Then, feeling
the door yield to his hand, Barnabas opened it and, stepping softly
into the room, closed it behind him.
The place was very dark, except where the moon sent a fugitive beam
through the uncurtained window, and face downward across this pale
light lay a huddled figure from whose unseen lips the sounds
issued--long, awful, gasping sobs; a figure that stirred and writhed
like one in torment, whose clenched hands beat themselves upon the
frayed carpet, while, between the sobbing and the beat of those
clenched hands, came broken prayers intermingled with oaths and
moaning protestations.
Barnabas drew a step nearer, and, on the instant, the grovelling
figure started up to an elbow; thus, stooping down, Barnabas looked
into the haggard face of Ronald Barrymaine.
"Beverley!" he gasped, "w-what d'you want? Go away,--l-leave me!"
"No!" said Barnabas, "it is you who must go away--at once. You must
leave London to-night!"
"W-what d' you mean?"
"You must be clear of England by to-morrow night at latest."
Barrymaine stared up at Barnabas wide-eyed and passed his tongue to
and fro across his lips before he spoke again:
"Beverley, w-what d' you--mean?"
"I know why you keep your right hand hidden!" said Barnabas.
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