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.