The Amateur Gentleman

"But--oh, Ronald, I don't understand, you always told me he was your

friend, I thought--"

"Friend!" cried Barrymaine passionately. "He's a devil, I tell you

he's a d-devil, oh--" Barrymaine choked and fell back gasping; but,

even as Cleone leaned above him all tender solicitude, he pushed her

aside and, springing to his feet, reached out and caught Barnabas by

the arm. "Beverley," he cried, "you'll shield her from him--w-when

I'm gone, you'll l-look after her, won't you, Beverley? She's the

only thing I ever loved--except my accursed self. You will shield

her from--that d-devil!"

Then, still clutching Barnabas, he turned and seized Cleone's hands.

"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, snatching 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 God 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 God!

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

"I--I'd rather you--wouldn't;" and Barnabas saw that she was

shivering 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.