"Yes, I am going—out."
Peterby bowed and crossed to the door, but paused there, hesitated, and finally spoke:
"Sir, may I ask if you intend to ride—Londonwards?"
"No," answered Barnabas, stifling a sigh, "my way lies in the opposite direction; I am going—back, to the 'Coursing Hound.' And that reminds me—what of you, what are your plans for the future?"
"Sir," stammered Peterby, "I—I had ventured to—to hope that you might—take me with you, unless you wished to—to be rid of me—"
"Rid of you, John!" cried Barnabas, turning at last, "no—never. Why, man, I need you more than ever!"
"Sir," exclaimed Peterby, flushing suddenly, "do you—really mean that?"
"Yes, John—a thousand times, yes! For look you, as I have proved you the best valet in the world—so have I proved you a man, and it is the man I need now, because—I am a failure."
"No, no!"
"Yes, John. In London I attempted the impossible, and today I—return home, a failure. Consequently the future looms rather dark before me, John, and at such times a tried friend is a double blessing. So, come with me, John, and help me to face the future as a man should."