"It has been wrenched off you will notice."
"Yes," nodded the Viscount, "torn off! Do you think—"
"I think," said Barnabas, putting the button back into his pocket, "that Mistress Clemency's tears are accounted for—"
"By God, Beverley," said the Viscount, an ugly light in his eyes, "if I thought that—!" and the hand upon the table became a fist.
"I think that Mistress Clemency is a match for any man—or brute," said Barnabas, and drew his hand from his pocket.
Now the Viscount's fist was opening and shutting convulsively, the breath whistled between his teeth, he glanced towards the door, and made as though he would spring to his feet; but in that moment came a diversion, for Barnabas drew his hand from his pocket, and as he did so, something white fluttered to the floor, close beside the Viscount's chair. Both men saw it and both stooped to recover it, but the Viscount, being nearer, picked it up, glanced at it, looked at Barnabas with a knowing smile, glanced at it again, was arrested by certain initials embroidered in one corner, stooped his head suddenly, inhaling its subtle perfume, and so handed it back to Barnabas, who took it with a word of thanks and thrust it into an inner pocket, while the Viscount stared at him under his drawn brows. But Barnabas, all unconscious, proceeded to cut himself another slice of beef, offering to do the same for the Viscount.
"Thank you—no," said he.
"What—have you done, so soon?"
"Yes," said he, and thereafter sat watching Barnabas ply knife and fork, who, presently catching his eye, smiled.
"Pray," said the Viscount after a while, "pray are you acquainted with the Lady Cleone Meredith?"
"No," answered Barnabas. "I'll trouble you for the mustard, Dick."
"Have you ever met the Lady Cleone Meredith?"
"Never", answered Barnabas, innocent of eye.
Hereupon the Viscount rose up out of the chair and leaned across the table.
"Sir," said he, "you are a most consummate liar!"
Hereupon Barnabas helped himself to the mustard with grave deliberation, then, leaning back in his chair, he smiled up into the Viscount's glowing eyes as politely and with as engaging an air as might be.
"My Lord," said he gently, "give me leave to remark that he who says so, lies himself most foully." Having said which Barnabas set down the mustard, and bowed.
"Mr. Beverley," said the Viscount, regarding him calm-eyed across the table, "there is a place I know of near by, a very excellent place, being hidden by trees, a smooth, grassy place—shall we go?"
"Whenever you will, my Lord," said Barnabas, rising.
Forthwith having bowed to each other and put on their hats, they stepped out into the yard, and so walked on side by side, a trifle stiffer and more upright than usual maybe, until they came to a stile. Here they must needs pause to bow once more, each wishful to give way to the other, and, having duly crossed the stile, they presently came to a place, even as the Viscount had said, being shady with trees, and where a brook ran between steep banks. Here, too, was a small foot-bridge, with hand-rails supported at either end by posts. Now upon the right-hand post the Viscount set his hat and coat, and upon the left, Barnabas hung his. Then, having rolled up their shirt-sleeves, they bowed once more, and coming to where the grass was very smooth and level they faced each other with clenched fists.
"Mr. Beverley," said the Viscount, "you will remember I sighed for muffles, but, sir, I count this more fortunate, for to my mind there is nothing like bare fists, after all, to try a man's capabilities."
"My Lord," said Barnabas, "you will also remember that when I told you I had boxed daily both with 'Glorious John' and Nathaniel Bell, you doubted my word? I therefore intend to try and convince you as speedily as may be."
"Egad!" exclaimed the Viscount, his blue eyes a-dance, "this is positively more than I had ventured to hope, my dear fell—Ah! Mr. Beverley, at your service, sir?"
And, after a season, Barnabas spoke, albeit pantingly, and dabbing at his bloody mouth the while.
"Sir," said he, "I trust—you are not—incommoded at all?" whereupon the Viscount, coming slowly to his elbow and gazing round about him with an expression of some wonder, made answer, albeit also pantingly and short of breath:
"On the contrary, sir, am vastly—enjoying myself—shall give myself the pleasure—of continuing—just as soon as the ground subsides a little."
Therefore Barnabas, still dabbing at his mouth, stepped forward being minded to aid him to his feet, but ere he could do so, a voice arrested him.
"Stop!" said the voice.
Now glancing round, Barnabas beheld a man, a small man and slender, whose clothes, old and worn, seemed only to accentuate the dignity and high nobility of his face.
Bareheaded he advanced towards them and his hair glistened silver white in the sunshine, though his brows were dark, like the glowing eyes below. Upon his cheek was the dark stain of blood, and on his lips was a smile ineffably sweet and gentle as he came forward, looking from one to the other.
"And pray, sir," inquired the Viscount, sitting cross-legged upon the green, "pray, who might you be?"
"I am an apostle of peace, young sir," answered the stranger, "a teacher of forgiveness, though, doubtless, an unworthy one."
"Peace, sir!" cried the Viscount, "deuce take me!—but you are the most warlike Apostle of Peace that eyes ever beheld; by your looks you might have been fighting the Seven Champions of Christendom, one down, t' other come on—"
"You mean that I am bleeding, sir; indeed, I frequently do, and therein is my joy, for this is the blood of atonement."
"The blood of atonement?" said Barnabas.
"Last night," pursued the stranger in his gentle voice, "I sought to teach the Gospel of Mercy and Universal Forgiveness at a country fair not so very far from here, and they drove me away with sticks and stones; indeed, I fear our rustics are sometimes woefully ignorant, and Ignorance is always cruel. So, to-day, as soon as the stiffness is gone from me, I shall go back to them, sirs, for even Ignorance has ears."
Now whereupon, the Viscount got upon his legs, rather unsteadily, and bowed.
"Sir," said he, "I humbly ask your pardon; surely so brave an apostle should do great works."
"Then," said the stranger, drawing nearer, "if such is your thought, let me see you two clasp hands."
"But, sir," said the Viscount, somewhat taken aback, "indeed we have—scarcely begun—"
