"
"Ashleydown? I think I've heard mention of it before. But now, you
must come with me, Smivvle is downstairs, you shall have my rooms
to-night."
"Thanks, Beverley, but do you m-mind--giving me your arm? I get
f-faint sometimes--my head, I think, the faintness came on me in the
s-street to-night, and I f-fell, I think."
"Indeed, yes, sir," added Mr. Bimby with a little bow, "it was so I
found you, sir."
"Ah, yes, you were kind to me, I remember--you have my g-gratitude,
sir. Now, Beverley, give me your arm, I--I--oh, God help me!"
Barrymaine reached out with clutching fingers, swayed, twisted
sideways and would have fallen, had not Barnabas caught him.
"Poor boy!" cried Mr. Bimby, "a fit, I think--so very young, poor boy!
You'll need help, sir. Oh, poor boy, poor boy!" So saying, the
little gentleman hurried away and presently returned with John and
Mr. Smivvle. Thus, between them, they bore Ronald Barrymaine
downstairs and, having made him as comfortable as might be in the
inner room, left him to the care of the faithful Mr. Smivvle.
Then Barnabas crossed to the narrow window and stood there a while,
looking down at the dim figures of the Bow Street Runners who still
lounged against the wall in the gathering dusk and talked together
in gruff murmurs.
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