Part 123 (1/2)

”Clo!” he cried, ”dearest of sisters, if ever you need a f-friend when I'm gone, he's here. Turn to him, Clo--look up--give him your hand. Y-you loved him once, I think, and you were right--quite r-right. You can t-trust Beverley, Clo--g-give him your hand.”

”No, no!” cried Cleone, and, s.n.a.t.c.hing her fingers from Barrymaine's clasp, she turned away.

”What--you w-won't?”

”No--never, never!”

”Why not? Answer me! Speak, I tell you!”

But Cleone knelt there beside the couch, her head proudly averted, uttering no word.

”Why, you don't think, like so many of the fools, that he killed Jasper Gaunt, do you?” cried Barrymaine feverishly. ”You don't think he d-did it, do you--do you? Ah, but he didn't--he didn't, I tell you, and I know--because--”

”Stop!” exclaimed Barnabas.

”Stop--no, why should I? She'll learn soon enough now and I'm m-man enough to tell her myself--I'm no c-coward, I tell you--”

Then Cleone raised her head and looked up at her half-brother, and in her eyes were a slow-dawning fear and horror.

”Oh, Ronald!” she whispered, ”what do you mean?”

”Mean?” cried Barrymaine, ”I mean that I did it--I did it. Yes, I k-killed Jasper Gaunt, but it was no m-murder, Clo--a--a fight, an accident--yes, I s-swear to G.o.d I never meant to do it.”

”You!” she whispered, ”you?”

”Yes, I--I did it, but I swear I never m-meant to--oh, Cleone--” and he reached down to her with hands outstretched appealingly. But Cleone shrank down and down--away from him, until she was crouching on the floor, yet staring up at him with wide and awful eyes.

”You!” she whispered.

”Don't!” he cried. ”Ah, don't look at me like that and oh, my G.o.d!

W-won't you l-let me t-touch you, Clo?”

”I--I'd rather you--wouldn't;” and Barnabas saw that she was s.h.i.+vering violently.

”But it was no m-murder,” he pleaded, ”and I'm g-going away, Clo--ah!

won't you let me k-kiss you good-by--just once, Clo?”

”I'd rather--you wouldn't,” she whispered.

”Y-your hand, then--only your hand, Clo.”

”I'd rather--you didn't!”

Then Ronald Barrymaine groaned and fell on his knees beside her and sought to kiss her little foot, the hem of her dress, a strand of her long, yellow hair; but seeing how she shuddered away from him, a great sob broke from him and he rose to his feet.

”Beverley,” he said, ”oh, Beverley, s-she won't let me touch her.”

And so stood a while with his face hidden in his griping hands.