"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.