"No," she answered quickly. "No; you must go."

"And you must do nothing to a.s.sociate yourself with me in any way. It was a chance that Martin brought me here, more of my contriving than his --do you understand? All you know of Gilbert Crosby is that he once came to your a.s.sistance at Newgate."

She did not answer immediately. In the darkness Crosby could hear a little quick intake of her breath and a slight rustle of her gown.

"Does Martin go with you?" she asked after a pause.

"A little way to put him on the road; then I shall return to Aylingford," Fairley said.

"You must not. It will not be safe for you."

"Never fear, mistress. Lord Rosmore cannot remain here, and no one else will care a jot whether Mad Martin comes or goes. Come, there must be no more delay. You must be back in your room if they should chance to call for you when they return from the ruins. Indeed, you must contrive to let them know that you are there. You will wait for me, Mr. Crosby. Your hand once more, mistress."

She stretched out her arm, and her hand was taken, but it was not Martin who took it.

"Thank you for all you have done for me," whispered Crosby. "It is more than you have knowledge of; as yet, it is almost beyond my own comprehension. There will come happier times--quickly, I trust--then I may thank you better. Then, I would have you remember something more of Gilbert Crosby than that he came to you that day in Newgate."

Then lips were pressed upon her hand, homage and reverence in the touch.

"I shall think of you and pray for you," she answered.

"I am waiting, mistress," said Martin. "I am here; your hand is difficult to find in the darkness."

It was the other arm Barbara stretched out, and so for an instant she stood, both hands firmly held, linked to these two men.

Martin led the way quickly, and certainly, as one who had made the journey often and knew every step of it. At first there was a faint echo of their footfalls, speaking of a wide s.p.a.ce about them, but they were soon in a pa.s.sage which became gradually narrower, then they began to ascend, for a little way by a sharp incline, and afterwards by a winding staircase.

"Martin," Barbara said suddenly, "I am in real danger. Lord Rosmore wishes to marry me. To-night he gave me his word that you should go free, and I think I could persuade him to let Mr. Crosby escape, if I consent to be his wife. I have until to-morrow morning to give him an answer."

"To-morrow morning he will have no prisoners to bargain with," Fairley answered.

"Nevertheless, he will want an answer. If he does not get the answer he wants, I am likely to be accused of helping rebels."

"Is that what he threatens? You are not a woman to be frightened by threats. You must meet deceit with deceit. Answer neither 'Yea' nor 'Nay' for a while. He will wait if you let him suppose your answer may be 'Yea.'"

"My uncle is insistent," said Barbara.

"Should you be pressed in such a fashion that there is no escape, mistress, say this to Sir John: 'It is a sacred trust; G.o.d requite you if you fail in it. When she is of age, give her that which is hers. She is free.' Tell him that these words were spoken to you out of the darkness, and then there followed a single word spoken low--'Beware!'

Can you remember them? They must be exact. It is true you have heard them out of the darkness, and you will not say that Mad Martin spoke them."

"And then, Martin?"

"He will be afraid of you; but do not speak the words unless you are obliged. Let me hear you repeat them."

Barbara said them carefully and correctly.

"Good," said Martin. "You are armed with a weapon that can hardly fail, and you shall not be left long to fight the battle alone. Courage, mistress; there comes an end to the blackest hours, and surely into yours there has penetrated a beam of light. Is it not so?"

"Perhaps, Martin."

"Another step. So. Pa.s.s on, mistress, and good-night."

Barbara's foot suddenly pressed a soft rug instead of the hard stone of the stairs; it was still dark, but not black as it had been; there was a faint stirring of the air about her, and then a scarcely audible sound behind her, which for a moment had no meaning for her. Then she saw the dim outline of a window above, and to her right, at some little distance, a narrow line of light. She was in the corridor out of which her own apartments opened, and behind her was the panelled wall!

She went quickly to her room. The candles were burning as she had left them when bidden to go to her uncle. How swiftly the moments had pa.s.sed since then, yet how much had happened in them! A kiss was still burning on her hand, and she raised the hand to her lips, blushing and accusing herself of folly as she did so. Then she threw the cas.e.m.e.nt wide open and leaned out to listen.

A murmur of sound came from the ruins. Had they forced the door and found the room empty? It was certain that there were men in the ruins.

Suddenly there came another sound, the clatter of horses' hoofs on the stones of the courtyard. Were these new arrivals at the Abbey, or were men mounting in haste to scour the country for the fugitives? She must know, and yet Martin had said that she must let them understand that she was in her own room to-night.

There were quick footsteps below her window.

"I think they must be along the terrace, sir," said a servant; "both my master and Lord Rosmore."

"I thought it was a haunted spot which no one cared for after dark," was the answer in a voice which sounded familiar to Barbara.

"So it is, sir, but to-night there's something afoot which--" And then they pa.s.sed out of Barbara's hearing. She leaned out of the window, looking towards the ruins, and saw a man with a torch come out on to the terrace. He shouted, and two or three other men joined him. The servant and the visitor went forward quickly, and entered the ruins as the shouting ceased. Still Barbara did not move; they must know she was in her room, Martin had said--and Mad Martin had proved himself wondrous wise and clever to-night. So she waited, and the moments were leaden-footed. Presently three men came from the ruins and along the terrace. Barbara heard her uncle's voice.

"What is it?" she said, leaning down. "I am afraid."

All three men stopped and looked up. The new arrival was Sydney Fellowes.

"I am frightened at so much stir at this time of the night," she said.

"It is nothing, Barbara," said Sir John.

They had seen her. She need remain in her room no longer, and she flew along the corridor and down the stairs in time to meet them as they entered the hall.

Fellowes bowed low to her. His dress was dusty. He had evidently ridden far.

"Dare I hope that you have repented, and that to-morrow seems too long to wait?" said Rosmore.

"There has been such riot I have had no time to think of other matters.

What does it mean, uncle?"

"That Mr. Fellowes has ridden from Lord Feversham, commanding Rosmore's presence in Dorsetshire."

"So unless we capture this rebel of ours to-night, Mistress Lanison, I shall have to leave some of my men to do it," said Rosmore. "I must depart to-morrow morning, and you must--you will give me my answer before I go?"

"It is news to me that Crosby of Lenfield has been named as a rebel,"

said Fellowes.

"It was news to me until I had my commands," said Rosmore.

"Lord Feversham bid me tell you to return with all the men you could muster. I do not envy you your employment. Kirke's lambs are already too busy for my liking."

"You go no further to-night, Mr. Fellowes?" said Sir John.

"Yes, towards London. I bear despatches to the King at Whitehall. I have accomplished one part of my errand; I must hasten to complete the other.

A stirrup cup as you suggested, Sir John, and then to horse. Good-night, Mistress Lanison."