WHICH TELLS HOW BARNABAS TALKS WITH MY LADY CLEONE FOR THE SECOND
TIME
It was dark among the trees, but, away to his left, though as yet
low down, the moon was rising, filling the woods with mystery, a
radiant glow wherein objects seemed to start forth with a new
significance; here the ragged hole of a tree, gnarled, misshapen;
there a wide-flung branch, weirdly contorted, and there again a
tangle of twigs and strange, leafy shapes that moved not. And over
all was a deep and brooding quietude.
Yes, it was dark among the trees, yet not so black as the frown that
clouded the face of Barnabas as he strode on through the wood, and
so betimes reached again the ancient barn of Oakshott. And lo! even
as he came there, it was night, and because the trees grew tall and
close together, the shadows lay thicker than ever save only in one
place where the moon, finding some rift among the leaves, sent down
a shaft of silvery light that made a pool of radiance amid the gloom.
Now, as Barnabas gazed at this, he stopped all at once, for, just
within this patch of light, he saw a foot. It was a small foot,
proudly arched, a shapely foot and slender, like the ankle above;
indeed, a haughty and most impatient foot, that beat the ground with
angry little taps, and yet, in all and every sense, surely, and
beyond a doubt, the most alluring foot in the world. Therefore
Barnabas sighed and came a step nearer, and in that moment it
vanished; therefore Barnabas stood still again. There followed a
moment's silence, and then:
"Dear," said a low, thrilling voice, "have you come--at last? Ah!
but you are late, I began to fear--" The soft voice faltered and
broke off with a little gasp, and, as Barnabas stepped out of the
shadows, she shrank away, back and back, to the mossy wall of the
barn, and leaned there staring up at him with eyes wide and fearful.
Her hood, close drawn, served but to enhance the proud beauty of her
face, pale under the moon, and her cloak, caught close in one white
hand, fell about her ripe loveliness in subtly revealing folds. Now
in her other hand she carried a silver-mounted riding-whip. And
because of the wonder of her beauty, Barnabas sighed again, and
because of the place wherein they stood, he frowned; yet, when he
spoke, his voice was gentle:
"Don't be afraid, madam, he is gone."
"Gone!" she echoed, faintly.
"Yes, we are quite alone; consequently you have no more reason to be
afraid."
"Afraid, sir? I thought--why, 'twas you who startled me."
"Ay," nodded Barnabas, "you expected--him!"
"Where is he? When did he go?"
"Some half-hour since."
"Yet he expected me; he knew I should come; why did he go?"
Now hereupon Barnabas lifted a hand to his throat, and loosened his
neckcloth.
"Why then," said he slowly, "you have--perhaps--met him
hereabouts--before to-night?"
"Sir," she retorted, "you haven't answered me; why did he go so soon?"
"He was--forced to, madam."
"Forced to go,--without seeing me,--without one word! Oh, impossible!"
"I walked with him to the cross-roads, and saw him out of sight."
"But I--I came as soon as I could! Ah! surely he gave you some
message--some word for me?"
"None, madam!" said Barnabas evenly, but his hand had clenched
itself suddenly on the stick he held.
"But I--don't understand!" she sighed, with a helpless gesture of
her white hands, "to hurry away like this, without a word! Oh,
why--why did he go?"
"Madam," said Barnabas, "it was because I asked him to."
"You--asked him to?"
"I did."
"But why--why?"
"Because, from what little I know of him, I judged it best."
"Sir," she said, softly, "sir--what do you mean?"
"I mean, that this is such a very lonely place for any woman
and--such as he."
Now even as Barnabas uttered the words she advanced upon him with
upflung head and eyes aflame with sudden passionate scorn.
"Insolent," she exclaimed. "So it was you--you actually dared to
interfere?"
"Madam," said Barnabas, "I did."
Very straight and proud she stood, and motionless save for the pant
and tumult of her bosom, fierce-eyed and contemptuous of lip.
"And remained to insult me--with impunity."
"To take you home again," said Barnabas, "therefore pray let us
begone."
"Us? Sir, you grow presumptuous."
"As you will," said Barnabas, "only let us go."
"With you?" she exclaimed.
"With me."
"No--not a step, sir; When I choose to go, I go alone."
"But to-night," said Barnabas, gentle of voice but resolute of eye,
"to-night--I go with you."
"You!" she cried, "a man I have seen but once, a man who may be
anything, a--a thief, a ploughman, a runaway groom for aught I know."
Now, watching him beneath disdainful drooping lashes, she saw
Barnabas flinch at this, and the curve of her scornful lips grew
more bitter.
"And now I'm going--alone. Stand aside, and let me pass."
"No, madam."
"Let me pass, I warn you!"
For a minute they fronted each other, eye to eye, very silent and
still, like two antagonists that measure each other's strength; then
Barnabas smiled and shook his head. And in that very instant, quick
and passionate, she raised her whip and struck him across the cheek.
Then, as she stood panting, half fearful of what she had done,
Barnabas reached out and took the whip, and snapped it between his
hands.
"And now," said he, tossing aside the broken pieces, "pray let us go."
"No."
"Why, then," sighed Barnabas, "I must carry you again."
Once more she shrank away from him, back and back to the crumbling
wall, and leaned there. But now because of his passionless strength,
she fell a-trembling and, because of his calmly resolute eyes and
grimly smiling mouth, fear came upon her, and therefore, because she
could not by him, because she knew herself helpless against him, she
suddenly covered her face from his eyes, and a great sob burst from
her.
Barnabas stopped, and looking at her bowed head and shrinking figure,
knew not what to do. And as he stood there within a yard of her,
debating within himself, upon the quiet broke a sudden sound--a small,
sharp sound, yet full of infinite significance--the snapping of a dry
twig among the shadows; a sound that made the ensuing silence but
the more profound, a breathless quietude which, as moment after
moment dragged by, grew full of deadly omen. And now, even as
Barnabas turned to front these menacing shadows, the moon went out.