"You--are not hurt?" she inquired anxiously.
"Hurt?" said Barnabas, "no, not hurt, Mistress Clemency, not hurt, I
thank you; but I think I have grown a--great deal--older."
"I saw it all, through the window, and yet I--don't know why you are
alive."
"I think because I was so very much--afraid," said Barnabas.
"Sir," said she, with her brown hands clasped together, "was it
for--if it was for--my sake that you--quarrelled, and--"
"No," said Barnabas, "it was because of--another."
Now, when he said this, Clemency stared at him wide-eyed, and, all
in a moment, flushed painfully and turned away, so that Barnabas
wondered.
"Good-by!" said she, suddenly, and crossed to the door, but upon the
threshold paused; "I did pray for you," she said, over her shoulder.
"Ah!" said Barnabas, rising, "you prayed for me, and behold, I am
alive."
"Good-by!" she repeated, her face still averted.
"Good-by!" said Barnabas, "and will you remember me in your
prayers--sometimes?"
"My prayers! Why?"
"Because the prayers of a sweet, pure woman may come between man
and evil--like a shield."
"I will," said she, very softly. "Oh, I will," and so, with a swift
glance, was gone.
Being come out of the inn, Barnabas met with his valet, John Peterby.
"Sir," he inquired, "what now?"
"Now," said Barnabas, "the Tenterden coach, and London."