So, talking thus, they reached a gate, and, beyond the gate, a road, white beneath the moon, winding away between shadowy hedges.
"You are for London, I fancy, young sir?"
"Yes."
"Then we part here. But before I bid you God speed, I would know your name; mine is Darville—Ralph Darville."
"And mine, sir, is Barnabas—Beverley."
"Beverley!" said the Preacher, glancing up quickly, "of Ashleydown?"
"Sir," said Barnabas, "surely they are all dead?"
"True, true!" nodded the Preacher, "the name is extinct. That is how the man—Chichester came into the inheritance. I knew the family well, years ago. The brothers died abroad, Robert, the elder, with his regiment in the Peninsula, Francis, in battle at sea, and Joan—like my own poor Beatrix, was unhappy, and ran away, but she was never heard of again."
"And her name was Joan?" said Barnabas slowly, "Joan—Beverley?"
"Yes."