + +"Oh!--cer-tainly, sir!" And though the bow of the +Gentleman-in-Powder was all that it should be, his legs quivered +disapprobation as they took him downstairs. + +When next the door opened it was to admit the person in gaiters, a +shortish, broad-shouldered, bullet-headed person he was, and his +leggings were still rank of the stables; he was indeed a very horsey +person who stared and chewed upon a straw. At sight of Barnabas he +set a stubby finger to one eyebrow, and chewed faster than ever. + +"You have a letter for me, I think?" + +"Yessir!" + +"Then give it to me." + +The horsey person coughed, took out his straw, looked at it, shook +his head at it, and put it back again. + +"Name o' Beverley, sir?" he inquired, chewing feverishly. + +"Yes." + +Hereupon the horsey person drew a letter from his pocket, chewed +over it a moment, nodded, and finally handed it to Barnabas, who, +seeing the superscription, hurriedly broke the seal. Observing which, +the horsey person sighed plaintively and shook his head, alternately +chewing upon and looking at his straw the while Barnabas read the +following: + + Oh, Barnabas dear, when shall I see you again? I + am very foolish to-day perhaps, but though the sun shines + gloriously, I am cold, it is my heart that is cold, a + deadly chill--as if an icy hand had touched it. And I + seem to be waiting--waiting for something to happen, + something dreadful that I cannot avert. I fear you will + think me weak and fanciful, but, dear, I cannot help wondering + what it all means. You ask me if I love you. + Can you doubt? How often in my dreams have I seen + you kneeling beside me with your neck all bare and the + dripping kerchief in your hand. Oh, dear Wood of Annersley! + it was there that I first felt your arms about me, + Barnabas, and I dream of that too--sometimes. But + last night I dreamed of that awful race,--I saw you + gallop past the winning post again, your dear face all cut + and bleeding, and as you passed me your eyes looked into + mine--such an awful look, Barnabas. And then it + seemed that you galloped into a great, black shadow + that swallowed you up, and so you were lost to me, and + I awoke trembling. Oh Barnabas, come to me! I want + you here beside me, for although the sky here is blue and + cloudless, away to the north where London lies, there is a + great, black shadow like the shadow of my dream, and + God keep all shadows from you, Barnabas. So come to + me--meet me to-morrow--there is a new moon. Come + to Oakshott's Barn at 7:30, and we will walk back to + the house together. + + I am longing to see you, and yet I am a little afraid + also, because my love is not a quiet love or gentle, but + such a love as frightens me sometimes, because it has + grown so deep and strong. + + This window, you may remember, faces north, and + now as I lift my eyes I can see that the shadow is still dark + over London, and very threatening. Come to me soon, + and that God may keep all shadows from you is the + prayer of + + Your + CLEONE. + + +Now when he had finished reading, Barnabas sighed, and glancing up, +found the horsey person still busy with his straw, but now he took +it from his mouth, shook his head at it more sternly than ever, +dropped it upon the carpet and set his foot upon it; which done, he +turned and looked at Barnabas with a pair of very round, bright eyes. + +"Now," said he, "I should like to take the liberty o' axing you one +or two questions, Mr. Barty, sir,--or as I should say, p'r'aps, +Mr. Beverley." + +"What," exclaimed Barnabas, starting up, "it's you again, Mr. Shrig?" + +"That werry same i-dentical, sir. Disguises again, ye see. Yesterday, +a journeyman peg-maker vith a fine lot o' pegs as I didn't vant to +sell--to-day a groom looking for a job as I don't need. Been +a-keeping my ogles on Number Vun and Number Two, and things is +beginning to look werry rosy, sir, yes, things is werry promising +indeed." + +"How do you mean?" + +"Vell, to begin vith," said Mr. Shrig, taking the chair Barnabas +proffered, "you didn't 'appen to notice as that theer letter had +been broke open and sealed up again, did ye?" + +"No," said Barnabas, staring at what was left of the seal. + +"No, o' course you didn't--you opened it too quick to notice +anything--but I did." + +"Oh, surely not--" + +"That theer letter," said Mr. Shrig impressively, "vas wrote you by +a certain lady, vasn't it?" + +"Yes." + +"And I brought you that theer letter, didn't I?" + +"Yes, but--" + +"And 'oo do ye suppose give me that theer letter, to bring to +you,--the lady? Oh no! I'll tell you 'oo give it me,--it vas--shall ve +say, Number Two, the Accessory afore the fact,--shall ve call 'im C.? +Werry good! Now, 'ow did C. or Number Two, 'appen to give me that +theer letter? I'll tell you. Ven Number Vun and Number Two, B. and C., +vent down to Hawkhurst, I vent down to Hawkhurst. They put up at the +'Qveen's 'ead,' so I 'angs about the 'Qveen's 'ead,'--offers myself +as groom--I'm 'andy vith an 'orse--got in the 'abit o' doing odd +jobs for Number Vun and Number Two, and, last night, Number Two +gives me that theer letter to deliver, and werry pertickler 'e vas +as I should give it into your werry own daddle, 'e also gives me a +guinea and tells as 'ow 'e don't vant me no more, and them's the +circumstances, sir." + +"But," said Barnabas in frowning perplexity, "I don't understand. +How did he get hold of the letter?" + +"Lord, sir, 'ow do I know that? But get it 'e did--'e likewise broke +the seal." + +"But--why?" + +"Vell now, first, it's a love-letter, ain't it?" + +"Why--I--" + +"Werry good! Now, sir, might that theer letter be making a +app'intment--come?" + +"Yes, an appointment for to-morrow evening." + +"Ah! In a nice, qviet, lonely place--say a vood?" + +"Yes, at a very lonely place called Oakshott's Barn." + +"Come, that's better and better!" nodded Mr. Shrig brightly, +"that's werry pretty, that is--things is rosier than I 'oped, but +then, as I said afore, things is allus blackest afore the dawn. +Oakshott's Barn, eh? Ecod, now, but it sounds a nice, lonesome +place--just the sort o' place for it, a--a--capital place as you +might call it." And Mr. Shrig positively chuckled and rubbed his +chubby hands together; but all at once, he shook his head gloomily, +and glancing at Barnabas, sighed deeply. "But you--von't go, o' +course, sir?" + +"Go?" + +"To Oakshott's Barn, to-morrow evening?" + +"Yes, of course," answered Barnabas, "the appointment is for +seven-thirty." + +"Seven-thirty!" nodded Mr. Shrig, "and a werry nice time for it too! +Sunset, it'll be about--a good light and not too long to vait till +dark! Yes, seven-thirty's a werry good time for it!" + +"For what?" + +"V'y," said Mr. Shrig, lowering his voice suddenly, "let's say for +'it'!" + +"'It,'" repeated Barnabas, staring. + +"Might I jest take a peep at that theer letter, v'ere it says +seven-thirty, sir?" + +"Yes," said Barnabas, pointing to a certain line of Cleone's letter, +"here it is!" + +"Ah," exclaimed Mr. Shrig, nodding and rubbing his hands again, +"your eyes is good 'uns, ain't they, sir?" + +"Yes." + +"Then jest take a good look at that theer seven-thirty, vill you, +sir--come, vot do you see?" + +"That the paper is roughened a little, and the ink has run." + +"Yes, and vot else? Look at it a bit closer, sir." + +"Why," said Barnabas staring hard at the spot, "it looks as though +something had been scratched out!" + +"And so it has, sir. If you go there at seven-thirty, it von't be a +fair lady as'll be vaiting to meet you. The time's been altered o' +course--jest as I 'oped and expected." + +"Ah!" said Barnabas, slowly and very softly, and clenched his fist. + +"So now, d'ye see, you can't go--can ye?" said Mr. Shrig in a +hopeless tone. + +"Yes!" said Barnabas. + +"Eh? Vot--you vill?" + +"Most assuredly!" + +"But--but it'll be madness!" stammered Mr. Shrig, his round eyes +rounder than ever, "it'll be fair asking to be made a unfort'nate +wictim of, if ye go. O' course it 'ud be a good case for me, and +good cases is few enough--but you mustn't go now, it 'ud be madness!" + +"No," said Barnabas, frowning darkly, "because I shall go--before +seven-thirty, you see." + + + + +CHAPTER LV + + +WHICH NARRATES SUNDRY HAPPENINGS AT OAKSHOTT'S BARN + +Even on a summer's afternoon Oakshott's Barn is a desolate place, a +place of shadows and solitude, whose slumberous silence is broken +only by the rustle of leaves, the trill of a skylark high overhead, +or the pipe of throstle and blackbird. + +It is a place apart, shut out from the world of life and motion, a +place suggestive of decay and degeneration, and therefore a +depressing place at all times. + +Yet, standing here, Barnabas smiled and uncovered his head, for here, +once, SHE had stood, she who was for him the only woman in all the +world. So having paused awhile to look about him, he presently went +on into the gloom of the barn, a gloom damp and musty with years and +decay. + +Now glancing sharply this way and that, Barnabas espied a ladder or +rather the mouldering remains of one, that led up from the darkest +corner to a loft; up this ladder, with all due care, he mounted, and +thus found himself in what had once served as a hay-loft, for in one +corner there yet remained a rotting pile. It was much lighter up here, +for in many places the thatch was quite gone, while at one end of +the loft was a square opening or window. He was in the act of +looking from this window when, all at once he started and crouched +down, for, upon the stillness broke a sudden sound,--the rustling of +leaves, and a voice speaking in loud, querulous tones. And in a +while as he watched, screening himself from all chance of observation, +Barnabas saw two figures emerge into the clearing and advance +towards the barn. + +"I tell you C-Chichester, it will be either him or m-me!" + +"If he--condescends to fight you, my dear Ronald." + +"C-condescend?" cried Barrymaine, and it needed but a glance at his +flushed cheek and swaying figure to see that he had been drinking +more heavily than usual. "C-condescend, damn his insolence! +Condescend, will he? I'll give him no chance for his c-cursed +condescension, I--I tell you, Chichester, I'll--" + +"But you can't make a man fight, Ronald." + +"Can't I? Why then if he won't fight I'll--" + +"Hush! don't speak so loud!" + +"Well, I will, Chichester,--s-so help me God, I will!" + +"Will--what, Ronald?" + +"W-wait and see!" + +"You don't mean--murder, Ronald?" + +"I didn't s-say so, d-did I?" + +"Of course not, my dear Barrymaine, but--shall I take the pistols?" +And Mr. Chichester stretched out his hand towards a flat, oblong box +that Barrymaine carried clutched beneath his arm. "Better give them +to me, Ronald." + +"No,--w-why should I?" + +"Well,--in your present mood--" + +"I--I'm not--d-drunk,--damme, I'm not, I tell you! And I'll give +the f-fellow every chance--honorable meeting." + +"Then, if he refuses to fight you, as of course he will, you'll let +him go to--ah--make love to Cleone?" + +"No, by God!" cried Barrymaine in a sudden, wild fury, "I-I'll +sh-shoot him first!" + +"Kill him?" + +"Yes, k-kill him!" + +"Oh no you won't, Ronald, for two reasons. First of all, it would be +murder--!" + +"Murder!" Barrymaine repeated, "so it would--murder! Yes, by God!" + +"And secondly, you haven't the nerve. Though he has clandestine +meetings with your sister, though he crush you into the mud, trample +you under his feet, throw you into a debtor's prison to rot out your +days--though he ruin you body and soul, and compromise your sister's +honor--still you'd never--murder him, Ronald, you couldn't, you +haven't the heart, because it would be--murder!" + +Mr. Chichester's voice was low, yet each incisive, quick-spoken word +reached Barnabas, while upon Barrymaine their effect was demoniac. +Dropping his pistol-case, he threw up wild arms and shook his +clenched fists in the air. + +"Damn him!" he cried, "damn him! B-bury me in a debtor's prison, +will he? Foul my sister's honor w-will he? Never! never! I tell you +I'll kill him first!" + +"Murder him, Ronald?" + +"Murder? I t-tell you it's no murder to kill his sort. G-give me the +pistols." + +"Hush! Come into the barn." + +"No. W-what for?" + +"Well, the time is getting on, Ronald,--nearly seven o'clock, and +your ardent lovers are usually before their time. Come into the barn." + +"N-no,--devilish dark hole!" + +"But--he'll see you here!" + +"What if he does, can't g-get away from me,--better f-for it out +here--lighter." + +"What do you mean? Better--for what?" + +"The m-meeting." + +"What--you mean to try and make him fight, do you?" + +"Of course--try that way first. Give him a ch-chance, you know, +--c-can't shoot him down on s-sight." + +"Ah-h!" said Mr. Chichester, very slowly, "you can't shoot him on +sight--of course you can't. I see." + +"What? W-what d'ye see? Devilish dark hole in there!" + +"All the better, Ronald,--think of his surprise when instead of +finding an armful of warm loveliness waiting for him in the shadows, +he finds the avenging brother! Come into the shadows, Ronald." + +"All right,--yes, the shadow. Instead of the sister, the +b-brother--yes, by God!" + +Now the flooring of the loft where Barnabas lay was full of wide +cracks and fissures, for the boards had warped by reason of many +years of rain and sun; thus, lying at full length, Barnabas saw +them below, Barrymaine leaning against the crumbling wall, while +Mr. Chichester stooped above the open duelling-case. + +"What--they're loaded are they?" said he. + +"Of c-course!" + +"They're handsome tools, Ronald, and with your monogram, I see!" + +"Yes. Is your f-flask empty, Chichester?" + +"No, I think not," answered Mr. Chichester, still stooping above the +pistol in his hand. + +"Then give it me, will you--m-my throat's on fire." + +"Surely you 've had enough, Ronald? Did you know this flint was loose?" + +"I'm n-not drunk, I t-tell you. I know when I've had enough, +g-give me some brandy, Chit, I know there's p-precious little left." + +"Why then, fix this flint first, Ronald, I see you have all the +necessary tools here." So saying, Mr. Chichester rose and began +feeling through his pockets, while Barrymaine, grumbling, stooped +above the pistol-case. Then, even as he did so, Mr. Chichester drew +out a silver flask, unscrewed it, and thereafter made a certain quick, +stealthy gesture behind his companion's back, which done, he screwed +up the flask again, shook it, and, as Barrymaine rose, held it out +to him: + +"Yes, I'm afraid there's very little left, Ronald," said he. With a +murmur of thanks Barrymaine took the flask and, setting it to his +lips, drained it at a gulp, and handed it back. + +"Gad, Chichester!" he exclaimed, "it tastes damnably of the +f-flask--faugh! What time is it?" + +"A quarter to seven!" + +"Th-three quarters of an hour to wait!" + +"It will soon pass, Ronald, besides, he's sure to be early." + +"Hope so! But I--I think I'll s-sit down." + +"Well, the floor's dry, though dirty." + +"D-dirty? So it is, but beggars can't be c-choosers and--dev'lish +drowsy place, this!--I'm a b-beggar--you know t-that, and--pah! I +think I'm l-losing my--taste for brandy--" + +"Really, Ronald? I've thought you seemed over fond of it--especially +lately." + +"No--no!" answered Barrymaine, speaking in a thick, indistinct voice +and rocking unsteadily upon his heels, "I'm not--n-not drunk, +only--dev'lish sleepy!" and swaying to the wall he leaned there with +head drooping. + +"Then you'd better--lie down, Ronald." + +"Yes, I'll--lie down, dev'lish--drowsy p-place--lie down," mumbled +Barrymaine, suiting the action to the word; yet after lying down +full length, he must needs struggle up to his elbow again to blink +at Mr. Chichester, heavy eyed and with one hand to his wrinkling brow. +"Wha-what w-was it we--came for? Oh y-yes--I know--Bev'ley, of course! +You'll w-wake me--when he c-comes?" + +"I'll wake you, Ronald." + +"S-such a c-cursed--drowsy--" Barrymaine sank down upon his side, +rolled over upon his back, threw wide his arms, and so lay, +breathing stertorously. + +Then Mr. Chichester smiled, and coming beside him, looked down upon +his helpless form and flushed face and, smiling still, spoke in his +soft, gentle voice: + +"Are you asleep, Ronald?" he inquired, and stirred Barrymaine +lightly with his foot, but, feeling him so helpless, the stirring +foot grew slowly more vicious. "Oh Ronald," he murmured, "what a +fool you are! what a drunken, sottish fool you are. So you'd give +him a chance, would you? Ah, but you mustn't, Ronald, you shan't, +for your sake and my sake. My hand is steadier than yours, so sleep, +my dear Ronald, and wake to find that you have rid us of our good, +young Samaritan--once and for all, and then--hey for Cleone, and no +more dread of the Future. Sleep on, you swinish sot!" + +Mr. Chichester's voice was as soft as ever, but, as he turned away, +the sleeping youth started and groaned beneath the sudden movement +of that vicious foot. + +And now Mr. Chichester stooped, and taking the pistols, one by one, +examined flint and priming with attentive eye, which done, he +crossed to a darkened window and, bursting open the rotting shutter, +knelt and levelled one of the weapons, steadying his wrist upon the +sill; then, nodding as though satisfied, he laid the pistols upon +the floor within easy reach, and drew out his watch. + +Slowly the sun declined, and slowly the shadows lengthened about +Oakshott's Barn, as they had done many and many a time before; a +rabbit darted across the clearing, a blackbird called to his mate in +the thicket, but save for this, nothing stirred; a great quiet was +upon the place, a stillness so profound that Barnabas could +distinctly hear the scutter of a rat in the shadows behind him, and +the slow, heavy breathing of the sleeper down below. And ever that +crouching figure knelt beside the broken shutter, very silent, very +still, and very patient. + +But all at once, as he watched, Barnabas saw the rigid figure grow +suddenly alert, saw the right arm raised slowly, stealthily, saw the +pistol gleam as it was levelled across the sill; for now, upon the +quiet rose a sound faint and far, yet that grew and ever grew, the +on-coming rustle of leaves. + +Then, even as Barnabas stared down wide-eyed, the rigid figure +started, the deadly pistol-hand wavered, was snatched back, and +Mr. Chichester leapt to his feet. He stood a moment hesitating as +one at a sudden loss, then crossing to the unconscious form of +Barrymaine, he set the pistol under his lax hand, turned, and +vanished into the shadow. + +Thereafter, from the rear of the barn, came the sound of a blow and +the creak of a rusty hinge, quickly followed by a rustle of leaves +that grew fainter and fainter, and so was presently gone. Then +Barnabas rose, and coming to the window, peered cautiously out, and +there, standing before the barn surveying its dilapidation with round, +approving eyes, his nobbly stick beneath his arm, his high-crowned, +broad-brimmed hat upon his head, was Mr. Shrig. + + + + +CHAPTER LVI + + +OF THE GATHERING OF THE SHADOWS + +Surprise and something very like disappointment were in Mr. Shrig's +look as Barnabas stepped out from the yawning doorway of the barn. + +"V'y, sir," said he, consulting a large-faced watch. "V'y, Mr. Beverley, +it's eggs-actly tventy minutes arter the time for it!" + +"Yes," said Barnabas. + +"And you--ain't shot, then?" + +"No, thank heaven." + +"Nor even--vinged?" + +"Nor even winged, Mr. Shrig." + +"Fate," said Mr. Shrig, shaking a dejected head at him, "Fate is a +werry wexed problem, sir! 'Ere's you now, Number Three, as I might +say, the unfort'nate wictim as was to be--'ere you are a-valking up +to Fate axing to be made a corp', and vot do you get? not so much as +a scrat--not a westige of a scrat, v'ile another unfort'nate wictim +vill run avay from Fate, run? ah! 'eaven's 'ard! and werry nat'ral +too! and vot does 'e get? 'e gets made a corp' afore 'e knows it. No, +sir, Fate's a werry wexed problem, sir, and I don't understand it, +no, nor ever shall." + +"But this was very simple," said Barnabas, slipping his hand in +Mr. Shrig's arm, and leading him away from the barn, "very simple +indeed, I got here before they came, and hid in the loft. Then, +while they were waiting for me down below, you came and frightened +them away." + +"Ah! So they meant business, did they?" + +"Yes," said Barnabas, nodding grimly, "they certainly meant business, +--especially Mr. Chich--" + +"Ssh!" said Mr. Shrig, glancing round, "call 'im Number Two. Sir, +Number Two is a extra-special, super-fine, over-weight specimen, 'e +is. I've knowed a many 'Capitals' in my time, but I never knowed +such a Capital o' Capital Coves as 'im. Sir, Vistling Dick vas a +innercent, smiling babe, and young B. is a snowy, pet lamb alongside +o' Number Two. Capital Coves like 'im only 'appen, and they only +'appen every thousand year or so. Ecod! I 'm proud o' Number Two. +And talking of 'im, I 'appened to call on Nick the Cobbler, last +night." + +"Oh?" + +"Ah! and I found 'im vith 'is longest awl close 'andy--all on +account o' Number Two." + +"How on his account?" demanded Barnabas, frowning suddenly. + +"Vell, last evening, Milo o' Crotona, a pal o' Nick's, and a werry +promising bye 'e is too, 'appened to drop in sociable-like, and it +seems as Number Two followed 'im. And werry much Number Two +frightened that 'andsome gal, by all accounts. She wrote you a letter, +vich she give me to deliver, and--'ere it is." + +So Barnabas took the letter and broke the seal. It was a very short +letter, but as he read Barnabas frowned blacker than ever. + +"Mr. Shrig," said he very earnestly as he folded and pocketed the +letter, "will you do something for me--will you take a note to my +servant, John Peterby? You'll find him at the 'Oak and Ivy' in +Hawkhurst village." + +"Vich, seeing as you're a pal, sir, I vill. But, sir," continued +Mr. Shrig, as Barnabas scribbled certain instructions for Peterby on +a page of his memorandum, "vot about yourself--you ain't a-going +back there, are ye?" and he jerked his thumb over his shoulder +towards the barn, now some distance behind them. + +"Of course," said Barnabas, "to keep my appointment." + +"D'ye think it's safe--now?" + +"Quite,--thanks to you," answered Barnabas. "Here is the note, and +if you wish, John Peterby will drive you back to London with him." + +"V'y, thank'ee sir,--'e shall that,--but you, now?" Mr. Shrig paused, +and, somewhat diffidently drew from his side pocket a very +business-like, brass-bound pistol, which he proffered to Barnabas, +"jest in case they should 'appen to come back, sir," said he. + +But Barnabas laughingly declined it, and shook his chubby hand +instead. + +"Vell," said Mr. Shrig, pocketing note and weapon, "you're true game, +sir, yes, game's your breed, and I only 'ope as you don't give me a +case--though good murder cases is few and far between, as I've told +you afore. Good-by, sir, and good luck." + +So saying, Mr. Shrig nodded, touched the broad rim of his castor, +and strode away through the gathering shadows. + +And when he was gone, and the sound of his going had died away in +the distance, Barnabas turned and swiftly retraced his steps; but +now he went with fists clenched, and head forward, as one very much +on the alert. + +Evening was falling and the shadows were deepening apace, and as he +went, Barnabas kept ever in the shelter of the trees until he saw +before him once more, the desolate and crumbling barn of Oakshott. +For a moment he paused, eyeing its scarred and battered walls +narrowly, then, stepping quickly forward, entered the gloomy doorway +and, turning towards a certain spot, started back before the +threatening figure that rose up from the shadows. + +"Ah! So you 've c-come at last, sir!" said Barrymaine, steadying +himself against the wall with one hand while he held the pistol +levelled in the other, "ins-stead of the weak s-sister you find the +avenging brother! Been waiting for you hours. C-cursed dreary hole +this, and I fell asleep, but--" + +"Because you were drugged!" said Barnabas. + +"D-drugged, sir! W-what d' you mean?" + +"Chichester drugged the brandy--" + +"Chichester?" + +"He meant to murder me while you slept and fix the crime on you--" + +"Liar!" cried Barrymaine, "you came here to meet my s-sister, but +instead of a defenceless girl you meet me and I'm g-going to settle +with you--once and for all--t-told you I would, last time we met. +There's another pistol in the c-case yonder--pick it up and t-take +your ground." + +"Listen to me," Barnabas began. + +"N-not a word--you're going to fight me--" + +"Never!" + +"Pick up that pistol--or I'll sh-shoot you where you stand!" + +"No!" + +"I'll c-count three!" said Barrymaine, his pale face livid against +the darkness behind, "One! Two!--" + +But, on the instant, Barnabas sprang in and closed with him, and, +grappled in a fierce embrace, they swayed a moment and staggered out +through the gaping doorway. + +Barrymaine fought desperately. Barnabas felt his coat rip and tear, +but he maintained his grip upon his opponent's pistol hand, yet +twice the muzzle of the weapon covered him, and twice he eluded it +before Barrymaine could fire. Therefore, seeing Barrymaine's +intention, reading his deadly purpose in vicious mouth and dilated +nostril, Barnabas loosed one hand, drew back his arm, and +smote--swift and hard. Barrymaine uttered a cry that seemed to +Barnabas to find an echo far off, flung out his arms and, staggering, +fell. + +Then Barnabas picked up the pistol and, standing over Barrymaine, +spoke. + +"I--had to--do it!" he panted. "Did I--hurt you much?" + +But Ronald Barrymaine lay very white and still, and, stooping, +Barnabas saw that he had struck much harder than he had meant, and +that Barrymaine's mouth was cut and bleeding. + +Now at this moment, even as he sank on his knees, Barnabas again +heard a cry, but nearer now and with the rustle of flying draperies, +and, glancing up, saw Cleone running towards them. + +"Cleone!" he cried, and sprang to his feet. + +"You--struck him!" she panted. + +"I--yes, I--had to! But indeed he isn't much hurt--" But Cleone was +down upon her knees, had lifted Barrymaine's head to her bosom and +was wiping the blood from his pale face with her handkerchief. + +"Cleone," said Barnabas, humbly, "I--indeed I--couldn't help it. Oh, +Cleone--look up!" Yet, while he spoke, there came a rustling of +leaves near by and glancing thither, he saw Mr. Chichester surveying +them, smiling and debonair, and, striding forward, Barnabas +confronted him with scowling brow and fierce, menacing eyes. + +"Rogue!" said he, his lips curling, "Rascal!" + +"Ah!" nodded Mr. Chichester gently, "you have a pistol there, I see!" + +"Your despicable villainy is known!" said Barnabas. "Ha!--smile if +you will, but while you knelt, pistol in hand, in the barn there, +had you troubled to look in the loft above your head you might have +murdered me, and none the wiser. As it is, I am alive, to strip you +of your heritage, and you still owe me twenty thousand guineas. Pah! +keep them to help you from the country, for I swear you shall be +hounded from every club in London; men shall know you for what you +are. Now go, before you tempt me to strangle you for a nauseous beast. +Go, I say!" + +Smiling still, but with a devil looking from his narrowed eyes, +Mr. Chichester slowly viewed Barnabas from head to foot, and, turning, +strolled away, swinging his tasselled walking cane as he went, with +Barnabas close behind him, pistol in hand, even as they had once +walked months before. + +Now at this moment it was that Cleone, yet kneeling beside Barrymaine, +chanced to espy a crumpled piece of paper that lay within a yard of +her, and thus, half unwitingly, she reached out and took it up, +glanced at it with vague eyes, then started, and knitting her black +brows, read these words: + + My Dear Barnabas,--The beast has discovered me. + I thought I only scorned him, but now I know I fear him, + too. So, in my dread, I turn to you. Yes, I will go now-- + anywhere you wish. Fear has made me humble, and I + accept your offer. Oh, take me away--hide me, anywhere, + so shall I always be + + Your grateful, + + CLEMENCY. + +Thus, in a while, when Barrymaine opened his eyes it was to see +Cleone kneeling beside him with bent head, and with both hands +clasped down upon her bosom, fierce hands that clenched a crumpled +paper between them. At first he thought she was weeping, but, when +she turned towards him, he saw that her eyes were tearless and very +bright, and that on either cheek burned a vivid patch of color. + +"Oh, Ronald!" she sighed, her lips quivering suddenly, "I--am glad +you are better--but--oh, my dear, I wish I--were dead!" + +"There, there, Clo!" he muttered, patting her stooping shoulder, +"I f-frightened you, I suppose. But I'm all right now, dear. W-where's +Chichester?" + +"I--don't know, Ronald." + +"But you, Cleone? You came here to m-meet this--this Beverley?" + +"Yes, Ronald." + +"D'you know w-what he is? D'you know he's a publican's son?--a vile, +low fellow masquerading as a g-gentleman? Yes, he's a p-publican's +son, I tell you!" he repeated, seeing how she shrank at this. +"And you s-stoop to such as he--s-stoop to meet him in s-such a +place as this! So I came to save you f-from yourself!" + +"Did you, Ronald?" + +"Yes--but oh, Cleone, you don't love the fellow, do you?" + +"I think I--hate him, Ronald." + +"Then you won't m-meet him again?" + +"No, Ronald." + +"And you'll try to be a little kinder--to C-Chichester?" Cleone +shivered and rose to her feet. + +"Come!" said she, her hands once more clasped upon her bosom, +"it grows late, I must go." + +"Yes. D-devilish depressing place this! G-give me your arm, Clo." +But as they turned to go, the bushes parted, and Barnabas appeared. + +"Cleone!" he exclaimed. + +"I--I'm going home!" she said, not looking at him. + +"Then I will come with you,--if I may?" + +"I had rather go--alone--with my brother." + +"So pray s-stand aside, sir!" said Barrymaine haughtily through his +swollen lips, staggering a little despite Cleone's arm. + +"Sir," said Barnabas pleadingly, "I struck you a while ago, but it +was the only way to save you from--a greater evil, as you know--" + +"He means I threatened to s-shoot him, Clo--so I did, but it was for +your sake, to sh-shield you from--persecution as a brother should." + +"Cleone," said Barnabas, ignoring Barrymaine altogether, "if there +is any one in this world who should know me, and what manner of man +I am, surely it is you--" + +"Yes, she knows you--b-better than you think, she knows you for a +publican's son, first of all--" + +"May I come with you, Cleone?" + +"No, sir, n-not while I'm here. Cleone, you go with him, or m-me, +so--choose!" + +"Oh, Ronald, take me home!" she breathed. + +So Barrymaine drew her arm through his and, turning his back on +Barnabas, led her away. But, when they had gone a little distance, +he frowned suddenly and came striding after them. + +"Cleone," said he, "why are you so strange to me,--what is it, +--speak to me." + +But Cleone was dumb, and walked on beside Ronald Barrymaine with +head averted, and so with never a backward glance, was presently +lost to sight among the leaves. + +Long after they had gone, Barnabas stood there, his head bowed, +while the shadows deepened about him, dark and darker. Then all at +once he sighed again and, lifting his head, glanced about him; and +because of the desolation of the place, he shivered; and because of +the new, sharp pain that gripped him, he uttered a bitter curse, and +so, becoming aware of the pistol he yet grasped, he flung it far +from him and strode away through the deepening gloom. + +On he went, heeding only the tumult of sorrow and anger that surged +within him. And so, betimes, reached the "Oak and Ivy" inn, where, +finding Peterby and the phaeton already gone, according to his +instructions, he hired post-horses and galloped away for London. + +Now, as he went, though the evening was fine, it seemed to him that +high overhead was a shadow that followed and kept pace with him, +growing dark and ever darker; and thus as he rode he kept his gaze +upon this menacing shadow. + +As for my lady, she, securely locked within the sanctuary of her +chamber, took pen and paper and wrote these words: + + "You have destroyed my faith, and with that all else. Farewell." + +Which done, she stamped a small, yet vicious foot upon a certain +crumpled letter, and thereafter, lying face down upon her bed, wept +hot, slow, bitter tears, stifling her sobs with the tumbled glory of +her hair, and in her heart was an agony greater than any she had +ever known. + + + + +CHAPTER LVII + + +BEING A PARENTHETICAL CHAPTER ON DOUBT, WHICH, THOUGH UNINTERESTING, +IS VERY SHORT + +It will perhaps be expected that, owing to this unhappy state of +affairs, Barnabas should have found sleep a stranger to his pillow; +but, on the contrary, reaching London at daybreak, he went to bed, +and there, wearied by his long ride, found a blessed oblivion from +all his cares and sorrows. Nor did he wake till the day was far spent +and evening at hand. But, with returning consciousness came Memory +to harrow him afresh, came cold Pride and glowing Anger. And with +these also was yet another emotion, and one that he had never known +till now, whose name is Doubt; doubt of himself and of his +future--that deadly foe to achievement and success--that ghoul-like +incubus which, once it fastens on a man, seldom leaves him until +courage, and hope, and confidence are dead, and nothing remains but +a foreknowledge and expectation of failure. + +With this grisly spectre at his elbow Barnabas rose and dressed, and +went downstairs to make a pretence of breaking his fast. + +"Sir," said Peterby, watching how he sat staring down moodily at the +table, "sir, you eat nothing." + +"No, John, I'm not hungry," he answered, pushing his plate aside. +"By the way, did you find the cottage I mentioned in my note? Though, +indeed, you've had very little time." + +"Yes, sir, I found one just beyond Lewisham, small, though +comfortable. Here is the key, sir." + +"Thank you, John," said Barnabas, and thereafter sat staring +gloomily at the key until Peterby spoke again: + +"Sir, pray forgive me, but I fear you are in some trouble. Is it +your misunderstanding with Viscount Devenham? I couldn't help but +overhear, and--" + +"Ah, yes--even the Viscount has quarrelled with me," sighed Barnabas, +"next it will be the Marquis, I suppose, and after him--Gad, John +Peterby--I shall have only you left!" + +"Indeed, sir, you will always have me--always!" + +"Yes, John, I think I shall." + +"Sir, when you--gave a miserable wretch another chance to live and +be a man, you were young and full of life." + +"Yes, I was very, very young!" sighed Barnabas. + +"But you were happy--your head was high and your eye bright with +confident hope and purpose." + +"Yes, I was very confident, John." + +"And therefore--greatly successful, sir. Your desire was to cut a +figure in the Fashionable World. Well, to-day you have your +wish--to-day you are famous, and yet--" + +"Well, John?" + +"Sir, to-day I fear you are--not happy." + +"No, I'm not happy," sighed Barnabas, "for oh! John Peterby, what +shall it profit a man though he gain the whole world, and lose his +soul!" + +"Ah, sir--you mean--?" + +"I mean--the Lady Cleone, John. Losing her, I lose all, and success +is worse than failure." + +"But, sir,--must you lose her?" + +"I fear so. Who am I that she should stoop to me among so many? Who +am I to expect so great happiness?" + +"Sir," said Peterby, shaking his head, "I have never known you doubt +yourself or fortune till now!" + +"It never occurred to me, John." + +"And because of this unshaken confidence in yourself you won the +steeplechase, sir--unaided and alone you won for yourself a place in +the most exclusive circles in the World of Fashion--without friends +or influence you achieved the