"At Ashleydown, sir."
"Ashleydown?" repeated Barnabas, wrinkling his brow.
"Sir, you have been—very ill."
"Ah, yes, I was shot I remember—last night, I think?"
"Sir, it happened over three weeks ago."
"Three weeks!" repeated Barnabas, sitting up with an effort, "three weeks, John?—Oh, impossible!"
"You have been very near death, sir. Indeed I think you would have died but for the tender nursing and unceasing care of—"
"Ah, God bless her! Where is she, John—where is the Duchess?"
"Her Grace went out driving this morning, sir."
"This morning? Why, I was talking with her this morning—only a little while ago."
"That was yesterday morning, sir."
"Oh!" said Barnabas, hand to head, "do you mean that I have slept the clock round?"
"Yes, sir."
"Hum!" said Barnabas. "Consequently I'm hungry, John, deuced sharp set—ravenous, John!"
"That, sir," quoth Peterby, smiling his rare smile, "that is the best news I've heard this three weeks and more, and your chicken broth is ready—"
"Chicken broth!" exclaimed Barnabas, "for shame, John. Bring me a steak, do you hear?"
"But, sir," Peterby remonstrated, shaking his head, yet with his face ever brightening, "indeed I—"
"Or a chop, John, or ham and eggs—I'm hungry; I tell you."
"Excellent!" laughed Peterby, nodding his head, "but the doctor, sir—"
"Doctor!" cried Barnabas, with a snort, "what do I want with doctors?
I'm well, John. Bring me my clothes."
"Clothes, sir!" exclaimed Peterby, aghast. "Impossible, sir! No, no!"
"Yes, yes, John—I'm going to get up."
"But, sir—"
"This very moment! My clothes, John, my clothes!"
"Indeed, sir, I—"
"John Peterby," said Barnabas, scowling blackly, "you will oblige me with my garments this instant,—obey me, sir!"
But hereupon, while Barnabas scowled and Peterby hesitated, puckered of brow yet joyful of eye, there came the sound of wheels on the drive below and the slam of a coach door, whereat Peterby crossed to the window and, glancing out, heaved a sigh of relief.
"Who is it?" demanded Barnabas, his scowl blacker than ever.
"Her Grace has returned, sir."
"Very good, John! Present my compliments and sa'y I will wait upon her as soon as I'm dressed."
But hardly had Peterby left the room with this message, than the door opened again and her Grace of Camberhurst appeared, who, catching sight of Barnabas sitting up shock-headed among his pillows, uttered a little, glad cry and hurried to him.
"Why, Barnabas!" she exclaimed, "oh, Barnabas!" and with the words stooped, quick and sudden, yet in the most matter-of-fact manner in the world, and kissed him lightly on the brow.
"Oh, dear me!" she cried, beginning to pat and smooth his tumbled pillows, "how glad I am to see you able to frown again, though indeed you look dreadfully ferocious, Barnabas!"
"I'm—very hungry, Duchess!"
"Of course you are, Barnabas, and God bless you for it!"
"A steak, madam, or a chop, I think—"
"Would be excellent, Barnabas!"
"And I wish to get up, Duchess."
"To be sure you do, Barnabas—there, lie down, so!"
