"Lord, sir, 'ow do I know that? But get it 'e did--'e likewise broke
the seal."
"But--why?"
"Vell now, first, it's a love-letter, ain't it?"
"Why--I--"
"Werry good! Now, sir, might that theer letter be making a
app'intment--come?"
"Yes, an appointment for to-morrow evening."
"Ah! In a nice, qviet, lonely place--say a vood?"
"Yes, at a very lonely place called Oakshott's Barn."
"Come, that's better and better!" nodded Mr. Shrig brightly,
"that's werry pretty, that is--things is rosier than I 'oped, but
then, as I said afore, things is allus blackest afore the dawn.
Oakshott's Barn, eh? Ecod, now, but it sounds a nice, lonesome
place--just the sort o' place for it, a--a--capital place as you
might call it." And Mr. Shrig positively chuckled and rubbed his
chubby hands together; but all at once, he shook his head gloomily,
and glancing at Barnabas, sighed deeply. "But you--von't go, o'
course, sir?"
"Go?"
"To Oakshott's Barn, to-morrow evening?"
"Yes, of course," answered Barnabas, "the appointment is for
seven-thirty."
"Seven-thirty!" nodded Mr. Shrig, "and a werry nice time for it too!
Sunset, it'll be about--a good light and not too long to vait till
dark! Yes, seven-thirty's a werry good time for it!"
"For what?"
"V'y," said Mr. Shrig, lowering his voice suddenly, "let's say for
'it'!"
"'It,'" repeated Barnabas, staring.
"Might I jest take a peep at that theer letter, v'ere it says
seven-thirty, sir?"
"Yes," said Barnabas, pointing to a certain line of Cleone's letter,
"here it is!"
"Ah," exclaimed Mr. Shrig, nodding and rubbing his hands again,
"your eyes is good 'uns, ain't they, sir?"
"Yes."
"Then jest take a good look at that theer seven-thirty, vill you,
sir--come, vot do you see?"
"That the paper is roughened a little, and the ink has run."
"Yes, and vot else? Look at it a bit closer, sir."
"Why," said Barnabas staring hard at the spot, "it looks as though
something had been scratched out!"
"And so it has, sir. If you go there at seven-thirty, it von't be a
fair lady as'll be vaiting to meet you. The time's been altered o'
course--jest as I 'oped and expected."
"Ah!" said Barnabas, slowly and very softly, and clenched his fist.
"So now, d'ye see, you can't go--can ye?" said Mr. Shrig in a
hopeless tone.
"Yes!" said Barnabas.
"Eh? Vot--you vill?"
"Most assuredly!"
"But--but it'll be madness!" stammered Mr. Shrig, his round eyes
rounder than ever, "it'll be fair asking to be made a unfort'nate
wictim of, if ye go. O' course it 'ud be a good case for me, and
good cases is few enough--but you mustn't go now, it 'ud be madness!"
"No," said Barnabas, frowning darkly, "because I shall go--before
seven-thirty, you see."