"On the contrary, sir, am vastly—enjoying myself—shall give myself the pleasure—of continuing—just as soon as the ground subsides a little."
Therefore Barnabas, still dabbing at his mouth, stepped forward being minded to aid him to his feet, but ere he could do so, a voice arrested him.
"Stop!" said the voice.
Now glancing round, Barnabas beheld a man, a small man and slender, whose clothes, old and worn, seemed only to accentuate the dignity and high nobility of his face.
Bareheaded he advanced towards them and his hair glistened silver white in the sunshine, though his brows were dark, like the glowing eyes below. Upon his cheek was the dark stain of blood, and on his lips was a smile ineffably sweet and gentle as he came forward, looking from one to the other.
"And pray, sir," inquired the Viscount, sitting cross-legged upon the green, "pray, who might you be?"
"I am an apostle of peace, young sir," answered the stranger, "a teacher of forgiveness, though, doubtless, an unworthy one."
"Peace, sir!" cried the Viscount, "deuce take me!—but you are the most warlike Apostle of Peace that eyes ever beheld; by your looks you might have been fighting the Seven Champions of Christendom, one down, t' other come on—"
"You mean that I am bleeding, sir; indeed, I frequently do, and therein is my joy, for this is the blood of atonement."
"The blood of atonement?" said Barnabas.