"Sir," she said, very softly, "sir?"
"My name is Barnabas."
"I fear—I—does your cheek pain you very much, Mr. Beverley?"
"Thank you, no. And my name is Barnabas."
"I did not mean to—to—"
"No, no, the fault was mine—I—I frightened you, and indeed the pain is quite gone," he stammered, holding aside the brambles for her passage. Yet she stood where she was, and her face was hidden in her hood. At last she spoke and her voice was very low.
"Quite gone, sir?"
"Quite gone, and my name is—"
"I'm very—glad—Barnabas."
Four words only, be it noted; yet on the face of Barnabas was a light that was not of the moon, as they entered the dim woodland together.