But now, having helped each other into their coats, they set off back to the inn.
"My ribs," said the Viscount, feeling that region of his person with tender solicitude as he spoke, "my ribs are infernally sore, Bev, though it was kind of you not to mark my face; I'm sorry for your lip, my dear fellow, but really it was the only opening you gave me; I hope it isn't painful?"
"Indeed I had forgotten it," returned Barnabas.
"Then needs must I try to forget my bruised ribs," said the Viscount, making a wry face as he clambered over the stile.
But here Barnabas paused to turn and look back at the scene of their encounter, quite deserted now, for the stranger had long since disappeared in the green.
"Yes, a very remarkable man!" sighed Barnabas, thoughtfully. "I wish he had come back with us to the inn and—Clemency. Yes, a very strange man. I wonder now—"
"And I beg you to remember," added the Viscount, taking him by the arm, "he said that you and I were ordained to be friends, and by Gad! I think he spoke the truth, Bev."
"I feel sure of it, Viscount," Barnabas nodded.
"Furthermore, Bev, if you are 'Bev' to me, I must be 'Dick' to you henceforth—amen and so forth!"
"Agreed, Dick."