"Madam!" he said hoarsely. "Madam!"
But she never stirred, nay it almost seemed she sank yet closer into
his embrace, if that could well be.
"Cleone!" he whispered.
"Barnabas," sighed a voice; and surely no other voice in all the
world could have uttered the word so tenderly.
"I--I fear I frightened you?"
"Yes, a little--Barnabas."
"You are--trembling very much."
"Am I--Barnabas?"
"I am sorry that I--frightened you."
"I'm better now."
"Yet you--tremble!"
"But I--think I can walk if--"
"If--?"
"If you will help me, please--Barnabas."
Oh, surely never had those dark and dingy stairs, worn though they
were by the tread of countless feet, heard till now a voice so soft,
so low and sweet, so altogether irresistible! Such tender, thrilling
tones might have tamed Hyrcanean tigers or charmed the ferocity of
Cerberus himself. Then how might our Barnabas hope to resist, the
more especially as one arm yet encircled the yielding softness of
her slender waist and her fragrant breath was upon his cheek?
Help her? Of course he would.
"It's so very--dark," she sighed.
"Yes, it's very dark," said Barnabas, "but it isn't far to the
landing--shall we go up?"
"Yes, but--" my lady hesitated a moment as one who takes breath for
some great effort, and, in that moment, he felt her bosom heave
beneath his hand.
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