"Cleone," said the Duchess, "speak to him."
So blushing a little, sighing a little, Cleone reached out her hand to Barnabas, while the Duchess watched them with her young, bright eyes.
"Oh, Barnabas, God-mother is very wise, and if—there is danger—you mustn't go—for my sake."
But Barnabas shook his head again, and taking in his strong clasp the pleading hand upon his arm, turned to the Duchess.
"Madam," said he, "dear Duchess, to-night I have found my manhood, for to-night I have learned that a man must ever choose the hardest course and follow it—to the end. To-night Cleone has taught me—many things."
"And you will—stay?" inquired the Duchess.
"I must go!" said Barnabas.
"Then good-by—Barnabas!" said her Grace, looking up at him with a sudden, radiant smile, "good-by!" said she very softly, "it is a fine thing to be a gentleman, perhaps,—but it is a godlike thing to be—a man!" So saying, she gave him her hand, and as Barnabas stooped to kiss those small, white fingers, she looked down at his curly head with such an expression as surely few had ever seen within the eyes of this ancient, childless woman, her Grace of Camberhurst.
"Now Giant!" she called, as Barnabas turned towards Cleone, "come here, Giant, and promise me to take care of Mr. Beverley."
"Yes, mam,—all right, mam,—you jest leave 'im to me," replied Master Milo with his superb air, "don't you worrit on 'is account, 'e'll be all right along o' me, mam, 'e will."