"It must be a terrible thing to be haunted by remorse so bitter as his, 'to fancy her voice weeping in the night,' and to see her creeping on into the shadows always--away from him," said Barnabas.
But now, having helped each other into their coats, they set off back to the inn.
"My ribs," said the Viscount, feeling that region of his person with tender solicitude as he spoke, "my ribs are infernally sore, Bev, though it was kind of you not to mark my face; I'm sorry for your lip, my dear fellow, but really it was the only opening you gave me; I hope it isn't painful?"
"Indeed I had forgotten it," returned Barnabas.
"Then needs must I try to forget my bruised ribs," said the Viscount, making a wry face as he clambered over the stile.
But here Barnabas paused to turn and look back at the scene of their encounter, quite deserted now, for the stranger had long since disappeared in the green.
"Yes, a very remarkable man!" sighed Barnabas, thoughtfully. "I wish he had come back with us to the inn and--Clemency. Yes, a very strange man. I wonder now--"
"And I beg you to remember," added the Viscount, taking him by the arm, "he said that you and I were ordained to be friends, and by Gad! I think he spoke the truth, Bev."
"I feel sure of it, Viscount," Barnabas nodded.
"Furthermore, Bev, if you are 'Bev' to me, I must be 'Dick' to you henceforth--amen and so forth!"
"Agreed, Dick."
"Then, my dear Bev?" said the Viscount impulsively.
"Yes, my dear Dick?"
"Suppose we shake hands on it?"
"Willingly, Dick, yet, first, I think it but honorable to tell you that I--love the Lady Cleone Meredith."
"Eh--what?" exclaimed the Viscount, falling back a step, "you love her? the devil you do! since when?"
"Since this morning."
"Love her!" repeated the Viscount, "but you've seen her but once in your life."
"True," said Barnabas, "but then I mean to see her many times, henceforth."
"Ah! the deuce you do!"
"Yes," answered Barnabas. "I shall possibly marry her--some day."
The Viscount laughed, and frowned, and laughed again, then noting the set mouth and chin of the speaker, grew thoughtful, and thereafter stood looking at Barnabas with a new and suddenly awakened interest. Who was he? What was he? From his clothes he might have been anything between a gentleman farmer and a gamekeeper.
As for Barnabas himself, as he leaned there against the stile with his gaze on the distance, his eyes a-dream, he had clean forgotten his awkward clothes and blunt-toed boots.
And after all, what can boots or clothes matter to man or woman? indeed, they sink into insignificance when the face of their wearer is stamped with the serene yet determined confidence that marked Barnabas as he spoke.
"Marry--Cleone Meredith?" said the Viscount at last.
"Marry her--yes," said Barnabas slowly.
"Why then, in the first place let me tell you she's devilish high and proud."
"'T is so I would have her!" nodded Barnabas.
"And cursedly hard to please."
"So I should judge her," nodded Barnabas.
"And heiress to great wealth."
"No matter for that," said Barnabas.
"And full of whims and fancies."
"And therefore womanly," said Barnabas.
"My dear Beverley," said the Viscount, smiling again, "I tell you the man who wins Cleone Meredith must be stronger, handsomer, richer, and more accomplished than any 'Buck,' 'Corinthian,' or 'Macaroni' of 'em all--"
"Or more determined!" added Barnabas.
"Or more determined, yes," nodded the Viscount.
"Then I shall certainly marry her--some day," said Barnabas.
Again the Viscount eyed Barnabas a while in silence, but this time, be it noted, he smiled no more.
"Hum!" said he at last, "so it seems in finding a friend I have also found myself another rival?"
"I greatly fear so," said Barnabas, and they walked on together.
But when they had gone some distance in moody silence, the Viscount spoke:
"Beverley," said he, "forewarned is forearmed!"
"Yes," answered Barnabas, "that is why I told you."
"Then," said the Viscount, "I think we'll--shake hands--after all."
The which they did forthwith.
Now it was at this moment that Milo of Crotona took it upon himself to become visible.
CHAPTER XIV
CONCERNING THE BUTTONS OF ONE MILO OF CROTONA
Never did a pair of top boots, big or little, shine with a lustre more resplendent; never was postilion's jacket more excellent of fit, nattier, or more carefully brushed; and nowhere could there be found two rows of crested silver buttons with such an air of waggish roguery, so sly, so knowing, and so pertinaciously on the everlasting wink, as these same eight buttons that adorned the very small person of his groomship, Milo of Crotona. He had slipped out suddenly from the hedge, and now stood cap in hand, staring from the Viscount to Barnabas, and back again, with his innocent blue eyes, and with every blinking, twinkling button on his jacket. And his eyes were wide and guileless--the eyes of a cherub; but his buttons!
Yea, forsooth, it was all in his buttons as they winked slyly one to another as much as to say:
"Aha! we don't know why his Lordship's nankeens are greened at the knees, not we! nor why the gent's lower lip is unduly swelled. Lord love your eyes and limbs, oh no!"
"What, my imp of innocence!" exclaimed the Viscount. "Where have you sprung from?"
"'Edge, m'lud."
"Ah! and what might you have been doing in the hedge now?"
"Think'n', m'lud."
"And what were you thinking?"
"I were think'n', m'lud, as the tall genelman here is a top-sawyer wi' 'is daddies, m'lud. I was."
"Aha! so you've been watching, eh?"
"Not watchin'--oh no, m'lud; I just 'appened ter notice--that's all, m'lud."
"Ha!" exclaimed the Viscount; "then I suppose you happened to notice me being--knocked down?"
"No, m'lud; ye see, I shut my eyes--every time."
"Every time, eh!" said his Lordship, with his whimsical smile. "Oh Loyalty, thy name is Milo! But hallo!" he broke off,