impossible, because you never doubted." + +"Yes, I was very confident, John, but then, you see, I never thought +anything impossible--till now." + +"And therefore you succeeded, sir. But had you constantly doubted +your powers and counted failure even as a possibility, you might +still have dreamed of your success--but never achieved it." + +"Why then," sighed Barnabas, rising, "it seems that Failure has +marked me for her own at last, for never was man fuller of doubt +than I." + + + + +CHAPTER LVIII + + +HOW VISCOUNT DEVENHAM FOUND HIM A VISCOUNTESS + +Night was falling as, turning out of St. James's Square, Barnabas +took his way along Charles Street and so, by way of the Strand, +towards Blackfriars. He wore a long, befrogged surtout buttoned up +to the chin, though the weather was warm, and his hat was drawn low +over his brows; also in place of his tasselled walking-cane he +carried a heavy stick. + +For the first half mile or so he kept his eyes well about him, but, +little by little, became plunged in frowning thought, and so walked +on, lost in gloomy abstraction. Thus, as he crossed Blackfriars +Bridge he was quite unaware of one who followed him step by step, +though upon the other side of the way; a gliding, furtive figure, and +one who also went with coat buttoned high and face hidden beneath +shadowy hat-brim. + +On strode Barnabas, all unconscious, with his mind ever busied with +thoughts of Cleone and the sudden, unaccustomed doubt in himself and +his future that had come upon him. + +Presently he turned off to the right along a dirty street of squalid, +tumble-down houses; a narrow, ill-lighted street which, though +comparatively quiet by day, now hummed with a dense and seething life. + +Yes, a dark street this, with here and there a flickering lamp, that +served but to make the darkness visible, and here and there the +lighted window of some gin-shop, or drinking-cellar, whence +proceeded a mingled clamor of voices roaring the stave of some song, +or raised in fierce disputation. + +On he went, past shambling figures indistinct in the dusk; past +figures that slunk furtively aside, or crouched to watch him from +the gloom of some doorway; past ragged creatures that stared, +haggard-eyed; past faces sad and faces evil that flitted by him in +the dark, or turned to scowl over hunching shoulders. Therefore +Barnabas gripped his stick the tighter as he strode along, suddenly +conscious of the stir and unseen movement in the fetid air about him, +of the murmur of voices, the desolate wailing of children, the noise +of drunken altercation, and all the sordid sounds that were part and +parcel of the place. Of all this Barnabas was heedful, but he was +wholly unaware of the figure that dogged him from behind, following +him step by step, patient and persistent. Thus, at last, Barnabas +reached a certain narrow alley, beyond which was the River, dark, +mysterious, and full of sighs and murmurs. And, being come to the +door of Nick the Cobbler, he knocked upon it with his stick. + +It was opened, almost immediately, by Clemency herself. + +"I saw you coming," she said, giving him her hand, and so led him +through the dark little shop, into the inner room. + +"I came as soon as I could. Clemency." + +"Yes, I knew you would come," she answered, with bowed head. + +"I am here to take you away to a cottage I have found for you--a +place in the country, where you will be safe until I can find and +bring your father to you." + +As he ended, she lifted her head and looked at him through gathering +tears. + +"How good--how kind of you!" she said, very softly, "and oh, I thank +you, indeed I do--but--" + +"But, Clemency?" + +"I must stay--here." + +"In this awful place! Why?" + +Clemency flushed, and looking down at the table, began to pleat a +fold in the cloth with nervous fingers. + +"Poor little Nick hasn't been very well lately, and I--can't leave +him alone--" she began. + +"Then bring him with you." + +"And," she continued slowly, "when I wrote you that letter I +was--greatly afraid, but I'm--not afraid any longer. And oh, I +couldn't leave London yet--I couldn't!" + +Now while she spoke, Barnabas saw her clasp and wring her hands +together, that eloquent gesture he remembered so well. Therefore he +leaned across the table and touched those slender fingers very gently. + +"Why not? Tell me your trouble, my sister." + +Now Clemency bowed her dark head, and when she spoke her voice was +low and troubled: "Because--he is ill--dangerously ill, Milo tells me, +and I--I am nearer to him here in London. I can go, sometimes, and +look at the house where he lies. So you see, I cannot leave him, yet." + +"Then--you love him, Clemency?" + +"Yes," she whispered, "yes, oh yes, always--always! That was why I +ran away from him. Oh, I love him so much that I grew afraid of my +love, and of myself, and of him. Because he is a great gentleman, +and I am only--what I am." + +"A very good and beautiful woman!" said Barnabas. + +"Beauty!" she sighed, "oh, it is only for that he--wanted me, and +dear heaven! I love him so much that--if he asked me--I fear--" and +she hid her burning face in hands that trembled. + +"Clemency!" + +The word was hoarse and low, scarcely more than a whisper, but, even +so, Clemency started and lifted her head to stare wide-eyed at the +figure leaning in the doorway, with one hand outstretched to her +appealingly; a tall figure, cloaked from head to foot, with hat +drawn low over his brows, his right arm carried in a sling. And as +she gazed, Clemency uttered a low, soft cry, and rose to her feet. + +"My Lord!" she whispered, "oh, my Lord!" + +"Dearest!" + +The Viscount stepped into the room and, uncovering his head, sank +upon his knees before her. + +"Oh, Clemency," said he, "the door was open and I heard it +all--every word. But, dearest, you need never fear me any +more--never any more, because I love you. Clemency, and here, upon +my knees, beg you to honor me by--marrying me, if you will stoop to +such a pitiful thing as I am. Clemency dear, I have been ill, and it +has taught me many things, and I know now that I--cannot live +without you. So, Clemency, if you will take pity on me--oh! +Clemency--!" + +The Viscount stopped, still kneeling before her with bent head, nor +did he look up or attempt to touch her as he waited her answer. + +Then, slowly, she reached out and stroked that bowed and humble head, +and, setting her hands upon his drooping shoulders, she sank to her +knees before him, so that now he could look into the glowing beauty +of her face and behold the deep, yearning tenderness of her eyes. + +"Dear," said she very gently, "dear, if you--want me so much you +have only to--take me!" + +"For my Viscountess, Clemency!" + +"For your--wife, dear!" + +And now, beholding their great happiness, Barnabas stole from the +room, closing the door softly behind him. + +Then, being only human, he sighed deeply and pitied himself mightily +by contrast. + + + + +CHAPTER LIX + + +WHICH RELATES, AMONG OTHER THINGS, HOW BARNABAS LOST HIS HAT + +Now as Barnabas stood thus, he heard another sigh, and glancing up +beheld Mr. Shrig seated at the little Cobbler's bench, with a +guttering candle at his elbow and a hat upon his fist, which he +appeared to be examining with lively interest. + +"Sir," said he, as Barnabas approached, wondering, "I'm taking the +liberty o' looking at your castor." + +"Oh!" said Barnabas. + +"Sir, it's a werry good 'at as 'ats go, but it's no kind of an 'at +for you to-night." + +"And why not, Mr. Shrig?" + +"Because it ain't much pertection ag'in windictiveness--in the shape +of a bludgeon, shall ve say, and as for a brick--v'y, Lord! And +theer's an uncommon lot of windictiveness about to-night; it's +a-vaiting for you--as you might say--round the corner." + +"Really, Mr. Shrig, I'm afraid I don't understand you." + +"Sir, d' ye mind a cove o' the name o' 'Vistling Dick,' as got +'isself kicked to death by an 'orse?" + +"Yes." + +"And d' ye mind another cove commonly known as 'Dancing Jimmy,' and +another on 'em as is called 'Bunty Fagan'?" + +"Yes, they tried to rob me once." + +"Right, sir,--only I scared 'em off, you'll remember. Conseqvently, +p'r'aps you ain't forgot certain other coves as you and me had a bit +of a turn-up vith v'en I sez to you 'Run,' and you sez to me 'No,' +and got a lump on your sconce like an 'ard-biled egg according?" + +"Yes, I remember of course, but why--" + +"Sir, they 're all on 'em out on the windictive lay again to-night, +--only, this time, it's you they 're arter." + +"Me--are you sure?" + +"And sartin! Corporal Richard Roe, late Grenadiers, give me the +office, and Corporal Richard's never wrong, sir. Corporal Dick's +my pal as keeps the 'Gun' in Gray's Inn Lane, you may remember, and +the 'Gun' 's a famous chaffing-crib for the flash, leary coves. So, +v'en the Corp tipped me the vord, sir, I put my castor on my sconce, +slipped a barker in my cly, took my stick in my fib--or as you might +say 'daddle,' d' ye see, and toddled over to keep a ogle on you. And, +sir, if it hadn't been for the young gent as shadowed ye all the way +to Giles's Rents, it's my opinion as they'd ha' done you into a +corp as you come along." + +"But why should they want to do for me?" + +"V'y, sir, they'd do for their own mothers, j'yful, if you paid 'em +to!" + +"But who would employ such a gang?" + +"Vell, sir, naming no names, there's a party as I suspect from +conclusions as I've drawed, a party as I'm a-going to try to ketch +this here werry night, sir--as I mean to ketch in flay-grant +de-lick-too, vich is a law term meaning--in the werry act, sir, if +you'll help me?" + +"Of course I will," said Barnabas, a little eagerly, "but how?" + +"By doing eggs-actly as I tell you, sir. Is it a go?" + +"It is," nodded Barnabas. + +"V'y, then, to begin vith, that theer coat o' yours,--it's too long +to run in--off vith it, sir!" + +Barnabas smiled, but off came the long, befrogged surtout. + +"Now--my castor, sir" and Mr. Shrig handed Barnabas his famous hat. +"Put it on, sir, if you please. You'll find it a bit 'eavyish at +first, maybe, but it's werry good ag'in windictiveness." + +"Thank you," said Barnabas, smiling again, "but it's too small, you +see." + +"That's a pity!" sighed Mr. Shrig, "still, if it von't go on, it +von't. Now, as to a vepping?" + +"I have my stick," said Barnabas, holding it up. Mr. Shrig took it, +balanced it in his grasp and passed it back with a nod of approval. + +"V'y then, sir, I think ve may wenture," said he, and rising, put on +his hat, examined the priming of the brass-bound pistol, and taking +the nobbly stick under his arm, blew out the candle and crossed to +the door; yet, being there, paused. "Sir," said he, a note of +anxiety in his voice, "you promise to do eggs-actly vot I say?" + +"I promise!" + +"Ven I say 'run' you'll run?" + +"Yes." + +"Then come on, sir, and keep close behind me." + +So saying, Mr. Shrig opened the door and stepped noisily out into +the narrow court and waited while Barnabas fastened the latch; even +then he paused to glance up at the sombre heaven and to point out a +solitary star that twinkled through some rift in the blackness above. + +"Going to be a fine night for a little walk," said he, "Oliver vill +be in town later on." + +"Oliver?" inquired Barnabas. + +"Ah! that's flash for the moon, sir. Jest a nice light there'll be. +This vay, sir." With the words Mr. Shrig turned sharp to his left +along the alley towards the River. + +"Why this way, Mr. Shrig?" + +"First, sir, because they're a-vaiting for you at t'other end o' the +alley, and second, because v'en they see us go this vay they'll +think they've got us sure and sartin, and follow according, and third, +because at a certain place along by the River I've left Corporal +Dick and four o' my specials, d'ye see. S-sh! Qviet now! Oblige me +with your castor--your 'at, sir." + +Wonderingly, Barnabas handed him the article in question, whereupon +Mr. Shrig, setting it upon the end of the nobbly stick, began to +advance swiftly where the shadow lay blackest, and with an added +caution, motioning to Barnabas to do the like. + +They were close upon the River now, so close that Barnabas could +hear it lapping against the piles, and catch the indefinable reek of +it. But on they went, swift and silent, creeping ever in the gloom +of the wall beside them, nearer and nearer until presently the River +flowed before them, looming darker than the dark, and its sullen +murmur was all about them; until Mr. Shrig, stopping all at once, +raised the hat upon his stick and thrust it slowly, inch by inch, +round the angle of the wall. And lo! even as Barnabas watched with +bated breath, suddenly it was gone--struck away into space by an +unseen weapon, and all in an instant it seemed, came a vicious oath, +a snarl from Mr. Shrig, the thud of a blow, and a dim shape staggered +sideways and sinking down at the base of the wall lay very silent +and very still. + +"Run!" cried Mr. Shrig, and away he went beside the River, holding a +tortuous course among the piles of rotting lumber, dexterously +avoiding dim-seen obstacles, yet running with a swiftness wonderful +to behold. All at once he stopped and glanced about him. + +"What now?" inquired Barnabas. + +"S-sh! d'ye 'ear anything, sir?" + +Sure enough, from the darkness behind, came a sound there was no +mistaking, the rush and patter of pursuing feet, and the feet were +many. + +"Are we to fight here?" demanded Barnabas, buttoning his coat. + +"No, not yet, sir. Ah! there's Oliver--told you it vould be a fine +night. This vay, sir!" And turning to the left again, Mr. Shrig led +the way down a narrow passage. Half-way along this dim alley he +paused, and seating himself upon a dim step, fell to mopping his brow. + +"A extra-special capital place, this, sir!" said he. "Bankside's +good enough for a capital job, but this is better, ah, a sight better! +Many a unfort'nate wictim has been made a corp' of, hereabouts, sir!" + +"Yes," said Barnabas shivering, for the air struck chill and damp, +"but what do we do now?" + +"V'y, sir, I'll tell you. Ve sit here, nice and qviet and let 'em +run on till they meet my four specials and Corporal Richard Roe, +late Grenadiers. My specials has their staves and knows how to use +'em, and the Corp has 's 'ook,--and an 'ook ain't no-vise pleasant +as a vepping. So, ven they come running back, d' ye see, theer's you +vith your stick, an' me vith my barker, an' so ve 'ave 'em front and +rear." + +"But can we stop them--all?" + +"Ah!" nodded Mr. Shrig, "all as the Corp 'as left of 'em. Ye see +they know me, most on 'em, and likevise they knows as v'en I pull a +barker from my cly that theer barker don't miss fire. Vot's more, +they must come as far as this passage or else drownd theirselves in +the River, vich vould save a lot o' trouble and expense, and--s-sh!" + +He broke off abruptly and rose to his feet, and Barnahas saw that he +held the brass-bound pistol in his hand. Then, as they stood +listening, plain and more plain was the pad-pad of running feet that +raced up to the mouth of the alley where they stood--past it, and so +died down again. Hereupon Mr. Shrig took out his large-faced watch +and, holding it close to his eyes, nodded. + +"In about vun minute they'll run up ag'in the Corp," said he, +"and a precious ugly customer they'll find him, not to mention +my specials--ve'll give 'em another two minutes." Saying which, +Mr. Shrig reseated himself upon the dim step, watch in hand. "Sir," +he continued, "I'm sorry about your 'at--sich a werry good 'at, too! +But it 'ad to be yours or mine, and sir,--axing your pardon, but +there's a good many 'ats to be 'ad in London jest as good as yourn, +for them as can afford 'em, but theer ain't another castor like +mine--no, not in the U-nited Kingdom." + +"Very true," nodded Barnabas, "and no hat ever could have had a +more--useful end, than mine." + +"V'y yes, sir--better your castor than your sconce any day," said +Mr. Shrig, "and now I think it's about time for us to--wenture forth. +But, sir," he added impressively, "if the conclusion as I've drawed +is correct, theer's safe to be shooting if you're recognized, so +keep in the shadder o' the wall, d' ye see. Now, are ye ready?--keep +behind me--so. Here they come, I think." + +Somewhere along the dark River hoarse cries arose, and the confused +patter of running feet that drew rapidly louder and more distinct. +Nearer they came until Barnahas could hear voices that panted out +fierce curses; also he heard Mr. Shrig's pistol click as it was +cocked. + +So, another minute dragged by and then, settling his broad-brimmed +hat more firmly, Mr. Shrig sprang nimbly from his lurking-place and +fronted the on-comers with levelled weapon: + +"Stand!" he cried, "stand--in the King's name!" + +By the feeble light of the moon, Barnabas made out divers figures who, +checking their career, stood huddled together some yards away, some +scowling at the threatening posture of Mr. Shrig, others glancing +back over their shoulders towards the dimness behind, whence came a +shrill whistle and the noise of pursuit. + +"Ah, you may look!" cried Mr. Shrig, "but I've got ye, my lambs--all +on ye! You, Bunty Fagan, and Dancing Jimmy, I know you, and you know +me, so stand--all on ye. The first man as moves I'll shoot--stone +dead, and v'en I says a thing I--" + +A sudden, blinding flash, a deafening report, and, dropping his +pistol, Mr. Shrig groaned and staggered up against the wall. But +Barnabas was ready and, as their assailants rushed, met them with +whirling stick. + +It was desperate work, but Barnabas was in the mood for it, +answering blow with blow, and shout with shout. + +"Oh, Jarsper!" roared a distant voice, "we're coming. Hold 'em, +Jarsper!" + +So Barnabas struck, and parried, and struck, now here, now there, +advancing and retreating by turns, until the flailing stick +splintered in his grasp, and he was hurled back to the wall and +borne to his knees. Twice he struggled up, but was beaten down again, +--down and down into a choking blackness that seemed full of griping +hands and cruel, trampling feet. + +Faint and sick, dazed with his hurts, Barnabas rose to his knees and +so, getting upon unsteady feet, sought to close with one who +threatened him with upraised bludgeon, grasped at an arm, missed, +felt a stunning shock,--staggered back and back with the sounds of +the struggle ever fainter to his failing senses, tripped, and falling +heavily, rolled over upon his back, and so lay still. + + + + +CHAPTER LX + + +WHICH TELLS OF A RECONCILIATION + +"Oh, Lord God of the weary and heavy-hearted, have mercy upon me! Oh, +Father of the Sorrowful, suffer now that I find rest!" + +Barnabas opened his eyes and stared up at a cloudless heaven where +rode the moon, a silver sickle; and gazing thither, he remembered +that some one had predicted a fine night later, and vaguely wondered +who it might have been. + +Not a sound reached him save the slumberous murmur that the River +made lapping lazily against the piles, and Barnabas sighed and +closed his eyes again. + +But all at once, upon this quiet, came words spoken near by, in a +voice low and broken, and the words were these: + +"Oh, Lord of Pity, let now thy mercy lighten upon me, suffer that I +come to Thee this hour, for in Thee is my trust. Take back my life, +oh, Father, for, without hope, life is a weary burden, and Death, a +boon. But if I needs must live on, give me some sign that I may know. +Oh, Lord of Pity, hear me!" + +The voice ceased and, once again, upon the hush stole the +everlasting whisper of the River. Then, clear and sharp, there broke +another sound, the oncoming tread of feet; soft, deliberate feet +they were, which yet drew ever nearer and nearer while Barnabas, +staring up dreamily at the moon, began to count their steps. +Suddenly they stopped altogether, and Barnabas, lying there, waited +for them to go on again; but in a while, as the silence remained +unbroken, he sighed and turning his throbbing head saw a figure +standing within a yard of him. + +"Sir," said Mr. Chichester, coming nearer and smiling down at +prostrate Barnabas, "this is most thoughtful--most kind of you. I +have been hoping to meet you again, more especially since our last +interview, and now, to find you awaiting me at such an hour, in such +a place,--remote from all chances of disturbance, and--with the +River so very convenient too! Indeed, you couldn't have chosen a +fitter place, and I am duly grateful." + +Saying which, Mr. Chichester seated himself upon the mouldering +remains of an ancient wherry, and slipped one hand into the bosom of +his coat. + +"Sir," said he, leaning towards Barnabas, "you appear to be hurt, +but you are not--dying, of course?" + +"Dying!" repeated Barnabas, lifting a hand to his aching brow, +"dying,--no." + +"And yet, I fear you are," sighed Mr. Chichester, "yes, I think you +will be most thoroughly dead before morning,--I do indeed." And he +drew a pistol from his pocket, very much as though it were a +snuff-box. + +"But before we write 'Finis' to your very remarkable career," he +went on, "I have a few,--a very few words to say. Sir, there have +been many women in my life, yes, a great many, but only one I ever +loved, and you, it seems must love her too. You have obtruded +yourself wantonly in my concerns from the very first moment we met. +I have always found you an obstacle, an obstruction. But latterly +you have become a menace, threatening my very existence for, should +you dispossess me of my heritage I starve, and, sir--I have no mind +to starve. Thus, since it is to be your life or mine, I, very +naturally, prefer that it shall be yours. Also you threatened to +hound me from the clubs--well, sir, had I not had the good fortune to +meet you tonight, I had planned to make you the scorn and +laughing-stock of Town, and to drive you from London like the +impostor you are. It was an excellent plan, and I am sorry to +forego it, but necessity knows no law, and so to-night I mean to rid +myself of the obstacle, and sweep it away altogether." As he ended, +Mr. Chichester smiled, sighed, and cocked his pistol. But, even as +it clicked, a figure rose up from behind the rotting wherry and, as +Mr. Chichester leaned towards Barnabas, smiling still but with eyes +of deadly menace, a hand, pale and claw-like in the half-light, fell +and clenched itself upon his shoulder. + +At the touch Mr. Chichester started and, uttering an exclamation, +turned savagely; then Barnabas struggled to his knees, and pinning +his wrist with one hand, twisted the pistol from his grasp with the +other and, as Mr. Chichester sprang to his feet, faced him, still +upon his knees, but with levelled weapon. + +"Don't shoot!" cried a voice. + +"Shoot?" repealed Barnabas, and got unsteadily upon his legs. +"Shoot--no, my hands are best!" and, flinging the pistol far out +into the River, he approached Mr. Chichester, staggering a little, +but with fists clenched. + +"Sir," cried the voice again, "oh, young sir, what would you do?" + +"Kill him!" said Barnabas. + +"No, no--leave him to God's justice, God will requite him--let him go." + +"No!" said Barnabas, shaking his head. But, as he pressed forward +intent on his purpose, restraining hands were upon his arm, and the +voice pleaded in his ear: + +"God is a just God, young sir--let the man go--leave him to the +Almighty," + +And the hands upon his arm shook him with passionate entreaty. +Therefore Barnabas paused and, bowing his head, clasped his +throbbing temples between his palms and so, stood a while. When he +looked up again, Mr. Chichester was gone, and the Apostle of Peace +stood before him, his silver hair shining, his pale face uplifted +towards heaven. + +"I owe you--my life!" said Barnabas. + +"You are alive, young sir, which is good, and your hands are not +stained with a villain's blood, which is much better. But, as for +me--God pity me!--I came here to-night, meaning to be a +self-murderer--oh, God forgive me!" + +"But you--asked for--a sign, I think," said Barnabas, "and you--live +also. And to-night your pilgrimage ends, in Clemency's loving arms." + +"Clemency? My daughter? Oh, sir,--young sir, how may that be? They +tell me she is dead." + +"Lies!" said Barnabas, "lies! I spoke with her tonight." The Apostle +of Peace stood a while with bowed head; when at last he looked up, +his cheeks were wet with tears. + +"Then, sir," said he, "take me to her. Yet, stay! You are hurt, and, +if in my dark hour I doubted God's mercy, I would not be selfish in +my happiness--" + +"Happiness!" said Barnabas, "yes--every one seems happy--but me." + +"You are hurt, young sir. Stoop your head and let me see." + +"No," sighed Barnabas, "I'm well enough. Come, let me take you to +Clemency." + +So, without more ado, they left that dreary place, and walked on +together side by side and very silent, Barnabas with drooping head, +and his companion with eyes uplifted and ever-moving lips. + +Thus, in a while, they turned into the narrow court, and reaching +the door of Nick the Cobbler, Barnabas knocked and, as they waited, +he could see that his companion was trembling violently where he +leaned beside him against the wall. Then the door was opened and +Clemency appeared, her shapely figure outlined against the light +behind her. + +"Mr. Beverley," she exclaimed, "dear brother, is it you--" + +"Yes, Clemency, and--and I have kept my promise, I have brought you--" +But no need for words; Clemency had seen. "Father!" she cried, +stretching out her arms, "oh, dear father!" + +"Beatrix," said the preacher, his voice very broken, "oh, my child, +--forgive me--!" But Clemency had caught him in her arms, had drawn +him into the little shop, and, pillowing the silvery head upon her +young bosom, folded it there, and so hung above him all sighs, and +tears, and tender endearments. + +Then Barnabas closed the door upon them and, sighing, went upon his +way. He walked with lagging step and with gaze ever upon the ground, +heedless alike of the wondering looks of those he passed, or of time, +or of place, or of the voices that still wailed, and wrangled, and +roared songs; conscious only of the pain in his head, the dull ache +at his heart, and the ever-growing doubt and fear within him. + + + + +CHAPTER LXI + + +HOW BARNABAS WENT TO HIS TRIUMPH + +The star of Barnabas Beverley, Esquire, was undoubtedly in the +ascendant; no such radiant orb had brightened the Fashionable +Firmament since that of a certain Mr. Brummell had risen to +scintillate a while ere it paled and vanished before the royal frown. + +Thus the Fashionable World turned polite eyes to mark the course of +this new luminary and, if it vaguely wondered how long that course +might be, it (like the perspicacious waiter at the "George") +regarded Barnabas Beverley, Esquire, as one to be flattered, smiled +upon, and as worthy of all consideration and respect. + +For here was one, not only young, fabulously rich and a proved +sportsman, but a dandy, besides, with a nice taste and originality +in matters sartorial, more especially in waistcoats and cravats, +which articles, as the Fashionable World well knows, are the final +gauge of a man's depth and possibilities. + +Thus, the waistcoats of Barnabas Beverley, Esquire, or their +prototypes to a button, were to be met with any day sunning +themselves in the Mall, and the styles of cravat affected by +Barnabas Beverley, Esquire, were to be observed at the most +brilliant functions, bowing in all directions. + +Wherefore, all this considered, what more natural than that the +Fashionable World should desire to make oblation to this, its newest +(and consequently most admired) ornament, and how better than to +feed him, since banquets are a holy rite sanctified by custom and +tradition? + +Hence, the Fashionable World appointed and set apart a day whereon, +with all due pomp and solemnity, to eat and drink to the glory and +honor of Barnabas Beverley, Esquire. + +Nevertheless (perverse fate!) Barnabas Beverley was not happy, for, +though his smile was as ready as his tongue, yet, even amid the +glittering throng, yea, despite the soft beams of Beauty's eyes, his +brow would at times grow dark and sombre, and his white, strong +fingers clench themselves upon the dainty handkerchief of lace and +cambric fashion required him to carry. Yet even this was accepted in +all good faith, and consequently pale checks and a romantic gloom +became the mode. + +No, indeed, Barnabas was not happy, since needs must he think ever +of Cleone. Two letters had he written her, the first a humble +supplication, the second an angry demand couched in terms of bitter +reproach. Yet Cleone gave no sign; and the days passed. Therefore, +being himself young and proud, he wrote no more, and waited for some +word of explanation, some sign from her; then, as the days +lengthened into weeks, he set himself resolutely to forget her, if +such a thing might be. + +The better to achieve a thing so impossible, he turned to that most +fickle of all goddesses whose name is Chance, and wooed her fiercely +by day and by night. He became one of her most devoted slaves; in +noble houses, in clubs and hells, he sought her. Calm-eyed, +grim-lipped he wooed her, yet with dogged assiduity; he became a +familiar figure at those very select gaming-tables where play was +highest, and tales of his recklessness and wild prodigality began to +circulate; tales of huge sums won and lost with the same calm +indifference, that quiet gravity which marked him in all things. + +Thus a fortnight has elapsed, and to-night the star of Barnabas +Beverley, Esquire, has indeed attained its grand climacteric, for +to-night he is to eat and drink with ROYALTY, and the Fashionable +World is to do him honor. + +And yet, as he stands before his mirror, undergoing the ordeal of +dressing, he would appear almost careless of his approaching triumph; +his brow is overcast, his cheek a little thinner and paler than of +yore, and he regards his resplendent image in the mirror with +lack-lustre eyes. + +"Your cravat, sir," says Peterby, retreating a few paces and with +his head to one side the better to observe its effect, "your cravat +is, I fear, a trifle too redundant in its lower folds, and a little +severe, perhaps--" + +"It is excellent, John! And you say--there is still no letter +from--from Hawkhurst?" + +"No, sir, none," answered Peterby abstractedly, and leaning forward +to administer a gentle pull to the flowered waistcoat. "This coat, +sir, is very well, I think, and yet--y-e-es, perhaps it might be a +shade higher in the collar, and a thought tighter at the waist. Still, +it is very well on the whole, and these flattened revers are an +innovation that will be quite the vogue before the week is out. You +are satisfied with the coat, I hope, sir?" + +"Perfectly, John, and--should a letter come while I am at the +banquet you will send it on--at once, John." + +"At once, sir!" nodded Peterby, crouching down to view his young +master's shapely legs in profile. "Mr. Brummell was highly esteemed +for his loop and button at the ankle, sir, but I think our ribbon is +better, and less conspicuous, that alone should cause a sensation." + +"Unless, John," sighed Barnabas, "unless I receive a word to-night I +shall drive down to Hawkhurst as soon as I can get away, so have the +curricle and grays ready, will you?" + +"Yes, sir. Pardon me one moment, there is a wrinkle in your left +stocking, silk stockings are very apt to--" + +But here the legs of the Gentleman-in-Powder planted themselves +quivering on the threshold to announce:-- + +"Viscount Devenham!" + +He still carried his arm in a sling, but, excepting this, the +Viscount was himself again, Bright-eyed, smiling and debonair. But +now, as Peterby withdrew, and Barnabas turned to greet him, gravely +polite--he hesitated, frowned, and seemed a little at a loss. + +"Egad!" said he ruefully, "it seems a deuce of a time since we saw +each other, Beverley." + +"A fortnight!" said Barnabas. + +"And it's been a busy fortnight for both of us, from what I hear." + +"Yes, Viscount." + +"Especially for--you." + +"Yes, Viscount." + +"Beverley," said he, staring very hard at the toe of his varnished +shoe, "do you remember the white-haired man we met, who called +himself an Apostle of Peace?" + +"Yes, Viscount." + +"Do you remember that he said it was meant we should be--friends?" + +"Yes." + +"Well I--think he was right,--I'm sure he was right. I--didn't know +how few my friends were until I--fell out with you. And so--I'm here +to--to ask your pardon, and I--don't know how to do it, only--oh, +deuce take it! Will you give me your hand, Bev?" + +But before the words had well left his lips, Barnabas had sprang +forward, and so they stood, hand clasped in hand, looking into each +other's eyes as only true friends may. + +"I--we--owe you so much, Bev--Clemency has told me--" + +"Indeed, Dick," said Barnabas, a little hastily, "you are a +fortunate man to have won the love of so beautiful a woman, and one +so noble." + +"My dear fellow," said the Viscount, very solemn, "it is so +wonderful that, sometimes, I--almost fear that it can't be true." + +"The love of a woman is generally a very uncertain thing!" said +Barnabas bitterly. + +"But Clemency isn't like an ordinary woman," said the Viscount, +smiling very tenderly, "in all the world there is only one Clemency +and she is all truth, and honor, and purity. Sometimes, Bev, I feel +so--so deuced unworthy, that I am almost afraid to touch her." + +"Yes, I suppose there are a few such women in the world," said +Barnabas, turning away. "But, speaking of the Apostle of Peace, have +you met him again--lately?" + +"No, not since that morning behind the 'Spotted Cow.' Why?" + +"Well, you mentioned him." + +"Why yes, but only because I couldn't think of any other way +of--er--beginning. You were so devilish high and haughty, Bev." + +"And what of Clemency?" + +"She has promised to--to marry me, next month,--to marry me--me, Bev. +Oh, my dear fellow, I'm the very happiest man alive, and, egad, that +reminds me! I'm also the discredited and disinherited son of a +flinty-hearted Roman." + +"What Dick,--do you mean he has--cut you off?" + +"As much as ever he could, my dear fellow, which reduces my income +by a half. Deuced serious thing, y' know, Bev. Shall have to get rid +of my stable, and the coach; 'Moonraker' must go, too, I'm afraid. +Yes, Bev," sighed the Viscount, shaking his head at the reflection +of his elegant person in the mirror, "you behold in me a beggar, and +the cause--Clemency. But then, I know I am the very happiest beggar +in all this wide world, and the cause--Clemency!" + +"I feared your father would never favor such a match, Dick, but--" + +"Favor it! Oh, bruise and blister me!--" + +"Have you told Clemency?" + +"Not yet--" + +"Has he seen her?" + +"No, that's the deuce of it, she's away with her father, y' know. +Bit of a mystery about him, I fancy--she made me promise to be +patient a while, and ask no questions." + +"And where is she?" + +"Haven't the least idea. However, I went down to beard my Roman, y' +know, alone and single handed. Great mistake! Had Clemency been with +me the flintiest of Roman P's would have relented, for who could +resist--Clemency? As it was, I did my best, Bev--ran over her +points--I mean--tried to describe her, y' know, but it was no go, Bev, +no go--things couldn't have gone worse!" + +"How?" + +"'Sir,' says I--in an easy, off-hand tone, my dear fellow, and it +was _after_ dinner, you'll understand,--'Sir, I've decided to act +upon your very excellent advice, and get married. I intend to settle +down, at once!' 'Indeed, Horatio?' says he,--(Roman of eye, Bev) +'who is she, pray?' 'The most glorious woman in the world, sir!' +says I. 'Of course,' says he, 'but--which?' This steadied me a +little, Bev, so I took a fresh grip and began again: 'Sir,' says I, +'beauty in itself is a poor thing at best--' 'Therefore,' says my +Roman (quick as a flash, my dear fellow) 'therefore it is just as +well that beauty should not come--entirely empty-handed!' 