The sun was getting low, as Barnabas parted the brambles, and
looking about him, frowned. He stood in a grassy glade or clearing,
a green oasis hemmed in on every side with bushes. Before him was
Oakshott's Barn, an ancient structure, its rotting thatch dishevelled,
its doors gone long since, its aged walls cracked and scarred by
years, a very monument of desolation; upon its threshold weeds had
sprung up, and within its hoary shadow breathed an air damp, heavy,
and acrid with decay.
It was indeed a place of solitude full of the "hush" of leaves, shut
out from the world, close hidden from observation, a place apt for
the meetings of lovers. And, therefore, leaning in the shadow of the
yawning doorway, Barnabas frowned.
Evening was falling, and from shadowy wood, from dewy grass and
flower, stole wafts of perfume, while from some thicket near by a
blackbird filled the air with the rich note of his languorous song;
but Barnabas frowned only the blacker, and his hand clenched itself
on the stick he carried, a heavy stick, that he had cut from the
hedge as he came.
All at once the blackbird's song was hushed, and gave place to a
rustle of leaves that drew nearer and nearer; yet Barnabas never
moved, not even when the bushes were pushed aside and a man stepped
into the clearing--a tall, elegant figure, who having paused to
glance sharply about him, strolled on again towards the barn,
swinging his tasselled walking-cane, and humming softly to himself
as he came. He was within a yard of Barnabas when he saw him, and
stopped dead.
"Ah!" he exclaimed, softly; and thereafter the two eyed each other
in an ominous silence.
"And who the devil are you?" he inquired at length, his eyes still
intent.
"Sir," said Barnabas, yet leaning in the doorway--"your name I think,
is Chichester?"
"Well?"
"Permit me to return your coat button!" and Barnabas held out the
article in question, but Mr. Chichester never so much as glanced at
it.
"What do you want here?" he demanded, soft of voice.
"To tell you that this dismal place is called Oakshott's Barn, sir."
"Well?"
"To warn you that Oakshott's Barn is an unhealthy place--for your
sort, sir."
"Ha!" said Mr. Chichester, his heavy-lidded eyes unwinking,
"do you threaten?"
"Let us rather say--I warn!"
"So you do threaten!"
"I warn!" repeated Barnabas.
"To the devil with you and your warning!" All this time neither of
them had moved or raised his voice, only Mr. Chichcster's thin,
curving nostrils began to twitch all at once, while his eyes gleamed
beneath their narrowed lids. But now Barnabas stepped clear of the
doorway, the heavy stick swinging in his hand.
"Then, sir," said he, "let me advise. Let me advise you to hurry
from this solitude."