The Amateur Gentleman

On went Barnabas swift of foot and light of heart, walking through a

World of Romance, and with his eyes turned up to the luminous heaven.

Yet it was neither of the moon, nor the stars, nor the wonder

thereof that he was thinking, but only of the witchery of a woman's

eyes, and the thrill of a woman's lips upon his cheek; and, indeed,

what more natural, more right, and altogether proper? Little recked

he of the future, of the perils and dangers to be encountered, of

the sorrows and tribulations that lay in wait for him, or of the

enemies that he had made that day, for youth is little given to

brooding, and is loftily indifferent to consequences.

So it was of Lady Cleone Meredith he thought as he strode along the

moonlit highway, and it was of her that he was thinking as he turned

into that narrow by-lane where stood "The Spotted Cow." As he

advanced, he espied some one standing in the shadow of one of the

great trees, who, as he came nearer, stepped out into the moonlight;

and then Barnabas saw that it was none other than his newly engaged

valet. The same, yet not the same, for the shabby clothes had given

place to a sober, well-fitting habit, and as he took off his hat in

salutation, Barnabas noticed that his hollow cheeks were clean and

freshly shaved; he was, indeed, a new man.

But now, as they faced each other, Barnabas observed something else;

John Peterby's lips were compressed, and in his eye was anxiety, the

which had, somehow, got into his voice when he spoke, though his

tone was low and modulated: "Sir, if you are for London to-night, we

had better start at once, the coach leaves Tenterden within the hour."

"But," says Barnabas, setting his head aslant, and rubbing his chin

with the argumentative air that was so very like his father,

"I have ordered supper here, Peterby."

"Which--under the circumstances--I have ventured to countermand, sir."

"Oh?" said Barnabas, "pray, what circumstances?"

"Sir, as I told you, the mail--"

"John Peterby, speak out--what is troubling you?"

But now, even while Peterby stood hesitating, from the open casement

of the inn, near at hand, came the sound of a laugh: a soft, gentle,

sibilant laugh which Barnabas immediately recognized.

"Ah!" said he, clenching his fist. "I think I understand." As he

turned towards the inn, Peterby interposed.

"Sir," he whispered, "sir, if ever a man meant mischief--he does. He

came back an hour ago, and they have been waiting for you ever since."

"They?"

"He and the other."

"What other?"

"Sir, I don't know."

"Is he a very--young man, this other?"

"Yes, sir, he seems so. And they have been drinking together

and--I've heard enough to know that they mean you harm." But here

Master Barnabas smiled with all the arrogance of youth and shook his

head.