'Sir,' says +I--(calmly, you'll understand, Bev, but with just sufficient +firmness to let him see that, after all, he was only a father) 'Sir,' +says I, 'beauty is a transient thing at best, unless backed up by +virtue, honor, wisdom, courage, truth, purity, nobility of soul--' +'Horatio,' says my father (pulling me up short, Bev) 'you do well to +put these virtues first but, in the wife of the future Earl of +Bamborough, I hearken for such common, though necessary attributes +as birth, breeding, and position, neither of which you have yet +mentioned, but I'm impatient, perhaps, and these come at the end of +your list,--pray continue.' 'Sir,' says I, 'my future wife is above +such petty considerations!' 'Ah!' says my Roman, 'I feared so! She +is then, a--nobody, I presume?' 'Sir--most beautiful girl in all +England,' says I. 'Ha!' says my Roman, nodding, 'then she _is_ a +nobody; that settles it.' 'She's all that is pure and good!' says I. +'And a nobody, beyond a doubt!' says he. 'She's everything sweet, +noble and brave,' says I. 'But--a nobody!' says he again. Now I'll +confess I grew a little heated at this, my dear fellow, though I +kept my temper admirably--oh, I made every allowance for him, as a +self-respecting son should, but, though filial, I maintained a front +of adamant, Bev. But, deuce take it! he kept on at me with his +confounded 'nobody' so long that I grew restive at last and jibbed. +'So you are determined to marry a nobody, are you, Horatio?' says he. +'No, my Lord,' says I, rising, (and with an air of crushing finality, +Bev) 'I am about to be honored with the hand of one who, by stress +of circumstances, was for some time waiting maid at the 'Spotted Cow' +inn, at Frittenden.' Well, Bev--that did it, y' know! My Roman +couldn't say a word, positively gaped at me and, while he gaped, I +bowed, and walked out entirely master of the situation. Result-- +independence, happiness, and--beggary." + +"But, Dick,--how shall you live?" + +"Oh, I have an old place at Devenham, in the wilds of Kent,--we +shall rusticate there." + +"And you will give up Almack's, White's--all the glory of the +Fashionable World?" + +"Oh, man!" cried the Viscount, radiant of face, "how can all these +possibly compare? I shall have Clemency!" + +"But surely you will find it very quiet, after London and the clubs?" + +"Yes, it will be very quiet at Devenham, Bev," said the Viscount, +very gently, "and there are roses there, and she loves roses, I know! +We shall be alone in the world together,--alone! Yes, it will be +very quiet, Bev--thank heaven!" + +"The loneliness will pall, after a time, Dick--say a month. And the +roses will fade and wither--as all things must, it seems," said +Barnabas bitterly, whereupon the Viscount turned and looked at him +and laid a hand upon his shoulder. + +"Why, Bev," said he, "my dear old Bev,--what is it? You're greatly +changed, I think; it isn't like you to be a cynic. You are my friend, +but if you were my bitterest enemy I should forgive you, full and +freely, because of your behavior to Clemency. My dear fellow, are you +in any trouble--any danger? I have been away only a week, yet I come +back to find the town humming with stories of your desperate play. I +hear that D'Argenson plucked you for close on a thousand the other +day--" + +"But I won fifteen hundred the same night, Dick." + +"And lost all that, and more, to the Poodle later!" + +"Why--one can't always win, Dick." + +"Oh, Bev, my dear fellow, do you remember shaking your grave head at +me because I once dropped five hundred in one of the hells?" + +"I fear I must have been very--young then, Dick!" + +"And to-day, Bev, to-day you are a notorious gambler, and you sneer +at love! Gad! what a change is here! My dear fellow, what does it +all mean?" + +Barnabas hesitated, and this history might have been very different +in the ending but, even as he met the Viscount's frank and anxious +look, the door was flung wide and Tressider, the thinnish, youngish +gentleman in sandy whiskers, rushed in, followed by the Marquis and +three or four other fine gentlemen, and, beholding the Viscount, +burst into a torrent of speech: + +"Ha! Devenham! there you are,--back from the wilds, eh? Heard the +latest? No, I'll be shot if you have--none of you have, and I'm +bursting to tell it--positively exploding, damme if I'm not. It was +last night, at Crockford's you'll understand, and every one was +there--Skiffy, Apollo, the Poodle, Red Herrings, No-grow, the +Galloping Countryman and your obedient humble. One o'clock was +striking as the game broke up, and there's Beverley yawning and +waiting for his hat, d' ye see, when in comes the Golden Ball. 'Ha, +Beverley!' says he, 'you gamble, they tell me?' 'Oh, now and then,' +says Beverley. 'Why then,' says Golden Ball, 'you may have heard that +I do a little that way, myself?' Now you mention it, I believe I +have,' says Beverley. 'Ha!' says Golden Ball, winking at the rest of +us, 'suppose we have a match, you and I--call your game.' 'Sir,' +says Beverley, yawning again, 'it is past one o'clock, and I make it +a rule never to play after one o'clock except for rather high stakes,' +(Rather high stakes says he! and to the Golden Ball,--oh curse me!) +'Do you, begad!' says Golden Ball, purple in the face--'ha! +you may have heard that I occasionally venture a hundred or so +myself--whatever the hour! Waiter--cards!' 'Sir,' says Beverley, +I've been playing ever since three o'clock this afternoon and I'm +weary of cards.' 'Oh, just as you wish,' says Golden Ball, 'at +battledore and shuttlecock I'm your man, or rolling the bones, or--' +'Dice, by all means!' says Beverley, yawning again. 'At how much a +throw?' says Golden Ball, sitting down and rattling the box. 'Well,' +says Beverley, 'a thousand, I think, should do to begin with!' +('A thou-sand,' says he, damme if he didn't!) Oh Gad, but you +should have seen the Golden Ball, what with surprise and his cravat, +I thought he'd choke--shoot me if I didn't! 'Done!' says he at last +(for we were all round the table thick as flies you'll understand) +--and to it they went, and in less than a quarter of an hour, +Beverley had bubbled him of close on seven thousand! Quickest thing +I ever saw, oh, curse me!" + +"Oh, Bev," sighed the Viscount, under cover of the ensuing talk and +laughter, "what a perfectly reckless fellow you are!" + +"Why, you see, Dick," Barnabas answered, as Peterby re-entered with +his hat and cloak, "a man can't always lose!" + +"Beverley," said the Marquis, proffering his arm, "I have my chariot +below; I thought we might drive round to the club together, you and +Devenham and I, if you are ready?" + +"Thank you, Marquis, yes, I'm quite ready." + +Thus, with a Marquis on his right, and a Viscount on his left, and +divers noble gentlemen in his train, Barnabas went forth to his +triumph. + + + + +CHAPTER LXII + + +WHICH TELLS HOW BARNABAS TRIUMPHED IN SPITE OF ALL + +Never had White's, that historic club, gathered beneath its roof a +more distinguished company; dukes, royal and otherwise, elbow each +other on the stairs; earls and marquises sit cheek by jowl; +viscounts and baronets exchange snuff-boxes in corners, but one and +all take due and reverent heed of the flattened revers and the +innovation of the riband. + +Yes, White's is full to overflowing for, to-night, half the +Fashionable World is here, that is to say, the masculine half; beaux +and wits; bucks and Corinthians; dandies and macaronis; all are here +and, each and every, with the fixed and unshakable purpose of eating +and drinking to the glory and honor of Barnabas Beverley, Esquire. +Here, also, is a certain "Mr. Norton," whom Barnabas immediately +recognizes by reason of his waistcoat and his whiskers. And Mr. Norton +is particularly affable and is graciously pleased to commend the +aforesaid flattened revers and riband; indeed so taken with them +is he, that he keeps their wearer beside him, and even condescends +to lean upon his arm as far as the dining-room. + +Forthwith the banquet begins and the air hums with talk and laughter +punctuated by the popping of corks; waiters hurry to and fro, dishes +come and dishes vanish, and ever the laughter grows, and the buzz of +talk swells louder. + +And Barnabas? Himself "the glass of fashion and the mould of form," +in very truth "the observed of all observers," surely to-night he +should be happy! For the soaring pinions of youth have borne him up +and up at last, into the empyrean, far, far above the commonplace; +the "Coursing Hound," with its faded sign and weatherbeaten gables, +has been lost to view long and long ago (if it ever really existed), +and to-night he stands above the clouds, his foot upon the topmost +pinnacle; and surely man can attain no higher, for to-night he feasts +with princes. + +Thus Barnabas sits among the glare and glitter of it all, smiling at +one, bowing to another, speaking with all by turns, and wondering in +his heart--if there is yet any letter from Hawkhurst. And now the +hurrying tread of waiters ceases, the ring and clatter of glass and +silver is hushed, the hum of talk and laughter dies away, and a +mottle-faced gentleman rises, and, clutching himself by the +shirt-frill with one hand, and elevating a brimming glass in the +other, clears his throat, and holds forth in this wise: + +"Gentlemen, I'm an Englishman, therefore I'm blunt,--deuced +blunt--damned blunt! Gentlemen, I desire to speak a word upon this +happy and memorable occasion, and my word is this: Being an +Englishman I very naturally admire pluck and daring--Mr. Beverley has +pluck and daring--therefore I drink to him. Gentlemen, we need such +true-blue Englishmen as Beverley to keep an eye on old Bony; it is +such men as Beverley who make the damned foreigners shake in their +accursed shoes. So long as we have such men as Beverley amongst us, +England will scorn the foreign yoke and stand forth triumphant, +first in peace, first in war. Gentlemen, I give you Mr. Beverley, as +he is a true Sportsman I honor him, as he is an Englishman he is my +friend. Mr. Beverley, gentlemen!" + +Hereupon the mottle-faced gentleman lets go of his shirt-frill, bows +to Barnabas and, tossing off his wine, sits down amid loud +acclamations and a roaring chorus of "Beverley! Beverley!" +accompanied by much clinking of glasses. + +And now, in their turn, divers other noble gentlemen rise in their +places and deliver themselves of speeches, more or less eloquent, +flowery, witty and laudatory, but, one and all, full of the name and +excellences of Barnabas Beverley, Esquire; who duly learns that he +is a Maecenas of Fashion, a sportsman through and through, a shining +light, and one of the bulwarks of Old England, b'gad! etc., etc., etc. + +To all of which he listens with varying emotions, and with one eye +upon the door, fervently hoping for the letter so long expected. But +the time is come for him to respond; all eyes are upon him, and all +glasses are filled; even the waiters become deferentially interested +as, amid welcoming shouts, the guest of the evening rises, a little +flushed, a little nervous, yet steady of eye. + +And as Barnabas stands there, an elegant figure, tall and graceful, +all eyes may behold again the excellent fit of that wonderful coat, +its dashing cut and flattened revers, while all ears await his words. +But, or ever he can speak, upon this silence is heard the tread of +heavy feet beyond the door and Barnabas glances there eagerly, ever +mindful of the letter from Hawkhurst; but the feet have stopped and, +stifling a sigh, he begins: + +"My Lords and gentlemen! So much am I conscious of the profound +honor you do me, that I find it difficult to express my--" + +But here again a disturbance is heard at the door--a shuffle of feet +and the mutter of voices, and he pauses expectant; whereat his +auditors cry angrily for "silence!" which being duly accorded, he +begins again: + +"Indeed, gentlemen, I fear no words of mine, however eloquent, can +sufficiently express to you all my--" + +"Oh, Barnabas," cries a deep voice; "yes, it _is_ Barnabas!" Even as +the words are uttered, the group of protesting waiters in the +doorway are swept aside by a mighty arm, and a figure strides into +the banqueting-room, a handsome figure, despite its country +habiliments, a commanding figure by reason of its stature and great +spread of shoulder, and John Barty stands there, blinking in the +light of the many candles. + +Then Barnabas closed his eyes and, reaching out, set his hand upon +the back of a chair near by, and so stood, with bent head and a +strange roaring in his ears. Little by little this noise grew less +until he could hear voices, about him, an angry clamor: + +"Put him out!" + +"Throw the rascal into the street!" + +"Kick him downstairs, somebody!" + +And, amid this ever-growing tumult, Barnabas could distinguish his +father's voice, and in it was a note he had never heard before, +something of pleading, something of fear. + +"Barnabas? Barnabas? Oh, this be you, my lad--bean't it, Barnabas?" + +Yet still he stood with bent head, his griping fingers clenched hard +upon the chair-back, while the clamor about him grew ever louder and +more threatening. + +"Throw him out!" + +"Pitch the fellow downstairs, somebody!" + +"Jove!" exclaimed the Marquis, rising and buttoning his coat, +"if nobody else will, I'll have a try at him myself. Looks a +promising cove, as if he might fib well. Come now, my good fellow, +you must either get out of here or--put 'em up, you know,--dooce +take me, but you must!" + +But as he advanced, Barnabas lifted his head and staying him with a +gesture, turned and beheld his father standing alone, the centre of +an angry circle. And John Barty's eyes were wide and troubled, and +his usually ruddy cheek showed pale, though with something more than +fear as, glancing slowly round the ring of threatening figures that +hemmed him in, he beheld the white, stricken face of his son. And, +seeing it, John Barty groaned, and so took a step towards the door; +but no man moved to give him way. + +"A--a mistake, gentlemen," he muttered, "I--I'll go!" Then, even as +the stammering words were uttered, Barnabas strode forward into the +circle and, slipping a hand within his father's nerveless arm, +looked round upon the company, pale of cheek, but with head carried +high. + +"My Lords!" said he, "gentlemen! I have the honor--to introduce to +you--John Barty, sometime known as 'Glorious John'--ex-champion of +England and--landlord of the 'Coursing Hound' inn--my father!" + +A moment of silence! A stillness so profound that it seemed no man +drew breath; a long, long moment wherein Barnabas felt himself a +target for all eyes--eyes wherein he thought to see amazement that +changed into dismay which, in turn, gave place to an ever-growing +scorn of him. Therefore he turned his back upon them all and, coming +to the great window, stood there staring blindly into the dark street. + +"Oh, Barnabas!" he heard his father saying, though as from a long +way off, "Barnabas lad, I--I--Oh, Barnabas--they're going! They're +leaving you, and--it's all my fault, lad! Oh, Barnabas,--what have I +done! It's my fault, lad--all my fault. But I heard you was sick, +Barnabas, and like to die,--ill, and calling for me,--for your father, +Barnabas. And now--Oh, my lad! my lad!--what have I done?" + +"Never blame yourself, father, it--wasn't your fault," said Barnabas +with twitching lips, for from the great room behind him came the +clatter of chairs, the tread of feet, with voices and stifled +laughter that grew fainter and fainter, yet left a sting behind. + +"Come away, John," said a voice, "we've done enough to-night--come +away!" + +"Yes, Natty Bell, yes, I be coming--coming. Oh, Barnabas, my lad, +--my lad,--forgive me!" + +Now in a while Barnabas turned; and behold! the candles glowed as +brightly as ever, silver and glass shone and glittered as bravely as +ever, but--the great room was empty, that is to say--very nearly. Of +all that brilliant and fashionable company but two remained. Very +lonely figures they looked, seated at the deserted table--the +Viscount, crumbling up bread and staring at the table-cloth, and the +Marquis, fidgeting with his snuff-box, and frowning at the ceiling. + +To these solitary figures Barnabas spoke, albeit his voice was +hoarse and by no means steady: + +"My Lords," said he, "why haven't you--followed the others?" + +"Why, you see," began the Marquis, frowning at the ceiling harder +than ever, and flicking open his snuff-box, "you see--speaking for +myself, of course, I say speaking for myself, I--hum!--the fact +is--ha!--that is to say--oh, dooce take it!" And, in his distress, he +actually inhaled a pinch of snuff and immediately fell a-sneezing, +with a muffled curse after every sneeze. + +"Sirs," said Barnabas, "I think you'd better go. You will be +less--conspicuous. Indeed, you'd better go." + +"Go?" repeated the Viscount, rising suddenly. "Go, is it? No, damme +if we do! If you are John Barty's son, you are still my friend, +and--there's my hand--Barnabas." + +"Mine--too!" sneezed the Marquis, "'s soon as I've got over +the--'ffects of this s-snuff--with a curse to it!" + +"Oh Dick!" said Barnabas, his head drooping, "Marquis--" + +"Name's Bob to--my friends!" gasped the Marquis from behind his +handkerchief. "Oh, damn this snuff!" + +"Why, Bev," said the Viscount, "don't take it so much to heart, man. +Deuced unpleasant, of course, but it'll all blow over, y' know. A +week from now and they'll all come crawling back, y' know, if you +only have the courage to outface 'em. And we are with him--aren't we, +Jerny?" + +"Of course!" answered the Marquis, "dooce take me--yes! So would +poor old Sling have been." + +"Sirs," said Barnabas, reaching out and grasping a hand of each, +"with your friendship to hearten me--all things are possible--even +this!" + +But here a waiter appeared bearing a tray, and on the tray a letter; +he was a young waiter, a very knowing waiter, hence his demeanor +towards Barnabas had already undergone a subtle change--he stared at +Barnabas with inquisitive eyes and even forgot to bow until--observing +the Viscount's eye and the Marquis's chin, his back became immediately +subservient and he tendered Barnabas the letter with a profound +obeisance. + +With a murmured apology Barnabas took it and, breaking the seal, +read these words in Cleone's writing: + + "You have destroyed my faith, and with my faith all else. Farewell." + +Then Barnabas laughed, sudden and sharp, and tore the paper across +and across, and dropping the pieces to the floor, set his foot upon +them. + +"Friends," said he, "my future is decided for me. I thank you deeply, +deeply for your brave friendship--your noble loyalty, but the fiat +has gone forth. To-night I leave the World of Fashion for one better +suited to my birth, for it seems I should be only an amateur +gentleman, as it were, after all. My Lords, your most obedient, +humble servant,--good-by!" + +So Barnabas bowed to each in turn and went forth from the scene of +his triumph, deliberate of step and with head carried high as became +a conqueror. + +And thus the star of Barnabas Beverley, Esquire, waxed and waned and +vanished utterly from the Fashionable Firmament, and, in time, came +to be regarded as only a comet, after all. + + + + +CHAPTER LXIII + + +WHICH TELLS HOW BARNABAS HEARD THE TICKING OF A CLOCK + +It was a dark night, the moon obscured as yet by a wrack of flying +cloud, for a wind was abroad, a rising wind that blew in fitful gusts; +a boisterous, blustering, bullying wind that met the traveller at +sudden corners to choke and buffet him and so was gone, roaring away +among roofs and chimneys, rattling windows and lattices, +extinguishing flickering lamps, and filling the dark with stir and +tumult. + +But Barnabas strode on heedless and deaf to it all. Headlong he went, +his cloak fluttering, his head stooped low, hearing nothing, seeing +nothing, taking no thought of time or direction, or of his ruined +career, since none of these were in his mind, but only the words of +Cleone's letter. + +And slowly a great anger came upon him with a cold and bitter scorn +of her that cast out sorrow; thus, as he went, he laughed suddenly, +--a shrill laugh that rose above the howl of the wind, that grew +even wilder and louder until he was forced to stop and lean against +an iron railing close by. + +"An Amateur Gentleman!" he gasped, "An Amateur Gentleman! Oh, fool! +fool!" And once again the fierce laughter shook him in its grip and, +passing, left him weak and breathless. + +Through some rift in the clouds, the moon cast a fugitive beam and +thus he found himself looking down into a deep and narrow area where +a flight of damp, stone steps led down to a gloomy door; and beside +the door was a window, and the window was open. + +Now as he gazed, the area, and the damp steps, and the gloomy door +all seemed familiar; therefore he stepped back, and gazing up, saw a +high, flat-fronted house, surely that same unlovely house at whose +brass-knockered front door Captain Slingsby of the Guards had once +stood and rapped with trembling hand. + +The place was very silent, and very dark, save for one window where +burned a dim light, and, moved by sudden impulse, Barnabas strode +forward and, mounting the two steps, seized the knocker; but, even +as he did so the door moved. Slowly, slowly it opened, swinging back +on noiseless hinges, wider and wider until Barnabas could look into +the dimness of the unlighted hall beyond. Then, while he yet stood +hesitating, he heard a sound, very faint and sweet, like the chime +of fairy bells, and from the dark a face peered forth, a face drawn, +and lined, and ghastly pale, whose staring eyes were wide with horror. + +"You!" said a voice, speaking in a harsh whisper, "is it you? Alas, +Barnaby Bright! what would you--here? Go away! Go away! Here is an +evil place, a place of sin, and horror, and blood--go away! go away!" + +"But," said Barnabas, "I wish to see--" + +"Oh, Barnaby Bright,--hear me! Did I not tell you he was marked for +destruction, that evil begetteth evil, and the sword, the sword? I +have watched, and watched, and to-night my watch is ended! Go away! +Go away!" + +"What is it? what do you mean?" demanded Barnabas. + +With his eyes still fixed and staring, and without turning his head, +Billy Button raised one hand to point with a rigid finger at the wall, +just within the doorway. + +"Look!" he whispered. + +Then, glancing where he pointed, Barnabas saw a mark upon the +panelling--a blur like the shadow of a hand; but even as he stared +at it, Billy Button, shuddering, passed his sleeve across it and lo! +it was gone! + +"Oh, Barnaby Bright!" he whispered, "there is a shadow upon this +place, as black as death, even as I told you--flee from the shadow, +--come away! come away!" + +As he breathed the words, the madman sprang past him down the steps, +tossed up his long arms towards the moon with a wild, imploring +gesture, and turning, scudded away on his naked, silent feet. + +Now after a while Barnabas stepped into the gloomy hall and stood +listening; the house was very silent, only upon the stillness he +could hear the loud, deliberate tick of the wizen-faced clock upon +the stairs, and, as he stood there, it seemed to him that to-night +it was trying to tell him something. Barnabas shivered suddenly and +drew his long cloak about him, then, closing the door, took a step +along the dark hall, yet paused to listen again, for now it seemed +to him that the tick of the clock was louder than ever. + +"Go--back! Go--back!" + +Could that be what it meant? Barnabas raised a hand to his brow and, +though he still shivered, felt it suddenly moist and clammy. Then, +clenching his teeth, he crept forward, guiding himself by the wall; +yet as he went, above the shuffle of his feet, above the rustle of +his cloak against the panelling, he could hear the tick of the +clock--ever louder, ever more insistent: + +"Go--back! Go--back!" + +He reached the stairs at last and, groping for the banister, began +to ascend slowly and cautiously, often pausing to listen, and to +stare into the darkness before and behind. On he went and up, past +the wizen-faced clock, and so reached the upper hall at the further +end of which was the dim light that shone from behind a half-closed +door. + +Being come to the door, Barnabas lifted his hand to knock, yet stood +again hesitating, his chin on his shoulder, his eyes searching the +darkness behind him, whence came the slow, solemn ticking of the +clock: + +"Come--back! Come--back!" + +For a long moment he stood thus, then, quick and sudden, he threw +wide the door and stepped into the room. + +A candle flared and guttered upon the mantel, and by this flickering +light he saw an overturned chair, and, beyond that, a litter of +scattered papers and documents and, beyond that again, Jasper Gaunt +seated at his desk in the corner. He was lolling back in his chair +like one asleep, and yet--was this sleep? + +Something in his attitude, something in the appalling stillness of +that lolling figure, something in the utter quiet of the whole place, +filled Barnabas with a nameless, growing horror. He took a step +nearer, another, and another--then stopped and, uttering a choking +gasp, fell back to the wall and leaned there suddenly faint and sick. +For, indeed, this was more than sleep. Jasper Gaunt lolled there, a +horrid, bedabbled thing, with his head at a hideous angle and the +dagger, which had been wont to glitter so evilly from the wall, +smitten sideways through his throat. + +Barnabas crouched against the wall, his gaze riveted by the dull +gleam of the steel; and upon the silence, now, there crept another +sound soft and regular, a small, dull, plashing sound; and, knowing +what it was, he closed his eyes and the faintness grew upon him. At +length he sighed and, shuddering, lifted his head and moved a +backward step toward the door; thus it was he chanced to see Jasper +Gaunt's right hand--that white, carefully-tended right hand, whose +long, smooth fingers had clenched themselves even tighter in death +than they had done in life. And, in their rigid grasp was something +that struck Barnabas motionless; that brought him back slowly, +slowly across that awful room to sink upon one knee above that pale, +clenched hand, while, sweating, shuddering with loathing, he forced +open those stiffening fingers and drew from their dead clutch +something that he stared at with dilating eyes, and with white lips +suddenly compressed, ere he hid it away in his pocket. + +Then, shivering, he arose and backed away, feeling behind him for +the door, and so passed out into the passage and down the stairs, +but always with his pale face turned toward the dim-lit room where +Jasper Gaunt lolled in his chair, a bedabbled, wide-eyed thing of +horror, staring up at the dingy ceiling. + +Thus, moving ever backwards, Barnabas came to the front door, felt +for the catch, but, with his hand upon it, paused once more to listen; +yet heard only the thick beating of his own heart, and the loud, +deliberate ticking of the wizen-faced clock upon the stairs. And now, +as he hearkened, it seemed to him that it spoke no more but had +taken on a new and more awful sound; for now its slow, rhythmic beat +was hatefully like another sound, a soft sound and regular, a small, +dull, plashing sound,--the awful tap! tap! tap! of great, +slow-falling drops of blood. + + + + +CHAPTER LXIV + + +WHICH SHOWS SOMETHING OF THE HORRORS OF REMORSE + +With this dreadful sound in his ears, Barnabas hurried away from +that place of horror; but ever the sound pursued him, it echoed in +his step, it panted in his quickened breathing, it throbbed in the +pulsing of his heart. Wherever he looked, there always was Jasper +Gaunt lolling in his chair with his head dangling at its horrible +angle,--the very night was full of him. + +Hot-foot went Barnabas, by dingy streets and silent houses, and with +his chin now on one shoulder, now on the other; and thus, he +presently found himself before a certain door and, remembering its +faulty catch, tried it but found it fast. Therefore he knocked, +softly at first, but louder and louder until at length the door was +plucked suddenly open and a woman appeared, a slatternly creature +who bore a candle none too steadily. + +"Now then, owdacious," she began, somewhat slurring of speech. +"What d'ye want--this time o' night--knocking at 'spectable door of +a person?" + +"Is Mr. Barrymaine in?" + +"Mist' Barrymaine?" repeated the woman, scattering grease-spots as +she raised the candle in her unsteady hand, "what d'ye wan' this +time o'--" + +Here, becoming aware of the magnificence of the visitor's attire, +she dropped Barnabas a floundering curtsy and showered the step with +grease-spots. + +"Can I see Mr. Barrymaine?" + +"Yes, sir--this way, sir, an' min' the step, sir. See Mist' +Barrymaine, yes, sir, firs' floor--an' would you be so good as to ax +'im to keep 'is feet still, or, as you might say, 'is trotters, sir--" + +"His feet?" + +"Also 'is legs, sir, if you'd be so very obleeging, sir." + +"What do you mean?" + +"Come an' listen, sir!" So saying, the woman opened a door and stood +with a finger pointing unsteadily upwards. "Been a-doing of it ever +since 'e came in a hour ago. It ain't loud, p'r'aps, but it's +worriting--very worriting. If 'e wants to dance 'e might move about a +bit 'stead o' keeping in one place all the time--'ark!" And she +pointed with her quavering finger to a certain part of the ceiling +whence came the tramp! tramp! of restless feet; and yet the feet +never moved away. + +"I'll go up!" said Barnabas, and, nodding to the slatternly woman, +he hurried along the passage and mounting the dark stair, paused +before a dingy door. Now, setting his ear to the panel, he heard a +sound--a muffled sound, hoarse but continuous, ever and anon rising +to a wail only to sink again, yet never quite ceasing. Then, feeling +the door yield to his hand, Barnabas opened it and, stepping softly +into the room, closed it behind him. + +The place was very dark, except where the moon sent a fugitive beam +through the uncurtained window, and face downward across this pale +light lay a huddled figure from whose unseen lips the sounds +issued--long, awful, gasping sobs; a figure that stirred and writhed +like one in torment, whose clenched hands beat themselves upon the +frayed carpet, while, between the sobbing and the beat of those +clenched hands, came broken prayers intermingled with oaths and +moaning protestations. + +Barnabas drew a step nearer, and, on the instant, the grovelling +figure started up to an elbow; thus, stooping down, Barnabas looked +into the haggard face of Ronald Barrymaine. + +"Beverley!" he gasped, "w-what d'you want? Go away,--l-leave me!" + +"No!" said Barnabas, "it is you who must go away--at once. You must +leave London to-night!" + +"W-what d' you mean?" + +"You must be clear of England by to-morrow night at latest." + +Barrymaine stared up at Barnabas wide-eyed and passed his tongue to +and fro across his lips before he spoke again: + +"Beverley, w-what d' you--mean?" + +"I know why you keep your right hand hidden!" said Barnabas. + +Barrymaine shivered suddenly, but his fixed stare never wavered, only, +as he crouched there, striving to speak yet finding no voice, upon +his furrowed brow and pallid cheek ran glittering lines of sweat. At +last he contrived to speak again, but in a whisper now: + +"W-what do you mean?" + +"I mean that tonight I found this scrap of cloth, and I recognized +it as part of the cuff of your sleeve, and I found it clenched in +Jasper Gaunt's dead hand." + +With a hoarse, gasping cry Barrymaine cast himself face down upon +the floor again and writhed there like one in agony. + +"I d-didn't mean to--oh, God! I never m-meant it!" he groaned and, +starting to his knees, he caught at Barnabas with wild, imploring +hands: "Oh, Beverley, I s-swear to you I n-never meant to do it. +I went there tonight to l-learn the truth, and he th-threatened +me--threatened me, I tell you, s-so we fought and he was s-strong +and swung me against the w-wall. And then, Beverley--as we +s-struggled--somehow I g-got hold of--of the dagger and struck at +him--b-blindly. And--oh, my God, Beverley--I shall never forget how +he--ch-choked! I can hear it now! But I didn't mean to--do it. Oh, I +s-swear I never meant it, Beverley--s-so help me, God!" + +"But he is dead," said Barnabas, "and now--" + +"Y-you won't give me up, Beverley?" cried Barrymaine, clinging to +his knees. "I wronged you, I know--n-now, but don't g-give me up. +I'm not afraid to d-die like a g-gentleman should, but--the +gallows--oh, my God!" + +"No, you must be saved--from that!" + +"Ah--w-will you help me?" + +"That is why I came." + +"W-what must I do?" + +"Start for Dover--to-night." + +"Yes--yes, Dover. B-but I have no money." + +"Here are twenty guineas, they will help you well on your way. When +they are gone you shall have more." + +"Beverley, I--wronged you, but I know now who my c-creditor really +is--I know who has been m-my enemy all along--oh, blind f-fool that +I've been,--but I know--now. And I think it's t-turned my brain. +Beverley,--my head's all confused--wish D-Dig were here. But I shall +be better s-soon. It was D-Dover you said, I think?" + +"Yes,--but now, take off that coat." + +"B-but it's the only one I've got!" + +"You shall have mine," said Barnabas and, throwing aside his cloak, +he stripped off that marvellous garment (whose flattened revers were +never to become the vogue, after all), and laid it upon the table +beside Barrymaine who seemed as he leaned there to be shaken by +strange twitchings and tremblings. + +"Oh, Beverley," he muttered, "it would have been a good th-thing for +me if somebody had s-strangled me at birth. No!