"Because--oh, because you are running off with my precious needlework,
of course. In your pocket, sir,--the left one!" So, perforce,
Barnabas came back, and standing again beneath the finger-post, gave
the Duchess her very small piece of embroidery. But, behold! his hand
was caught and held between two others, which, though very fragile,
were very imperious.
"Barnabas," said the Duchess very softly, "oh, dear me, I'm glad you
told me, oh very! I hoped you would!"
"Hoped? Why--why, madam, you--then you knew?"
"All about it, of course! Oh, you needn't stare--it wasn't witchcraft,
it was this letter--read it." And taking a letter from her reticule,
she gave it to Barnabas, and watched him while he read:
TO HER GRACE THE DUCHESS OF CAMBERHURST.
MADAM,--In justice to yourself I take occasion to
warn your Grace against the person calling himself Barnabas
Beverley. He is, in reality, an impudent impostor of
humble birth and mean extraction. His real name and
condition I will prove absolutely to your Grace at another
time.
Your Grace's most humble obedt.
WILFRED CHICHESTER.
"So you see I'm not a witch, sir,--oh no, I'm only an old woman, with,
among many other useful gifts, a very sharp eye for faces, a
remarkable genius for asking questions, and the feminine capacity
for adding two and two together and making them--eight.
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