Part 26 (2/2)

”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 pa.s.sionate 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 pa.s.s.”

”No, madam.”

”Let me pa.s.s, 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 pa.s.sionate, 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 pa.s.sionless 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.

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