"
"Then jest take a good look at that theer seven-thirty, vill you,
sir--come, vot do you see?"
"That the paper is roughened a little, and the ink has run."
"Yes, and vot else? Look at it a bit closer, sir."
"Why," said Barnabas staring hard at the spot, "it looks as though
something had been scratched out!"
"And so it has, sir. If you go there at seven-thirty, it von't be a
fair lady as'll be vaiting to meet you. The time's been altered o'
course--jest as I 'oped and expected."
"Ah!" said Barnabas, slowly and very softly, and clenched his fist.
"So now, d'ye see, you can't go--can ye?" said Mr. Shrig in a
hopeless tone.
"Yes!" said Barnabas.
"Eh? Vot--you vill?"
"Most assuredly!"
"But--but it'll be madness!" stammered Mr. Shrig, his round eyes
rounder than ever, "it'll be fair asking to be made a unfort'nate
wictim of, if ye go. O' course it 'ud be a good case for me, and
good cases is few enough--but you mustn't go now, it 'ud be madness!"
"No," said Barnabas, frowning darkly, "because I shall go--before
seven-thirty, you see."
CHAPTER LV
WHICH NARRATES SUNDRY HAPPENINGS AT OAKSHOTT'S BARN
Even on a summer's afternoon Oakshott's Barn is a desolate place, a
place of shadows and solitude, whose slumberous silence is broken
only by the rustle of leaves, the trill of a skylark high overhead,
or the pipe of throstle and blackbird.
Pages:
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605
606
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614
615
616
617
618
619
620
621