"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.