--d-don't light the +candle!" he cried suddenly, for Barnabas had sought and found the +tinder-box, "don't! d-don't!" + +But Barnabas struck and the tinder caught, then, as the light came, +Barrymaine shrank away and away, and, crouching against the wall, +stared down at himself, at his right sleeve ripped and torn, and at +certain marks that spattered and stained him, here and there, awful +marks much darker than the cloth. Now as he looked, a great horror +seemed to come upon him, he trembled violently and, stumbling forward, +sank upon his knees beside the table, hiding his sweating face +between his arms. And, kneeling thus, he uttered soft, strange, +unintelligible noises and the table shook and quivered under him. + +"Come, you must take off that coat!" + +Very slowly Barrymaine lifted his heavy head and looked at Barnabas +with dilating eyes and with his mouth strangely drawn and twisted. + +"Oh, Beverley!" he whispered, "I--I think I'm--" + +"You must give me that coat!" persisted Barnabas. + +Still upon his knees, Barrymaine began to fumble at the buttons of +that stained, betraying garment but, all at once, his fingers seemed +to grow uncertain, they groped aimlessly, fell away, and he spoke in +a hoarse whisper, while upon his lip was something white, like foam. + +"I--oh I--Beverley, I--c-can't!" + +And now, all at once, as they stared into each other's eyes, +Barnabas leaning forward, strong and compelling, Barrymaine upon his +knees clinging weakly to the table, sudden and sharp upon the +stillness broke a sound--an ominous sound, the stumble of a foot +that mounted the stair. + +Uttering a broken cry Barrymaine struggled up to his feet, strove +desperately to speak, his distorted mouth flecked with foam, and +beating the air with frantic hands pitched over and thudded to the +floor. + +Then the door opened and Mr. Smivvle appeared who, calling upon +Barrymaine's name, ran forward and fell upon his knees beside that +convulsed and twisted figure. + +"My God, Beverley!" he cried, "how comes he like this--what has +happened?" + +"Are you his friend?" + +"Yes, yes, his friend--certainly! Haven't I told you the hand of a +Smivvle, sir--" + +"Tonight he killed Jasper Gaunt." + +"Eh? Killed? Killed him?" + +"Murdered him--though I think more by accident than design." + +"Killed him! Murdered him!" + +"Yes. Pull yourself together and listen. Tomorrow the hue and cry +will be all over London, we must get him away--out of the country if +possible." + +"Yes, yes--of course! But he's ill--a fit, I think." + +"Have you ever seen him so before?" + +"Never so bad as this. There, Barry, there, my poor fellow! Help me +to get him on the couch, will you, Beverley?" + +Between them they raised that twitching form; then, as Mr. Smivvle +stooped to set a cushion beneath the restless head, he started +suddenly back, staring wide-eyed and pointing with a shaking finger. + +"My God!" he whispered, "what's that? Look--look at his coat." + +"Yes," said Barnabas, "we must have it off." + +"No, no--it's too awful!" whimpered Mr. Smivvle, shrinking away, +"see--it's--it's all down the front!" + +"If this coat is ever found, it will hang him!" said Barnabas. +"Come, help me to get it off." + +So between them it was done; thereafter, while Mr. Smivvle crouched +beside that restless, muttering form, Barnabas put on his cloak and, +rolling up the torn coat, hid it beneath its ample folds. + +"What, are you going, Beverley?" + +"Yes--for one thing to get rid of this coat. On the table are twenty +guineas, take them, and just so soon as Barrymaine is fit to travel, +get him away, but above all, don't--" + +"Who is it?" cried Barrymaine suddenly, starting up and peering +wildly over his shoulder, "w-who is it? Oh, I t-tell you there's +s-somebody behind me--who is it?" + +"Nobody, Barry--not a soul, my poor boy, compose yourself!" But, +even as Mr. Smivvle spoke, Barrymaine fell back and lay moaning +fitfully and with half-closed eyes. "Indeed I fear he is very ill, +Beverley!" + +"If he isn't better by morning, get a doctor," said Barnabas, +"but, whatever you do--keep Chichester away from him. As regards +money I'll see you shan't want for it. And now, for the present, +good-by!" + +So saying, Barnabas caught up his hat and, with a last glance at the +moaning figure on the couch, went from the room and down the stairs, +and let himself out into the dingy street. + + + + +CHAPTER LXV + + +WHICH TELLS HOW BARNABAS DISCHARGED HIS VALET + +It was long past midnight when Barnabas reached his house in St. +James's Square; and gazing up at its goodly exterior he sighed, and +thereafter frowned, and so, frowning still, let himself in. Now, +late though the hour, Peterby was up, and met him in the hall. + +"Sir," said he, anxious of eye as he beheld his young master's +disordered dress and the grim pallor of his face, "the Marquis of +Jerningham and Viscount Devenham called. They waited for you,--they +waited over an hour." + +"But they are gone now, of course?" inquired Barnabas, pausing, with +his foot on the stair. + +"Yes, sir--" + +"Good!" nodded Barnabas with a sigh of relief. + +"But they left word they would call to-morrow morning, early; indeed +they seemed most anxious to see you, sir." + +"Ha!" said Barnabas, and, frowning still, went on up the stair. + +"Sir," said Peterby, lighting the way into the dressing-room, +"you received the--the letter safely?" + +"Yes, I received it," said Barnabas, tossing aside his hat and cloak, +"and that reminds me,--to-morrow morning you will discharge all the +servants." + +"Sir?" + +"Pay them a month's wages. Also you will get rid of this house and +furniture, and all the carriages and horses--except 'The Terror,' +--sell them for what they will fetch--no matter how little, +only--get rid of them." + +"Yes, sir." + +"As for yourself, Peterby, I shall require your services no longer. +But you needn't lack for a position--every dandy of 'em all will be +wild to get you. And, because you are the very best valet in the +world, you can demand your own terms." + +"Yes, sir." + +"And now, I think that is all, I shan't want you again tonight--stay +though, before I go to bed bring me the things I wore when I first +met you, the garments which as clothes, you told me, didn't exist." + +"Sir, may I ask you a question?" + +"Oh, yes--if you wish," sighed Barnabas, wearily. + +"Are you leaving London, sir?" + +"I'm leaving the World of Fashion--yes." + +"And you--don't wish me to accompany you, sir." + +"No." + +"Have I--displeased you in any way?" + +"No, it is only that the 'best valet in the world' would be wasted +on me any longer, and I shall not need you where I am going." + +"Not as a--servant, sir?" + +"No." + +"Then, sir, may I remind you that I am also a--man? A man who owes +all that he is to your generosity and noble trust and faith. And, sir, +it seems to me that a man may sometimes venture where a servant may +not--if you are indeed done with the Fashionable World, I have done +with it also, for I shall never serve any other than you." + +Then Barnabas turned away and coming to the mantel leaned there, +staring blankly down at the empty hearth; and in a while he spoke, +though without looking up: + +"The Fashionable World has turned its polite back upon me, Peterby, +because I am only the son of a village inn-keeper. But--much more +than this--my lady has--has lost her faith in me, my fool's dream +is over--nothing matters any more. And so I am going away to a place +I have heard described by a pedler of books as 'the worst place in +the world'--and indeed I think it is." + +"Sir," said Peterby, "when do we start?" + +Then, very slowly, Barnabas lifted his heavy head and looked at John +Peterby; and, in that dark hour, smiled, and reaching out, caught +and grasped his hand; also, when he spoke again, his voice was less +hard and not so steady as before: + +"Oh, John!" said he, "John Peterby--my faithful John! Come with me +if you will, but you come as my--friend." + +"And--where are we going, sir?" inquired John, as they stood thus, +hand in hand, looking into each other's eyes. + +"To Giles's Rents, John,--down by the River." + +And thus did Barnabas, in getting rid of the "best valet in the world," +find for himself a faithful friend instead. + + + + +CHAPTER LXVI + + +OF CERTAIN CON-CLUSIONS DRAWN BY MR. SHRIG + +Number Five St. James's Square was to let; its many windows were +blank and shuttered, its portal, which scarcely a week ago had been +besieged by Fashion, was barred and bolted, the Gentleman-in-Powder +had vanished quite, and with him the glory of Number Five St. +James's Square had departed utterly. + +Barnabas paused to let his gaze wander over it, from roof to pavement, +then, smiling a little bitterly, buried his chin in the folds of his +belcher neckerchief and thrusting his hands deep into his pockets, +turned and went his way. + +And as he went, smiling still, and still a little bitterly, he needs +must remember and vaguely wonder what had become of all that Polite +notepaper, and all those Fashionable cards, embossed, gilt-edged, +and otherwise, that had been wont to pour upon him every morning, +and which had so rejoiced the highly susceptible and eloquent legs +of the Gentleman-in-Powder. + +Evening was falling and the square seemed deserted save for a +solitary man in a neckcloth of vivid hue, a dejected-looking man who +lounged against the wall under the shade of the trees in the middle +of the square, and seemed lost in contemplation of his boots. And +yet when Barnabas, having traversed Charles Street and turned into +the Haymarket, chanced to look back, he saw that the man was +lounging dejectedly after him. Therefore Barnabas quickened his steps, +and, reaching the crowded Strand, hurried on through the bustling +throng; but just beyond Temple Bar, caught a glimpse of the vivid +neckcloth on the opposite side of the road. Up Chancery Lane and +across Holborn went Barnabas, yet, as he turned down Leather Lane, +there, sure enough, was the man in the neckcloth as dejected as ever, +but not twelve yards behind. + +Half-way down crowded Leather Lane Barnabas turned off down a less +frequented street and halting just beyond the corner, waited for his +pursuer to come up. And presently round the corner he came and, in +his hurry, very nearly stumbled over Barnabas, who promptly reached +out a long arm and pinned him by the vivid neckcloth. + +"Why do you follow me?" he demanded. + +"Foller you?" repeated the man. + +"You have been following me all the way." + +"Have I?" said the man. + +"You know you have. Come, what do you want?" + +"Well, first," said the man, sighing dejectedly, "leggo my neck, +will ye be so kind?" + +"Not till you tell me why you follow me." + +"Why, then," said the man, "listen and I'll tell ye." + +"Well?" demanded Barnabas. + +But, all at once, and quick as a flash, with a wrench and a cunning +twist, the man had broken away and, taking to his heels, darted off +down the street and was gone. + +For a moment Barnabas stood hesitating, undecided whether to go on +to Barrymaine's lodging or no, and finally struck off in the +opposite direction, towards Gray's Inn Lane and so by devious ways +eventually arrived at the back door of the "Gun," on which he +forthwith knocked. + +It was opened, almost immediately, by Corporal Richard Roe himself, +who stared a moment, smiled, and thereupon extended a huge hand. + +"What, is it you, sir?" he exclaimed, "for a moment I didn't know ye. +Step in, sir, step in, we're proud to see ye." + +So saying, he ushered Barnabas down two steps into the small but +very snug chamber that he remembered, with its rows upon rows of +shelves whereon a whole regiment of bottles and glasses were drawn +up in neat array, "dressed" and marshalled as if on parade; it was +indeed a place of superlative tidiness where everything seemed to be +in a perpetual state of neatness and order. + +In a great elbow chair beside the ingle, with a cushion at his back +and another beneath one foot, sat Mr. Shrig puffing at a pipe and +with his little reader open on the table at his elbow. He looked a +little thinner and paler than usual, and Barnabas noticed that one +leg was swathed in bandages, but his smile was as innocent and +guileless and his clasp as warm as ever as they greeted each other. + +"You must ax-cuse me rising, sir," said he, "the sperrit is villing +but natur' forbids, it can't be done on account o' this here leg o' +mine,--a slug through the stamper, d' ye see, vich is bad enough, +though better than it might ha' been. But it vere a good night on +the whole,--thanks to you and the Corp 'ere, I got the whole gang, +--though, from conclusions as I'd drawed I'ad 'oped to get--vell, +shall ve say Number Two? But Fate was ag'in me. Still, I don't +complain, and the vay you fought 'em off till the Corp and my +specials come up vas a vonder!" + +"Ah! that it were!" nodded the Corporal. + +"Though 'ow you wanished yourself avay, and v'ere you wanished to, +is more vonderful still." + +"Ah, that it is, sir!" nodded the Corporal again. + +"Why," explained Barnabas, "I was stunned by a blow on the head, and +when I came to, found myself lying out on the wharf behind a broken +boat. I should have come round here days ago to inquire how you were, +Mr. Shrig, only that my time has been--much occupied--of late." + +"Veil, sir," said Mr. Shrig, puffing hard at his pipe, "from all +accounts I should reckon as it 'ad. By Goles! but ve vas jest +talking about you, sir, the werry i-dentical moment as you knocked +at the door. I vas jest running over my little reader and telling +the Corp the v'y and the v'erefore as you couldn't ha' done the deed." + +"What deed?" + +"V'y--_the_ deed. The deed as all London is a-talking of,--the +murder o' Jasper Gaunt, the money-lender." + +"Ah!" said Barnabas thoughtfully. "And so you are quite sure that +I--didn't murder Jasper Gaunt, are you. Mr. Shrig?" + +"Quite--oh, Lord love you, yes!" + +"And why?" + +"Because," said Mr. Shrig with his guileless smile, and puffing out +a cloud of smoke and watching it vanish ceilingwards, "because I +'appen to know 'oo did." + +"Oh!" said Barnabas more thoughtfully than ever. "And who do you +think it is?" + +"Vell, sir," answered Mr. Shrig ponderously, "from conclusions as +I've drawed I don't feel at liberty to name no names nor yet cast no +insinivations, but--v'en the other traps (sich werry smart coves too!) +'ave been and gone an' arrested all the innercent parties in London, +v'y then I shall put my castor on my napper, and take my tickler in +my fib and go and lay my 'ooks on the guilty party." + +"And when will that be?" + +"Jest so soon as my leg sarves me, sir,--say a veek,--say, two." + +"You're in no hurry then?" + +"Lord, no, sir, I'm never in an 'urry." + +"And you say you think you know who the murderer is?" + +"V-y no, sir,--from conclusions as I've drawed I'm sure and sartin +'oo did the deed. But come, sir, vot do you say to a glass o' the +Vun and Only, to drink a quick despatch to the guilty party?" + +But the clock striking eight, Barnabas shook his head and rose. + +"Thank you, but I must be going," said he. + +"V'y if you must, you must," sighed Mr. Shrig as they shook hands; +"good evening, sir, an' if anything unpleasant should 'appen to you +in the next day or two--jest tip me the vord." + +"What do you mean by unpleasant, Mr. Shrig?" + +"Vell, took up p'r'aps, or shall ve say--arrested,--by some o' the +other traps--sich werry smart coves, too!" + +"Do you think it likely, Mr. Shrig?" + +"Vell, sir," said Mr. Shrig, with his placid smile, "there's some +traps as is so uncommon smart that they've got an 'abit of arresting +innercent parties verever found, d'ye see. But if they should 'appen +to lay their 'ooks on ye, jest tip me the office, sir." + +"Thank you," said Barnabas, "I shan't forget," and, with a final nod +to Mr. Shrig, turned and followed the Corporal into Gray's Inn Lane. + +Now when Barnabas would have gone his way the Corporal stayed him +with a very large but very gentle hand, and thereafter stood, +rubbing his shaven chin with his shining hook and seeming very much +abashed. + +"What is it, Corporal?" Barnabas inquired. + +"Well, sir," said the soldier diffidently, "it's like this, sir, my +pal Jarsper and me, 'aving heard of--of your--altered circumstances, +sir, wishes it to be understood as once your pals, ever your pals, +come shine, come rain. We likewise wish it to be understood as if at +any time a--a guinea would come in 'andy-like, sir--or say two or +three, my pal Jarsper and me will be proud to oblige, proud, sir. +And lastly, sir, my pal Jarsper and me would 'ave you to know as if +at any time you want a friend to your back, there's me and there's +'im--or a roof to your 'ead, why there's ever and always the 'Gun' +open to you, sir. We wishes you to understand this and--good evening, +sir!" + +But, or ever the blushing Corporal could escape, Barnabas caught and +wrung his hand: + +"And I, Corporal," said he, "I wish you both to know that I am proud +to have won two such staunch friends, and that I shall always esteem +it an honor to ask your aid or take your hands,--good night, Corporal!" + +So saying, Barnabas turned upon his heel, and as he went his step +was free and his eye brighter than it had been. + +He took an intricate course by winding alleys and narrow side-streets, +keeping his glance well about him until at length he came to a +certain door in a certain dingy street,--and, finding the faulty +latch yield to his hand, entered a narrow, dingy hall and groped his +way up the dingiest stairs in the world. + +Now all at once he fancied he heard a stealthy footstep that climbed +on in the darkness before him, and he paused suddenly, but, hearing +nothing, strode on, then stopped again for, plain enough this time, +some one stumbled on the stair above him. So he stood there in the +gloom, very still and very silent, and thus he presently heard +another sound, very soft and faint like the breathing of a sigh. And +all at once Barnabas clenched his teeth and spoke. + +"Who is it?" he demanded fiercely, "now, by God--if it's you, +Chichester--" and with the word, he reached out before him in the +dark with merciless, griping hands. + +The contact of something warm and soft; a broken, pitiful cry of fear, +and he had a woman in his arms. And, even as he clasped that +yielding form, Barnabas knew instinctively who it was, and +straightway thrilled with a wild joy. + +"Madam!" he said hoarsely. "Madam!" + +But she never stirred, nay it almost seemed she sank yet closer into +his embrace, if that could well be. + +"Cleone!" he whispered. + +"Barnabas," sighed a voice; and surely no other voice in all the +world could have uttered the word so tenderly. + +"I--I fear I frightened you?" + +"Yes, a little--Barnabas." + +"You are--trembling very much." + +"Am I--Barnabas?" + +"I am sorry that I--frightened you." + +"I'm better now." + +"Yet you--tremble!" + +"But I--think I can walk if--" + +"If--?" + +"If you will help me, please--Barnabas." + +Oh, surely never had those dark and dingy stairs, worn though they +were by the tread of countless feet, heard till now a voice so soft, +so low and sweet, so altogether irresistible! Such tender, thrilling +tones might have tamed Hyrcanean tigers or charmed the ferocity of +Cerberus himself. Then how might our Barnabas hope to resist, the +more especially as one arm yet encircled the yielding softness of +her slender waist and her fragrant breath was upon his cheek? + +Help her? Of course he would. + +"It's so very--dark," she sighed. + +"Yes, it's very dark," said Barnabas, "but it isn't far to the +landing--shall we go up?" + +"Yes, but--" my lady hesitated a moment as one who takes breath for +some great effort, and, in that moment, he felt her bosom heave +beneath his hand. "Oh, Barnabas," she whispered, "won't you--kiss +me--first?" + +Then Barnabas trembled in his turn, the arm about her grew suddenly +rigid and, when he spoke, his voice was harsh and strained. + +"Madam," said he, "can the mere kiss of an--inn-keeper's son restore +your dead faith?" + +Now when he had said this, Cleone shrank in his embrace and uttered +a loud cry as if he had offered her some great wrong, and, breaking +from him, was gone before him up the stair, running in the dark. + +Oh, Youth! Oh, Pride! + +So Barnabas hurried after her and thus, as she threw open +Barrymaine's door he entered with her and, in his sudden abasement, +would have knelt to her, but Ronald Barrymaine had sprung up from +the couch and now leaned there, staring with dazed eyes like one new +wakened from sleep. + +"Ronald," she cried, running to him, "I came as soon as I could, but +I didn't understand your letter. You wrote of some great danger. Oh, +Ronald dear, what is it--this time?" + +"D-danger!" he repeated, and with the word, turned to stare over his +shoulder into the dingiest corner: "d-danger, yes, so I am,--but +t-tell me who it is--behind me, in the corner?" + +"No one, Ronald." + +"Yes--yes there is, I tell you," he whispered, "look again--now, +d-don't you see him?" + +"No, oh no!" answered Cleone, clasping her hands, and shrinking +before Barrymaine's wild and haggard look. "Oh, Ronald, there's--no +one there!" + +"Yes there is, he's always there now--always just behind me. Last +night he began to talk to me--ah, no, no--what am I saying? never +heed me, Clo. I--I asked you to come because I'm g-going away, soon, +very s-soon, Clo, and I know I shall n-never see you again. I suppose +you thought it was m-money I wanted, but no--it's not that, I wanted +to say good-by because you see I'm g-going away--to-night!" + +"Going away, Ronald?" she repeated, sinking to her knees beside the +rickety couch, for he had fallen back there as though overcome by +sudden weakness. "Dear boy, where are you going--and why?" + +"I'm g-going far away--because I must--the s-sooner the better!" he +whispered, struggling to his elbow to peer into the corner again. +"Yes, the s-sooner the better. But, before I go I want you to +promise--to swear, Clo--to s-swear to me--" Barrymaine sat up +suddenly and, laying his nervous hands upon her shoulders, leaned +down to her in fierce eagerness, "You must s-swear to me n-never to +see or have anything to do with that d-devil, Chichester, d' ye hear +me, Clo, d' ye hear me?" + +"But--oh, Ronald, I don't understand, you always told me he was your +friend, I thought--" + +"Friend!" cried Barrymaine passionately. "He's a devil, I tell you +he's a d-devil, oh--" Barrymaine choked and fell back gasping; but, +even as Cleone leaned above him all tender solicitude, he pushed her +aside and, springing to his feet, reached out and caught Barnabas by +the arm. "Beverley," he cried, "you'll shield her from him--w-when +I'm gone, you'll l-look after her, won't you, Beverley? She's the +only thing I ever loved--except my accursed self. You will shield +her from--that d-devil!" + +Then, still clutching Barnabas, he turned and seized Cleone's hands. + +"Clo!" he cried, "dearest of sisters, if ever you need a f-friend +when I'm gone, he's here. Turn to him, Clo--look up--give him your +hand. Y-you loved him once, I think, and you were right--quite +r-right. You can t-trust Beverley, Clo--g-give him your hand." + +"No, no!" cried Cleone, and, snatching her fingers from Barrymaine's +clasp, she turned away. + +"What--you w-won't?" + +"No--never, never!" + +"Why not? Answer me! Speak, I tell you!" + +But Cleone knelt there beside the couch, her head proudly averted, +uttering no word. + +"Why, you don't think, like so many of the fools, that he killed +Jasper Gaunt, do you?" cried Barrymaine feverishly. "You don't think +he d-did it, do you--do you? Ah, but he didn't--he didn't, I tell you, +and I know--because--" + +"Stop!" exclaimed Barnabas. + +"Stop--no, why should I? She'll learn soon enough now and I'm m-man +enough to tell her myself--I'm no c-coward, I tell you--" + +Then Cleone raised her head and looked up at her half-brother, and +in her eyes were a slow-dawning fear and horror. + +"Oh, Ronald!" she whispered, "what do you mean?" + +"Mean?" cried Barrymaine, "I mean that I did it--I did it. Yes, I +k-killed Jasper Gaunt, but it was no m-murder, Clo--a--a fight, an +accident--yes, I s-swear to God I never meant to do it." + +"You!" she whispered, "you?" + +"Yes, I--I did it, but I swear I never m-meant to--oh, Cleone--" and +he reached down to her with hands outstretched appealingly. But +Cleone shrank down and down--away from him, until she was crouching +on the floor, yet staring up at him with wide and awful eyes. + +"You!" she whispered. + +"Don't!" he cried. "Ah, don't look at me like that and oh, my God! +W-won't you l-let me t-touch you, Clo?" + +"I--I'd rather you--wouldn't;" and Barnabas saw that she was +shivering violently. + +"But it was no m-murder," he pleaded, "and I'm g-going away, Clo--ah! +won't you let me k-kiss you good-by--just once, Clo?" + +"I'd rather--you wouldn't," she whispered. + +"Y-your hand, then--only your hand, Clo." + +"I'd rather--you didn't!" + +Then Ronald Barrymaine groaned and fell on his knees beside her and +sought to kiss her little foot, the hem of her dress, a strand of +her long, yellow hair; but seeing how she shuddered away from him, a +great sob broke from him and he rose to his feet. + +"Beverley," he said, "oh, Beverley, s-she won't let me touch her." +And so stood a while with his face hidden in his griping hands. +After a moment he looked down at her again, but seeing how she yet +gazed at him with that wide, awful, fixed stare, he strove as if to +speak; then, finding no words, turned suddenly upon his heel and +crossing the room, went into his bed-chamber and locked the door. + +Then Barnabas knelt beside that shaken, desolate figure and fain +would have comforted her, but now he could hear her speaking in a +passionate whisper, and the words she uttered were these: + +"Oh, God forgive him! Oh, God help him! Have mercy upon him, oh God +of Pity!" + +And these words she whispered over and over again until, at length, +Barnabas reached out and touched her very gently. + +"Cleone!" he said. + +At the touch she rose and stood looking round the dingy room like +one distraught, and, sighing, crossed unsteadily to the door. + +And when they reached the stair, Barnabas would have taken her hand +because of the dark, but she shrank away from him and shook her head. + +"Sir," said she very softly, "a murderer's sister needs no help, I +thank you." + +And so they went down the dark stair with never a word between them +and, reaching the door with the faulty latch, Barnabas held it open +and they passed out into the dingy street, and as they walked side +by side towards Hatton Garden, Barnabas saw that her eyes were still +fixed and wide and that her lips still moved in silent prayer. + +In a while, being come into Hatton Garden, Barnabas saw a hackney +coach before them, and beside the coach a burly, blue-clad figure, a +conspicuous figure by reason of his wooden leg and shiny, glazed hat. + +"W'y, Lord, Mr. Beverley, sir!" exclaimed the Bo'sun, hurrying +forward, with his hairy fist outstretched, "this is a surprise, sir, +likewise a pleasure, and--" But here, observing my lady's face, he +checked himself suddenly, and opening the carriage door aided her in +very tenderly, beckoning Barnabas to follow. But Barnabas shook his +head. + +"Take care of her, Bo'sun," said he, clasping the sailor's hand, +"take great care of her." So saying, he closed the door upon them, +and stood to watch the rumbling coach down the bustling street until +it had rumbled itself quite out of sight. + + + + +CHAPTER LXVII + + +WHICH GIVES SOME ACCOUNT OF THE WORST PLACE IN THE WORLD + +A bad place by day, an evil place by night, an unsavory place at all +times is Giles's Rents, down by the River. + +It is a place of noisome courts and alleys, of narrow, crooked +streets, seething with a dense life from fetid cellar to crowded +garret, amid whose grime and squalor the wail of the new-born infant +is echoed by the groan of decrepit age and ravaging disease; where +Vice is rampant and ghoulish Hunger stalks, pale and grim. + +Truly an unholy place is Giles's Rents, down by the River. + +Here, upon a certain evening, Barnabas, leaning out from his narrow +casement, turned wistful-eyed, to stare away over broken roof and +chimney, away beyond the maze of squalid courts and alleys that +hemmed him in to where, across the River, the sun was setting in a +blaze of glory, yet a glory that served only to make more apparent +all the filth and decay, all the sordid ugliness of his surroundings. + +Below him was a dirty court, where dirty children fought and played +together, filling the reeking air with their shrill clamor, while +slatternly women stood gossiping in ragged groups with grimy hands +on hips, or with arms rolled up in dingy aprons. And Barnabas +noticed that the dirty children and gossiping women turned very +often to stare and point up at a certain window a little further +along the court, and he idly wondered why. + +It had been a day of stifling heat, and even now, though evening was +at hand, he breathed an air close and heavy and foul with a thousand +impurities. + +Now as he leaned there, with his earnest gaze bent ever across the +River, Barnabas sighed, bethinking him of clean, white, country roads, +of murmuring brooks and rills, of the cool green shades of dewy +woods full of the fragrance of hidden flower and herb and sweet, +moist earth. But most of all he bethought him of a certain wayside +inn, an ancient inn of many gables, above whose hospitable door +swung a sign whereon a weather-beaten hound, dim-legged and faded of +tail, pursued a misty blur that by common report was held to be hare; +a comfortable, homely inn of no especial importance perhaps, yet the +very best inn to be found in all broad England, none the less. And, +as he thought, a sudden, great yearning came upon Barnabas and, +leaning his face between his hands, he said within himself: + +"'I will arise, and go to my father!'" + +But little by little he became aware that the clamor below had +ceased and, glancing down into the court, beheld two men in red +waistcoats, large men, bewhiskered men and square of elbow. +Important men were these, at sight of whom the ragged children stood +awed and silent and round of eye, while the gossiping women drew +back to give them way. Yes, men of consequence they were, beyond a +doubt, and Barnabas noticed that they also stared very often at a +certain window a little further up the court and from it to a third +man who limped along close behind them by means of a very nobbly +stick; a shortish, broadish, mild-looking man whose face was hidden +beneath the shadow of the broad-brimmed hat. Nevertheless at sight +of this man Barnabas uttered an exclamation, drew in his head very +suddenly and thereafter stood, listening and expectant, his gaze on +the door like one who waits to meet the inevitable. + +And after a while, he saw the latch raised cautiously, and the door +begin to open very slowly and noiselessly. It had opened thus +perhaps some six inches when he spoke: + +"Is that you, Mr. Shrig?" + +Immediately the door became stationary and, after some brief pause a +voice issued from behind it, a voice somewhat wheezing and hoarse. + +"Which your parding I ax, sir," said the voice, "which your parding +I 'umbly ax, but it ain't, me being a respectable female, sir, name +o' Snummitt, sir--charing, sir, also washing and clear-starching, sir!" + +Hereupon, the door having opened to its fullest, Barnabas saw a stout, +middle-aged woman whose naturally unlovely look had been further +marred by the loss of one eye, while the survivor, as though +constantly striving to make amends, was continually rolling itself +up and down and to and fro, in a manner quite astonishing to behold. + +"Which my name is Snummitt," she repeated, bobbing a curtsy and +momentarily eclipsing the rolling eye under the poke of a very large +bonnet, "Mrs. Snummitt, sir, which though a widder I'm respectable +and of 'igh character and connections. Which me 'aving only one heye +ain't by no manner of means to be 'eld ag'in me, seeing as it were +took away by a act o' Providence in the shape of another lady's +boot-'eel sixteen summers ago come Michaelmas." + +"Indeed," said Barnabas, seeing Mrs. Snummitt had paused for breath, +"but what--" + +"Which I were to give you Mr. Bimby's compliments, sir, and ax if +you could oblige him with the loan of a wine-glass?" + +"Mr. Bimby?" + +"Over-'ead, sir--garret! You may 'ave 'eard 'im, now and then--flute, +sir, 'armonious, though doleful." + +"And he wants a wine-glass, does he?" said Barnabas, and forthwith +produced that article from a rickety corner-cupboard and handed it +to Mrs. Snummitt, who took it, glanced inside it, turned it +upside-down, and rolled her eye at Barnabas eloquently. + +"What more?" he inquired. + +"Which I would mention, sir, or shall we say, 'int, as if you could +put a little drop o' summat inside of it--brandy, say--'t would be +doing a great favor." + +"Ah, to be sure!" said Barnabas. And, having poured out a stiff +quantum of the spirit, he gave it to Mrs. Snummit, who took it, +curtsied, and rolling her solitary orb at the bottle on the table, +smiled engagingly. + +"Which I would thank you kindly on be'alf o' Mr. Bimby, sir, and, +seeing it upon the tip o' your tongue to ax me to partake, I begs to +say 'Amen,' with a slice o' lemming cut thin, and thank you from my +'eart." + +"I fear I have no lemon," began Barnabas. + +"Then we won't say no more about it, sir, not a word. 'Evings forbid +as a lemming should come betwixt us seeing as I am that shook on +account o' pore, little Miss Pell." + +"Who is Miss Pell?" + +"She's one as was, sir, but now--ain't," answered Mrs. Snummitt and, +nodding gloomily, she took down the brandy in three separate and +distinct gulps, closed her eyes, sighed, and nodded her poke bonnet +more gloomily than before. "Little Miss Pell, sir, 'ad a attic three +doors down, sir, and pore little Miss Pell 'as been and gone +and--done it! Which do it I knowed she would." + +"Done what?" inquired Barnabas. + +"Five long year come shine, come rain, I've knowed pore Miss Pell, +and though small, a real lady she were, but lonesome. Last night as +ever was, she met me on the stairs, and by the same token I 'ad a +scrubbing-brush in one 'and and a bucket in the other, me 'aving +been charing for the first floor front, a 'andsome gent with +whiskers like a lord, and 'oh, Mrs. Snummitt!' she sez and all of a +twitter she was too, 'dear Mrs. Snummitt,' sez she, 'I'm a-going +away on a journey,' she sez, 'but before I go,' she sez, 'I should +like to kiss you good-by, me being so lonesome,' she sez. Which kiss +me she did, sir, and likewise wep' a couple o' big tears over me, +pore soul, and then, run away into 'er dark little attic and locked +'erself in, and--done it!" + +"What--what did she do?" + +"'Ung 'erself in the cupboard, sir. Kissed me only last night she did +and wep' over me, and now--cold and stiff, pore soul?" + +"But why did she do it?" cried Barnabas, aghast. + +"Well, there was the lonesomeness and--well, she 'adn't eat anything +for two days it seems, and--" + +"You mean that she was hungry--starving?" + +"Generally, sir. But things was worse lately on account of 'er heyes +getting weak. 