"Yes, dear, and this is he who--" But here she drew down her
tyrant's gray head, and whispered three words in his ear. Whatever
she said it affected the Captain mightily, for his frown changed
suddenly into his youthful smile, and reaching out impulsively, he
grasped Barnabas by the hand.
"Aha, sir!" said he, "you have a good, big fist here!"
"Indeed," said Barnabas, glancing down at it somewhat ruefully,
"it is--very large, I fear."
"Over large, sir!" says my lady, also regarding it, and with her
head at a critical angle, "it could never be called--an elegant hand,
could it?"
"Elegant!" snorted the Captain, "I say pooh! I say pish! Sir, you
must come in and sup with us, my house is near by. Good English beef
and ale, sir."
Barnabas hesitated, and glanced toward Cleone, but her face was
hidden in the shadow of her hood, wherefore his look presently
wandered to the finger-post, near by, upon whose battered sign he
read the words:--
TO HAWKHURST. TO LONDON.
"Sir," said he, "I would, most gratefully, but that I start for
London at once." Yet while he spoke, he frowned blackly at the
finger-post, as though it had been his worst enemy.
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