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Updated: June 6, 2025
"And though, my Lord, though my name is not familiar, I think you will remember his; the name of my friend is " here Mr. Smivvle, having at length discovered his whisker, gave it a fierce twirl, "Ronald Barrymaine." The Viscount's smooth brow remained unclouded, only the glove tore in his fingers; so he smiled, shook his head, and drawing it off, tossed it away.
Chichester dryly, "last time he posed as Rustic Virtue in homespun, to-day it seems he is the Good Samaritan in a flowered waistcoat, very anxiously bent on saving some one or other conditionally, of course!" "And what the devil has it to do with you?" cried Barrymaine passionately.
There can be no hope for me till Jasper Gaunt's dead and shrieking in hell-fire." "But your debts shall be paid, if you will." "Paid? Who who's to pay 'em?" "I will." "You! you?" "Yes," nodded Barnabas, "on a condition." Ronald Barrymaine sank back upon the couch, staring at Barnabas with eyes wide and with parted lips; then, leaned suddenly forward, sobered by surprise. "Ah-h!" said he slowly.
Then Ronald Barrymaine looked up and, seeing Barnabas, struggled to his knees: "Beverley!" he exclaimed, "oh, thank God! You'll save her from that d-devil I tried to kill him, b-but he was too quick for me. But you you'll save her!" "What do you mean? Is it Cleone? What do you mean speak!" said Barnabas, beginning to tremble. "Yes, yes!" muttered Barrymaine, passing a hand across his brow.
Now, at the sight of this paper, Barrymaine fell back a step, his pistol-hand wavered, fell to his side, and sinking into a chair, he seemed to shrink into himself as he stared dully at a worn patch in the carpet. "Only one beside myself knows of this," said Barnabas. "Well?" The word seemed wrung from Barrymaine's quivering lips.
Then he turned and went upon his way, heavy-footed and chin on breast. On he went, plunged in gloomy abstraction, turning corners at random, lost to all but the problem he had set himself, which was this: How he might save Ronald Barrymaine in spite of Ronald Barrymaine.
Then Barrymaine laughed, an awful, gasping laugh, and began to edge himself along the wall and, as he went, he left hideous smears and blotches upon the panelling behind him. Being come to that inanimate figure he stood awhile watching it with gloating eyes. Presently he spoke in a harsh whisper: "He's dead, D-Dig quite dead, you see! And he was my f-friend, which was bad!
"Ah?" said the Viscount, coming to his elbow, "you mean on behalf of that " "Of Barrymaine, yes." "It's it's utterly preposterous!" fumed the Viscount. "So you said before, Dick." "You mean to go on with it?" "Of course!" "You are still determined to befriend a " "More than ever, Dick." "For Her sake?" "For Her sake. Yes, Dick," said Barnabas, beginning to frown a little.
Then Ronald Barrymaine groaned and fell on his knees beside her and sought to kiss her little foot, the hem of her dress, a strand of her long, yellow hair; but seeing how she shuddered away from him, a great sob broke from him and he rose to his feet. "Beverley," he said, "oh, Beverley, s-she won't let me touch her." And so stood a while with his face hidden in his griping hands.
"Ha! by heaven, I never thought of that!" cried Barrymaine, turning upon Barnabas, "is it Cleone is it? is it?" "No," said Barnabas, folding his arms a little ostentatiously, "I seek only to be your friend in this." "Friend!" exclaimed Mr. Chichester, laughing again, "friend, Ronald? Nay, let us rather say your guardian angel in cords and Hessians."
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