"Then, since I have the one--give me the other."
"Mr. Beverley, you will please return my handkerchief," and stopping
all at once, she held out her hand imperiously.
"Of course," sighed Barnabas, "on a condition--"
"On no condition, sir!"
"That you remember my name is Barnabas."
"But I detest your name."
"I am hoping that by use it may become a little less objectionable,"
said he, rather ponderously.
"It never can--never; and I want my handkerchief,--Barnabas."
So Barnabas sighed again, and perforce gave the handkerchief into
her keeping. And now it was she who smiled up at the moon; but as
for Barnabas, his gaze was bent earthwards. After they had gone some
way in silence, he spoke.
"Have you met--Sir Mortimer Carnaby--often?" he inquired.
"Yes," she answered, then seeing his scowling look, added, "very
often, oh, very often indeed, sir!"
"Ha!" said frowning Barnabas, "and is he one of the many who
have--told you their love?"
"Yes."
"Hum," said Barnabas, and strode on in gloomy silence. Seeing which
she smiled in the shadow of her hood, and thereafter grew angry all
at once.
"And pray, why not, sir?" she demanded, haughtily, "though, indeed,
it does not at all concern you; and he is at least a gentleman, and
a friend of the Prince--"
"And has an excellent eye for horseflesh--and women," added Barnabas.
Now when he said this, she merely looked at him once, and thereafter
forgot all about him, whereby Barnabas gradually perceived that his
offence was great, and would have made humble atonement, yet found
her blind and deaf, which was but natural, seeing that, for her, he
had ceased to exist.
But they reached a stile. It was an uncommonly high stile, an
awkward stile at any time, more especially at night. Nevertheless,
she faced it resolutely, even though Barnabas had ceased to exist.
When, therefore, having vaulted over, he would have helped her, she
looked over him, and past him, and through him, and mounted unaided,
confident of herself, proud and supremely disdainful both of the
stile and Barnabas; and then--because of her pride, or her disdain,
or her long cloak, or all three--she slipped, and to save herself
must needs catch at Barnabas, and yield herself to his arm; so, for
a moment, she lay in his embrace, felt his tight clasp about her,
felt his quick breath upon her cheek. Then he had set her down, and
was eyeing her anxiously.
"Your foot, is it hurt?" he inquired.
"Thank you, no," she answered, and turning with head carried high,
hurried on faster than ever.
"You should have taken my hand," said he; but he spoke to deaf ears.
"You will find the next stile easier, I think," he ventured; but
still she hurried on, unheeding.