'Mrs. Snummitt,' she used to say, 'my heyes is getting +worse and worse,' she'd say, 'but I shall work as long as I can see +the stitches, and then, Mrs. Snummitt, I must try a change o' scene,' +she used to say with a little shiver like. And I used to wonder +where she'd go, but--I know now, and--well--the Bow Street Runners +'as just gone up to cut the pore soul down." + +"And she killed herself--because she was hungry!" said Barnabas, +staring wide-eyed. + +"Oh, yes, lots on 'em do, I've knowed three or four as went and +done it, and it's generally hunger as is to blame for it. There's +Mr. Bimby, now, a nice little gent, but doleful like 'is flute, 'e's +always 'ungry 'e is, I'll take my oath--shouldn't wonder if 'e don't +come to it one o' these days. And talking of 'im I must be going, sir, +and thank you kindly, I'm sure." + +"Why, then," said Barnabas as she bobbed him another curtsy, +"will you ask Mr. Bimby if he will do me the pleasure to step down +and take supper with me?" + +"Which, sir, I will, though Mr. Bimby I won't answer for, 'im being +busy with the pore young man as 'e brought 'ome last night--it's 'im +as the brandy's for. Ye see, sir, though doleful, Mr. Bimby's very +kind 'earted, and 'e's always a-nussing somebody or something--last +time it were a dog with a broke leg--ah, I've knowed 'im bring 'ome +stray cats afore now, many's the time, and once a sparrer. But I'll +tell 'im, sir, and thank you kindly." + +And in a while, when Mrs. Snummitt had duly curtsied herself out of +sight, Barnabas sighed, and turned once more to stare away, over +broken roof and crumbling chimney, towards the glory of the sunset. +But now, because he remembered poor little Miss Pell who had died +because she was so friendless and hungry, and Mr. Bimby who was +"always hungry" and played the flute, he stifled his fierce yearning +for dewy wood and copse and the sweet, pure breath of the country, +and thought no more of his father's inn that was so very far from +the sordid grime and suffering of Giles's Rents, down by the River; +and setting the kettle on the fire he sank into a chair and +stretching out his long legs, fell into a profound meditation. + +From this he was roused by the opening of the door, and, glancing up, +beheld John Peterby. A very different person he looked from the neat, +well-groomed Peterby of a week ago, what with the rough, ill-fitting +clothes he wore and the fur cap pulled low over his brows; the +gentleman's gentleman had vanished quite, and in his stead was a +nondescript character such as might have been met with anywhere +along the River, or lounging in shadowy corners. He carried a bundle +beneath one arm, and cast a swift look round the room before turning +to see the door behind him. + +"Ah," said Barnabas nodding, "I'm glad you're back, John, and with +plenty of provisions I hope, for I'm amazingly hungry, and besides, +I've asked a gentleman to sup with us." + +Peterby put down the bundle and, crossing to the hearth, took the +kettle, which was boiling furiously, and set it upon the hob, then +laying aside the fur cap spoke: + +"A gentleman, sir?" + +"A neighbor, John." + +"Sir," said he, as he began to prepare the tea in that swift, silent +manner peculiar to him in all things, "when do you propose we shall +leave this place?" + +"Why, to tell you the truth, John, I had almost determined to start +for the country this very night, but, on second thoughts, I've +decided to stay on a while. After all, we have only been here a week +as yet." + +"Yes, sir, it is just a week since--Jasper Gaunt was murdered," said +Peterby gently as he stooped to unpack his bundle. Now when he said +this, Barnabas turned to look at him again, and thus he noticed that +Peterby's brow was anxious and careworn. + +"I wish, John," said he, "that you would remember we are no longer +master and man." + +"Old habits stick, sir." + +"And that I brought you to this dismal place as my friend." + +"But surely, sir, a man's friend is worthy of his trust and +confidence?" + +"John Peterby, what do you mean?" + +"Sir," said Peterby, setting down the teapot, "as I came along this +evening, I met Mr. Shrig; he recognized me in spite of my disguise +and he told me to--warn you--" + +"Well, John?" + +"That you may be arrested--" + +"Yes, John?" + +"For--the murder of Jasper Gaunt. Oh, sir, why have you aroused +suspicion against yourself by disappearing at such a time?" + +"Suspicion?" said Barnabas, and with the word he rose and laying his +hands upon John Peterby's shoulders, looked into his eyes. Then, +seeing the look they held, he smiled and shook his head. + +"Oh, friend," said he, "what matters it so long as you know my hands +are clean?" + +"But, sir, if you are arrested--" + +"They must next prove me guilty, John," said Barnabas, sitting down +at the table. + +"Or an accessory--after the fact!" + +"Hum!" said Barnabas thoughtfully, "I never thought of that." + +"And, sir," continued Peterby anxiously, "there are two Bow Street +Runners lounging outside in the court--" + +"But they're not after me yet. So cheer up, John!" Yet in that moment, +Peterby sprang to his feet with fists clenched, for some one was +knocking softly at the door. + +"Quick, sir--the other room--hide!" he whispered. But shaking his +head, Barnabas rose and, putting him gently aside, opened the door +and beheld a small gentleman who bowed. + +A pale, fragile little gentleman this, with eyes and hair of an +indeterminate color, while his clothes, scrupulously neat and +brushed and precise to a button, showed pitifully shabby and +threadbare in contrast with his elaborately frilled and starched +cravat and gay, though faded, satin waistcoat; and, as he stood +bowing nervously to them, there was an air about him that somehow +gave the impression that he was smaller even than Nature had intended. + +"Gentlemen," said he, coughing nervously behind his hand, "hem!--I +trust I don't intrude. Feel it my obligation to pay my respects, +to--hem! to welcome you as a neighbor--as a neighbor. Arthur Bimby, +humbly at your service--Arthur Bimby, once a man of parts though now +brought low by abstractions, gentlemen, forces not apparent to the +human optic, sirs. Still, in my day, I have been known about town as +a downy bird, a smooth file, and a knowing card--hem!" + +Hereupon he bowed again, looking as unlike a "smooth file" or +"knowing card" as any small, inoffensive gentleman possibly could. + +"Happy to see you, sir," answered Barnabas, returning his bow with +one as deep, "I am Barnabas Barty at your service, and this is my +good friend John Peterby. We are about to have supper--nothing very +much--tea, sir, eggs, and a cold fowl, but if you would honor us--" + +"Sir," cried the little gentleman with a quaver of eagerness in his +voice and a gleam in his eye, both quickly suppressed, "hem!--indeed +I thank you, but--regret I have already supped--hem--duck and green +peas, gentlemen, though I'll admit the duck was tough--deuced tough, +hem! Still, if I might be permitted to toy with an egg and discuss a +dish of tea, the honor would be mine, sirs--would be mine!" + +Then, while Peterby hastened to set the edibles before him, Barnabas +drew up a chair and, with many bows and flutterings of the thin, +restless hands, the little gentleman sat down. + +"Indeed, indeed," he stammered, blinking his pale eyes, "this is +most kind, I protest, most kind and neighborly!" Which said, he +stooped suddenly above his plate and began to eat, that is to say he +swallowed one or two mouthfuls with a nervous haste that was very +like voracity, checked himself, and glancing guiltily from +unconscious Barnabas to equally unconscious Peterby, sighed and +thereafter ate his food as deliberately as might be expected of one +who had lately dined upon duck and green peas. + +"Ah!" said he, when at length his hunger was somewhat assuaged, +"you are noticing the patch in my left elbow, sir?" + +"No indeed!" began Barnabas. + +"I think you were, sir--every one does, every one--it can't be missed, +sir, and I--hem! I'm extreme conscious of it myself, sirs. I really +must discard this old coat, but--hem! I'm attached to it--foolish +sentiment, sirs. I wear it for associations' sake, it awakens memory, +and memory is a blessed thing, sirs, a very blessed thing!" + +"Sometimes!" sighed Barnabas. + +"In me, sirs, you behold a decayed gentleman, yet one who has lived +in his time, but now, sirs, all that remains to me is--this coat. A +prince once commended it, the Beau himself condescended to notice it! +Yes, sirs, I was rich once and happily married, and my friends were +many. But--my best friend deceived and ruined me, my wife fled away +and left me, sirs, my friends all forsook me and, to-day, all that I +have to remind me of what I was when I was young and lived, is this +old coat. To-day I exist as a law-writer, to-day I am old, and with +my vanished youth hope has vanished too. And I call myself a decayed +gentleman because I'm--fading, sirs. But to fade is genteel; +Brummell faded! Yes, one may fade and still be a gentleman, but who +ever heard of a fading ploughman?" + +"Who, indeed?" said Barnabas. + +"But to fade, sir," continued the little gentleman, lifting a thin, +bloodless hand, "though genteel, is a slow process and a very weary +one. Without the companionship of Hope, life becomes a hard and +extreme long road to the ultimate end, and therefore I am sometimes +greatly tempted to take the--easier course, the--shorter way." + +"What do you mean?" + +"Well, sir, there are other names for it, but--hem!--I prefer to +call it 'the shorter way.'" + +"Do you mean--suicide?" + +"Sir," cried Mr. Bimby, shivering and raising protesting hands, +"I said 'the shorter way.' Poor little Miss Pell--a lady born, +sir--she used to curtsy to me on the stairs, she chose 'the shorter +way.' She also was old, you see, and weary. And to-night I met +another who sought to take this 'shorter way'--but he was young, and +for the young there is always hope. So I brought him home with me +and tried to comfort him, but I fear--" + +Peterby sprang suddenly to his feet and Mr. Bimby started and turned +to glance fearfully towards the door which was quivering beneath the +blows of a ponderous fist. Therefore Barnabas rose and crossing the +room, drew the latch. Upon the threshold stood Corporal Richard Roe, +looming gigantic in the narrow doorway, who, having saluted Barnabas +with his shining hook, spoke in his slow, diffident manner. + +"Sir," said he, "might I speak a word wi' you?" + +"Why, Corporal, I'm glad to see you--come in!" + +"Sir," said the big soldier with another motion of his glittering +hook, "might I ax you to step outside wi' me jest a moment?" + +"Certainly, Corporal," and with a murmured apology to Mr. Bimby, +Barnabas followed the Corporal out upon the gloomy landing and +closed the door. Now at the further end of the landing was a window, +open to admit the air, and, coming to this window, the Corporal +glanced down stealthily into the court below, beckoning Barnabas to +do the like: + +"Sir," said he in a muffled tone, "d' ye see them two coves in the +red weskits?" and he pointed to the two Bow Street Runners who +lounged in the shadow of an adjacent wall, talking together in +rumbling tones and puffing at their pipes. + +"Well, Corporal, what of them?" + +"Sir, they're a-waiting for you!" + +"Are you sure, Corporal? A poor creature committed suicide to-day; I +thought they were here on that account." + +"No, sir, that was only a blind, they're a-watching and a-waiting to +take you for the Gaunt murder. My pal Jarsper knows, and my pal +Jarsper sent me here to give you the office to lay low and not to +venture out to-night." + +"Ah!" said Barnabas, beginning to frown. + +"My pal Jarsper bid me say as you was to keep yourself scarce till +'e's got 'is 'ooks on the guilty party, sir." + +"Ah!" said Barnabas, again, "and when does he intend to make the +arrest?" + +"This here very night, sir." + +"Hum!" said Barnabas thoughtfully. + +"And," continued the Corporal, "I were likewise to remind you, sir, +as once your pals, ever and allus your pals. And, sir--good-night, +and good-luck to you!" So saying, the Corporal shook hands, +flourished his hook and strode away down the narrow stairs, smiling +up at Barnabas like a beneficent giant. + +And, when he was gone, Barnabas hurried back into the room and, +taking pen and paper, wrote this: + + You are to be arrested to-night, so I send you my friend, John + Peterby. Trust yourself to his guidance. + + BEVERLEY. + +And having folded and sealed this letter, he beckoned to Peterby. + +"John," said he, speaking in his ear, "take this letter to Mr. Barrymaine, +give it into his hand, see that he leaves at once. And, John, take a +coach and bring him back with you." + +So Peterby the silent thrust the note into his bosom, took his fur +cap, and sighing, went from the room; and a moment later, glancing +cautiously through the window, Barnabas saw him hurry through the +court and vanish round the corner. + +Then Barnabas turned back to the table, and seeing how wistfully +Mr. Bimby eyed the teapot, poured him out another cup; and while +they drank together, Mr. Bimby chatted, in his pleasant way, of +bitter wrong, of shattered faith and ideals, of the hopeless +struggle against circumstance, and of the oncoming terror of old age, +bringing with it failing strength and all the horrors of a debtor's +prison. And now, mingled with his pity, Barnabas was conscious of a +growing respect for this pleasant, small gentleman, and began to +understand why a man might seek the "shorter way," yet be no great +coward after all. + +So Mr. Bimby chattered on and Barnabas listened until the day +declined to evening; until Barnabas began to hearken for Peterby's +returning footstep on the uncarpeted stair outside. Even in the act +of lighting the candles his ears were acutely on the stretch, and +thus he gradually became aware of another sound, soft and dull, yet +continuous, a sound difficult to locate. But as he stood staring +into the flame of the candle he had just lighted, striving meanwhile +to account for and place this noise, Mr. Bimby rose and lifted a thin, +arresting hand. + +"Sir," said he, "do you hear anything?" + +"Yes. I was wondering what it could be." + +"I think I can tell you, sir," said Mr. Bimby, pointing to a certain +part of the cracked and blackened ceiling; "it is up there, in my +room--listen!" + +And now, all at once Barnabas started and caught his breath, for +from the floor above came a soft trampling as of unshod feet, yet +the feet never moved from the one spot. + +"Indeed," sighed Mr. Bimby, "I greatly fear my poor young friend is +ill again. I must go up to him, but first--may I beg--" + +"Sir," said Barnabas, his gaze still fixed upon a certain corner of +the ceiling, "I should like to go with you, if I may." + +"You are very good, sir, very kind, I protest you are," quavered +Mr. Bimby, "and hem! if I might suggest--a little brandy--?" But +even as Barnabas reached for the bottle, there came a hurry of +footsteps on the stair, a hand fumbled at the door and Mr. Smivvle +entered with Peterby at his heels. + +"Oh, Beverley!" he exclaimed, tugging nervously at his whiskers, +"Barry's gone--most distressing--utterly vanished! I just happened +to--ah--pop round the corner, my dear fellow, and when I came back +he'd disappeared, been looking for him everywhere. Poor Barry--poor +fellow, they've got him safe enough by now! Oh Gad, Beverley! what +can I do?" + +"Sit down," said Barnabas, "I think he's found." So saying he turned +and followed Mr. Bimby out of the room. + + + + +CHAPTER LXVIII + + +CONCERNING THE IDENTITY OF MR. BIMBY'S GUEST + +It needed but a glance at the huddled figure in the comfortless +little attic to assure Barnabas of the identity of Mr. Bimby's +"poor young friend"; wherefore, setting down the candle on the +broken table, he crossed the room and touched that desolate figure +with a gentle hand. + +Then Ronald Barrymaine looked up and, seeing Barnabas, struggled to +his knees: + +"Beverley!" he exclaimed, "oh, thank God! You'll save her from that +d-devil--I tried to kill him, b-but he was too quick for me. But +you--you'll save her!" + +"What do you mean? Is it Cleone? What do you mean--speak!" said +Barnabas, beginning to tremble. + +"Yes, yes!" muttered Barrymaine, passing a hand across his brow. +"Listen then! Chichester knows--he knows, I tell you! He came to me, +three days ago I think--while D-Dig was out, and he talked and talked, +and questioned me and questioned me, and s-so I--I told him +everything--everything! But I had to, Beverley, I had to--_he_ made +me--yes _he_, Jasper Gaunt. So I told C-Chichester everything and +then--he laughed, and I t-tried to k-kill him, but he got away and +left me alone with--him. He's always near me now--always c-close +behind me where I can't quite s-see him, only sometimes I hear him +ch-choke, oh, my God, Beverley!--like he did--that night! I r-ran +away to escape him but--oh Beverley!--he's followed me, he was here +a moment ago--I heard him, I t-tell you! Oh, Beverley, don't l-look +as if you thought me m-mad, I'm not! I'm not! I know it's all an +illusion, of c-course, but--" + +"Yes," said Barnabas gently, "but what of Cleone?" + +"Cleone? Oh, God help me, Beverley, she's going to g-give herself to +that devil--to buy his silence!" + +"What--what," stammered Barnabas. "What do you mean?" + +"I got this to-day--read it and see!" said Barrymaine and drew from +his bosom a crumpled letter. Then Barnabas took it, and smoothing it +out, read these words: + + Ronald dear, I'm sorry I didn't let you kiss me good-by. So + sorry that I am going to do all that a woman can to save you. + Mr. Chichester has learned your awful secret, and I am the price of + his silence. So, because of my promise to our dying mother, and because + life can hold nothing for me now, because life and death are alike to + me now, I am going to marry him to-night, at his house at Headcorn. + Good-by, Ronald dear, and that God may forgive and save you in this + life and hereafter, is the undying prayer of + + Your Sister, + CLEONE. + +Barnabas refolded the letter and, giving it back to Barrymaine, took +out Natty Bell's great silver watch. + +"It is a long way to Headcorn," said he, "I must start at once!" + +"Ah! You'll g-go then, Beverley?" + +"Go? Of course!" + +"Then, oh Beverley, whatever happens--whether you're in time or no, +you'll--k-kill him?" + +"I think," said Barnabas, putting away his watch, "yes, I think I +shall." + +"The house is called Ashleydown," continued Barrymaine feverishly, +"a b-big house about a m-mile this side the village." + +"Ashleydown? I think I've heard mention of it before. But now, you +must come with me, Smivvle is downstairs, you shall have my rooms +to-night." + +"Thanks, Beverley, but do you m-mind--giving me your arm? I get +f-faint sometimes--my head, I think, the faintness came on me in the +s-street to-night, and I f-fell, I think." + +"Indeed, yes, sir," added Mr. Bimby with a little bow, "it was so I +found you, sir." + +"Ah, yes, you were kind to me, I remember--you have my g-gratitude, +sir. Now, Beverley, give me your arm, I--I--oh, God help me!" +Barrymaine reached out with clutching fingers, swayed, twisted +sideways and would have fallen, had not Barnabas caught him. + +"Poor boy!" cried Mr. Bimby, "a fit, I think--so very young, poor boy! +You'll need help, sir. Oh, poor boy, poor boy!" So saying, the +little gentleman hurried away and presently returned with John and +Mr. Smivvle. Thus, between them, they bore Ronald Barrymaine +downstairs and, having made him as comfortable as might be in the +inner room, left him to the care of the faithful Mr. Smivvle. + +Then Barnabas crossed to the narrow window and stood there a while, +looking down at the dim figures of the Bow Street Runners who still +lounged against the wall in the gathering dusk and talked together +in gruff murmurs. + +"John," said he at last, "I must trouble you to change coats with me." +Peterby slipped off the garment in question, and aided Barnabas to +put it on. + +"Now, your fur cap, John." + +"Sir," said Peterby all anxiety in a moment, "you are never thinking +of going out, tonight--it would be madness!" + +"Then mad am I. Your cap, John." + +"But--if you are arrested--" + +"He will be a strong man who stays me tonight, John. Give me your cap." + +So Peterby brought the fur cap and, putting it on, Barnabas pulled +it low down over his brows and turned to the door. But there Peterby +stayed him. + +"Sir," he pleaded, "let me go for you." + +"No," said Barnabas, shaking his head. + +"Then let me go with you," + +"Impossible, John." + +"Why?" + +"Because," answered Barnabas, grim-lipped, "tonight I go to ride +another race, a very long, hard race, and oh, John Peterby--my +faithful John, if you never prayed before--pray now, that I may win!" + +"Sir," said Peterby, "I will!" + +Then Barnabas caught his hand, wrung it, and striding from the room, +hurried away down the dark and narrow stair. + + + + +CHAPTER LXIX + + +HOW BARNABAS LED A HUE AND CRY + +The shadows were creeping down on Giles's Rents, hiding its grime, +its misery and squalor, what time Barnabas stepped out into the court, +and, turning his back upon the shadowy River, strode along, +watchful-eyed, toward that dark corner where the Bow Street Runners +still lounged, smoking their pipes and talking together in their +rumbling tones. As he drew nearer he became aware that they had +ceased their talk and guessed rather than saw that he was the object +of their scrutiny; nor was he mistaken, for as he came abreast of +where they stood, one of them lurched towards him. + +"Why, hullo, Joe," exclaimed the man, in a tone of rough familiarity, +"strike me blue if this ain't fort'nate! 'Ow goes it, Joe?" + +"My name isn't Joe," said Barnabas, pausing, for the man had lurched +in front of him, barring his way. + +"Not Joe, eh?" growled the man, thrusting his head unpleasantly +close to Barnabas to peer into his face, "not Joe, eh? Why then +p'r'aps it might be--Barnabas, eh? P'r'aps it might be--Beverley, eh? +Barnabas Beverley like-wise, eh? All right, Ben!" he called to his +mate, "it's our man right enough!" + +"What do you mean?" inquired Barnabas, casting a swift glance about +him; and thus, he saw a moving shadow some distance down the court, +a furtive shape that flitted towards them where the gathering shadows +lay thickest. And at the sight, Barnabas clenched his fists and +poised himself for swift action. + +"What do you want?" he demanded, his gaze still wandering, his ears +hearkening desperately for the sound of creeping footsteps behind, +"what do you want with me?" + +"W'y, we wants you, to be sure," answered Runner No. 1. "We wants you, +Barnabas Beverley, Esk-vire, for the murder of Jasper Gaunt. And, +wot's more--we've got ye! And, wot's more--you'd better come along +nice and quiet in the name o' the--" + +But in that moment, even as he reached out to seize the prisoner, +Runner No. 1 felt himself caught in a powerful wrestling grip, his +legs were swept from under him, and he thudded down upon the cobbles. +Then, as Barnahas turned to meet the rush of Runner No. 2, behold a +dark figure, that leapt from the dimness behind, and bore No. 2, +cursing savagely, staggering back and back to the wall, and pinned +him there, while, above the scuffling, the thud of blows and the +trample of feet, rose a familiar voice: + +"Run, sir--run!" cried John Peterby, "I've got this one--run!" + +Incontinent, Barnabas turned, and taking to his heels, set off along +the court, but with No. 1 (who had scrambled to his feet again) +thundering after him in hot pursuit, roaring for help as he came. + +"Stop, thief!" bellowed No. 1, pounding along behind. + +"Stop, thief!" roared Barnabas, pounding along in front. + +Round the corner into the street of tumble-down houses sped yelling +Barnabas, scattering people right and left; round the corner came +No. 1 Hard in his rear. + +"Stop, thief!" bellowed No. 1, louder than ever. + +"Stop, thief!" roared Barnabas, louder still, and running like the +wind. Thus, No. 1 continued to bellow along behind, and Barnabas ran +on roaring before, by dint of which he had very soon drawn about him +divers other eager pursuers who, in their turn, taking up the cry, +filled the air with a raving clamor that grew and ever grew. On sped +Barnabas, still yelling "thieves," and with a yelling rabblement all +about him, on he went by crooked ways, plunging down gloomy courts, +doubling sudden corners, leading the pursuit ever deeper into the +maze of dark alleys and crooked back streets, until, spying a place +suitable to his purpose, he turned aside, and darting down a dark +and narrow entry-way, he paused there in the kindly shelter to +regain his breath, and heard the hue and cry go raving past until it +had roared itself into the distance. Then, very cautiously and with +no little difficulty, he retraced his steps, and coming at length to +the River, crossed Blackfriars Bridge and hurried west-wards; nor +did he stop or slacken his swift pace until he found himself in that +quiet, back-street at the end of which his stables were situated. +Being come there, he hammered upon the door which was presently +opened by old Gabriel Martin himself. + +"Martin, I'm in a hurry," said Barnabas, "have 'The Terror' saddled +at once, and bring me a pair of spurred boots--quick!" + +Without wasting time in needless words, the old groom set the +stable-boys running to and fro, and himself brought Barnabas a pair +of riding-boots, and aided him to put them on. Which done, Barnabas +threw aside the fur cap, stripped off Peterby's rough coat, and +looked about for other garments to take their place. + +"If it be a coat as you're wanting, sir, there be one as you wore at +the race," said Martin, "I keep it upstairs in my room. It be a bit +tore, sir, but--" + +"It will do," said Barnabas, nodding, "only--hurry, Martin!" By the +time the old groom had returned with the scarlet hunting-frock and +helped Barnabas into it, "The Terror" was led out from his box, and +immediately began to snort and rear and beat a ringing tattoo with +his great, round hoofs to a chorus of chirruping and whoa-ing from +the stable-boys. + +"A bit fresh-ish, p'r'aps, sir!" said Martin, viewing the +magnificent animal with glistening eyes, "exercised reg'lar, too! +But wot 'e wants is a good, stretching, cross-country gallop." + +"Well, he's going to have it, Martin." + +"Ah, sir," nodded the old groom, as Barnabas tested girth and +stirrup-leathers, "you done mighty well when you bought 'im--theer +ain't another 'oss 'is ekal in London--no, nor nowheers else as I +knows on. 'E's won one race for you, and done it noble, and wot's +more sir--" + +"Tonight he must win me another!" said Barnabas, and swung himself +into the saddle. "And this will be a much harder and crueller race +than he ran before or will ever run again, Martin, I hope. Pray what, +time is it?" + +"Nigh on to 'alf-past eight, sir." + +"So late!" said Barnabas, grim-lipped and frowning as he settled his +feet in the stirrups. "Now--give him his head there--stay! Martin, +have you a brace of pistols?" + +"Pistols! Why yes, sir, but--" + +"Lend them to me." + +Forthwith the pistols were brought, somewhat clumsy weapons, but +serviceable none the less. + +"They're loaded, sir!" said Martin as he handed them up. + +"Good!" nodded Barnabas, and slipping one into either pocket, +gathered up his reins. + +"You'll not be back tonight, sir?" + +"Not tonight, Martin." + +"Good night, sir." + +"Good night, Martin." + +"Are you ready, sir?" + +"Quite ready, Martin." + +"Then--stand away there!" + +Obediently the stable-boys leapt aside, freeing "The Terror's" proud +head, who snorted, reared, and plunged out through the open doorway, +swung off sharp to his right and thundered away down the echoing +street. + +And thus "The Terror" set out on his second race, which was to be a +very hard, cruel race, since it was to be run against no four-legged +opponent, no thing of flesh and blood and nerves, but against the +sure-moving, relentless fingers of Natty Bell's great, silver watch. + + + + +CHAPTER LXX + + +WHICH TELLS HOW BARNABAS RODE ANOTHER RACE + +Over Westminster Bridge and down the Borough galloped Barnabas, on +through the roaring din of traffic, past rumbling coach and creaking +wain, heedless of the shouts of wagoners and teamsters and the +indignant cries of startled pedestrians, yet watchful of eye and +ready of hand, despite his seeming recklessness. + +On sped the great, black horse, his pace increasing as the traffic +lessened, on and on along the Old Kent Road, up the hill at New +Cross and down again, and so through Lewisham to the open country +beyond. + +And now the way was comparatively clear save for the swift-moving +lights of some chaise or the looming bulk of crawling market-wagons: +therefore Barnabas, bethinking him always of the long miles before +him, and of the remorseless, creeping fingers of Natty Bell's great +watch, slacked his rein, whereat "The Terror," snorting for joy, +tossed his mighty crest on high and, bounding forward, fell into his +long, racing stride, spurning London further and further into the +dimness behind. + +Barnabas rode stooped low in the saddle, his watchful eyes scanning +the road ahead, a glimmering track bordered by flying hedges, and +trees that, looming ghost-like in the dusk, flitted past and, like +ghosts, were gone again. Swift, swift sped the great, black horse, +the glimmering road below, the luminous heaven above, a glorious +canopy whence shone a myriad stars filling the still night with +their soft, mysterious glow: a hot, midsummer night full of a great +hush, a stillness wherein no wind stirred and upon whose deep +silence distant sounds seemed magnified and rose, clear and plain, +above the rhythmic drumming of "The Terror's" flying hoofs. Presently, +out of the dimness ahead, lights twinkled, growing ever brighter and +more numerous and Bromley was before him; came a long, paved street +where people turned to stare, and point, and shout at him as he +flashed by, and Bromley was behind him, and he was out upon the open +road again where hedge, and barn, and tree seemed to leap at him from +the dark only to vanish in the dimness behind. + +On swept the great, black horse, past fragrant rick and misty pool, +past running rills that gurgled in the shadows, by wayside inns +whence came the sound of voices and laughter with snatches of song, +all quickly lost again in the rolling thunder of those tireless +galloping hoofs; past lonely cottages where dim lights burned, over +hill, over dale, by rolling meadow and sloping down, past darkling +woods whence breathed an air cool and damp and sweet, on up the long +ascent of Poll Hill and down into the valley again. Thus, in a while, +Barnabas saw more lights before him that, clustering together, seemed +to hang suspended in mid-air, and, with his frowning gaze upon these +clustering lights, he rode up that long, trying hill that leads into +the ancient township of Sevenoaks. + +At the further end of the town he turned aside and, riding into the +yard of the Castle Inn, called for ale and, while he drank, stood by +to watch the hissing ostlers as they rubbed down "The Terror" and +gave him sparingly of water. So, into the saddle again and, bearing +to the right, off and away for Tonbridge. + +But now, remembering the hill country before him, he checked his pace, +and thus, as he went, became once more aware of the profound +stillness of the night about him, and of a gathering darkness. +Therefore lifting his gaze to the heavens, he saw a great, black +cloud that grew and spread from east to west, putting out the stars. + +Now, with the gathering cloud, came sudden fear to clutch at his +heart with icy fingers, a shivering dread lest, after all, he be too +late; and, clenching sweating palms, Barnabas groaned, and in that +moment "The Terror" leapt snorting beneath the rowelling spur. + +Suddenly, as they topped River Hill, out of the murk ahead there met +him a puff of wind, a hot wind that came and so was gone again, but +far away beyond the distant horizon to his left, the sombre heaven +was split and rent asunder by a jagged lightning flash whose +quivering light, for one brief instant, showed him a glimpse of the +wide valley below, of the winding road, of field and hedgerow and +motionless tree and, beyond, the square tower of a church, very +small with distance yet, above whose battlements a tiny weather-vane +flashed and glittered vividly ere all things vanished, swallowed up +in the pitchy dark. + +And now came the wind again and in the wind was rain, a few great +pattering drops, while the lightning flamed and quivered upon the +horizon, and the thunder rolled ever louder and more near. + +Came a sudden, blinding flame, that seemed to crackle in the air +near by, a stunning thunder-clap shaking the very firmament, and +thereafter an aching blackness, upon whose startled silence burst +the rain--a sudden, hissing downpour. + +Up--up reared "The Terror," whinnying with fear, then strove madly +to turn and flee before the fury of wind, and flame, and lashing rain. +Three times he swerved wildly, and three times he was checked, as +with hand, and voice, and goading spur, Barnabas drove him on +again--on down the steep descent, down, down into the yawning +blackness of the valley below, on into the raging fury of the storm. + +So, buffeted by wind, lashed by stinging rain, blinded by vivid +lightning-flash, Barnabas rode on down the hill. + +On and ever on, with teeth hard clenched, with eyes fierce and wide, +heedless alike of wind and wet and flame, since he could think only +of the man he rode to meet. And sometimes he uttered bitter curses, +and sometimes he touched and fondled the weapons in his pocket, +smiling evilly, for tonight, if he were not blasted by the lightning +or crushed beneath his terrified horse, Barnabas meant this man +should die. + +And now upon the rushing wind were voices, demon voices that +shrieked and howled at him, filling the whirling blackness with +their vicious clamor. + +"Kill him!" they shrieked. "Whether you are in time or no, kill him! +kill him!" + +And Barnabas, heedless of the death that hissed and crackled in the +air about him, fronting each lightning-flash with cruel-smiling mouth, +nodded his head to the howling demons and answered: + +"Yes, yes, whether in time or no, tonight he dies!" + +And now, uplifted with a wild exhilaration, he laughed aloud, +exulting in the storm; and now, crushed by fear and dread, and black +despair, he raved out bitter curses and spurred on into the storm. +Little by little the thought of this man he meant to slay possessed +him utterly; it seemed to Barnabas that he could actually hear his +soft, mocking laughter; it filled the night, rising high above the +hiss of rain and rush of wind--the laugh of a satyr who waits, +confident, assured, with arms out-stretched to clasp a shuddering +goddess. + +On beneath trees, dim-seen, that rocked and swayed bending to the +storm, splashing through puddles, floundering through mire, slack of +rein and ready of spur, Barnabas galloped hard. And ever the mocking +laughter rang in his ears, and ever the demons shrieked to him on the +howling wind: + +"Kill him! kill him!" + +So, at last, amidst rain, and wind, and mud, Barnabas rode into +Tonbridge Town, and staying at the nearest inn, dismounted stiffly +in the yard and shouted hoarsely for ostlers to bring him to the +stables. Being come there, it is Barnabas himself who holds the +bucket while the foam-flecked "Terror" drinks, a modicum of water +with a dash of brandy. Thereafter Barnabas stands by anxious-eyed +what time two ostlers rub down the great, black horse; or, striding +swiftly to and fro, the silver watch clutched in impatient hand, he +questions the men in rapid tones, as: + +"Which is the nearest way to Headcorn?" + +"'Eadcorn, sir? Why surely you don't be thinking--" + +"Which is the nearest way to Headcorn?" repeats Barnabas, scowling +blackly; whereat the fellow answers to the point and Barnabas falls +to his feverish striding to and fro until, glancing from the watch +in his hand to "The Terror's" lofty crest, observing that his heaving +flanks labor no more and that he paws an impatient hoof, Barnabas +thrusts watch in fob, tightens girth and surcingle and, having paid +his score, swings himself stiffly into the saddle and is off and away, +while the gaping ostlers stare after him through the falling rain +till he has galloped out of sight. + +Away, away, down empty street, over rumbling bridge and so, bearing +to the left, on and up the long hill of Pembury. + +Gradually the rain ceased, the wind died utterly away, the stars +peeped out again. And now, upon the quiet, came the small, soft +sound of trickling water, while the air was fragrant with a thousand +sweet scents and warm, moist, earthy smells. + +But on galloped the great, black horse, by pointed oast-house, by +gloomy church, on and ever on, his nostrils flaring, his eye wild, +his laboring sides splashed with mire and streaked with foam and +blood; on he galloped, faltering a little, stumbling a little, his +breath coming in sobbing gasps, but maintaining still his long, +racing stride; thundering through sleeping hamlets and waking echoes +far and near, failing of strength, scant of breath, but indomitable +still. + +Oh, mighty "Four-legs"! Oh, "Terror"! whose proud heart scorns defeat! +to-night thou dost race as ne'er thou didst before, pitting thy +strength and high courage against old Time himself! Therefore on, on, +brave horse, enduring thy anguish as best thou may, nor look for +mercy from the pitiless human who bestrides thee, who rides +grim-lipped, to give death and, if need be, to taste of its +bitterness himself, and who, unsparing of himself, shall neither +spare thee. + +On, on, brave horse, endure as best thou may, since Death rides thee +to-night. + +Now, in a while, Barnabas saw before him a wide street flanked on +either hand by cottages, and with an ancient church beyond. And, as +he looked at this church with its great, square tower outlined +against the starry heaven, there came, borne to his ears, the +fretful wailing of a sleepless child; therefore he checked his going +and, glancing about, espied a solitary lighted window. Riding thither, +he raised himself in his stirrups and, reaching up, tapped upon the +panes; and, in a while, the casement was opened and a man peered +forth, a drowsy being, touzled of head and round of eye. + +"Pray," said Barnabas, "what village is this?" + +"Why, sir," answered the man, "five an' forty year I've lived here, +and always heard as it was called Headcorn." + +"Headcorn," said Barnabas, nodding, "then Ashleydown should be near +here?" + +"Why, sir," said the man, nodding in turn, "I do believe +you--leastways it were here about yesterday." + +"And where is it?" + +"Half a mile back down the road, you must ha' passed it, sir. A +great house it be though inclined to ruination. And it lays back +from the road wi' a pair o' gates--iron gates as is also ruinated, +atween two stone pillars wi' a lion a-top of each, leastways if it +ain't a lion it's a griffin, which is a fab'lous beast. And talking +of beasts, sir, I do believe as that theer dratted child don't never +mean to sleep no more. Good night to ye, sir--and may you sleep +better a-nights than a married man wi' seven on 'em." Saying which, +he nodded, sighed, and vanished. + +So back rode Barnabas the way he had come, and presently, sure enough, +espied the dim outlines of the two stone columns each with "a lion +a-top," and between these columns swung a pair of rusted iron gates; +and the gates were open, seeing which Barnabas frowned and set his +teeth, and so turned to ride between the gates, but, even as he did +so, he caught the sound of wheels far down the road. Glancing +thither he made out the twinkling lights of an approaching chaise, +and sat awhile to watch its slow progress, then, acting upon sudden +impulse, he spurred to meet it. Being come within hail he reined in +across the road, and drawing a pistol levelled it at the startled +post-boy. + +"Stop!" cried Barnabas. + +Uttering a frightened oath, the postilion pulled up with a jerk, but +as the chaise came to a standstill a window rattled down. Then +Barnabas lowered the pistol, and coming up beside the chaise looked +down into the troubled face of my Lady Cleone. And her checks were +very pale in the light of the lanterns, and upon her dark lashes was +the glitter of tears. