"Indeed, I hadn't thought of that," said Barnabas.
"And supposing your horse had been lamed and you couldn't ride,--how
then?"
"Why, then, I forfeit the money, madam."
Now here the Duchess frowned thoughtfully, and thereafter said
"ha!" so suddenly, that Cleone started and hurried to her side.
"Dear God-mother, what is it?"
"A thought, my dear!"
"But--"
"Call it a woman's intuition if you will."
"What is your thought, dear?"
"That you are right, Cleone,--he must go--at once!"
"Go? Barnabas?"
"Yes; to London,--now--this very instant! Unless you prefer to
forfeit your money, Barnabas?"
But Barnabas only smiled and shook his head.
"You would be wiser!"
"But I was never very wise, I fear," said Barnabas.
"And--much safer!"
"Oh, God-mother,--do you think there is--danger, then?"
"Yes, child, I do. Indeed, Barnabas, you were wiser and safer to
forfeit your wagers and stay here with me and--Cleone!"
But Barnabas only sighed and shook his head.
"Cleone," said the Duchess, "speak to him."
So blushing a little, sighing a little, Cleone reached out her hand
to Barnabas, while the Duchess watched them with her young, bright
eyes.
"Oh, Barnabas, God-mother is very wise, and if--there is danger--you
mustn't go--for my sake."
But Barnabas shook his head again, and taking in his strong clasp
the pleading hand upon his arm, turned to the Duchess.
"Madam," said he, "dear Duchess, to-night I have found my manhood,
for to-night I have learned that a man must ever choose the hardest
course and follow it--to the end. To-night Cleone has taught me--many
things."
"And you will--stay?" inquired the Duchess.
"I must go!" said Barnabas.
"Then good-by--Barnabas!" said her Grace, looking up at him with a
sudden, radiant smile, "good-by!" said she very softly, "it is a
fine thing to be a gentleman, perhaps,--but it is a godlike thing to
be--a man!" So saying, she gave him her hand, and as Barnabas
stooped to kiss those small, white fingers, she looked down at his
curly head with such an expression as surely few had ever seen
within the eyes of this ancient, childless woman, her Grace of
Camberhurst.
"Now Giant!" she called, as Barnabas turned towards Cleone,
"come here, Giant, and promise me to take care of Mr. Beverley."
"Yes, mam,--all right, mam,--you jest leave 'im to me," replied
Master Milo with his superb air, "don't you worrit on 'is account,
'e'll be all right along o' me, mam, 'e will."
"For that," cried the Duchess, catching him by two of his gleaming
buttons, "for that I mean to kiss you, Giant!" The which, despite
his reproving blushes, she did forthwith.
And Cleone and Barnabas? Well, it so chanced, her Grace's back was
towards them; while as for Master Milo--abashed, and for once
forgetful of his bepolished topboots, he became in very truth a child,
though one utterly unused to the motherly touch of a tender woman's
lips; therefore he suffered the embrace with closed eyes,--even his
buttons were eclipsed, and, in that moment, the Duchess whispered
something in his ear. Then he turned and followed after Barnabas,
who was already striding away across the wide lawn, his head carried
high, a new light in his eyes and a wondrous great joy at his heart,
--a man henceforth--resolute to attempt all things, glorying in his
strength and contemptuous of failure, because of the trill of a
woman's voice and the quick hot touch of a woman's soft lips, whose
caress had been in no sense--motherly. And presently, being come to
the hospitable gates, he turned with bared head to look back at the
two women, the one a childless mother, old and worn, yet wise with
years, and the maid, strong and proud in all the glory of her warm,
young womanhood. Side by side with arms entwined they stood, to
watch young Barnabas, and in the eyes of each, an expression so much
alike, yet so dissimilar. Then, with a flourish of his hat, Barnabas
went on down the road, past the finger-post, with Milo of Crotona's
small top-boots twinkling at his side.