"Barnabas—I never had a son—or a daughter—but I think I know just how—your mother would be feeling—now!"
"And I do not remember my mother!" said Barnabas.
"Poor, poor Joan!" sighed the Duchess, very gently. "Were she here I think she would—but then she was much taller than I, and—oh, boy, stoop—stoop down, you great, tall Barnabas—how am I ever to reach you if you don't?"
Then Barnabas stooped his head, and the Duchess kissed him—even as his own mother might have done, and so, smiling a little tremulously, turned away. "There! Barnabas," she sighed. "And now—oh, I know you are dying to read your letter—of course you are, so pray sir,—go back and fetch my fan,—here it is, it will serve as an excuse, while I go on to look at the horses." And with a quick, smiling nod, she hurried away across the paddock after the others. Then Barnabas broke the seal of Cleone's letter, and—though to be sure it might have been longer—he found it all sufficient. Here it is:
The Palace Grange,
Eltham,
Midnight.
Ever Dearest,—The race is to-morrow and, because I love you greatly, so am I greatly afraid for you. And dear, I love you because you are so strong, and gentle, and honorable. And therefore, here on my knees I have prayed God to keep you ever in his care, my Barnabas.
CLEONE.
CHAPTER LIII
IN WHICH SHALL BE FOUND SOME ACCOUNT OF THE GENTLEMAN'S STEEPLECHASE
Truly it is a great day for "The Terror," hitherto known as
"Four-legs," and well he knows it.