"So she--really was here, John?"
"Sir, she came here the same night that you--were shot, and she
brought Her Grace of Camberhurst with her."
"Yes, John?"
"And they remained here until today--to nurse you, sir."
"Did they, John?"
"They took turns to be with you--day and night, sir. But it was only
my Lady Cleone who could soothe your delirious ravings,--she seemed
to have a magic--"
"And why," demanded Barnabas, frowning suddenly, "Why was I never
told of her presence?"
"Sir, it was her earnest wish that you were not to know unless--"
"Well, John?"
"Unless you expressly asked for her, by name. And, sir--you never did."
"No," sighed Barnabas, "I never did. But perhaps, after all, it was
just as well, John? Under the--circumstances, John?"
But seeing Peterby only shook his head and sighed, Barnabas turned
to stare out of the window.
"And she--left this morning--with the Duchess, did she?" he inquired,
without looking round.
"Yes, sir."
"Where for?"
"For--London, as I understood, sir."
Hereupon Barnabas was silent for a time, during which Peterby
watched him solicitously.
"Is 'The Terror' still here?" Barnabas inquired suddenly.
"Yes, sir, and I took the liberty of sending for Gabriel Martin to
look after him."
"Quite right, John. Tell Martin to have him saddled at once."
"You are--going out, sir?"
"Yes, I am going--out."
Peterby bowed and crossed to the door, but paused there, hesitated,
and finally spoke: "Sir, may I ask if you intend to ride--Londonwards?"
"No," answered Barnabas, stifling a sigh, "my way lies in the
opposite direction; I am going--back, to the 'Coursing Hound.' And
that reminds me--what of you, what are your plans for the future?"
"Sir," stammered Peterby, "I--I had ventured to--to hope that you
might--take me with you, unless you wished to--to be rid of me--"
"Rid of you, John!" cried Barnabas, turning at last, "no--never. Why,
man, I need you more than ever!"
"Sir," exclaimed Peterby, flushing suddenly, "do you--really mean that?"
"Yes, John--a thousand times, yes! For look you, as I have proved
you the best valet in the world--so have I proved you a man, and it
is the man I need now, because--I am a failure."
"No, no!"
"Yes, John. In London I attempted the impossible, and today
I--return home, a failure. Consequently the future looms rather dark
before me, John, and at such times a tried friend is a double
blessing. So, come with me, John, and help me to face the future as
a man should."
"Ah, sir," answered Peterby, with his sudden radiant smile,
"darkness cannot endure, and if the future brings its sorrows, so
must it bring its joys. Surely the future stands for hope and--I
think--happiness!"
Now as he ended, Peterby raised one hand with forefinger outstretched;
and, looking where he pointed, Barnabas beheld--the little shoe. But
when he glanced up again, Peterby was gone.