afraid of naught, too – save stupidity.”
“She was afraid of naught when she was a child,” agreed Lindley, his interest in his cousin permitting his interest in the lad’s words. “It’s to be hoped that her temper has improved,” he added, to himself. “But red hair begets temper, and, if I am right, my cousin’s hair is red.”
Again the boy’s laughter startled the woods.
“Ay, red it is. Red as a fox, and her eyes are red, too; red with glints of yellow, save when she’s angry, and then they’re black as night. She’s no beauty, this Mistress Judith. Her skin’s too white, and her mouth’s too small, and, as I said, she’s over tall and over slight, but no man can look at her without loving her, and she – why, she cares nothing for any man. She gives no man a chance to woo her, and declares she never will.”
A plan was forming itself immaturely in Lindley’s mind, and he had given small heed to the boy’s description of his lady. Now he spoke shortly.
“I want your help, boy. I intend to marry Mistress Judith, with or without her consent. And I want all the assistance you can give me. She trusts you, it seems. Therefore I will trust you. I would know more of Mistress Judith than I do. You see her daily, you say. Then you can meet me here each night and report to me what Mistress Judith does and says. The day she marries me, a hundred English crowns will be yours.”
“Ah, you go too fast, my lord,” cried the lad. “I know full well that Mistress Judith will never marry you. That I can promise you, and if I agreed to this proposition of yours I would be on a fool’s errand as well as you.”
“But I’ll pay you well for your trouble if I fail, never fear. And I know that I’ll not fail,” boasted Lindley. “But the day I speak first to Mistress Judith, I’ll give you a quarter of the sum. The day she consents to be my wife, I’ll double that, and on our wedding day I’ll double it once more. So your errand will not be a fool’s errand, whatever mine may be.”
The boy seemed to hesitate.
“And I’m to meet you here, each night, at the edge of the Ogilvie woods?” he questioned.
“Ay, each night for a fortnight, or a month, however long my wooing may take.”
“And I’m to spy on Mistress Judith and tell you all her goings and her comings and all?”
“No, not to spy,” retorted Lindley; “merely to let me know her passing moods and caprices, her whimsies, her desires.”
“But if you should be detained, my lord; if you cannot come, must I send word to – to – ”
“Ay, to Cecil Lindley, at – ”
“Oh, my master, my master!” interrupted the boy, his elfish laughter ringing through the woods. “Had you told me your name at first, we had been spared all this foolish dickering. Why, Lindley’s the man she detests; the man whose very name throws her into a frenzy of temper. There’s naught that you can do to win Mistress Judith. Why, man, she despises you. Nay, she told her father only to-day – I was standing near the tree where they sat, mind you – that if ever again your name was mentioned to her, she would leave her home or – or even kill herself – anything to rid her ears forever of the hateful sound. How can you hope to win Mistress Judith?”
“Win her I will, boy,” answered Lindley. “I’m not afraid of her temper, either. For you, your part is to do as you’re told. Leave the rest to me. But you need go no further now. This road leads to the stables. I’ll deliver Mistress Judith’s horse with mine. A bargain’s a bargain when it’s sealed with gold.” He flung a sovereign onto the road in front of him.
The two horses stood side by side, and the lad sat contemplating the gold where it shone in the moonlight.
“As you will, Master Lindley,” he said. “And I’ll wager it would speed your cause could I tell Mistress Judith that you defy her will and her temper. That, in itself, would go far toward winning her. As for the horses, best let me take the two of them. There are none of the boys awake at this hour. It must be near three. With your good leave, I’ll stable yours when I put Mistress Judith’s nag in its stall.”
Lindley, standing in the moonlight on his cousin’s steps, watched the young play actor as he walked somewhat unsteadily away between the two horses. He wished that he had seen the lad’s face, and, curiously enough, it was this wish, and the young play actor himself, who filled the last thoughts in Cecil Lindley’s brain before he fell asleep, in his cousin’s house – the play actor who was to be the go-between in his wooing of Mistress Judith Ogilvie.
IX
The following morning Judith Ogilvie awoke later than was her usual custom. She yawned as though she were not fully refreshed by her night’s sleep. She rubbed her eyes, then stretched her arms high above her head. Then she drew one hand back and looked long and somewhat lovingly at a round piece of gold that the hand held. Then she kissed the gold and blushed rosy red in the empty solitude of her own room. At last, nestling down again among the bed covers, she laughed – and a gurgling, rippling melody it was.
“So he’ll win me in spite of my hatred,” she murmured. “And yet – and yet, methinks if any man could win me, without much wooing either, ’twould be no other than my cousin, Master Cecil Lindley. Heigh-ho! He’s a taking way with him, and who knows? – perhaps – yes, perhaps, he’ll take even me, after I’ve had out my play acting with him.”
Doubtless, then, she drowsed again, for she was awakened once more by a voice and a vehement pair of knuckles on her door.
“Master Ogilvie desires that you should descend at once to speak with your cousin, Mr. Lindley,” said the voice, when Judith had sleepily ordered the knuckles to be silent.
“My cousin, Mr. Lindley?” questioned Judith. Even to the maid she feigned surprise. “How and when came my cousin, Mr. Lindley?”
“In the night, some time, I believe,” the voice answered. “He must return to London in an hour’s time, and he desires to see you and speak with you.”
“Say to Mr. Lindley that both he and Master Ogilvie, my father, know well enough that Mistress Judith Ogilvie will hold no communication whatsoever with Mr. Lindley. Furthermore say that – can you remember all this, Marget? – say that if Mr. Lindley is unable to read the letter lately written him by Mistress Judith Ogilvie, doubtless he will find some clerk in London more versed in scholarly arts than he, who will read it to him.” The footsteps retreated slowly from the door. “And, Marget, Marget,” Judith called again, “when Mr. Lindley has departed you may waken me again.”
On that selfsame morning, the Lady Barbara Gordon also awoke late in the house of her aunt, the wife of Timothy Ogilvie. She also seemed little refreshed by her night’s sleep. She also yawned and rubbed her eyes and stretched her arms above her head. She also laughed, but there was no rippling melody in the sound. Then she, too, held out one hand and looked at it curiously, looked curiously at all the ringless fingers, looked at the one finger that held Lord Farquhart’s betrothal ring.
The Lady Barbara had been seriously considering the new aspect of the situation. Indeed, the situation looked serious, and yet Lady Barbara doubted if it could in reality be as serious as it seemed. Was it possible, she asked herself, that Lord Farquhart had been only jesting the night before, when he had declared himself to be the highwayman of whom all London stood in dread? But jesting had hitherto held no place in her intercourse with Lord Farquhart. If he were indeed this highwayman, why had he jeopardized
