And, when he was gone, Barnabas hurried back into the room and,
taking pen and paper, wrote this: You are to be arrested to-night, so I send you my friend, John
Peterby. Trust yourself to his guidance.
BEVERLEY.
And having folded and sealed this letter, he beckoned to Peterby.
"John," said he, speaking in his ear, "take this letter to Mr. Barrymaine,
give it into his hand, see that he leaves at once. And, John, take a
coach and bring him back with you."
So Peterby the silent thrust the note into his bosom, took his fur
cap, and sighing, went from the room; and a moment later, glancing
cautiously through the window, Barnabas saw him hurry through the
court and vanish round the corner.
Then Barnabas turned back to the table, and seeing how wistfully
Mr. Bimby eyed the teapot, poured him out another cup; and while
they drank together, Mr. Bimby chatted, in his pleasant way, of
bitter wrong, of shattered faith and ideals, of the hopeless
struggle against circumstance, and of the oncoming terror of old age,
bringing with it failing strength and all the horrors of a debtor's
prison. And now, mingled with his pity, Barnabas was conscious of a
growing respect for this pleasant, small gentleman, and began to
understand why a man might seek the "shorter way," yet be no great
coward after all.
So Mr. Bimby chattered on and Barnabas listened until the day
declined to evening; until Barnabas began to hearken for Peterby's
returning footstep on the uncarpeted stair outside. Even in the act
of lighting the candles his ears were acutely on the stretch, and
thus he gradually became aware of another sound, soft and dull, yet
continuous, a sound difficult to locate. But as he stood staring
into the flame of the candle he had just lighted, striving meanwhile
to account for and place this noise, Mr. Bimby rose and lifted a thin,
arresting hand.
"Sir," said he, "do you hear anything?"
"Yes. I was wondering what it could be."
"I think I can tell you, sir," said Mr. Bimby, pointing to a certain
part of the cracked and blackened ceiling; "it is up there, in my
room--listen!"
And now, all at once Barnabas started and caught his breath, for
from the floor above came a soft trampling as of unshod feet, yet
the feet never moved from the one spot.
"Indeed," sighed Mr. Bimby, "I greatly fear my poor young friend is
ill again. I must go up to him, but first--may I beg--"
"Sir," said Barnabas, his gaze still fixed upon a certain corner of
the ceiling, "I should like to go with you, if I may."
"You are very good, sir, very kind, I protest you are," quavered
Mr. Bimby, "and hem! if I might suggest--a little brandy--?" But
even as Barnabas reached for the bottle, there came a hurry of
footsteps on the stair, a hand fumbled at the door and Mr. Smivvle
entered with Peterby at his heels.