A young face he saw, delicately featured, a handsome face with
disdainful lips that yet drooped in pitiful weariness, a face which,
for all its youth, was marred by the indelible traces of fierce,
ungoverned passions. And gazing down upon these features, so
dissimilar in expression, yet so strangely like in their beauty and
lofty pride, Barnabas felt his heart leap,--because of the long
lashes that curled so black against the waxen pallor of the cheek;
for in that moment he almost seemed to be back in the green, morning
freshness of Annersley Wood, and upon his lips there breathed a
name--"Cleone."
But all at once the sleeper stirred, frowned, and started up with a
bitter imprecation upon his lips that ended in a vacant stare.
"Why, Barry," cried Mr. Smivvle leaning over him, "my dear boy, did
we disturb you?"
"Ah, Dig--is that you? Fell asleep--brandy, perhaps, and--ha,--your
pardon, sir!" and Ronald Barrymaine rose, somewhat unsteadily, and,
folding his threadbare dressing-gown about him, bowed, and so stood
facing Barnabas, a little drunk and very stately.
"This is my friend Beverley, of whom I told you," Mr.
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