But here, the Gentleman-in-Powder re-appeared to say that the Marquis of Jerningham desired to see Mr. Beverley on a matter of importance, and that nobleman presenting himself, Peterby withdrew.
"Excuse this intrusion, my dear Beverley," said the Marquis as the door closed, "doocid early I know, but the—ah—the matter is pressing. First, though, how's Devenham, you saw him last night as usual, I suppose?"
"Yes," answered Barnabas, shaking hands, "he ought to be up and about again in a day or two."
"Excellent," nodded the Marquis, "I'll run over to Half-moon Street this afternoon. Is Bamborough with him still?"
"No, his Lordship left yesterday."
"Ha!" said the Marquis, and taking out his snuff-box, he looked at it, tapped it, and put it away again. "Poor old Sling," said he gently, "I miss him damnably, y'know, Beverley."
"Marquis," said Barnabas, "what is it?"
"Well, I want you to do me a favor, my dear fellow, and I don't know how to ask you—doocid big favor—ah—I was wondering if you would consent to—act for me?"
"Act for you?" repeated Barnabas, wholly at a loss.
"Yes, in my little affair with Carnaby—poor old Sling, d' you see.
What, don't you twig, Beverley, haven't you heard?"
"No!" answered Barnabas, "you don't mean that you and Carnaby are going—to fight?"
"Exactly, my dear fellow, of course! He fouled poor old Sling at the wall, y'know—you saw it, I saw it, so naturally I mean to call him to account for it. And he can't refuse—I spoke doocid plainly, and White's was full. He has the choice of weapons,—pistols I expect. Personally, I should like it over as soon as possible, and anywhere would do, though Eltham for preference, Beverley. So if you will oblige me—"
But here, once again the Gentleman-in-Powder knocked to announce:
"Mr. Tressider."
The thinnish, youngish gentleman in sandy whiskers entered with a rush, but, seeing the Marquis, paused.
"What, then—you 're before me, are you, Jerningham?" he exclaimed; then turning, he saluted Barnabas, and burst into a torrent of speech. "Beverley!" he cried, "cursed early to call, but I'm full o' news—bursting with it, damme if I'm not—and tell it I must! First, then, by Gad!—it was at White's you'll understand, and the card-room was full—crammed, sir, curse me if it wasn't, and there's Carnaby and Tufton Green, and myself and three or four others, playing hazard, d'ye see,—when up strolls Jerningham here. 'It's your play, Carnaby,' says I. 'Why then,' says the Marquis,—'why then,' says he, 'look out for fouling!' says he, cool as a cucumber, curse me! 'Eh—what?' cries Tufton, 'why—what d' ye mean?' 'Mean?' says the Marquis, tapping his snuff-box, 'I mean that Sir Mortimer Carnaby is a most accursed rascal' (your very words, Marquis, damme if they weren't). Highly dramatic, Beverley—could have heard a pin drop—curse me if you couldn't! End of it was they arranged a meeting of course, and I was Carnaby's second, but—"
"Was?" repeated the Marquis.
"Yes, was,—for begad! when I called on my man this morning he'd bolted, damme if he hadn't!"
"Gone?" exclaimed the Marquis in blank amazement.
"Clean gone! Bag and baggage! I tell you he's bolted, but—with all due respect to you, Marquis, only from his creditors. He was devilish deep in with Gaunt, I know, beside Beverley here. Oh damme yes, he only did it to bilk his creditors, for Carnaby was always game, curse me if he wasn't!"
Hereupon the Marquis had recourse to his snuff-box again.
"Under the circumstances," said he, sighing and shaking his head,
"I think I'll go and talk with our invalid—"
"No good, my boy, if you mean Devenham," said Tressider, shaking his head, "just been there,—Viscount's disappeared too—been away all night!"
"What?" cried Barnabas, springing to his feet, "gone?"
"Damme if he hasn't! Found his fellow in the devil of a way about it, and his little rascal of a groom blubbering on the stairs."
"Then I must dress! You'll excuse me, I know!" said Barnabas, and rang for Peterby. But his hand was even yet upon the bellrope when stumbling feet were heard outside, the door was flung wide, and the Viscount himself stood upon the threshold.
Pale and haggard of eye, dusty and unkempt, he leaned there, then staggering to a chair he sank down and so lay staring at the floor.
"Oh, Bev!" he groaned, "she's gone—Clemency's gone, I—I can't find her, Bev!"
Now hereupon the Marquis very quietly took up his hat and, nodding to Barnabas, linked his arm in Tressider's and went softly from the room, closing the door behind him.
"Dick!" cried Barnabas, bending over him, "my dear fellow!"
"Ever since you spoke, I—I've wanted her, Bev. All through my illness I've hungered for her—the sound of her voice,—the touch of her hand. As soon as I was strong enough—last night, I think it was—I went to find her, to—to kneel at her feet, Bev. I drove down to Frittenden and oh, Bev—she was gone! So I started back—looking for her all night. My arm bothered me—a bit, you know, and I didn't think I could do it. But I kept fancying I saw her before me in the dark. Sometimes I called to her—but she—never answered, she's—gone, Bev, and I—"
"Oh, Dick—she left there weeks ago—"
"What—you knew?"
"Yes, Dick."
"Then oh, Bev,—tell me where!"
"Dick, I—can't!"
"Why—why?"
"I promised her to keep it secret."
