"Sir, said the fugitive, hoarsely, but with a new light in his face,"
for that, if I were not your servant--I--should like to--clasp your
hand; and, sir, my name is John Peterby."
"Why, then," said Barnabas, smiling all at once, "why then, John
Peterby, here it is!"
So, for a moment their hands met, and then John Peterby turned sharp
about and strode away down the lane, his step grown light and his
head held high.
But as for Barnabas, he sat there in the ditch, staring at nothing;
and as he stared his brow grew black and ever blacker, until
chancing at last to espy the "priceless wollum," where it lay beside
him, he took it up, balanced it in his hand, then hurled it over the
opposite hedge: which done, he laughed sudden and harsh, and
clenched his fists.
"God!" he exclaimed, "a goddess and a satyr!" and so sat staring on
at nothingness again.