better, Lady Babs?”
The Lady Barbara’s laughter rang back to Mistress Benton’s frenzied ears.
“The moonlight seems to infuse your love with warmth, my cousin.” The lady leaned with coquettish heaviness upon the arm that supported her hand.
“The icicle that holds your heart has chilled my love till now, my sweet,” the mask answered.
“But why did you stop me in this fashion?” The Lady Barbara had drawn back from the ardor in her escort’s voice. “What means this silly masquerade? What words would you speak to me here? In this fashion?”
“’Tis but a lover’s prank, as you said,” he answered, lightly. Then, singing softly Lord Farquhart’s song to Sylvia, he swung her lightly from him, and bowed low before her as though she were his partner in a dance.
Hearts that beat with love so true!
Barb’ra, sweet, I come to you!
She, falling in with his humor, dropped him an answering courtesy, and, drawing off her gauntlet, gave him her bare hand. He fell on his knee before her, and lightly touched the hand with his lips.
“Give me the glove, sweetheart,” he cried, “and the rose you wear on your heart and – and all these rings that mar your sweet, white hand with their gaudy reds and blues. Leave only mine to prove that you are only mine.”
He drew the jewels from her hand, and, suddenly, she started from him.
“Take off your mask, Percy, and lift your hat,” she cried, impulsively.
“You ask too much, sweet cousin.” Still he answered lightly. He was still on his knees before her. “My mask and my hat proclaim my trade, if not to you, at least to your servants.”
The roses in her cheeks faded, then blossomed once again. Again she laughed, but this time the rippling music held a tremor. Her hand caught her heart.
“For an instant,” she gasped – “oh! for an instant I thought – I was afraid that you might indeed be – ”
“And for once you thought the truth, sweet cousin. But you’ve naught to fear.” The mask’s voice had grown serious. He was on his feet and holding both her hands in his. “I am he; I am he in dread of whom all London shivers, and it was to tell you that – that I stopped you, Barbara. To tell you and to test, if not your love, at least your good intentions as my wife. The world tells me that I cannot win your love, that it has been given irretrievably to another. But your fidelity I must prove before you wear my name. I am placing my life, my safety, my honor, in the sweet jeopardy of your hands. My life is forfeit, as you know. My life is henceforth in your hands.” She was shrinking away from him, but he held her fast. “My friends – your lover – await us at The Jolly Grig. I shall be with them before you arrive. You will face them and me in ten minutes or less. If you intend to keep faith with me as my wife, you will meet me as your betrothed. You will give no sign of this new knowledge of me.”
“But – but – ” she stammered.
“There are no buts, sweet cousin, sweetheart.” Already he was leading her back to the coach. “You may cry out, if you will, when you see us, that you were held up by the black highwayman. In truth, there will be no need for you to tell the tale. Your servants will save you the trouble. In proof of the story, the fellow has stolen your rose and your glove and your rings. In ransom of your life, you swore that he should not be followed. We’ll hurry you on to town. We’ll give the alarm, and the constables and their men will have a mad and a merry chase. But from now on, this is our secret. We are one in that already.”
Courteously and slowly he drew her to the coach, pressing her forward as she held reluctantly back. Denying her all chance to answer, he handed her into the coach and disappeared.
VI
The Jolly Grig was empty. The guests, all in the courtyard, were mounting to meet the Lady Barbara. A shadowy figure clambered to Lord Farquhart’s window, a figure strangely like Lord Farquhart. A moment later, a shadowy figure, resembling, this time, the lad who had slept by the hearth, slipped down the stairs into the small room at the back of the inn. Here it stopped for an instant’s reverie.
“’Tis curious how jests grow,” the red lips murmured. “At first I but thought of frightening that haughty cousin of mine, the Lady Barbara Gordon. And now – heigh-ho! I hope I’ve not stored up trouble for Lord Farquhart. ’Twould be a sad pity to vex so fine a gentleman!”
Then the figure hurriedly caught up the bundle of woman’s toggery that had enswathed its entrance to the inn, and through the dancing motes, over the sun-flecked floor, the same slim shadow, the shadow that resembled the lad who had slept by the hearth, the shadow that had slipped down the curving stairs, crept through another window, was off and away, lost in the other shadows of the night.
VII
Into the torch-filled courtyard rolled the Lady Barbara’s coach. There was little need for the lady to tell her own story. Mistress Benton’s shrieks were filling the air. The maids were squealing and praying Heaven to save them. Drennins and the shamed coach boys were cursing roundly.
“Thieves! Murder! Robbery!” screamed Mistress Benton. “We are killed!”
Even the Lady Barbara’s white hand could not quell the tumult, and, all the time, her frightened eyes rested tremulously everywhere save on Lord Farquhart’s face.
“Here, here, not a hundred paces from the inn,” screamed Mistress Benton. “He robbed us. He stole our all. Oh, just Heaven! We are all murdered.”
Here the Lady Barbara’s hand did produce silence in one quarter by clasping Mistress Benton’s mouth with its long, slim fingers.
But from one and another the story was soon out. They had, indeed, been stopped at the points of a dozen pistols! This version was told by one of the coach boys.
“A dozen, man!” scoffed Barbara. Even her voice was slightly tremulous. “There was one lone highwayman, a single highwayman in black mask and coat and hat!”
“’Twas the Black Devil himself!” cried the chorus of men, who had watched calmly at the inn while the outrage was occurring.
“One man! And the horses’ legs knotted in a haze of ropes strung over the road!” cried Drennins, determined to maintain the number to which he had been willing to yield his own and his lady’s life. “One man! God’s truth! There must have been at least a dozen!”
“Ay, but ’twas Barbara’s own fault!” Mistress Benton cried, but again Barbara’s hand silenced her in the same way, and now Barbara’s own voice rang out clear and decisive.
“Why do we dally here?” she demanded. “The story’s all told, and I’ve given my word that the fellow should go free. There’s little loss – a few jewels and an old glove. Nay, nay, Lord Percy. My word is given. You shall neither go yourself nor send your servants after the fellow. He is absolutely safe from molestation from me and mine.” Her eyes now rested with curious insistence on Lord Farquhart’s face, but he could not read the riddle in them. “And now” – the lady leaned back wearily – “if this clamor might all cease! I am desperately weary. Get me to my aunt’s house with as much speed as possible.”
There was a short conference among the men, and then the little group separated. But the lady had only closed her eyes. Her ears
