"And yet," said Barnabas, fronting him, white-faced, across the table,
"I think--I'm sure, there are four things you don't know. The first
is that Lady Cleone has promised to marry me--some day--"
"Go on to the next, liar!"
"The second is that my stables were broken into again, this
morning,--the third is that my horse killed the man who was trying
to hamstring him,--and the fourth is that in the dead man's pocket
I found--this!" And Barnabas produced that crumpled piece of paper
whereon was drawn the plan of the stables.
Now, at the sight of this paper, Barrymaine fell back a step, his
pistol-hand wavered, fell to his side, and sinking into a chair, he
seemed to shrink into himself as he stared dully at a worn patch in
the carpet.
"Only one beside myself knows of this," said Barnabas.
"Well?" The word seemed wrung from Barrymaine's quivering lips. He
lay back in the rickety chair, his arms dangling, his chin upon his
breast, never lifting his haggard eyes, and, almost as he spoke, the
pistol slipped from his lax fingers and lay all unheeded.
"Not another soul shall ever know," said Barnabas earnestly,
"the world shall be none the wiser if you will promise to stop,--now,
--to free yourself from Chichester's influence, now,--to let me help
you to redeem the past.
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