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXI + + +WHICH TELLS HOW BARNABAS, IN HIS FOLLY, CHOSE THE HARDER COURSE + +"You! Is it you--Barnabas?" she whispered and thereafter sighed, a +long, quivering sigh. "I--I've been hoping you would come!" + +And now, as he looked at her, he saw that her cheeks were suffused, +all at once, with a warm and vivid color. "Hoped?" said Barnabas, +wondering. + +"And--prayed!" she whispered. + +"Then, you expected me? You knew I should come?" + +"Yes, Barnabas. I--I hoped you would see my--letter to Ronald--that +was why I wrote it! And I prayed that you might come--" + +"Why?" + +"Because I--oh, Barnabas, I'm afraid!" + +"You were going to--Chichester?" + +"Yes, Barnabas." + +"You don't--love him, do you?" + +"Love him!" she repeated, "Oh, God!" + +And Barnabas saw her shudder violently. + +"Yet you were going to him." + +"To save my brother. But now--God help me, I can't do it! Oh, it's +too hateful and--and I am afraid, Barnabas. I ought to have been at +Ashleydown an hour ago, but oh, I--I couldn't, it was too horrible--I +couldn't! So I came the longest way; I made the post-boy drive very +slowly, I--I was waiting--for you, Barnabas, praying God that you +would come to me--" + +"Because you--were afraid, my lady." + +"Yes, Barnabas." + +"And behold, I am here!" said Barnabas. But now, seeing the quiver +of her white hands, and the light in her eyes--a sudden glow that +was not of the lanterns, he turned his head and looked resolutely +away. + +"I am here, my lady, to take you back home again," said he. + +"Home?" she repeated. "Ah, no, no--I have no home, now! Oh, Barnabas," +she whispered, "take me, take me away--to my brother. Let us go away +from England to-night--anywhere, take me with you, Barnabas." + +Now, as she spoke, her hands came out to him with a swift gesture, +full of passionate entreaty. And the lanterns made a shining glory +of her hair, and showed him the deep wonder of her eyes, the quick +surge of her round, young bosom, the tender quiver of the parted +lips as she waited his answer; thus our Barnabas beholding the +witchery of her shy-drooping lashes, the scarlet lure of her mouth, +the yielding warmth and all the ripe beauty of her, fell suddenly +a-trembling and sighed; then, checking the sigh, looked away again +across the dim desolation of the country-side, and clenched his hands. + +"My lady," said he, his voice hoarse and uncertain, "why do +you--tempt me? I am only--an amateur gentleman--why do you tempt me +so?" As he spoke he wheeled his horse and motioned to the flinching +postboy. "Turn!" he commanded. + +"No!" cried Cleone. + +"Turn!" said Barnabas, and, as the post-boy hesitated, levelled his +pistol. + +But now, even as the postilion chirruped to his horses, the chaise +door was flung open and Cleone sprang down into the road; but even so, +Barnabas barred her way. + +"Let me pass!" she cried. + +"To Chichester?" + +"Yes--God help me. Since you force me to it! Let me go!" + +"Get back into the chaise, my lady." + +"No, no! Let me pass, I go to save my brother--" + +"Not this way!" + +"Oh!" she cried passionately, "you force it upon me, yes--you! you! +If you won't help me, I must go to him! Dear heaven! there is no +other way, let me go--you must--you shall!" + +"Go back into the chaise, my lady." + +Barnabas spoke very gently but, as she stared up at him, a movement +of his horse brought him into the light of the lanterns and, in that +moment, her breath caught, for now she beheld him as she had seen +him once before, a wild, desperate figure, bare-headed, torn, and +splashed with mud; grim of mouth, and in his eyes a look she had +once dreamed of and never since forgotten. And, as she gazed, +Barnabas spoke again and motioned with his pistol hand. + +"Get back into the chaise, my lady." + +"No!" she answered, and, though her face was hidden now, he knew +that she was weeping. "I'm going on, now--to Ashleydown, to save +Ronald, to redeem the promise I gave our mother; I must, I must, and +oh--nothing matters to me--any more, so let me go!" + +"My lady," said Barnabas, in the same weary tone, "you must get back +into the chaise." + +"And let Ronald die--and such a death! Never! oh never!" + +Barnabas sighed, slipped the pistol into his pocket and dismounted, +but, being upon his feet, staggered; then, or ever she knew, he had +caught her in his arms, being minded to bear her to the chaise. But +in that moment, he looked down and so stood there, bound by the spell +of her beauty, forgetful of all else in the world, for the light of +the lanterns was all about them, and Cleone's eyes were looking up +into his. + +"Barnabas," she whispered, "Barnabas, don't let me go!--save me +from--that!" + +"Ah, Cleone," he murmured, "oh, my lady, do you doubt me still? Can +you think that I should fail you? + +"Oh, my dear, my dear--I've found a way, and mine is a better way +than yours. Be comforted then and trust me, Cleone." + +Then, she stirred in his embrace, and, sighing, hid her face close +against him and, with her face thus hidden, spoke: + +"Yes, yes--I do trust you, Barnabas, utterly, utterly! Take me away +with you--tonight, take me to Ronald and let us go away together, no +matter where so long as--we go--together, Barnabas." Now when she +said this, she could feel how his arms tightened about her, could +hear how his breath caught sudden and sharp, and, though she kept +her face hid from him, well she knew what look was in his eyes; +therefore she lay trembling a little, sighing a little, and with +fast-beating heart. And, in a while, Barnabas spoke: + +"My lady," said he heavily, "would you trust yourself to--a +publican's son?" + +"If he would not be--too proud to--take me, Barnabas." + +"Oh, my lady--can't you see that if I--if I take you with me tonight, +you must be with me--always?" + +Cleone sighed. + +"And I am a discredited impostor, the--the jest of every club in +London!" + +Cleone's hand stole up, and she touched his grimly-set chin very +gently with one white finger. + +"I am become a thing for the Fashionable World to sharpen its wits +upon," he continued, keeping his stern gaze perseveringly averted. +"And so, my lady--because I cannot any longer cheat folks into +accepting me as a--gentleman, I shall in all probability become a +farmer, some day." + +Cleone sighed. + +"But you," Barnabas continued, a little harshly, "you were born for +higher and greater fortune than to become the wife of a humble +farming fellow, and consequently--" + +"But I can make excellent butter, Barnabas," she sighed, stealing a +glance up to him, "and I can cook--a little." + +Now when she said this, he must needs look down at her again and lo! +there, at the corner of her mouth was the ghost of the dimple! And, +beholding this, seeing the sudden witchery of her swift-drooping +lashes, Barnabas forgot his stern resolutions and stooped his head, +that he might kiss the glory of her hair. But, in that moment, she +turned, swift and sudden, and yielded him her lips, soft, and warm, +and passionate with youth and all the joy of life. And borne away +upon that kiss, it seemed to Barnabas, for one brief, mad-sweet +instant that all things might be possible; if they started now they +might reach London in the dawn and, staying only for Barrymaine, be +aboard ship by evening! And it was a wide world, a very fair world, +and with this woman beside him-- + +"It would be so--so very easy!" said he, slowly. + +"Yes, it will be very easy!" she whispered. + +"Too easy!" said he, beginning to frown, "you are so helpless and +lonely, and I want you so bitterly, Cleone! Yes, it would be very +easy. But you taught me once, that a man must ever choose the harder +way, and this is the harder way, to love you, to long for you, and +to bid you--good-by!" + +"Oh! Barnabas?" + +"Ah, Cleone, you could make the wretchedest hut a paradise for me, +but for you, ah, for you it might some day become only a hut, and I, +only a discredited Amateur Gentleman, after all." + +Then Barnabas sighed and thereafter frowned, and so bore her to the +chaise and setting her within, closed the door. + +"Turn!" he cried to the postilion. + +"Barnabas!" + +But the word was lost in the creak of wheels and stamping of hoofs +as the chaise swung round; then Barnabas remounted and, frowning +still, trotted along beside it. Now in a while, lifting his sombre +gaze towards a certain place beside the way, he beheld the dim +outline of a finger-post, a very ancient finger-post which (though +it was too dark to read its inscription) stood, he knew, with +wide-stretched arms pointing the traveller: + + TO LONDON. TO HAWKHURST. + +And being come opposite the finger-post, he ordered the post-boy to +stop, for, small with distance, he caught the twinkling lights of +lanterns that swung to and fro, and, a moment later, heard a hail, +faint and far, yet a stentorian bellow there was no mistaking. +Therefore coming close beside the chaise, he stooped down and looked +within, and thus saw that Cleone leaned in the further corner with +her face hidden in her hands. + +"You are safe, now, my lady," said he, "the Bo'sun is coming, the +Captain will be here very soon." + +But my lady never stirred. + +"You are safe now," he repeated, "as for Ronald, if Chichester's +silence can save him, you need grieve no more, and--" + +"Ah!" she cried, glancing up suddenly, "what do you mean?" + +"That I must go, my lady, and--and--oh, my dear love, this harder +way--is very hard to tread. If--we should meet no more after tonight, +remember that I loved you--as I always have done and always must, +humble fellow though I am. Yes, I think I love you as well as any +fine gentleman of them all, and--Cleone--Good-by!" + +"Barnabas," she cried, "tell me what you mean to do--oh, Barnabas, +where are you going?" And now she reached out her hands as though to +stay him. But, even so, he drew away, and, wheeling his horse, +pointed towards the twinkling lights. + +"Drive on!" he cried to the post-boy. + +"Barnabas, wait!" + +"Drive on!" he cried, "whip--spur!" + +"Barnabas, stay! Oh, Barnabas, listen--" + +But as Cleone strove desperately to open the door, the chaise +lurched forward, the horses broke into a gallop, and Barnabas, +sitting there beneath the ancient finger-post, saw imploring hands +stretched out towards him, heard a desolate cry, and--he was alone. +So Barnabas sat there amid the gloom, and watched Happiness go from +him. Very still he sat until the grind of wheels had died away in +the distance; then he sighed, and spurring his jaded horse, rode +back towards Headcorn. + +And thus did Barnabas, in his folly, forego great joy, and set aside +the desire of his heart that he might tread that Harder Way, which +yet can be trod only by the foot of--A Man. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXII + + +HOW RONALD BARREYMAINE SQUARED HIS ACCOUNT + +A distant clock was striking the hour as Barnabas rode in at the +rusted gates of Ashleydown and up beneath an avenue of sombre trees +beyond which rose the chimneys of a spacious house, clear and plain +against the palpitating splendor of the stars. But the house, like +its surroundings, wore a desolate, neglected look, moreover it was +dark, not a light was to be seen anywhere from attic to cellar. Yet, +as Barnabas followed the sweep of the avenue, he suddenly espied a +soft glow that streamed from an uncurtained window giving upon the +terrace; therefore he drew rein, and dismounting, led his horse in +among the trees and, having tethered him there, advanced towards the +gloomy house, his gaze upon the lighted window, and treading with an +ever growing caution. + +Now, as he went, he took out one of the pistols, cocked it, and with +it ready in his hand, came to the window and peered into the room. + +It was a long, low chamber with a fireplace at one end, and here, +his frowning gaze bent upon the blazing logs, sat Mr. Chichester. +Upon the small table at his elbow were decanter and glasses, with a +hat and gloves and a long travelling cloak. As Barnabas stood there +Mr. Chichester stirred impatiently, cast a frowning glance at the +clock in the corner and reaching out to the bell-rope that hung +beside the mantel, jerked it viciously, and so fell to scowling at +the fire again until the door opened and a bullet-headed, +square-shouldered fellow entered, a formidable ruffian with pugilist +written in his every feature; to whom Mr. Chichester appeared to +give certain commands; and so dismissed him with an impatient +gesture of his slim, white hands. As the door closed, Mr. Chichester +started up and fell to pacing the floor only to return, and, +flinging himself back in his chair, sat scowling at the fire again. + +Then Barnabas raised the pistol-butt and, beating in the window, +loosed the catch, and, as Mr. Chichester sprang to his feet, opened +the casement and stepped into the room. + +For a long moment neither spoke, while eyes met and questioned eyes, +those of Barnabas wide and bright, Mr. Chichester's narrowed to +shining slits. And indeed, as they fronted each other thus, each was +the opposite of the other, Barnabas leaning in the window, his pistol +hand hidden behind him, a weary, bedraggled figure mired from heel +to head; Mr. Chichester standing rigidly erect, immaculate of dress +from polished boot to snowy cravat. + +"So," said he at last, breaking the ominous silence, "so it's--yes, +it is Mr.--Barty, I think, unpleasantly damp and devilish muddy, and, +consequently, rather more objectionable than usual." + +"I have ridden far, and the roads were bad," said Barnabas. + +"Ah! and pray why inflict yourself upon me?" + +"For a very good and sufficient reason, sir." + +"Ha, a reason?" said Mr. Chichester, lounging against the mantel. +"Can it be you have discerned at last that the highly dramatic +meeting between father and son at a certain banquet, not so long ago, +was entirely contrived by myself--that it was my hand drove you from +society and made you the derision of London, Mr. Barty?" + +"Why, yes," sighed Barnabas; "I guessed that much, sir." + +"Indeed, I admire your perspicacity, Mr. Barty. And now, I presume +you have broken into my house with some brutal idea of pummelling me +with your fists? But, sir, I am no prizefighter, like you and your +estimable father, and I warn you that--" + +"Sir," said Barnabas softly, "do not trouble to ring the bell, my +mission here is--not to thrash you." + +"No? Gad, sir, but you're very forbearing, on my soul you are!" and +Mr. Chichester smiled; but his nostrils were twitching as his +fingers closed upon the bell-rope. "Now understand me--having shown +up your imposture, having driven you from London, I do not propose +to trouble myself further with you. True, you have broken into my +house, and should very properly be shot like any other rascally thief. +I have weapons close by, and servants within call, but you have +ceased to interest me--I have other and weightier affairs on hand, +so you may go, sir. I give you one minute to take yourself back to +your native mud." As he ended, Mr. Chichester motioned airily +towards the open window. But Barnabas only sighed again and shook +his head. + +"Sir," said he, more softly than before, "give me leave to tell you +that the Lady Cleone will not keep her appointment here, to-night." + +"Ah-h!" said Mr. Chichester slowly, and staring at Barnabas under +his drawn brows, "you--mean--?" + +"That she was safe home three-quarters of an hour ago." + +Mr. Chichester's long, white fingers writhed suddenly upon the +bell-rope, released it, and, lifting his hand swiftly, he loosened +his high cravat, and so stood, breathing heavily, his eyes once more +narrowed to shining slits, and with the scar burning redly upon his +cheek. + +"So you have dared," he began thickly, "you have dared to interfere +again? You have dared to come here, to tell me so?" + +"No, sir," answered Barnabas, shaking his head, "I have come here to +kill you!" + +Barnabas spoke very gently, but as Mr. Chichester beheld his calm eye, +the prominence of his chin, and his grimly-smiling mouth, his eyes +widened suddenly, his clenched fingers opened, and he reached out +again towards the bell-rope. "Stop!" said Barnabas, and speaking, +levelled his pistol. + +"Ah!" sighed Mr. Chichester, falling back a step, "you mean to +murder me, do you?" + +"I said 'kill'--though yours is the better word, perhaps. Here are +two pistols, you will observe; one is for you and one for me. And we +are about to sit down--here, at the table, and do our very utmost to +murder each other. But first, I must trouble you to lock the door +yonder and bring me the key. Lock it, I say!" + +Very slowly, and with his eyes fixed in a wide stare upon the +threatening muzzle of the weapon Barnabas held, Mr. Chichester, +crossed to the door, hesitated, turned the key, and drawing it from +the lock, stood with it balanced in his hand a moment, and then +tossed it towards Barnabas. + +Now the key lay within a yard of Barnabas who, stepping forward, +made as though to reach down for it; but in that instant he glanced +up at Mr. Chichester under his brows, and in that instant also, +Mr. Chichester took a swift, backward step towards the hearth; +wherefore, because of this, and because of the look in Mr. Chichester's +eyes, Barnabas smiled, and, so smiling, kicked the key into a +far corner. + +"Come, sir," said he, drawing another chair up to the table, +"be seated!" saying which, Barnabas sat down, and, keeping one +pistol levelled, laid the other within Mr. Chichester's reach. +"They are both loaded, sir," he continued; "but pray assure yourself." + +But Mr. Chichester stood where he was, his eyes roving swiftly from +Barnabas to the unlatched window, from that to the door, and so back +again to where Barnabas sat, pale, smiling, and with the heavy +weapon levelled across the narrow table; and as he stood thus, +Mr. Chichester lifted one white hand to his mouth and began to pull +at his lips with twitching fingers. + +"Come," repeated Barnabas, "be seated, sir." + +But Mr. Chichester yet stood utterly still save for the petulant +action of those nervous, twitching fingers. + +"Sir," Barnabas persisted, "sit down, I beg!" + +"I'll fight you--here--and now," said Mr. Chichester, speaking in a +strange, muffled tone, "yes--I'll fight you wherever or whenever +you wish, but not--not across a table!" + +"I think you will," nodded Barnabas grimly. "Pray sit down." + +"No!" + +"Why, then, we'll stand up for it," sighed Barnabas rising. +"Now, sir, take up your pistol." + +"No!" + +"Then," said Barnabas, his teeth agleam, "as God's above, I'll shoot +you where you stand--but first I'll count three!" And once more he +levelled the pistol he held. + +Mr. Chichester sighed a fluttered sigh, the twitching fingers fell +from his mouth and with his burning gaze upon Barnabas, he stepped +forward and laid his hand upon the chair-back, but, in the act of +sitting down, paused. + +"The candles--a little more light--the candles," he muttered, and +turning, crossed to the hearth and raised his hand to a branched +silver candlestick that stood upon the mantel. But in the moment +that his left hand closed upon this, his right had darted upon +another object that lay there, and, quick as a flash, he had spun +round and fired point-blank. + +While the report yet rang on the air, Barnabas staggered, swayed, and, +uttering a gasp, sank down weakly into his chair. But, as Mr. Chichester +watched him, his eyes wide, his lips parted, and the pistol yet smoking +in his hand, Barnabas leaned forward, and steadying his elbow on the +table, slowly, very slowly raised and levelled his weapon. + +And now, as he fronted that deadly barrel, Mr. Chichester's face +grew suddenly livid, and haggard, and old-looking, while upon his +brow the sweat had started and rolled down, glistening upon his +cheeks. + +The fire crackled upon the hearth, the clock ticked softly in the +corner, the table creaked as Barnabas leaned his weight across it, +nearer and nearer, but, save for this, the place was very quiet. Then, +all at once, upon this silence broke another sound, a distant sound +this, but one that grew ever nearer and louder--the grind of wheels +and the hoof-strokes of madly galloping horses. Mr. Chichester +uttered a gasping cry and pointed towards the window-- + +"Cleone!" he whispered. "It's Cleone! She's coming, in God's +name--wait!" + +The galloping hoofs drew rapidly nearer, stopped suddenly, and as +Barnabas, hesitating, glanced towards the window, it was flung wide +and somebody came leaping through--a wild, terrible figure; and as +he turned in the light of the candles, Barnabas looked into the +distorted face of Ronald Barrymaine. + +For a moment he stood, his arms dangling, his head bent, his +glowing eyes staring at Mr. Chichester, and as he stood thus fixing +Mr. Chichester with that awful, unwavering stare, a smile twisted his +pallid lips, and he spoke very softly: + +"It's all r-right, Dig," said he, "the luck's with me at l-last-- +we're in time--I've g-got him! Come in, D-Dig, and bring the +tools--I--I've g-got him!" + +Hereupon Mr. Smivvle stepped into the room; haggard of eye he looked, +and with cheeks that showed deadly pale by contrast with the +blackness of his glossy whiskers, and beneath his arm he carried a +familiar oblong box; at sight of Barnabas he started, sighed, and +crossing hastily, set the box upon the table and caught him by the +arm: + +"Stop him, Beverley--stop him!" he whispered hurriedly. "Barry's +gone mad, I think, insisted on coming here. Devil of a time getting +away, Bow Street Runners--hard behind us now. Means to fight! Stop +him, Beverley, for the love of--Ah! by God, what's this? Barry, +look--look here!" And he started back from Barnabas, staring at him +with horrified eyes. "Barry, Barry--look here!" + +But Ronald Barrymaine never so much as turned his head; motionless +he stood, his lips still contorted with their drawn smile, his +burning gaze still fixed on Mr. Chichester--indeed he seemed +oblivious to all else under heaven. + +"Come, Dig," said he in the same soft voice, "get out the barkers, +and quick about it, d' you hear?" + +"But, Barry--oh, my dear fellow, here's poor Beverley, look--look at +him!" + +"G-give us the barkers, will you--quick! Oh, damnation. Dig, y-you +know G-Gaunt and his hangman are hard on my heels! Quick, then, and +g-get it over and done with--d'you hear, D-Dig?" So saying, +Barrymaine crossed to the hearth and stood there, warming his hands +at the blaze, but, even so, he must needs turn his head so that he +could keep his gloating eyes always directed to Chichester's pale +face. + +"I'm w-warming my pistol-hand, Dig," he continued, "mustn't be cold +or s-stiff tonight, you see. Oh, I tell you the luck's with me at +last! He's b-been so vastly clever, Dig! He's dragged me down to hell, +but--tonight I'm g-going to-take him with me." + +And ever as he spoke, warming himself at the fire, Ronald Barrymaine +kept his burning gaze upon Mr. Chichester's pale face, while +Barnabas leaned, twisted in his chair, and Mr. Smivvle busied +himself with the oblong box. With shaking hands he took out the +duelling-pistols, one by one, and laid them on the table. + +"We'll g-give him first choice, eh, Dig?" said Barrymaine. "Ah--he's +chosen, I s-see. Now we'll t-take opposite corners of the room and +f-fire when you give the word, eh, Dig?" + +As he spoke, Barrymaine advanced to the table, his gaze always upon +Mr. Chichester, nor did he look away even for an instant, thus, his +hand wandered, for a moment, along the table, ere he found and took +up the remaining pistol. Then, with it cocked in his hand, he backed +away to the corner beside the hearth, and being come there, nodded. + +"A good, comfortable distance, D-Dig," said he, "now tell him to +take his g-ground." + +But even as he spoke, Mr. Chichester strode to the opposite corner +of the long room, and turning, stood there with folded arms. Up till +now, he had uttered no word, but as Mr. Smivvle leaned back against +the wall, midway between them, and glanced from one to the other, +Mr. Chichester spoke. + +"Sirs," said he, "I shall most certainly kill him, and I call upon +you to witness that it was forced upon me." + +Now as his voice died away, through the open window came a faint +sound that might have been wind in the trees, or the drumming of +horse-hoofs, soft and faint with distance. + +"Oh, g-give us the word, D-Dig!" said Barrymaine. + +"Gentlemen," said Mr. Smivvle, steadying himself against the +panelling with shaking hands, "the word will be--Ready? One! Two! +Three--Fire! Do you understand?" + +An eager "Yes" from Barrymaine, a slight nod from Chichester, yet +Mr. Smivvle still leaned there mutely against the wall, as though +his tongue failed him, or as if hearkening to that small, soft sound, +that might have been wind in the trees. + +"The word, Dig--will you give us the word?" + +"Yes, yes, Barry, yes, my dear boy--certainly!" But still Mr. Smivvle +hesitated, and ever the small sound grew bigger and louder. + +"S-speak! Will you s-speak, Dig?" + +"Oh, Barry--my dear boy, yes! Ready?" + +At the word the two pistols were raised and levelled, almost on the +instant, and with his haggard eyes turned towards Barrymaine's corner, +Mr. Smivvle spoke again: + +"One!--Two!--Three--" + +A flash, a single deafening report, and Ronald Barrymaine lurched +sideways, caught at the wall, swayed backwards into the corner and +leaned there. + +"Coward,--you fired too soon!" cried Smivvle, turning upon Mr. Chichester +in sudden frenzy, "Villain! Rouge! you fired too soon--!" + +"S-stand away, Dig!" said Barrymaine faintly. + +"Oh, Barry--you're bleeding! By God, he's hit you!" + +"Of c-course, Dig--he never m-misses--neither do I--w-watch now, ah! +hold me up, Dig--so! Now, stand away!" But even as Barrymaine, livid +of brow and with teeth hard clenched, steadied himself for the shot, +loud and clear upon the night came the thudding of swift-galloping +horse-hoofs. + +And now, for the first time, Barrymaine's gaze left Chichester's face, +and fixed itself upon the open casement instead. + +"Ha!" he cried, "here comes G-Gaunt at last, D-Dig, and with his +hangman at his elbow! But he's t-too late, Dig, he's too l-late--I'm +going, but I mean to take our friend--our d-dear friend Chichester +w-with me--look now!" + +As he spoke he raised his arm, there came the stunning report of the +pistol, and a puff of blinding smoke; but when it cleared, Mr. Chichester +still stood up rigid in his corner, only, as he stood he lifted his +hand suddenly to his mouth, glanced at his fingers, stared at them +with wide, horrified eyes. Then his pistol clattered to the floor and +he coughed--a hideous, strangling sound, thin and high-pitched. +Coughing still, he took a swift pace forward, striving to speak, +but choked instead, and so choking, sank to his knees. Even then he +strove desperately to utter something, but with it still unspoken, +sank down upon his hands, and thence slowly upon his face and lay +there very still and quiet. + +Then Barrymaine laughed, an awful, gasping laugh, and began to edge +himself along the wall and, as he went, he left hideous smears and +blotches upon the panelling behind him. Being come to that inanimate +figure he stood awhile watching it with gloating eyes. Presently he +spoke in a harsh whisper: + +"He's dead, D-Dig--quite dead, you see! And he was my f-friend, +which was bad! And I trusted him--which was w-worse. A rogue always, +Dig, and a l-liar!" + +Then Barrymaine groaned, and groaning, spurned that quiet form +weakly with his foot and so, pitched down headlong across it. + +Now as they lay thus, they together made a great cross upon the floor. + +But presently shadows moved beyond the open window, a broad-brimmed, +high-crowned hat projected itself into the candle light, and a voice +spoke: + +"In the King's name! I arrest Ronald Barrymaine for the murder of +Jasper Gaunt--in the King's name, genelmen!" + +But now, very slowly and painfully, Ronald Barrymaine raised himself +upon his hands, lifted his heavy head and spoke in a feeble voice. + +"Oh, m-master Hangman," he whispered, "y-you're too l-late--j-just +too late!" And so, like a weary child settling itself to rest, he +pillowed his head upon his arm, and sighing--fell asleep. + +Then Mr. Shrig stepped forward very softly, and beholding that +placid young face with its tender, smiling lips, and the lashes that +drooped so dark against the dead pallor of the cheek, he took off +his broad-brimmed hat and stood there with bent head. + +But another figure had followed him, and now sprang toward Barnabas +with supporting arms outstretched, and in that moment Barnabas sighed, +and falling forward, lay there sprawled across the table. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXIII + + +WHICH RECOUNTS THREE AWAKENINGS + +The sunlight was flooding in at the open lattice and, as if borne +upon this shaft of glory, came the mingled fragrance of herb and +flower and ripening fruit with the blithe carolling of birds, a very +paean of thanksgiving; the chirp of sparrows, the soft, rich notes +of blackbirds, the warbling trill of thrushes, the far, faint song +of larks high in the blue--it was all there, blent into one +harmonious chorus of joy, a song that spoke of hope and a fair future +to such as were blessed with ears to hear. And by this, our Barnabas, +opening drowsy eyes and hearkening with drowsy ears, judged it was +yet early morning. + +He lay very still and full of a great content because of the glory +of the sun and the merry piping of the birds. + +But, little by little, as he hearkened, he became conscious of +another sound, a very gentle sound, yet insistent because of its +regularity, a soft click! click! click! that he could in no wise +account for. Therefore he would have turned his head, and +straightway wondered to find this so difficult to accomplish; +moreover he became aware that he lay in a bed, undressed, and that +his arm and shoulder were bandaged. And now, all at once he forgot +the bird-song and the sunshine, his brow grew harassed and troubled, +and with great caution he lifted his free hand to his neck and began +to feel for a certain ribbon that should be there. And presently, +having found the ribbon, his questing fingers followed it down into +his bosom until they touched a little, clumsily-wrought linen bag, +that he had fashioned, once upon a time, with infinite trouble and +pains, and in which he had been wont to carry the dried-up wisp of +what had once been a fragrant, scarlet rose. + +And now, having found this little bag, he lay with brow still +troubled as one in some deep perplexity, the while his fingers felt +and fumbled with it clumsily. This was the little bag indeed; he +knew it by reason of its great, uneven stitches and its many knots +and ends of cotton; yes, this was it beyond all doubt, and yet? +Truly it was the same, but with a difference. + +Now as he lay thus, being full of trouble because of this difference +which he could in no wise understand, he drew a deep sigh, which was +answered all at once by another; the soft clicking sound abruptly +ceased and he knew that some one had risen and now stood looking down +at him. Therefore Barnabas presently turned his head and saw a face +bent over him, a face with cheeks suspiciously pink, framed in curls +suspiciously dark and glossy, but with eyes wonderfully young and +bright and handsome; in one small, white hand was a needle and silk, +and in the other, a very diminutive piece of embroidery. + +"Why, Barnabas!" said the Duchess, very gently, "dear boy--what is it? +Ah! you've found it then, already--your sachet? Though indeed it +looks more like a pudding-bag--a very small one, of course. Oh, dear +me! but you're not a very good needlewoman, are you, Barnabas? +Neither am I--I always prick my fingers dreadfully. There--let me +open it for you--so! Now, while I hold it, see what is inside." + +Then, wondering, Barnabas slipped a clumsy thumb and finger into the +little bag and behold the faded wisp had become transfigured and +bloomed again in all its virgin freshness. For in his hand there lay +a great, scarlet rose, as sweet and fresh and fragrant as +though--for all the world as though it had been plucked that very +morning. + +"Ah, no, no, no," cried the Duchess, reading his look, "it was no +hand of mine worked the transformation, dear Barnabas." + +"But," murmured drowsy Barnabas, speaking with an effort-- +"it--was--dead--long ago--?" + +"Yet behold it is alive again!" said the Duchess. "And oh, Barnabas +dear, if a withered, faded wisp may bloom again--so may a woman's +faith and love. There, there, dear boy! Close your eyes and go to +sleep again." + +So, being very weary, Barnabas closed his eyes and, with the touch +of her small, cool fingers in his hair, fell fast asleep. + + + +II + +Now as Barnabas lay thus, lost in slumber, he dreamed a dream. He +had known full many sleeping visions and fancies of late, but, of +them all, surely none had there been quite like this. + +For it seemed to him that he was lying out amid the green, dewy +freshness of Annersley Wood. And as he lay there, grievously hurt, lo! +there came one hasting, light-footed to him through the green like +some young nymph of Arcady or Goddess of the Wood, one for whom he +seemed to have been waiting long and patiently, one as sweet and +fresh and fair as the golden morning and tender as the Spirit of +Womanhood. + +And, for that he might not speak or move because of his hurt, she +leaned above him and her hands touched him, hands very soft, and cool, +and gentle, upon his brow, upon his cheek; and every touch was a +caress. + +Slowly, slowly her arms came about him in a warm, clinging embrace, +arms strong and protecting that drew his weary head to the swell of +a bosom and pillowed it sweetly there. And clasping him thus, she +sighed over him and wept, though very silently, and stooped her lips +to him to kiss his brow, his slumberous eyes, and, last of all, his +mouth. + +So, because of this dream, Barnabas lay in a deep and utter content, +for it seemed that Happiness had come to him after all, and of its +own accord. But, in a while, he stirred and sighed, and presently +opened dreamy eyes, and thus it chanced that he beheld the door of +his chamber, and the door was quivering as though it had but just +closed. Then, as he lay watching it, sleepy-eyed, it opened again, +slowly and noiselessly, and John Peterby entered softly, took a step +towards the bed, but, seeing Barnabas was awake, stopped, and so +stood there very still. + +Suddenly Barnabas smiled, and held out a hand to him. + +"Why, John," said he, "my faithful John--is it you?" + +"Sir," murmured Peterby, and coming forward, took that extended hand, +looking down at Barnabas joyful-eyed, and would have spoken, yet +uttered no other word. + +"John," said Barnabas, glancing round the faded splendors of the +bed-chamber, "where am I, pray?" + +"At Ashleydown, sir." + +"Ashleydown?" repeated Barnabas, wrinkling his brow. + +"Sir, you have been--very ill." + +"Ah, yes, I was shot I remember--last night, I think?" + +"Sir, it happened over three weeks ago." + +"Three weeks!" repeated Barnabas, sitting up with an effort, +"three weeks, John?