"And now, young sir," said the Preacher, when he had answered all the eager questions of Barnabas as fully as he might, "now, young sir, you know I have small cause to love the man--Chichester, but, remember, you are rich already, and if you take this heritage also,--he will be destitute."
"Sir," said Barnabas, frowning, "better one destitute and starving, than that many should be wretched, surely."
The Preacher sighed and shook his head.
"Young sir, good-by," said he, "I have a feeling we may meet again, but life is very uncertain, therefore I would beg of you to remember this: as you are strong, be gentle; as you are rich, generous; and as you are young, wise. But, above all, be merciful, and strive to forgive wrongs." So they clasped hands, then, sighing, the Preacher turned and plodded on his lonely way. But, long after he had vanished down the moonlit road, Barnabas stood, his fists clenched, his mouth set, until he was roused by a sound near by, a very small sound like the jingle of distant spurs. Therefore, Barnabas lifted his head, and glanced about him, but seeing no one, presently went his way, slow of foot and very thoughtful.
CHAPTER XLII
IN WHICH SHALL BE FOUND FURTHER MENTION OF A FINGER-POST
The hands of Natty Bell's great watch were pointing to the hour of nine, what time Barnabas dismounted at the cross-roads, and tethering Four-legs securely, leaned his back against the ancient finger-post to wait the coming of Cleone.
Now being old, and having looked upon many and divers men (and women) in its day, it is to be supposed that the ancient finger-post took more or less interest in such things as chanced in its immediate vicinity. Thus, it is probable that it rightly defined why this particular long-legged human sighed so often, now with his gaze upon the broad disc of the moon, now upon a certain point of the road ahead, and was not in the least surprised to see Barnabas start forward, bareheaded, to meet her who came swift and light of foot; to see her pause before him, quick-breathing, blushing, sighing, trembling; to see how glance met glance; to see him stoop to kiss the hand she gave him, and all--without a word. Surprised? not a bit of it, for to a really observant finger-post all humans (both he and she) are much alike at such times.
"I began to fear you wouldn't come," said Barnabas, finding voice at last.
"But to-night is--Barnaby Bright, and the prophecy must be fulfilled, sir. And--oh, how wonderful the moon is!" Now, lifting her head to look at it, her hood must needs take occasion to slip back upon her shoulders, as if eager to reveal her loveliness,--the high beauty of her face, the smooth round column of her throat, and the shining wonder of her hair.
"Cleone--how beautiful you are!"
And here ensued another silence while Cleone gazed up at the moon, and Barnabas at Cleone.
But the ancient finger-post (being indeed wonderfully knowing--for a finger-post) well understood the meaning of such silences, and was quite aware of the tremble of the strong fingers that still held hers, and why, in the shadow of her cloak, her bosom hurried so. Oh! be sure the finger-post knew the meaning of it all, since humans, of every degree, are only men and women after all.
"Cleone, when will you--marry me?"
Now here my lady stole a quick glance at him, and immediately looked up at the moon again, because the eyes that could burn so fiercely could hold such ineffable tenderness also.
"You are very--impetuous, I think," she sighed.
"But I--love you," said Barnabas, "not only for your beauty, but because you are Cleone, and there is no one else in the world like you. But, because I love you so much, it--it is very hard to tell you of it. If I could only put it into fine-sounding phrases--"
"Don't!" said my lady quickly, and laid a slender (though very imperious) finger upon his lips.
"Why?" Barnabas inquired, very properly kissing the finger and holding it there.
"Because I grow tired of fine phrases and empty compliments, and because, sir--"
"Have you forgotten that my name is Barnabas?" he demanded, kissing the captive finger again, whereupon it struggled--though very feebly, to be sure.
"And because, Barnabas, you would be breaking your word."
"How?"
"You must only tell me--that, when 'the sun is shining, and friends are within call,'--have you forgotten your own words so soon?"
Now, as she spoke Barnabas beheld the dimple--that most elusive dimple, that came and went and came again, beside the scarlet lure of her mouth; therefore he drew her nearer until he could look, for a moment, into the depths of her eyes. But here, seeing the glowing intensity of his gaze, becoming aware of the strong, compelling arm about her, feeling the quiver of the hand that held her own, lo! in that instant my lady, with her sly bewitchments, her coquettish airs and graces, was gone, and in her place was the maid--quick-breathing, blushing, trembling, all in a moment.
"Ah, no!" she pleaded, "Barnabas, no!" Then Barnabas sighed, and loosed his clasp--but behold! the dimple was peeping at him again. And in that moment he caught her close, and thus, for the first time, their lips met.
Oh, privileged finger-post to have witnessed that first kiss! To have seen her start away and turn; to have felt her glowing cheek pressed to thy hoary timbers; to have felt the sweet, quick tumult of her bosom! Oh, thrice happy finger-post! To have seen young Barnabas, radiant-faced, and with all heaven in his eyes! Oh, most fortunate of finger-posts to have seen and felt all this, and to have heard the rapture thrilling in his voice:
"Cleone!"
"Oh!" she whispered, "why--why did you?"
"Because I love you!"
"No other man ever dared to--"
"Heaven be praised!"
"Upon--the mouth!" she added, her face still hidden.
"Then I have set my seal upon it."
"And now,--am I--immaculate?"
"Oh--forgive me!"
"No!"
"Look at me."
"No!"
"Are you angry?"
"Yes, I--think I am, Barnabas,--oh, very!"
"Forgive me!" said Barnabas again.
"First," said my lady, throwing up her head, "am I--heartless and a--coquette?"
"No, indeed, no! Oh, Cleone, is it possible you could learn to--love me, in time?"
"I--I don't know."
"Some day, Cleone?"
"I--I didn't come to answer--idle questions, sir," says my lady, suddenly demure. "It must be nearly half-past nine--I must go. I forgot to tell you--Mr. Chichester is coming to meet me to-night--"
"To meet you? Where?" demanded Barnabas, fierce-eyed all at once.
"Here, Barnabas. But don't look so--so murderous!"
"Chichester--here!"
"At a quarter to ten, Barnabas. That is why I must go at--half-past nine--Barnabas, stop! Oh, Barnabas, you're crushing me! Not again,