"But?" inquired Barnabas.
"As regards the handkerchief now--?"
"I found it--on a bramble-bush--in a wood," said Barnabas.
"In a wood!"
"In Annersley Wood; I found a lady there also."
"A lady--oh, egad!"
"A very beautiful woman," said Barnabas thoughtfully, "with
wonderful yellow hair!"
"The Lady Cleone Meredith!" exclaimed the Viscount, "but in a--wood!"
"She had fallen from her horse."
"How? When? Was she hurt?"
"How, I cannot tell you, but it happened about two hours ago, and
her hurt was trifling."
"And you--found her?"
"I also saw her safely out of the wood."
"And you did not know her name?"
"I quite--forgot to ask it," Barnabas admitted, "and I never saw her
until this morning."
"Why, then, my dear Bev," said the Viscount, his brow clearing,
"let us go back to breakfast, all three of us."
But, now turning about, they perceived that the stranger was gone,
yet, coming to the bridge, they presently espied him sitting beside
the stream laving his hurts in the cool water.
"Sir," said Barnabas, "our thanks are due to you--"
"And you must come back to the inn with us," added the Viscount;
"the ham surpasses description."
"And I would know what you meant by the 'blood of atonement,'" said
Barnabas, the persistent.
"As to breakfast, young sirs," said the stranger, shaking his head,
"I thank you, but I have already assuaged my hunger; as to my story,
well, 'tis not over long, and indeed it is a story to think upon--a
warning to heed, for it is a story of Self, and Self is the most
insidious enemy that man possesses. So, if you would listen to the
tale of a selfish man, sit down here beside me, and I'll tell you."