--Oh, impossible!" + +"You have been very near death, sir. Indeed I think you would have +died but for the tender nursing and unceasing care of--" + +"Ah, God bless her! Where is she, John--where is the Duchess?" + +"Her Grace went out driving this morning, sir." + +"This morning? Why, I was talking with her this morning--only a +little while ago." + +"That was yesterday morning, sir." + +"Oh!" said Barnabas, hand to head, "do you mean that I have slept +the clock round?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Hum!" said Barnabas. "Consequently I'm hungry, John, deuced sharp +set--ravenous, John!" + +"That, sir," quoth Peterby, smiling his rare smile, "that is the +best news I've heard this three weeks and more, and your chicken +broth is ready--" + +"Chicken broth!" exclaimed Barnabas, "for shame, John. Bring me a +steak, do you hear?" + +"But, sir," Peterby remonstrated, shaking his head, yet with his +face ever brightening, "indeed I--" + +"Or a chop, John, or ham and eggs--I'm hungry; I tell you." + +"Excellent!" laughed Peterby, nodding his head, "but the doctor, +sir--" + +"Doctor!" cried Barnabas, with a snort, "what do I want with doctors? +I'm well, John. Bring me my clothes." + +"Clothes, sir!" exclaimed Peterby, aghast. "Impossible, sir! No, no!" + +"Yes, yes, John--I'm going to get up." + +"But, sir--" + +"This very moment! My clothes, John, my clothes!" + +"Indeed, sir, I--" + +"John Peterby," said Barnabas, scowling blackly, "you will oblige me +with my garments this instant,--obey me, sir!" + +But hereupon, while Barnabas scowled and Peterby hesitated, puckered +of brow yet joyful of eye, there came the sound of wheels on the +drive below and the slam of a coach door, whereat Peterby crossed to +the window and, glancing out, heaved a sigh of relief. + +"Who is it?" demanded Barnabas, his scowl blacker than ever. + +"Her Grace has returned, sir." + +"Very good, John! Present my compliments and sa'y I will wait upon +her as soon as I'm dressed." + +But hardly had Peterby left the room with this message, than the +door opened again and her Grace of Camberhurst appeared, who, +catching sight of Barnabas sitting up shock-headed among his pillows, +uttered a little, glad cry and hurried to him. + +"Why, Barnabas!" she exclaimed, "oh, Barnabas!" and with the words +stooped, quick and sudden, yet in the most matter-of-fact manner in +the world, and kissed him lightly on the brow. + +"Oh, dear me!" she cried, beginning to pat and smooth his tumbled +pillows, "how glad I am to see you able to frown again, though +indeed you look dreadfully ferocious, Barnabas!" + +"I'm--very hungry, Duchess!" + +"Of course you are, Barnabas, and God bless you for it!" + +"A steak, madam, or a chop, I think--" + +"Would be excellent, Barnabas!" + +"And I wish to get up, Duchess." + +"To be sure you do, Barnabas--there, lie down, so!" + +"But, madam, I am firmly resolved--I'm quite determined to get up, +at once--" + +"Quite so, dear Barnabas--lay your head back on the pillow! Dear me, +how comfortable you look! And now, you are hungry you say? Then I'll +sit here and gossip to you while you take your chicken broth! You may +bring it in, Mr. Peterby." + +"Chicken broth!" snarled Barnabas, frowning blacker than ever, +"but, madam, I tell you I won't have the stuff; I repeat, madam, +that I am quite determined to--" + +"There, there--rest your poor tired head--so! And it's all a +delicious jelly when it's cold--I mean the chicken broth, of course, +not your head. Ah! you may give it to me, Mr. Peterby, and the +spoon--thank you! Now, Barnabas!" + +And hereupon, observing the firm set of her Grace's mouth, and the +authoritative flourish of the spoon she held in her small, though +imperious hand, Barnabas submitted and lying back among his pillows +in sulky dignity, swallowed the decoction in sulky silence, and +thereafter lay hearkening sulkily to her merry chatter until he had +sulked himself to sleep again. + + + +III + +His third awakening was much like the first in that room, was full +of sunshine, and the air vibrant with the song of birds; yet here +indeed lay a difference; for now, mingled with the piping chorus, +Barnabas was vaguely conscious of another sound, soft and low and +oft repeated, a very melodious sound that yet was unlike any note +ever uttered by thrush or blackbird, or any of the feathered kind. +Therefore, being yet heavy with sleep, Barnabas yawned, and +presently turning, propped himself upon his elbow and was just in +time to see a shapeless something vanish from the ledge of the open +window. + +The sun was low as yet, the birds in full song, the air laden with +fresh, sweet, dewy scents; and from this, and the profound stillness +of the house about him, he judged it to be yet early morning. + +Now presently as he lay with his eyes turned ever towards the open +casement, the sound that had puzzled him came again, soft and +melodious. + +Some one was whistling "The British Grenadiers." + +And, in this moment a bedraggled object began to make its appearance, +slowly and by degrees resolving itself into a battered hat. Inch by +inch it rose up over the window-ledge--the dusty crown--the frayed +band--the curly brim, and beneath it a face there was no mistaking +by reason of its round, black eyes and the untamable ferocity of its +whiskers. Hereupon, with its chin resting upon the window-sill, the +head gently shook itself to and fro, sighed, and thereafter +pronounced these words: + + Devilish pale! Deuced thin! But himself again. Oh, lucky dog! With + Fortune eager to dower him with all the treasures of her cornucopia, + and Beauty waiting for him with expectant arms, oh, lucky dog! Oh, + happy youth! Congratulations, Beverley, glad of it, my dear fellow, + you deserve it all and more. Oh, fortunate wight! + + But, as for me--you behold the last of lonely Smivvle, sir, of + bereaved Digby--of solitary Dig. Poor Barrymaine's star is set and + mine is setting--westwards, sir--my bourne is the far Americas, + Beverley. + +"Ah, Mr. Smivvle!" exclaimed Barnabas, sitting up, "I'm glad to see +you--very glad. But what do you mean by America?" + +"Sir," answered Mr. Smivvle, shaking his head and sighing again, +"on account of the lamentable affair of a month ago, the Bow Street +Runners have assiduously chivvied me from pillar to post and from +perch to perch, dammem! Had a notion to slip over to France, but the +French will insist on talking their accursed French at one, so I've +decided for America. But, though hounded by the law, I couldn't go +without knowing precisely how you were--without bidding you +good-by--without endeavoring to thank you--to thank you for poor +Barry's sake and my own, and also to return--" + +"Come in," said Barnabas, stretching out his hand, "pray come +in--through the window if you can manage it." + +In an instant Mr. Smivvle was astride the sill, but paused there to +glance about him and twist a whisker in dubious fingers. + +"Coast clear?" he inquired. "I've been hanging about the place for a +week hoping to see you, but by Gad, Beverley, you're so surrounded +by watchful angels--especially one in an Indian shawl, that I didn't +dare disturb you, but--" + +"Pooh, nonsense--come in, man!" said Barnabas. "Come in, I want your +help--" + +"My help, Oh Gemini!" and, with the word, Mr. Smivvle was in the room. +"My help?" he repeated. "Oh Jupiter--only say the word, my dear +fellow." + +"Why, then, I want you to aid me to dress." + +"Dress? Eh, what, Beverley--get up, is it?" + +"Yes. Pray get me my clothes--in the press yonder, I fancy." + +"Certainly, my dear fellow, but are you strong enough?" inquired +Mr. Smivvle, coming to the press on tip-toe. + +"Strong enough!" cried Barnabas in profound scorn, "Of course I am!" +and forthwith sprang to the floor and--clutched at the bedpost to +save himself from falling. + +"Ha--I feared so!" said Mr. Smivvle, hurrying to him with the +garments clasped in his arms. "Steady! There, lean on me--I'll have +you back into bed in a jiffy." + +"Bed!" snorted Barnabas, scowling down at himself. "Bed--never! I +shall be as right as a trivet in a minute or so. Oblige me with my +shirt." + +So, with a little difficulty, despite Mr. Smivvle's ready aid, +Barnabas proceeded to invest himself in his clothes; which done, he +paced to and fro across the chamber leaning upon Mr. Smivvle's arm, +glorying in his returning strength. + +"And so you are going to America?" inquired Barnabas, as he sank +into a chair, a little wearily. + +"I sail for New York in three days' time, sir." + +"But what of your place in Worcestershire?" + +"Gone, sir," said Mr. Smivvle, beginning to feel for his whisker. +"Historic place, though devilish damp and draughty--will echo to the +tread of a Smivvle no more--highly affecting thought, sir--oh demmit!" + +"As to--funds, now," began Barnabas, a little awkwardly, "are +you--have you--" + +"Sir, I have enough to begin with--in America. Which reminds me I +must be hopping, sir. But I couldn't go without thanking you on +behalf of--my friend Barrymaine, seeing he is precluded from--from +doing it himself. Sir, it was a great--a great grief to me--to lose +him for, as I fancy I told you, the hand of a Smivvle, sir--but he +is gone beyond plague or pestilence, or Jews, dammem! And he died, +sir, like a gentleman. So, on his behalf I do thank you deeply, and +I beg, herewith, to return you the twenty guineas you would have +given him. Here they are, sir." So saying, Mr. Smivvle released his +whisker and drawing a much worn purse from his pocket, tendered it +to Barnabas. + +Then, seeing the moisture in Mr. Smivvle's averted eyes, and the +drooping dejection of Mr. Smivvle's whiskers, Barnabas took the +purse and the hand also, and holding them thus clasped, spoke. + +"Mr. Smivvle," said he, "it is a far better thing to take the hand +of an honorable man and a loyal gentleman than to kiss the fingers +of a prince. This money belonged to your dead friend, let it be an +inheritance from him. As to myself, as I claim it an honor to call +myself your friend, so let it be my privilege to help you in your new +life and--and you will find five thousand guineas to your credit +when you reach New York, and--and heaven prosper you." + +"Sir--" began Mr. Smivvle, but his voice failing him he turned away +and crossing to the window stood there apparently lost in +contemplation of the glory of the morning. + +"You will let me know how you get on, from time to time?" inquired +Barnabas. + +"Sir," stammered Mr. Smivvle, "sir--oh, Beverley, I can't thank +you--I cannot, but--if I live, you shall find I don't forget and--" + +"Hush! I think a door creaked somewhere!" said Barnabas, almost in a +tone of relief. + +In an instant Mr. Smivvle had possessed himself of his shabby hat +and was astride of the window-sill. Yet there he paused to reach out +his hand, and now Barnabas might see a great tear that crept upon +his cheek--as bright, as glorious as any jewel. + +"Good-by, Beverley!" he whispered as their hands met, "good-by, and +I shall never forget--never!" + +So saying, he nodded, sighed and, swinging himself over the +window-ledge, lowered himself from sight. + +But, standing there at the casement, Barnabas watched him presently +stride away towards a new world, upright of figure and with head +carried high like one who is full of confident purpose. + +Being come to the end of the drive he turned, flourished his shabby +hat and so was gone. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXIV + + +HOW THE DUCHESS MADE UP HER MIND, AND BARNABAS DID THE LIKE + +"Gracious heavens--he's actually up--and dressed! Oh Lud, Barnabas, +what does this mean?" + +Barnabas started and turned to find the Duchess regarding him from +the doorway and, though her voice was sharp, her eyes were +wonderfully gentle, and she had stretched out her hands to him. +Therefore he crossed the room a little unsteadily, and taking those +small hands in his, bent his head and kissed them reverently. + +"It means that, thanks to you, Duchess, I am well again and--" + +"And as pale as a goblin--no, I mean a ghost--trying to catch his +death of cold at an open window too--I mean you, not the ghost! And +as weak as--as a rabbit, and--oh, dear me, I can't shut it--the +casement--drat it! Thank you, Barnabas. Dear heaven, I am so +flurried--and even your boots on too! Let me sit down. Lud, +Barnabas--how thin you are!" + +"But strong enough to go on my way--" + +"Way? What way? Which way?" + +"Home, Duchess." + +"Home, home indeed? You are home--this is your home. Ashleydown is +yours now." + +"Yes," nodded Barnabas, "I suppose it is, but I shall never live here, +I leave today. I am going home, but before I--" + +"Home? What home--which home?" + +"But before I do, I would thank you if I could, but how may I thank +you for all your motherly care of me? Indeed, dear Duchess, I cannot, +and yet--if words can--" + +"Pho!" exclaimed the Duchess, knitting her brows at him, but with +eyes still ineffably soft and tender, "what do you mean by 'home,' +pray?" + +"I am going back to my father and Natty Bell." + +"And to--that inn?" + +"Yes, Duchess. You see, there is not, there never was, there never +shall be quite such another inn as the old 'Hound.'" + +"And you--actually mean to--live there?" + +"Yes, for a time, but--" + +"Ha--a publican!" exclaimed the Duchess and positively sniffed, +though only as a really great lady may. + +"--there is a farm near by, I shall probably--" + +"Ha--a farmer!" snorted the Duchess. + +"--raise horses, madam, and with Natty Bell's assistance I hope--" + +"Horses!" cried the Duchess, and sniffed again. "Horses, indeed! +Absurd! Preposterous! Quite ridiculous--hush, sir! I have some +questions to ask you." + +"Well, Duchess?" + +"Firstly, sir, what of your dreams? What of London? What of Society?" + +"They were--only dreams," answered Barnabas; "in place of them I +shall have--my father and Natty Bell." + +"Secondly, sir,--what of your fine ambitions?" + +"It will be my ambition, henceforth, to breed good horses, madam." + +"Thirdly, sir,--what of your money?" + +"I shall hope to spend it to much better purpose in the country than +in the World of Fashion, Duchess." + +"Oh Lud, Barnabas,--what a selfish creature you are!" + +"Selfish, madam?" + +"A perfect--wretch!" + +"Wretch?" said Barnabas, staring. + +"Wretch!" nodded the Duchess, frowning, "and pray don't echo my words, +sir. I say you are a preposterously selfish wretch, and--so you are!" + +"But, madam, why? What do you mean?" + +"I mean that you should try to forget yourself occasionally and +think of others--me, for instance; look at me--a solitary old +woman--in a wig!" + +"You, Duchess?" + +"Me, Barnabas. And this brings me to fourthly--what of me, sir? +--what of me?" + +"But, madam, I--" + +"And this brings me to fifthly and sixthly and seventhly--my hopes, +and dreams, and plans, sir--are they all to be broken, spoiled, +ruined by your hatefully selfish whims, sir--hush, not a word!" + +"But, Duchess, indeed I don't--" + +"Hush, sir, and listen to me. There are days when my wig rebukes me, +sir, and my rouge-pot stares me out of countenance; yes, indeed, I +sometimes begin to feel almost--middle-aged and, at such times, I +grow a little lonely. Heaven, sir, doubtless to some wise end, has +always denied me that which is a woman's abiding joy or shame--I +mean a child, sir, and as the years creep on, one is apt to be a +little solitary, now and then, and at such times I feel the need of +a son--so I have determined to adopt you, Barnabas--today! Now! This +minute! Not a word, sir, my mind is made up!" + +"But," stammered Barnabas, "but, madam, I--I beg you to consider--my +father--" + +"Is a publican and probably a sinner, Barnabas. I may be a sinner too, +perhaps--y-e-s, I fear I am, occasionally. But then I am also a +Duchess, and it is far wiser in a man to be the adopted son of a +sinful Duchess than the selfish son of a sinful publican, yes indeed." + +"But I, madam, what can I say? Dear Duchess, I--the honor you would +do me--" floundered poor Barnabas, "believe me if--if--" + +"Not another word!" the Duchess interposed, "it is quite settled. As +my adopted son Society shall receive you on bended knees, with open +arms--I'll see to that! All London shall welcome you, for though I'm +old and wear a wig, I'm very much alive, and Society knows it. So no +more talk of horses, or farms, or inns, Barnabas; my mind, as I say, +is quite made up and--" + +"But, madam," said Barnabas gently, "so is mine." + +"Ha--indeed, sir--well?" + +"Well, madam, today I go to my father." + +"Ah!" sighed the Duchess. + +"Though indeed I thank you humbly for--your condescension." + +"Hum!" said the Duchess. + +"And honor you most sincerely for--for--" + +"Oh?" said the Duchess, softly. + +"And most truly love and reverence you for your womanliness." + +"Oh!" said the Duchess again, this time very softly indeed, and with +her bright eyes more youthful than ever. + +"Nevertheless," pursued Barnabas a little ponderously, "my father is +my father, and I count it more honorable to be his son than to live +an amateur gentleman and the friend of princes." + +"Quite so," nodded the Duchess, "highly filial and very pious, oh, +indeed, most righteous and laudable, but--there remains an eighthly, +Barnabas." + +"And pray, madam, what may that be?" + +"What of Cleone?" + +Now when the Duchess said this, Barnabas turned away to the window +and leaning his head in his hands, was silent awhile. + +"Cleone!" he sighed at last, "ah, yes--Cleone!" + +"You love her, I suppose?" + +"So much--so very much that she shall never marry an innkeeper's son, +or a discredited--" + +"Bah!" exclaimed the Duchess. + +"Madam?" + +"Don't be so hatefully proud, Barnabas." + +"Proud, madam--I?" + +"Cruelly, wickedly, hatefully proud! Oh, dear me! what a superbly +virtuous, heroic fool you are, Barnabas. When you met her at the +crossroads, for instance--oh, I know all about it--when you had her +there--in your arms, why didn't you--run off with her and marry her, +as any ordinary human man would have done? Dear heaven, it would +have been so deliciously romantic! And--such an easy way out of it!" + +"Yes," said Barnabas, beginning to frown, "so easy that it was--wrong!" + +"Quite so and fiddlesticks!" sniffed the Duchess. + +"Madam?" + +"Oh, sir, pray remember that one wrong may sometimes make two right! +As it is, you will let your abominable pride--yes, pride! wreck and +ruin two lives. Bah!" cried the Duchess very fiercely as she rose +and turned to the door, "I've no patience with you!" + +"Ah, Duchess," said Barnabas, staying her with pleading hands, +"can't you see--don't you understand? Were she, this proud lady, my +wife, I must needs be haunted, day and night, by the fear that some +day, soon or late, she would find me to be--not of her world--not +the man she would have me, but only--the publican's son, after all. +Now--don't you see why I dare not?" + +"Oh, Pride! Pride!" exclaimed the Duchess. "Do you expect her to +come to you, then--would you have her go down on her knees to you, +and--beg you to marry her?" + +Barnabas turned to the window again and stood there awhile staring +blindly out beyond the swaying green of trees; when at last he spoke +his voice was hoarse and there was a bitter smile upon his lips. + +"Yes, Duchess," said he slowly, "before such great happiness could +be mine she must come to me, she must go down upon her knees--proud +lady that she is--and beg this innkeeper's son to marry her. So you +see, Duchess, I--shall never marry!" + +Now when at last Barnabas looked round, the Duchess had her back to +him, nor did she turn even when she spoke. + +"Then you are going back--to your father?" + +"Yes, madam." + +"To-day?" + +"Yes, madam." + +"Then--good-by, Barnabas! And remember that even roses, like all +things else, have a habit of fading, sooner or later." And thus, +without even glancing at him, the Duchess went out of the room and +closed the door softly behind her. + +Then Barnabas sank into a chair, like one that is very tired, and +sat there lost in frowning thought, and with one hand clasped down +upon his breast where hidden away in a clumsily contrived +hiding-place a certain rose, even at that moment, was fading away. +And in a while being summoned by Peterby, he sighed and, rising, +went down to his solitary breakfast. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXV + + +WHICH TELLS WHY BARNABAS FORGOT HIS BREAKFAST + +It was a slender little shoe, and solitary, for fellow it had none, +and it lay exactly in the middle of the window-seat; moreover, to +the casual observer, it was quite an ordinary little shoe, ordinary, +be it understood, in all but its size. + +Why, then, should Barnabas, chancing to catch sight of so ordinary +an object, start up from his breakfast (ham and eggs, and fragrant +coffee) and crossing the room with hasty step, pause to look down at +this small and lonely object that lay so exactly in the middle of +the long, deep window-seat? Why should his hand shake as he stooped +and took it up? Why should the color deepen in his pale cheek? + +And all this because of a solitary little shoe! A quite ordinary +little shoe--to the casual observer! Oh, thou Casual Observer who +seeing so much, yet notices and takes heed to so little beyond thy +puny self! To whom the fairest prospect is but so much earth and so +much timber! To whom music is but an arrangement of harmonious sounds, +and man himself but a being erect upon two legs! Oh, thou Casual +Observer, what a dull, gross, self-contented clod art thou, who, +having eyes and ears, art blind and deaf to aught but things as +concrete as--thyself! + +But for this shoe, it, being something worn, yet preserved the mould +of the little foot that had trodden it, a slender, coquettish little +foot, a shapely, active little foot: a foot, perchance, to trip it +gay and lightly to a melody, or hurry, swift, untiring, upon some +errand of mercy. + +All this, and more, Barnabas noted (since he, for one, was no casual +observer) as he stood there in the sunlight with the little shoe +upon his palm, while the ham and eggs languished forgotten and the +coffee grew cold, for how might they hope to vie with this that had +lain so lonely, so neglected and--so exactly in the middle of the +window-seat? + +Now presently, as Barnabas stood thus lost in contemplation of this +shoe, he was aware of Peterby entering behind him, and instinctively +made as if to hide the shoe in his bosom, but he checked the impulse, +turned, and glancing at Peterby, saw that his usually grave lips were +quivering oddly at the corners, and that he kept his gaze fixed +pertinaciously upon the coffee-pot; whereat the pale cheek of +Barnabas grew suffused again, and stepping forward, he laid the +little shoe upon the table. + +"John," said he, pointing to it, "have you ever seen this before?" + +"Why, sir," replied Peterby, regarding the little shoe with brow of +frowning portent, "I think I have." + +"And pray," continued Barnabas (asking a perfectly unnecessary +question), "whose is it, do you suppose?" + +"Sir," answered John, still grave of mouth and solemn of eye, +"to the best of my belief it belongs to the Lady Cleone Meredith." + +"So she--really was here, John?" + +"Sir, she came here the same night that you--were shot, and she +brought Her Grace of Camberhurst with her." + +"Yes, John?" + +"And they remained here until today--to nurse you, sir." + +"Did they, John?" + +"They took turns to be with you--day and night, sir. But it was only +my Lady Cleone who could soothe your delirious ravings,--she seemed +to have a magic--" + +"And why," demanded Barnabas, frowning suddenly, "Why was I never +told of her presence?" + +"Sir, it was her earnest wish that you were not to know unless--" + +"Well, John?" + +"Unless you expressly asked for her, by name. And, sir--you never did." + +"No," sighed Barnabas, "I never did. But perhaps, after all, it was +just as well, John? Under the--circumstances, John?" + +But seeing Peterby only shook his head and sighed, Barnabas turned +to stare out of the window. + +"And she--left this morning--with the Duchess, did she?" he inquired, +without looking round. + +"Yes, sir." + +"Where for?" + +"For--London, as I understood, sir." + +Hereupon Barnabas was silent for a time, during which Peterby +watched him solicitously. + +"Is 'The Terror' still here?" Barnabas inquired suddenly. + +"Yes, sir, and I took the liberty of sending for Gabriel Martin to +look after him." + +"Quite right, John. Tell Martin to have him saddled at once." + +"You are--going out, sir?" + +"Yes, I am going--out." + +Peterby bowed and crossed to the door, but paused there, hesitated, +and finally spoke: + +"Sir, may I ask if you intend to ride--Londonwards?" + +"No," answered Barnabas, stifling a sigh, "my way lies in the +opposite direction; I am going--back, to the 'Coursing Hound.' And +that reminds me--what of you, what are your plans for the future?" + +"Sir," stammered Peterby, "I--I had ventured to--to hope that you +might--take me with you, unless you wished to--to be rid of me--" + +"Rid of you, John!" cried Barnabas, turning at last, "no--never. Why, +man, I need you more than ever!" + +"Sir," exclaimed Peterby, flushing suddenly, "do you--really mean that?" + +"Yes, John--a thousand times, yes! For look you, as I have proved +you the best valet in the world--so have I proved you a man, and it +is the man I need now, because--I am a failure." + +"No, no!" + +"Yes, John. In London I attempted the impossible, and today +I--return home, a failure. Consequently the future looms rather dark +before me, John, and at such times a tried friend is a double +blessing. So, come with me, John, and help me to face the future as +a man should." + +"Ah, sir," answered Peterby, with his sudden radiant smile, +"darkness cannot endure, and if the future brings its sorrows, so +must it bring its joys. Surely the future stands for hope and--I +think--happiness!" + +Now as he ended, Peterby raised one hand with forefinger outstretched; +and, looking where he pointed, Barnabas beheld--the little shoe. But +when he glanced up again, Peterby was gone. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXVI + + +HOW THE VISCOUNT PROPOSED A TOAST + +"Oh--hif you please, sir!" + +Barnabas started, raised his head, and, glancing over his shoulder, +beheld Milo of Crotona. He was standing in the middle of the room +looking very cherubic, very natty, and very upright of back; and he +stared at Barnabas with his innocent blue eyes very wide, and with +every one of the eight winking, twinkling, glittering buttons on his +small jacket--indeed, it seemed to Barnabas that to-day his buttons +were rather more knowing than usual, if that could well be. +Therefore Barnabas dropped his table-napkin, very adroitly, upon a +certain object that yet lay upon the table before him, ere he turned +about and addressed himself to the Viscount's diminutive "tiger." + +"What, my Imp," said he, "where in the world have you sprung from, +pray? I didn't see you come in." + +"No, sir--'cause you jest 'appened to be lookin' at that there +little boot, you did." Thus Master Milo, and his eyes were guileless +as an angel's, but--his buttons--! + +"Hum!" said Barnabas, rubbing his chin. "But how did you get in, Imp?" + +"Froo de winder, sir, I did. An' I 've come to tell you 'is +Ludship's compliments, and 'e's a-comin' along wiv 'er, 'e is." + +"With--whom?" + +"Wiv my lady--'er." + +"What lady?" + +"Wiv 'is Ludship's lady, 'is Vi-coun-tess,--'er." + +"His Viscountess!" repeated Barnabas, staring, "do you mean that the +Viscount is--actually married?" + +"'T ain't my fault, sir--no fear, it ain't. 'E went and done it be'ind +my back--s'morning as ever was, 'e did. I didn't know nothin' about it +till it was too late, 'e done it unbeknownst to me, sir, 'e did, an' +she done it too a' course, an' the Yurl went an' 'elped 'em to do it, +'e did. So did the Cap'n, and the Doochess an' Lady Cleone--they all +'elped 'em to do it, they did. An' now they're goin' into the country, +to Deven'am, an' I'm a-goin' wiv 'em--an' they're a-drivin' over to +see you, sir, in 'is Ludship's noo phayton--an' that's all--no, +it ain't though." + +"What more, Imp?" + +"Why, as they all come away from the church--where they'd been +a-doin' of it, sir--I met the little, old Doochess in 'er coach, an' +she see me, too. 'Why it's the little Giant!' she sez. 'Best respex, +mam,' I sez, an' then I see as she'd got Lady Cleone wiv 'er--a fine, +'igh-steppin', 'andsome young filly, I call 'er, an' no error. +'Where are you goin', Giant?' sez the Doochess. 'I'm a-goin' to drop +in on Mr. Bev'ley, mam, I am,' I sez. 'Then give 'im my love,' she +sez, 'an' tell 'im I shan't never forget 'is pride and 'is +selfishness,' she sez,--an' she give me a crown into the bargain, +she did. An' then--jest as the coach was a-drivin' off t'other +'un--the young 'un, give me this. 'For Mr. Bev'ley,' she sez in a +whisper, and--here it be, sir." + +Saying which, Master Milo handed Barnabas a small folded paper +whereon, scribbled in Cleone's well-known writing, were these three +aphorisms: + + 1. Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty + spirit before a fall. + + 2. Selfishness shall find its own reward. + + 3. Journeys end in lovers' meetings. + +Long stood Barnabas devouring these words with his eyes; so puzzled +and engrossed was he indeed, that not until Master Milo ventured to +touch him on the arm did he look up. + +"'Ere's 'is Ludship, sir," explained Milo, jerking his thumb towards +the open window, "a-drivin' up the av'noo, sir, in 'is phayton, +and wiv 'is noo Vi-coun-tess along of him--and a reg'lar 'igh-stepper +she looks, don't she? Arter all, I don't blame 'im for goin' an' doin' +of it, I don't. Ye see, I allus 'ad a tender spot for Miss Clemency, +mam, I 'ad, and a fine, proper, bang up Vi-coun-tess she do make, +an' no error, sir--now don't she?" + +"Surely," nodded Barnabas, looking where Milo pointed, "surely she +is the handsomest, sweetest young Viscountess in all England, Imp." + +So saying, he strode from the room with Master Milo trotting at his +heels, and being come out upon the terrace, stood to watch the +phaeton's rapid approach. + +And, indeed, what words could be found in any language that could +possibly do justice to the gentle, glowing beauty of Mistress +Clemency Dare, transformed now, for good and all, into Beatrix, +Viscountess Devenham? What brush could paint the mantling color of +her cheek, the tender light of her deep, soft eyes, the ripe +loveliness of her shape, and all the indefinable grace and charm of +her? Surely none. + +And now, Master Milo has darted forward and sprung to the horses' +heads, for the Viscount has leapt to earth and has caught at +Barnabas with both hands almost before the phaeton has come to a +stand. + +"Why, Bev--my dear old fellow, this is a joyful surprise! oh, bruise +and blister me!" exclaimed the Viscount, viewing Barnabas up and +down with radiant eyes, "to see you yourself again at last--and on +this day of all days--this makes everything quite complete, +y'know--doesn't it, Clemency? Expected to find you in bed, +y'know--didn't we, Clem, dear? And oh--egad, Bev--er--my wife, y'know. +You haven't heard, of course, that I--that we--" + +"Yes, I've just heard," said Barnabas, smiling, "and God knows, Dick, +I rejoice in your joy and wish you every happiness!" And, speaking, +he turned and looked into the flushing loveliness of Clemency's face. + +"Mr. Beverley--oh, Barnabas--dear brother!" she said softly, +"but for you, this day might never have dawned for us--" and she +gave both her hands into his. "Oh, believe me, in my joy, as in my +sorrow, I shall remember you always." + +"And I too, Bev!" added the Viscount. + +"And," continued Clemency, her voice a little tearful, "whatever +happiness the future may hold will only make that memory all the +dearer, Barnabas." + +"Gad, yes, that it will, Bev!" added the Viscount. "And, my dear +fellow," he pursued, growing somewhat incoherent because of his +earnestness, "I want to tell you that--that because I--I'm so +deucedly happy myself, y' know, I wish that my luck had been +yours--no, I don't mean that exactly, but what I meant to say was +that I--that you deserve to--to--oh, blister me! Tell him what I mean, +Clemency dear," the Viscount ended, a little hoarsely. + +"That you deserve to know a love as great, a joy as deep as ours, +dear Barnabas." + +"Exactly!" nodded the Viscount, with a fond look at his young wife; +"Precisely what I meant, Bev, for I'm the proudest, happiest fellow +alive, y' know. And what's more, my dear fellow, in marrying +Clemency I marry also an heiress possessed of all the attributes +necessary to bowl over a thousand flinty-hearted Roman P's, and my +Roman's heart--though tough, was never quite a flint, after all." + +"Indeed, sir--he would have welcomed me without a penny!" retorted +Clemency, blushing, and consequently looking lovelier than ever. + +"Why--to be sure he would!" said Barnabas. "Indeed, who wouldn't?" + +"Exactly, Bev!" replied the Viscount, "she cornered him with the +first glance, floored him with a second, and had him fairly beaten +out of the ring with a third. Gad, if you'd only been there to see!" + +"Would I had!" sighed Barnabas. + +"Still there's always--the future, y' know!" nodded the Viscount. +"Ah, yes, and with an uncommonly big capital F, y' know, Bev. It was +decreed that we were to be friends by--well, you remember who, +Bev--and friends we always must be, now and hereafter, amen, my dear +fellow, and between you and me--and my Viscountess, I think the +Future holds more happiness for you than ever the past did. Your +turn will come, y' know, Bev--we shall be dancing at your wedding +next--shan't we, Clem?" + +"No, Dick," answered Barnabas, shaking his head, "I shall never marry." + +"Hum!" said the Viscount, fingering his chin and apparently lost in +contemplation of a fleecy cloud. + +"Of that I am--quite certain." + +"Ha!" said the Viscount, staring down at the toe of his glossy boot. + +"But," continued Barnabas, "even in my loneliness--" + +"His loneliness--hum!" said the Viscount, still contemplating his +resplendent boot. "Clemency dear, do you suppose our Barnabas fellow +will be groaning over his 'loneliness'--to-morrow, say?" Hereupon, +the Viscount laughed suddenly, and for no apparent reason, while +even Clemency's red lips curved and parted in a smile. + +"But," said Barnabas, looking from one to the other, "I don't +understand!" + +"Neither do we, Bev. Only, dear fellow, remember this, 'there is a +destiny which shapes our ends,' and--occasionally, a Duchess." But +here, while Barnabas still glanced at them in perplexity, John +Peterby appeared, bearing a tray whereon stood a decanter and glasses. + +"Ha!