And she had
called him "a ploughman--a runaway footman," and had even--she could
see the mark upon his cheek--how red it glowed! Did it hurt much,
she wondered?
"Mad of course--yes a madman, poor fellow!" said Barnabas,
thoughtfully.
"And he said your name is Barnabas."
"Why, to be sure, so he did," said Barnabas, rubbing his chin as one
at a loss, "which is very strange, for I never saw or heard of him
before."
"So then, your name is--Barnabas?"
"Yes. Barnabas Bar--Beverley."
"Beverley?"
"Yes--Beverley. But we must go."
"First, tell me how you learned my name?"
"From the Viscount--Viscount Devenham?"
"Then, you know the Viscount?"
"I do; we also know each other as rivals."
"Rivals? For what?"
"Yourself."
"For me? Sir--sir--what did you tell him?"
"My name is Barnabas. And I told him that I should probably marry you,
some day."
"You told him--that?"
"I did. I thought it but honorable, seeing he is my friend."
"Your friend!--since when, sir?"
"Since about ten o'clock this morning."
"Sir--sir--are you not a very precipitate person?"
"I begin to think I am. And my name is Barnabas.
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