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!"