Long after they had gone, Barnabas stood there, his head bowed,
while the shadows deepened about him, dark and darker. Then all at
once he sighed again and, lifting his head, glanced about him; and
because of the desolation of the place, he shivered; and because of
the new, sharp pain that gripped him, he uttered a bitter curse, and
so, becoming aware of the pistol he yet grasped, he flung it far
from him and strode away through the deepening gloom.
On he went, heeding only the tumult of sorrow and anger that surged
within him. And so, betimes, reached the "Oak and Ivy" inn, where,
finding Peterby and the phaeton already gone, according to his
instructions, he hired post-horses and galloped away for London.
Now, as he went, though the evening was fine, it seemed to him that
high overhead was a shadow that followed and kept pace with him,
growing dark and ever darker; and thus as he rode he kept his gaze
upon this menacing shadow.
As for my lady, she, securely locked within the sanctuary of her
chamber, took pen and paper and wrote these words:
"You have destroyed my faith, and with that all else. Farewell.
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