"Noos?" said the cobbler, "Oh? Ah! Well go and tell your noos to
someone else as ain't so 'andsome,--Mrs. Snummitt, say, as lives
next door,--a widder,--respectable, but with only one heye,--try
Mrs. Snummitt."
"Ah,--perhaps she's in the room yonder," said Barnabas, "anyhow, I
mean to see--"
"No ye don't!" cried the little cobbler, seizing a crutch that leant
near him, and springing up with astonishing agility, "no ye don't,
my fine gentleman,--she ain't for you,--not while I'm 'ere to
protect her!" and snatching up a long awl, he flourished it above
his head. "I'm a cobbler, oh yes,--but then I'm a valiant cobbler,
as valiant as Sir Bedevere, or Sir Lancelot, or any of 'em,--every
bit,--come and try me!" and he made a pass in the air with the awl
as though it had been a two-edged sword. But, at this moment, the
door of the inner room was pushed open and Clemency appeared. She
had laid aside her threadbare cloak, and Barnabas was struck afresh
by her proud, dark loveliness.
"You good, brave Nick!" said she, laying her hand upon the little
cripple's bent shoulder, "but we can trust this gentleman, I know."
"Trust him!" repeated the cobbler, peering at Barnahas, more
particularly at his feet, "why, your boots is trustworthy--now I
come to look at 'em, sir," "Boots?" said Barnabas.
"Ah," nodded the cobbler, "a man wears his character into 'is boots
a sight quicker than 'e does into 'is face,--and I can read boots
and shoes easier than I can print,--and that's saying summat, for I'm
a great reader, I am. Why didn't ye show me your boots at first
and have done with it?" saying which the cobbler snorted and sat down;
then, having apparently swallowed a handful of nails, he began to
hammer away lustily, while Barnabas followed Clemency into the inner
room, and, being there, they stood for a long moment looking on each
other in silence.
And now Barnabas saw that, with her apron and mobcap, the country
serving-maid had vanished quite. In her stead was a noble woman,
proud and stately, whose clear, sad eyes returned his gaze with a
gentle dignity; Clemency indeed was gone, but Beatrix had come to
life. Yet, when he spoke, Barnabas used the name he had known her by
first.
"Clemency," said he, "your father is seeking for you."
"My--father!" she exclaimed, speaking in a whisper. "You have
seen--my father? You know him?"
"Yes. I met him--not long ago. His name is Ralph Darville, he told me,
and he goes up and down the countryside searching for you--has done
so, ever since he lost you, and he preaches always Forgiveness and
Forgetfulness of Self!"
"My father!" she whispered again with quivering lips. "Preaching?"