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And it's all a delicious jelly when it's cold I mean the chicken broth, of course, not your head. Ah! you may give it to me, Mr. Peterby, and the spoon thank you! Now, Barnabas!"
Smivvle entered with Peterby at his heels. "Oh, Beverley!" he exclaimed, tugging nervously at his whiskers, "Barry's gone most distressing utterly vanished! I just happened to ah pop round the corner, my dear fellow, and when I came back he'd disappeared, been looking for him everywhere. Poor Barry poor fellow, they've got him safe enough by now! Oh Gad, Beverley! what can I do?"
"Sir," said Peterby in an altered tone, "I think I do." "Then sit down, John, and let us talk." With a murmur of thanks Peterby drew up a chair and sat watching Barnabas with his shrewd eyes. "You will remember," began Barnabas, staring up at the ceiling again, "that when I engaged you I told you that I intended to hum! to cut a figure in the fashionable world?"
On he went, heeding only the tumult of sorrow and anger that surged within him. And so, betimes, reached the "Oak and Ivy" inn, where, finding Peterby and the phaeton already gone, according to his instructions, he hired post-horses and galloped away for London.
"But," said Barnabas, looking from one to the other, "I don't understand!" "Neither do we, Bev. Only, dear fellow, remember this, 'there is a destiny which shapes our ends, and occasionally, a Duchess." But here, while Barnabas still glanced at them in perplexity, John Peterby appeared, bearing a tray whereon stood a decanter and glasses.
Peterby to come to me," said Barnabas, his frown growing blacker. "Cer-tainly, sir!" Here the Gentleman-in-Powder posed his legs, bowed, and took them out of the room. Then Barnabas drew a letter from his pocket and began to read as follows: The Gables, Hawkhurst. I rejoice to hear he is so much better. O Youth! O Romance! Well, I used to listen to brooks once upon a time before I took to a wig.
A pen was in his lax fingers, while upon the table and littering the floor were many sheets of paper, some half covered with close writing, some crumpled and torn, some again bearing little more than a name; but in each and every case the name was always the same. Thus, John Peterby, seeing this drooping, youthful figure, sighed and shook his head, and went out, closing the door behind him.
"Why, to tell you the truth, John, I had almost determined to start for the country this very night, but, on second thoughts, I've decided to stay on a while. After all, we have only been here a week as yet." "Yes, sir, it is just a week since Jasper Gaunt was murdered," said Peterby gently as he stooped to unpack his bundle.
Beverley on a matter of importance, and that nobleman presenting himself, Peterby withdrew. "Excuse this intrusion, my dear Beverley," said the Marquis as the door closed, "doocid early I know, but the ah the matter is pressing. First, though, how's Devenham, you saw him last night as usual, I suppose?" "Yes," answered Barnabas, shaking hands, "he ought to be up and about again in a day or two."
"But I fear, sir," continued Peterby, "that in making him your enemy, you have damned your chances at the very outset, as I told you." "A race!" said Barnabas again, vastly thoughtful. "And therefore," added Peterby, leaning nearer in his earnestness, "since you honor me by asking my advice, I would strive with all my power to dissuade you." "John Peterby why?"
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