The Amateur Gentleman

The sun was getting low, as Barnabas parted the brambles, and

looking about him, frowned. He stood in a grassy glade or clearing,

a green oasis hemmed in on every side with bushes. Before him was

Oakshott's Barn, an ancient structure, its rotting thatch dishevelled,

its doors gone long since, its aged walls cracked and scarred by

years, a very monument of desolation; upon its threshold weeds had

sprung up, and within its hoary shadow breathed an air damp, heavy,

and acrid with decay.

It was indeed a place of solitude full of the "hush" of leaves, shut

out from the world, close hidden from observation, a place apt for

the meetings of lovers. And, therefore, leaning in the shadow of the

yawning doorway, Barnabas frowned.

Evening was falling, and from shadowy wood, from dewy grass and

flower, stole wafts of perfume, while from some thicket near by a

blackbird filled the air with the rich note of his languorous song;

but Barnabas frowned only the blacker, and his hand clenched itself

on the stick he carried, a heavy stick, that he had cut from the

hedge as he came.

All at once the blackbird's song was hushed, and gave place to a

rustle of leaves that drew nearer and nearer; yet Barnabas never

moved, not even when the bushes were pushed aside and a man stepped

into the clearing--a tall, elegant figure, who having paused to

glance sharply about him, strolled on again towards the barn,

swinging his tasselled walking-cane, and humming softly to himself

as he came. He was within a yard of Barnabas when he saw him, and

stopped dead.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, softly; and thereafter the two eyed each other

in an ominous silence.

"And who the devil are you?" he inquired at length, his eyes still

intent.

"Sir," said Barnabas, yet leaning in the doorway--"your name I think,

is Chichester?"

"Well?"

"Permit me to return your coat button!" and Barnabas held out the

article in question, but Mr. Chichester never so much as glanced at

it.

"What do you want here?" he demanded, soft of voice.

"To tell you that this dismal place is called Oakshott's Barn, sir."

"Well?"

"To warn you that Oakshott's Barn is an unhealthy place--for your

sort, sir."

"Ha!" said Mr. Chichester, his heavy-lidded eyes unwinking,

"do you threaten?"

"Let us rather say--I warn!"

"So you do threaten!"

"I warn!" repeated Barnabas.

"To the devil with you and your warning!" All this time neither of

them had moved or raised his voice, only Mr. Chichcster's thin,

curving nostrils began to twitch all at once, while his eyes gleamed

beneath their narrowed lids. But now Barnabas stepped clear of the

doorway, the heavy stick swinging in his hand.

"Then, sir," said he, "let me advise. Let me advise you to hurry

from this solitude."