"Yes, it's very dark," said Barnabas, "but it isn't far to the landing—shall we go up?"
"Yes, but—" my lady hesitated a moment as one who takes breath for some great effort, and, in that moment, he felt her bosom heave beneath his hand. "Oh, Barnabas," she whispered, "won't you—kiss me—first?"
Then Barnabas trembled in his turn, the arm about her grew suddenly rigid and, when he spoke, his voice was harsh and strained.
"Madam," said he, "can the mere kiss of an—inn-keeper's son restore your dead faith?"
Now when he had said this, Cleone shrank in his embrace and uttered a loud cry as if he had offered her some great wrong, and, breaking from him, was gone before him up the stair, running in the dark.
Oh, Youth! Oh, Pride!
So Barnabas hurried after her and thus, as she threw open Barrymaine's door he entered with her and, in his sudden abasement, would have knelt to her, but Ronald Barrymaine had sprung up from the couch and now leaned there, staring with dazed eyes like one new wakened from sleep.
"Ronald," she cried, running to him, "I came as soon as I could, but
I didn't understand your letter. You wrote of some great danger. Oh,
Ronald dear, what is it—this time?"
"D-danger!" he repeated, and with the word, turned to stare over his shoulder into the dingiest corner: "d-danger, yes, so I am,—but t-tell me who it is—behind me, in the corner?"
"No one, Ronald."