The Amateur Gentleman

Time It was dark among the trees, but, away to his left, though as yet

low down, the moon was rising, filling the woods with mystery, a

radiant glow wherein objects seemed to start forth with a new

significance; here the ragged hole of a tree, gnarled, misshapen;

there a wide-flung branch, weirdly contorted, and there again a

tangle of twigs and strange, leafy shapes that moved not. And over

all was a deep and brooding quietude.

Yes, it was dark among the trees, yet not so black as the frown that

clouded the face of Barnabas as he strode on through the wood, and

so betimes reached again the ancient barn of Oakshott. And lo! even

as he came there, it was night, and because the trees grew tall and

close together, the shadows lay thicker than ever save only in one

place where the moon, finding some rift among the leaves, sent down

a shaft of silvery light that made a pool of radiance amid the gloom.

Now, as Barnabas gazed at this, he stopped all at once, for, just

within this patch of light, he saw a foot. It was a small foot,

proudly arched, a shapely foot and slender, like the ankle above;

indeed, a haughty and most impatient foot, that beat the ground with

angry little taps, and yet, in all and every sense, surely, and

beyond a doubt, the most alluring foot in the world. Therefore

Barnabas sighed and came a step nearer, and in that moment it

vanished; therefore Barnabas stood still again. There followed a

moment's silence, and then:

"Dear," said a low, thrilling voice, "have you come--at last? Ah!

but you are late, I began to fear--" The soft voice faltered and

broke off with a little gasp, and, as Barnabas stepped out of the

shadows, she shrank away, back and back, to the mossy wall of the

barn, and leaned there staring up at him with eyes wide and fearful.

Her hood, close drawn, served but to enhance the proud beauty of her

face, pale under the moon, and her cloak, caught close in one white

hand, fell about her ripe loveliness in subtly revealing folds. Now

in her other hand she carried a silver-mounted riding-whip. And

because of the wonder of her beauty, Barnabas sighed again, and

because of the place wherein they stood, he frowned; yet, when he

spoke, his voice was gentle: "Don't be afraid, madam, he is gone."

"Gone!" she echoed, faintly.

"Yes, we are quite alone; consequently you have no more reason to be

afraid."