"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.