"Pray, think of him as kindly as you can," she sighed, "you see--he
is only a boy--my brother."
"So young?" said Barnabas.
"Just twenty, but younger than his age--much younger. You see," she
went on hastily, "he went to London a boy--and--and he thought
Mr. Chichester was his friend, and he lost much money at play, and,
somehow, put himself in Mr. Chichester's power. He is my half-brother,
really; but I--love him so, and I've tried to take care of him--I
was always so much stronger than he--and--and so I would have you
think of him as generously as you can."
"Yes," said Barnabas, "yes." But now she stopped again so that he
must needs stop too, and when she spoke her soft voice thrilled with
a new intensity.
"Will you do more? You are going to London--will you seek him out,
will you try to--save him from himself? Will you promise me to do
this--will you?"
Now seeing the passionate entreaty in her eyes, feeling it in the
twitching fingers upon his arm, Barnabas suddenly laid his own above
that slender hand, and took it into his warm clasp.
"My lady," said he, solemnly, "I will." As he spoke he stooped his
head low and lower, until she felt his lips warm upon her palm, a
long, silent pressure, and yet her hand was not withdrawn.
Now although Barnabas had clean forgotten the rules and precepts set
down in the "priceless wollum," he did it all with a graceful ease
which could not have been bettered--no, not even by the Person of
Quality itself.
"But it will be difficult," she sighed, as they went on together.
"Ronald is very headstrong and proud--it will be very difficult!"
"No matter," said Barnabas.
"And--dangerous, perhaps."
"No matter for that either," said Barnabas.
"Does it seem strange that I should ask so much of you?"
"The most natural thing in the world," said Barnabas.
"But you are a stranger--almost!"
"But I--love you, Cleone."
After this there fell a silence between them; and so having crossed
the moonlit meadow, they came to a tall hedge beyond whose shadow
the road led away, white under the moon; close by the ways divided,
and here stood a weather-beaten finger-post. Now beneath this hedge
they stopped, and it is to be noted that neither looked at the other.
"Sir," said she, softly, "we part here, my home lies yonder," and
she pointed to where above the motionless tree-tops rose the gables
and chimneys of a goodly house.
"It would seem to be fairly comfortable as prisons go," said Barnabas;
but my lady only sighed.
"Do you start for London--soon?"
"To-night," nodded Barnabas.
"Sir," said she, after a pause, "I would thank you, if I could,
for--for all that you have done for me."