admired, yet (be it remarked) his face bore nothing of the look that
had distorted the features of the gentleman in the bottle-green
coat--though to be sure our Barnabas was but an amateur at
best--even as Natty Bell had said. So at last she reached the
fateful glade beyond which, though small with distance, was a noble
house set upon a gentle hill that rose above the swaying green of
trees. Here my lady paused; she looked up the glade and down the
glade, and finally at him. And her eyes were the eyes of a maid, shy,
mischievous, demure, challenging.

"Sir," said she, shyly, demurely--but with eyes still challenging--
"sir, I have to thank you. I do thank you--more than these poor lips
can tell. If there is anything I could--do--to--to prove my gratitude,
you--have but to--name it."

"Do," stammered Barnabas. "Do--indeed--I--no."

The challenging eyes were hidden now, but the lips curved
wonderfully tempting and full of allurement. Barnabas clenched his
fists hard.

"I see, sir, your cheek has stopped bleeding, 't is almost well.
I think--there are others--whose hurts will not heal--quite so
soon--and, between you and me, sir, I'm glad--glad! Good-by! and may
you find as many friends in London as you deserve." So saying, she
turned and went on down the glade.

And in a little Barnabas sighed, and turning also, strode on
London-wards.