The Amateur Gentleman

Now presently, as he went, he became aware of a sound that was not

the stir of leaves, nor the twitter of birds, nor the music of

running waters, though all these were in his ears,--for this was

altogether different; a distant sound that came and went, that

swelled to a murmur, sank to a whisper, yet never wholly died away.

Little by little the sound grew plainer, more insistent, until,

mingled with the leafy stirrings, he could hear a plaintive melody,

rising and falling, faint with distance.

Hereupon Barnabas halted suddenly, his chin in hand, his brow

furrowed in thought, while over his senses stole the wailing melody

of the distant violins. A while he stood thus, then plunged into the

cool shadow of a wood, and hurried on by winding tracks, through

broad glades, until the wood was left behind, until the path became

a grassy lane; and ever the throbbing melody swelled and grew. It

was a shady lane, tortuous and narrow, but on strode Barnabas until,

rounding a bend, he beheld a wall, an ancient, mossy wall of red

brick; and with his gaze upon this, he stopped again. But the melody

called to him, louder now and more insistent, and mingled with the

throb of the violins was the sound of voices and laughter.

Then, standing on tip-toe, Barnabas set his hands to the coping of

the wall, and drawing himself up, caught a momentary vision of

smiling gardens, of green lawns where bright figures moved, of

winding walks and neat trimmed hedges, ere, swinging himself over,

he dropped down among a bed of Sir George Annersley's stocks.

Before him was a shady walk winding between clipped yews, and,

following this, Barnabas presently espied a small arbor some

distance away. Now between him and this arbor was a place where four

paths met, and where stood an ancient sun-dial with quaintly carved

seats. And here, the sun making a glory of her wondrous hair, was my

Lady Cleone, with the Marquis of Jerningham beside her. She sat with

her elbow on her knee and her dimpled chin upon her palm, and, even

from where he stood, Barnabas could see again the witchery of her

lashes that drooped dark upon the oval of her cheek.

The Marquis was talking earnestly, gesturing now and then with his

slender hand that had quite lost its habitual languor, and stooping

that he might look into the drooping beauty of her face, utterly

regardless of the havoc he thus wrought upon the artful folds of his

marvellous cravat. All at once she looked up, laughed and shook her

head, and, closing her fan, pointed with it towards the distant house,

laughing still, but imperious. Hereupon the Marquis rose, albeit

unwillingly, and bowing, hurried off to obey her behest. Then Cleone

rose also, and turning, went on slowly toward the arbor, with head

drooping as one in thought.