--most excellent Peterby!" cried the Viscount, "you come pat to +the occasion, as usual. Fill up for all of us, yes--even my small +Imp yonder; I have a toast to give you." And, when the glasses +brimmed, the Viscount turned and looked at Barnabas with his boyish +smile. "Let us drink," said he, "to the Future, and the Duchess's +move!" + +So the toast was drunk with all due honors: but when Barnabas sought +an explanation, the Viscount laughed and shook his head. + +"Pray ask my Viscountess," said he, with a fond look at her, and +turned away to rebuckle a trace under the anxious supervision of +Master Milo. + +"Indeed, no, Barnabas," said Clemency, smiling, "I cannot explain, +as Dick well knows. But this I must tell you, while you lay here, +very near death, I came to see you often with my dear father." + +"Ah!" exclaimed Barnabas, "then you met--her?" + +"Yes, I met Cleone, and I--loved her. She was very tired and worn, +the first time I saw her; you were delirious, and she had watched +over you all night. Of course we talked of you, and she told me how +she had found my letter to you, the only one I ever wrote you, and +how she had misjudged you. And then she cried, and I took her in my +arms and kissed away her tears and comforted her. So we learned to +know and love each other, you see." + +"I am very glad," said Barnabas, slowly, and with his gaze on the +distance, "for her sake and yours." + +Now as she looked at him, Clemency sighed all at once, yet +thereafter smiled very tenderly, and so smiling, gave him both her +hands. + +"Oh, Barnabas," said she, "I know Happiness will come to you, sooner +or later--when least expected, as it came to me, so--dear Barnabas, +smile!" + +Then Barnabas, looking from her tearful, pitying eyes to the hand +upon whose finger was a certain plain gold ring that shone so very +bright and conspicuous because of its newness, raised that slender +hand to his lips. + +"Thank you, Clemency," he answered, "but why are you--so sure?" + +"A woman's intuition, perhaps, Barnabas, or perhaps, because if ever +a man deserved to be happy--you do, dear brother." + +"Amen to that!" added the Viscount, who had at length adjusted the +trace to his own liking and Master Milo's frowning approval. "Good-by, +Bev," he continued, gripping the hand Barnabas extended. "We are going +down to Devenham for a week or so--Clemency's own wish, and when we +come back I have a feeling that the--the shadows, y' know, will have +passed quite away, y'know,--for good and all. Good-by, dear fellow, +good-by!" So saying, the Viscount turned, rather hastily, sprang into +the phaeton and took up the reins. + +"Are you right there, Imp?" + +"All right, m'lud!" answers that small person with one foot posed +negligently on the step, waiting till the last possible moment ere +he mounts to his perch behind. So, with a last "good-by" the +Viscount touches up his horses, the light vehicle shoots forward +with Master Milo swinging suspended in mid-air, who turns to Barnabas, +flashes his eight buttons at him, touches his hat to him, folds his +arms, and, sitting very stiff in the back, is presently whirled out +of sight. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXVII + + +HOW BARNABAS RODE HOMEWARDS, AND TOOK COUNSEL OF A PEDLER OF BOOKS + +It was well on in the afternoon when Barnabas, booted and spurred, +stepped out into the sunshine where old Gabriel Martin walked +"The Terror" to and fro before the door. + +"Very glad to see you out and about again, sir," said he, beaming of +face and with a finger at his grizzled temple. + +"Thank you, Martin." + +"And so is the 'oss, sir--look at 'im!" And indeed the great, black +horse had tossed up his lofty crest and stood, one slender fore-leg +advanced and with sensitive ears pricked forward, snuffing at +Barnabas as he came slowly down the steps. + +"He doesn't seem to have taken any hurt from the last race we had +together," said Barnabas. + +"'Arm, sir--lord, no--not a bit, never better! There's a eye for you, +there's a coat! I tell you, sir, 'e's in the very pink, that 'e is." + +"He does you great credit, Martin." + +"Sir," said Martin as Barnabas prepared to mount, "sir, I hear as +you ain't thinking of going back to town?" + +"To the best of my belief, no, Martin." + +"Why, then, sir," said the old groom, his face clouding, "p'r'aps I +'d better be packing up my bits o' traps, sir?" + +"Yes, Martin, I think you had," answered Barnabas, and swung himself +somewhat awkwardly into the saddle. + +"Very good, sir!" sighed old Martin, his gray head drooping. +"I done my best for the 'oss and you, sir, but I know I'm a bit too +old for the job, p'r'aps, and--" + +But at this moment Peterby approached. + +"Sir," he inquired, a little anxiously, "do you feel able--well +enough to ride--alone?" + +"Why, bless you, John, of course I do. I'm nearly well," answered +Barnabas, settling his feet in the stirrups, "and that reminds me, +you will discharge all the servants--a month's wages, John, and shut +up this place as soon as possible. As for Martin here, of course you +will bring him with you if he will come. We shall need him hereafter, +shan't we, John? And perhaps we'd better offer him another ten shillings +a week considering he will have so many more responsibilities +on the farm." + +So saying, Barnabas waved his hand, wheeled his horse, and rode off +down the drive; but, glancing back, when he had gone a little way, +he saw that Peterby and the old groom yet stood looking after him, +and in the face of each was a brightness that was not of the sun. + +On rode Barnabas, filling his lungs with great draughts of the balmy +air and looking about him, eager-eyed. And thus, beholding the +beauty of wooded hill and dale, already mellowing to Autumn, the +heaviness was lifted from his spirit, his drooping back grew straight, +and raising his eyes to the blue expanse of heaven, he gloried that +he was alive. + +But, in a while, remembering Cleone's note, he must needs check his +speed, and taking the paper from his bosom, began to con it over: + + 1. Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty + spirit before a fall. + + 2. Selfishness shall find its own reward. + + 3. Journeys end in lovers' meetings. + +Now as he rode thus at a hand-pace, puzzling over these cryptic words, +he was presently aroused by a voice, somewhat harsh and discordant, +singing at no great distance; and the words of the song were these: + + "Push about the brisk bowl, 't will enliven the heart + While thus we sit down on the grass; + The lover who talks of his sufferings and smart + Deserves to be reckoned an ass, an ass, + Deserves to be reckoned an ass." + +Therefore Barnabas raised his head and, glancing to one side of the +way, beheld the singer sitting beneath the hedge. He was a small, +merry-eyed man and, while he sang, he was busily setting out certain +edibles upon the grass at his feet; now glancing from this very +small man to the very large pack that lay beside him, Barnabas +reined up and looked down at him with a smile. + +"And pray," he inquired, "how do books sell these days?" + +"Why, they do and they don't, sir. Sermons are a drug and novels +ain't much better, poems is pretty bobbish, but song-books is my meat. +And, talking o' songbooks, here's one as is jest the thing for a +convivial cock o' the game--a fine, young, slap-up buck like you, my +Lord. Here's a book to kill care, drive away sorrer, and give a +'leveller' to black despair. A book as'll make the sad merry, and +the merry merrier. Hark to this now!" + +So saying, the Pedler drew a book from his pack, and opening it at +the title-page, began to read as follows, with much apparent unction +and gusto: + + + THE HEARTY FELLOW: + + OR + + JOYOUS SOUL'S COMPANION. + + BEING A + Chaste, Elegant, and Humourous + COLLECTION OF SONGS, + for the ENTERTAINMENT of: + + The TENDER MAID, the PINING LOVER, the CHOICE + SPIRIT, the DROLL DOG, the JOVIAL SPORTSMAN, the + DARING SOLDIER and the ROUGH, HONEST TAR: + and for all those who would wish to render themselves agreeable, + divert the Company, kill Care, and be joyous; where the + high-seasoned WIT and HUMOUR will be sufficient Apology for + a bad Voice, and by which such as have a tolerable one will be + able to Shine without repressing the Laugh of the merrily + disposed, or offending the Ear of the chastest Virgin. + + To which is added: + + A complete Collection of the Various TOASTS, SENTIMENTS, + and HOB-NOBS, that have been drank, are now + drinking, and some new Ones offered for Adoption. + +"There you are, sir--there's a book for you! A book? A whole +li-bree--a vaddy-mekkum o' wit, and chock full o' humor! What d' ye +say for such a wollum o' sparkling bon mots? Say a guinea, say +fifteen bob? say ten? Come--you shall take it for five! Five bob for +a book as ain't to be ekalled no-how and no-wheer--" + +"Not in Asia, Africa or America?" said Barnabas. + +"Eh?" said the Pedler, glancing sharply up at him, "why--what, Lord +love me--it's you, is it? aha! So it did the trick for you, did it?" + +"What do you mean?" + +"Mean, sir? Lord, what should I mean, but that there book on Ettyket, +as I sold you--that priceless wollum as I give you--for five bob, +months ago, when the larks was a-singing so inspiring." + +"Yes, it was a lovely morning, I remember." + +"Ah! and you left me that morning, a fine, upstanding young country +cove, but to-day--ah, to-day you are a bang up blood--a gent, inside +and out, a-riding of a magnificent 'oss--and all on account o' +follering the instructions in that 'ere blessed tome as I sold +you--for five bob! And dirt-cheap at the money!" + +"And I find you exactly as you were," said Barnabas thoughtfully, +"yes, even to the bread and cheese." + +"There you are wrong, sir--axing your pardon. This time it's 'alf a +loaf--medium, a slice o' beef--small, and a cold per-tater--large. +But cold per-taters is full o' nourishment, if eat with a contented +mind--ah, there's oceans o' nourishment in a cold per-tater--took +reg'lar. O' course, for them as is flush o' the rhino, and wants a +blow-out, there's nothin' like two o' leg o' beef with a dash o' pea, +'alf a scaffold-pole, a plate o' chats, and a swimmer--it's +wholesome and werry filling, and don't cost more than a groat, but +give me a cold per-tater to walk on. But you, sir," continued the +Pedler, beginning to eat with great appetite, "you, being a reg'lar +'eavy-toddler now, one o' the gilded nobs--and all on account o' +that there priceless wollum as I--give away to you--for five bob! +you, being now a blue-blooded aris-to-crat, don't 'ave to walk, so +you can go in for plovers or pheasants or partridges, dressed up in +hartichokes, p'r'aps, yes--frogs'-legs is your constant fodder now, +p'r'aps--not to mention rag-outs and sich. Oh, yes, I reckon you've +done a lot, and seen a lot, and--eat a lot since the morning as I +give you a priceless wollum worth its weight in solid gold as was +wrote by a Person o' Quality--and all for five bob! jest because +them larks 'appened to be singing so sentimental--drat 'em! Ah well," +sighed the Pedler, bolting the last morsel of beef, "and 'ow did you +find London, young sir?" + +"Much bigger than I expected." + +"Ah, it is a bit biggish till you get used to it. And it's amazing +what you can see--if you looks 'ard enough, like the tombs in St. +Paul's Churchyard, f'r instance. I knowed of a chap once as spent +over a week a-looking for 'em, and never see so much as a single +'eadstone--but then, 'e were born stone-blind, so it were only +nat'ral as 'e _should_ miss 'em, p'r'aps. But you, young sir, 'ow +did you pass your time?" + +"Principally in dressing and undressing." + +"Ah, jess so, jess so--coats cut 'igh and coats cut low! But what +more?" + +"And in eating and drinking." + +"Ah, French hortolons, p'r'aps, with a occasional tongue of a lark +throwed in for a relish, jess so! But what more--did ye marry a +duchess, f'r instance?" + +"Alas, no!" + +"Elope with a earl's daughter, then?" + +"No." + +"Well--did ye fight any dooels?" + +"Not a single one." + +"Lord, young sir--you 'ave been a-missing of your opportunities, you +'ave, playing fast and loose wi' Fortun', I calls it--ah, fair +flying in the face o' Providence! Now, if instead o' selling books I +took to writing of 'em, and tried to write you into a novel, why, +Lord, what a poor thing that there novel would be! Who'd want to read +it?--why, nobody! Oh, I can see as you've been throwing away your +opportunities and wasting your chances shocking, you 'ave." + +"Now I wonder," said Barnabas, frowning thoughtfully, "I wonder if I +have?" + +"Not a doubt of it!" answered the Pedler, swallowing the last of his +potato. + +"Then the sooner I begin to make up for it, the better." + +"Ah!" nodded the Pedler. "I should begin at once, if I was you." + +"I will," said Barnabas, gathering up the reins. + +"And how, sir?" + +"By going my allotted way and--striving to be content." + +"Content!" exclaimed the Pedler, "lord, young sir, it's only fools +as is ever content! A contented man never done anything much worth +'aving, nor said anything much worth 'caring as ever I 'eard. Never +go for to be content, young sir, or you'll never do nothing at all!" + +"Why, then," said Barnabas, smiling ruefully, "it is certain that I +shall achieve something yet, because--I never shall be content!" + +"That's the spirit, young sir--aim 'igh. Jest look at me--born in +the gutter, but I wasn't content wi' the gutter so I taught myself +to read and write. But I wasn't content to read and write, so I took +to the book trade, and 'ere I am to-day travelling the roads and wi' +a fairish connection, but I ain't content--Lord, no! I'd like to be +a dook a-rolling in a chariot, or a prince o' the blood, or the +Prime Minister a-laying down the law. That's the sperrit--shoot 'igh, +ah! shoot at the sun and you're bound to 'it summat if it's only a +tree or a 'ay-stack. So, if you can't be a dook or a prince, you can +allus be--a man--if you try 'ard enough. What--are ye going, young +sir?" + +"Yes," answered Barnabas, leaning down from the saddle, "good-by, +and thank you for your advice," and he stretched out his hand. + +Hereupon the pedler of books rose to his feet and rather diffidently +clasped the proffered hand. So Barnabas smiled down at him, nodded +and rode upon his way, but as for the Pedler, he stood there, +staring after him open-mouthed, and with the yellow coins shining +upon his palm. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXVIII + + +WHICH TELLS HOW BARNABAS CAME HOME AGAIN, AND HOW HE AWOKE FOR THE +FOURTH TIME + +Evening was falling as Barnabas came to the top of the hill and, +drawing rein, paused there to look down at a certain inn. It was a +somewhat small and solitary inn, an ancient inn with many lattices, +and with pointed gables whose plaster and cross-beams were just now +mellowed by the rosy glow of sunset. + +Surely, surely, nowhere in all broad England could there be found +just such another inn as this, or one more full of that reposeful +dignity which only age can bestow. And in all its length of days +never had "The Coursing Hound" looked more restful, more comfortable +and home-like than upon this early Autumn evening. And remembering +those two gray-headed men, who waited within its hospitable walls, +eager to give him welcome, who might, perchance, even now be talking +of him one to another, what wonder if, as our Barnabas gazed down at +it from worn steps to crooked chimney, from the faded sign before +the door of it to the fragrant rick-yard that lay behind it, what +wonder (I say) if it grew blurred all at once, and misty, or that +Barnabas should sigh so deeply and sit with drooping head, while the +old inn blinked its casements innocently in the level rays of the +setting sun, like the simple, guileless old inn that it was! + +But lo! all at once forth from its weather-beaten porch issued two +figures, clean-limbed, athletic figures these--men who strode strong +and free, with shoulders squared and upright of back, though the +head of each was grizzled with years. On they came, shoulder to +shoulder, the one a tall man with a mighty girth of chest, the other +slighter, shorter, but quick and active as a cat, and who already +had gained a good yard upon his companion; whereupon the big man +lengthened his stride; whereupon the slighter man broke into a trot; +whereupon the big man fell into a run; whereupon the slighter man +followed suit and thus, neck and neck, they raced together up the +hill and so, presently reaching the summit, very little breathed +considering, pulled up on either side of Barnabas. + +"Father!" he cried, "Natty Bell! Oh, it's good to be home again!" + +"Man Jack, it's all right!" said Natty Bell, nodding to John, but +shaking away at the hand Barnabas had reached down to him, "_our_ +lad's come back to us, yes, Barnabas has come home, John, and--it +_is_ our Barnabas--London and Fashion aren't spiled him, John, +thank God!" + +"No," answered John ponderously, "no, Natty Bell, London aren't +spiled him, and--why, Barnabas, I'm glad to see ye, lad--yes, +I'm--glad, and--and--why, there y'are, Barnabas." + +"Looks a bit palish, though, John!" said Natty Bell, shaking his head, +"but that's only nat'ral, arter all, yes--a bit palish, p'r'aps, but, +man Jack--what o' that?" + +"And a bit thinnish, Natty Bell," replied John, "but Lord! a few +days and we'll have him as right as--as ever, yes, quite right, and +there y' are, Natty Bell!" + +"P'r'aps you might be wishful to tell him, John, as you've had the +old 'Hound' brightened up a bit?" + +"Why, yes, Barnabas," nodded John, "in honor o' this occasion--though, +to be sure, the sign would look better for a touch o' paint here and +there--the poor old Hound's only got three legs and a tail left, +d' ye see--and the hare, Barnabas, the hare--ain't!" + +"P'r'aps we'd better take and let him see for hisself, John?" + +"Right, Natty Bell, so he shall." + +Thus, presently, Barnabas rode on between them down the hill, +looking from one to the other, but saying very little, because his +heart was so full. + +"And this be the 'oss you wrote us about--hey, Barnabas lad?" +inquired Natty Bell, stepping back and viewing 'The Terror' over +with an eye that took in all his points. "Ha--a fine action, lad--" + + 'Pray haven't you heard of a jolly young coal-heaver + Who down at Hungerford used for to ply--' + +"A leetle--leggy? p'r'aps, Barnabas, and yet--ha!" + + 'His daddles he used with such skill and dexterity, + Winning each mill, sir, and blacking each eye--' + +"His cannons'll never trouble him, Barnabas, come rough or smooth, +and you didn't say a word too much in your letter. Man Jack--you +behold a 'oss as is a 'oss--though, mark you, John, a leetle bit +roundish in the barrel and fullish in the shoulder--still, a animal, +John, as I'm burning to cock a leg over." + +"Why, then, Natty Bell, so you shall," said Barnabas, and forthwith +down he swung himself and, being a little careless, wracked his +injured shoulder and flinched a little, which the slow-spoken, +quick-eyed John was swift to notice and, almost diffidently drew his +son's arm through his own. But, Natty Bell, joyful of eye, was +already in the saddle; whereat "The Terror," resenting the change, +immediately began to dance and to sidle, with, much rearing up in +front and lashing out behind, until, finding this all quite +unavailing, he set off at a stretching gallop with Natty Bell +sitting him like a centaur. + +"And now, Barnabas," said John slowly, "'ow might your shoulder be, +now?" + +"Nearly well, father." + +"Good," nodded John, "very good! I thought as you was going to--die, +Barnabas, lad. They all did--even the Duchess and Lady--the--the +doctors, Barnabas." + +"Were you going to say--Lady Cleone, father?" + +"Why," answered John, more ponderously than ever, "I won't go for to +deny it, Barnabas, never 'aving been a liar--on principle as you know, +and--and--there y'are, my lad." + +"Have you ever--seen her, then?" + +"Seen her," repeated John, beginning to rasp at his great square chin, +"seen her, Barnabas, why, as to that--I say, as to that--ah!--here +we be, Barnabas," and John Barty exhaled a deep breath, very like a +sigh of relief, "you can see from here as the poor old 'Hound' will +soon be only tail--not a leg to stand on. I'll have him painted back +again next week--and the hare." + +So, side by side, they mounted the worn steps of the inn, and side +by side they presently entered that long, panelled room where, once +on a time, they had fronted each other with clenched fists. Before +the hearth stood John Barty's favorite arm-chair and into this, +after some little demur, Barnabas sank, and stretched out his booted +legs to the fire. + +"Why, father," said he, lolling back luxuriously, "I thought you +never liked cushions?" + +"No more I do, Barnabas. She put them there for you." + +"She, father?" + +"One o' the maids, lad, one o' the maids and--and there y'are!" + +"And now, father, you were telling me of the Lady Cleone--" + +"No, I weren't, Barnabas," answered his father hastily and turning +to select a pipe from the sheaf on the mantel-shelf, "not me, lad, +not me!" + +"Why, yes, you spoke of her--in the road." + +"In the road? Oh, ah--might ha' spoke of her--in the road, lad." + +"Well--do you--know her, father?" + +"Know her?" repeated John, as though asking himself the question, +and staring very hard at the pipe in his hand, "do I know her--why, +yes--oh, yes, I know her, Barnabas. Ye see--when you was so--so near +death--" But at this moment the door opened and two neat, mob-capped +maids entered and began to spread a cloth upon the table, and +scarcely had they departed when in came Natty Bell, his bright eyes +brighter than ever. + +"Oh, Natty Bell!" exclaimed John, beckoning him near, "come to this +lad of ours--do, he's axing me questions, one a-top of t' other till +I don't know what! 'Do I know Lady Cleone?' says he; next it'll be +'how' and 'what' and 'where'--tell him all about it. Natty Bell--do." + +"Why then--sit down and be sociable, John," answered Natty Bell, +drawing another chair to the fire and beginning to fill his pipe. + +"Right, Natty Bell," nodded John, seating himself on the other side +of Barnabas, "fire away and tell our lad 'ow we came to know her, +Natty Bell." + +"Why, then, Barnabas," Natty Bell began, as soon as his pipe was in +full blast, "when you was so ill, d' ye see, John and me used to +drive over frequent to see how you was, d' ye see. But you, being so +ill, we weren't allowed to go up and see you, so she used to come +down to us and--talk of you. Ah! and very sweet and gentle she +was--eh, man Jack?" + +"Sweet!" echoed John, shaking his head, "a angel weren't sweeter! +Gentle? Ah, Natty Bell, I should say so--and that thoughtful of +us--well, there y' are!" + +"But one day, Barnabas," Natty Bell continued, "arter we'd called a +good many times, she _did_ take us up to see you,--didn't she, John?" + +"Ah, that she did, Natty Bell, God bless her!" + +"And you was a-lying there with shut eyes--very pale and still, +Barnabas. But all at once you opened your eyes and--being out o' +your mind, and not seeing us--delirious, d' ye see, Barnabas, you +began to speak. 'No,' says you very fierce, 'No! I love you so much +that I can never ask you to be the wife of Barnabas Barty. Mine must +be the harder way, always. The harder way! The harder way!' says you, +over and over again. And so we left you, but your voice follered us +down the stairs--ah, and out o' the house, 'the harder way!' says +you, 'the harder way'--over and over again." + +"Ah! that you did, lad!" nodded John solemnly. + +"So now, Barnabas, we'd like the liberty to ax you, John and me, +what you meant by it?" + +"Ah--that's the question, Barnabas!" said John, fixing his gaze on +the bell-mouthed blunderbuss that hung over the mantel, "what might +it all mean--that's the question, lad." + +"It means, father and Natty Bell, that I have been all the way to +London to learn what you, being so much wiser than I, tried to teach +me--that a sow's ear is not a silk purse, nor ever can be." + +"But," said John, beginning to rasp at his chin again, "there's +Adam--what of Adam? You'll remember as you said--and very sensible +too. Natty Bell--you'll remember as you said--" + +"Never mind what I said then, father, I was very young. To-day, +since I never can be a gentleman, I have come home so that you may +teach me to be a man. And believe me," he continued more lightly as +he glanced from the thoughtful brow of Natty Bell to the gloom on his +father's handsome face, "oh, believe me--I have no regrets, +none--none at all." + +"Natty Bell," said John ponderously, and with his gaze still fixed +intently upon the blunderbuss, "what do you say to that?" + +"Why I say, John, as I believe as our lad aren't speaking the truth +for once." + +"Indeed, I shall be very happy," said Barnabas, hastily, "for I've +done with dreaming, you see. I mean to be very busy, to--to devote +my money to making us all happy. I have several ideas already, my +head is full of schemes." + +"Man Jack," said Natty Bell, puffing thoughtfully at his pipe, +"what do _you_ say to _that_?" + +"Why," answered John, "I say Natty Bell, as it be my belief as our +dear lad's nob be full o' only one idee, and that idee is--a woman. +Ah, and always will be and--there y'are, Natty Bell." + +"For one thing," Barnabas went on more hastily than before, +"I'm going to carry out the improvements you suggested years ago for +the dear old 'Hound,' father--and you and I, Natty, might buy the +farm next door, it's for sale I know, and go in for raising horses. +You often talked of it in the old days. Come, what do you say?" he +inquired, seeing that neither of his hearers spoke or moved, and +wondering a little that his proposals should fall so flat. "What do +you think, Natty Bell?" + +"Well," answered Natty Bell, "I think, Barnabas, since you ax me so +pointed-like, that you'd do much better in taking a wife and raising +children." + +"Ah--why not, lad?" nodded his father. "It be high time as you was +thinking o' settling down, so--why not get married and ha' done with +it?" + +"Because," answered Barnabas, frowning at the fire, "I can love only +one woman in this world, and she is altogether beyond my reach, +and--never can be mine--never." + +"Ha!" said Natty Bell getting up and staring down into the fire, +"Hum!" + + 'Since boxing is a manly game + And Britain's recreation, + By boxing we will raise our fame + 'Bove every other nation.' + +"Remember this, Barnabas, when a woman sets her mind on anything, +I've noticed as she generally manages to--get it, one way or t' other. +So I wouldn't be too sure, if I was you." Saying which, he nodded to +John, above his son's drooping head, winked, and went silently out +of the room. + +Left alone with his son, John Barty sat a while staring up at the +bell-mouthed blunderbuss very much as though he expected it to go +off at any moment; at last, however, he rose also, hesitated, laid +down his pipe upon the mantel-shelf, glanced down at Barnabas, +glanced up at the blunderbuss again and finally spoke: + +"And remember this, Barnabas, your--your--mother, God bless her +sweet soul, was a great lady, but I married her, and I don't think +as she ever--regretted it, lad. Ye see, Barnabas, when a good woman +really loves a man--that man is the only man in the world for her, +and--nothing else matters to her, because her love, being a good love, +d' ye see--makes him--almost worthy. The love of a good woman is a +sweet thing, lad, a wondrous thing, and may lift a man above all +cares and sorrows and may draw him up--ah! as high as heaven at last, +and--well--there y' are, Barnabas, dear lad." + +Having said this, the longest speech Barnabas ever heard his father +utter, John Barty laid his great hand lightly upon his son's bent +head and treading very softly, for a man of his inches, followed +Natty Bell out of the room. + +But now as Barnabas sat there staring into the fire and lost in +thought, he became, all at once, a prey to Doubt and Fear once again, +doubt of himself, and fear of the future; for, bethinking him of his +father's last words, it seemed to him that he had indeed chosen the +harder course, since his days, henceforth, must needs stretch away--a +dismal prospect wherein no woman's form might go beside him, no soft +voice cheer him, no tender hand be stretched out to soothe his griefs; +truly he had chosen the harder way, a very desolate way where no +light fall of a woman's foot might banish for him its loneliness. + +And presently, being full of such despondent thoughts, Barnabas +looked up and found himself alone amid the gathering shadows. And +straightway he felt aggrieved, and wondered why his father and Natty +Bell must needs go off and leave him in this dark hour just when he +most needed them. + +Therefore he would have risen to seek them out but, in the act of +doing so, caught one of his spurs in the rug, and strove vainly to +release himself, for try how he would he might not reach down so far +because of the pain of his wounded shoulder. + +And now, all at once, perhaps because he found himself so helpless, +or because of his loneliness and bodily weakness, the sudden tears +started to his eyes, hot and scalding, and covering his face, he +groaned. + +But lo! in that moment of his need there came one, borne on flying +feet, to kneel beside him in the fire-glow, and with swift, +dexterous fingers to do for him that which he could not do for +himself. But when it was done and he was free, she still knelt there +with head bent, and her face hidden beneath the frill of her mob-cap. + +"Thank you!" he said, very humbly, "I fear I am very awkward, but my +shoulder is a little stiff." + +But this strange serving-maid never moved, or spoke. And now, +looking down at her shapely, drooping figure, Barnabas began to +tremble, all at once, and his fingers clenched themselves upon his +chair-arms. + +"Speak!" he whispered, hoarsely. + +Then the great mob-cap was shaken off, yet the face of this maid was +still hid from him by reason of her hair that, escaping its +fastenings, fell down, over bowed neck and white shoulders, rippling +to the floor--a golden glory. And now, beholding the shining +splendor of this hair, his breath caught, and as one entranced, he +gazed down at her, fearing to move. + +"Cleone!" he breathed, at last. + +So Cleone raised her head and looked at him, sighing a little, +blushing a little, trembling a little, with eyes shy yet unashamed, +the eyes of a maid. + +"Oh, Barnabas," she murmured, "I am here--on my knees. You wanted +me--on my knees, didn't you, Barnabas? So I am here to ask you--" +But now her dark lashes fluttered and fell, hiding her eyes from him, +"--to beg you to marry me. Because I love you, Barnabas, and because, +whatever else you may be, I know you are a man. So--if you +really--want me, dear Barnabas, why--take me because I am just--your +woman." + +"Want you!" he repeated, "want you--oh my Cleone!" and, with a broken, +inarticulate cry, he leaned down and would have caught her fiercely +against his heart; but she, ever mindful of his wound, stayed him +with gentle hand. + +"Oh, my dear--your shoulder!" she whispered; and so, clasping tender +arms about him, she drew his weary head to her bosom and, holding +him thus, covered him with the silken curtain of her hair, and in +this sweet shade, stooped and kissed him--his brow, his tearful eyes, +and, last of all, his mouth. "Oh, Barnabas," she murmured, "was +there ever, I wonder, a man so foolish and so very dear as you, or a +woman quite so proud and happy as I?" + +"Proud?" he answered, "but you are a great lady, and I am only--" + +"My dear, dear--man," sighed Cleone, clasping him a little more +closely, "so--when will you marry me? For, oh, my Barnabas, if you +must always choose to go the harder way--you must let me tread it +with you, to the very end, my dear, brave, honorable man." + +And thus did our Barnabas know, at last, that deep and utter content +which can come only to those who, forgetful of soul-clogging Self +and its petty vanities and shams, may rise above the cynical +commonplace and walk with gods. + +Now, in a while, as they sat together in the soft glow of the fire, +talking very little since Happiness is beyond speech, the door +opened and closed and, glancing up, Barnabas was aware of the +Duchess standing in the shadows. + +"No, no--sit still, dear children," she cried, with a hand +out-stretched to each, "I only peeped in to tell you that dinner was +almost ready--that is, no, I didn't. I came here to look for +Happiness and, thank God, I've found it! You will be married from my +house in Berkeley Square, of course. He is a great fool, Cleone, this +Barnabas of ours--give him a horse and armor and he would have been +a very--knightly fool. And then--he is such a doubting Jonah--no, I +mean Thomas, of course,--still he's not quite a fool--I mean Barnabas, +not Thomas, who was anything but a fool. Ah! not my hand, dear +Barnabas, I still have lips, though I do wear a wig--there, sir. Now +you, Cleone. Dear Heaven, how ridiculously bright your eyes are, +child. But it's just as well, you must look your best to-night. +Besides, the Marquis is coming to dinner, so is the Captain--so +awkward with his one arm, dear soul! And the Bo'sun--bless his empty +sleeve--no, no--not the Bo'sun's, he has an empty--oh, never mind, +and--oh Lud, where am I? Ah, yes--quite a banquet it will be with +'Glorious John' and Mr. Natty. Dear Heaven, how ridiculously happy I +am, and I know my wig is all crooked. But--oh, my dears! you have +found the most wonderful thing in all this wonderful universe. Riches, +rank, fame--they are all good things, but the best, the greatest, +the most blessed of all is--Love. For by love the weak are made +strong, and the strong gentle--and Age itself--even mine--may be +rejuvenated. I'm glad you preferred your own father to an adopted +mother, dear Barnabas, even though she is a duchess--for that I must +kiss you again--there! And so shall Cleone when I'm gone, so--I'll go. +And oh, may God bless you--always, my dears." + +So, looking from one to the other, the Duchess turned away and left +them together. + +And, in a while, looking down at Cleone where she knelt in his +embrace, beholding all the charm and witchery of her, the high, +proud carriage of her head, the grace and beauty of her shapely body, +soft and warm with life and youth, and love, Barnabas sighed for +very happiness; whereupon she, glancing up and meeting this look, +must needs droop her lashes at him, and blush, and tremble, all in a +moment. + +"But--you are mine," said Barnabas, answering the blush. "Mine, at +last, for ever and always." + +"For ever and always, dear Barnabas." + +"And yet," said he, his clasp tightening, "I am so unworthy, it +almost seems that it cannot possibly be true--almost as if it were a +dream." + +"Ah no, Barnabas, surely the dream is over and we are awake at last +to joy and the fulness of life. And life has given me my heart's +desire, and for you, my brave, strong, honorable man--the Future +lies all before you." + +"Yes," said Barnabas, looking deep into her radiant eyes, "for me +there is the Future and--You." + +And thus did happiness come to our Barnabas, when least expected, as +may it come to each of us when we shall have proved ourselves, in +some way, fit and worthy. + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Amateur Gentleman, by Jeffery Farnol + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE AMATEUR GENTLEMAN *** + +***** This file should be named 9879-8.txt or 9879-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/9/8/7/9879/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Robert Prince, and the +Project Gutenberg Online Distribulted Proofreading Team + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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