"Martin!"

"You are in trouble, mistress, you need not tell me. Much I overheard, the rest I can guess. Lord Rosmore has departed. I met him on the road, at least he pa.s.sed along the road, and I stood in the wood by the side to see him pa.s.s. Mr. Crosby is already busy in Dorsetshire, and I return to hear you are going to London."

"Yes, Martin."

"Dark hours, indeed," he said, "but there is the beam of light."

"It has gone out. Ah, Martin, you are a dreamer and look at the world through a veil of cloud, while I am a woman p.r.o.ne to trust too easily.

We are easy to deceive, you and I."

"Yes, dreamer as I am, I have recognised much of the falsehood," said Martin.

"You like Mr. Gilbert Crosby?"

"One grows to like a man when you have fought by his side in an awkward corner."

"You would trust him?"

"Don't you?" asked Martin.

"He told me something of himself, but it was told to deceive. I found that in the ruins, just where he stumbled last night. He dropped it,"

and Barbara held out the brown mask which she had drawn from her dress.

Martin took it and turned it this way and that.

"He did not tell me that he was Galloping Hermit the highwayman," she said.

"Very strange," said Martin. "Another might have dropped it. Many men tramped that spot that evening. Sir John, Lord Rosmore, and a dozen others."

"Yes, and later, Mr. Fellowes," said Barbara. "He came with a despatch calling Lord Rosmore back into Dorsetshire."

"Might not Mr. Fellowes have dropped it?" Martin asked.

"He might. You may find many possibilities, but not probabilities."

"The famous mask," mused Fairley, "and you find it, mistress. For my part I have had a kindly thought for the wearer. There are tales about him which make him different from other highwaymen."

"Yes, Martin, I know, but I had almost--ah! you would not understand."

"I saw the beam of light, and it has now gone out, you say. This wisp of brown silk has extinguished it. But consider, might there not be some great purpose for a man taking to the road?"

"There might, Martin."

"I have heard, mistress, of a great n.o.ble who wore fool's motley that he might the better stand between his King and danger. I have heard of one who lay bound in chains for years that his friend might be saved. Men have died for others ever since this world was young."

"True, Martin."

"So Galloping Hermit may have some purpose which, did we but know it, would make him a hero to crown rather than a scoundrel to hang. His heart may beat honestly; the eyes which looked from these holes--"

"Were grey, Martin," and there was a catch in Barbara's voice which her companion was quick to notice.

"Courage, mistress, the beam of light is still shining. We must get rid of this."

"No, give it me. I may see him again and give it to him."

"And perhaps be mistaken after all," said Martin. "The highwayman has long since provided himself with another mask, so we may destroy this."

"No, Martin."

"Why keep so dangerous a trifle? See, it burns."

He took the candle and the mask to the hearth, and made sure that no tell-tale particle of the silk remained.

"Mistress, it is gone. Be wise, forget that you ever found it," and Martin trampled the ashes into dust.

CHAPTER XV

BARBARA LANISON IN TOWN

Londoners had crowded towards Tower Hill from an early hour, had seized every point of vantage, or looked down from high windows and roofs upon that little square of s.p.a.ce which was kept clear and strongly guarded.

To a few, perhaps, it was mere sight-seeing, an excitement, a means of pa.s.sing a holiday; but to the majority it was a day of mourning, a time for silence and tears. Ill-fated rebellion was to be followed by the judicial murder of a popular idol. There had been tales current of this man's cowardice. He had crawled at the King's feet, begging slavishly for his life, had been willing to resign honour and liberty, his creed, and his very manhood so that he might escape the fate awaiting him. He had begged and pet.i.tioned for the intercession of every person who might have the power to say a word in his favour. He had shown himself a craven in every possible way, so it was said. This silent crowd, however, had no certain knowledge of the truth of these rumours; they might be, probably were, false reports to belittle him in the minds of the populace. What this waiting mult.i.tude remembered was that James, Duke of Monmouth, was a soldier of distinction and was doomed to die a martyr for the Protestant faith.

Ten o'clock had sounded some time since, when there was a sudden movement in the crowd, a backward pressure by the ranks of guards, and a man, saluting as he pa.s.sed, walked up that narrow, human lane to the little square and mounted the scaffold with a firm tread. A great hush fell, broken only by the sounds of sobbing. This man a coward! Every look, every action, gave the lie to such an accusation. Two Bishops stood by him and spoke to him, but their words were inaudible to the greater part of the crowd; and Ketch, the headsman, stood silently by the block, a man hated and execrated from the corridors of Whitehall to the filthiest purlieus of the town.

"I die a Protestant of the Church of England."

These words were clear enough, and against them the Bishops seemed to protest, but in what words the crowd could not hear, and only those close about the scaffold heard Monmouth's confession that he was sorry the rebellion had ever happened, since it had brought ruin on those who loved him. Then for a while he knelt in prayer, and said "Amen!" even to the Bishops' pet.i.tion for a blessing upon the King, but it was grudgingly said, and after a pause. Why, indeed, should he pray for a King whose heart was of stone and who was incapable of showing compa.s.sion?

The silent crowd watched him with bated breath, dimly seeing through tears that he spoke to the executioner as he ran his finger along the edge of the axe, and then he laid his head upon the block. The axe fell once, twice, and again, yet there was not an end.

Then the silence was broken. A wild fury roared from every side.

"Fling Ketch to us!" cried the mob, pressing in upon the guards.

Two more blows were struck by the frightened, cursing headsman. The martyrdom was accomplished, but the angry and nauseated crowd had gone mad, and, but for the guards, would have worked their will on Ketch and perchance on others who had had part in this butchery. It was a raging crowd, ripe for anything, fiercely l.u.s.ting to wreak its revenge on someone; but it was a crowd without a leader. Had a strong man at that moment a.s.sumed command of it, Monmouth's death might have brought success to the rebellion he had raised. Had a leader been found at that moment, a short hour might have seen the storming of Whitehall by the populace, and the King in the hands of his merciless enemies. No strong man arose, and James was left in peace to plan further vengeance on all those who had taken part in the rebellion, or shown pity to the vanquished.

Two days afterwards Barbara Lanison arrived in town, and received a most cordial welcome from her aunt, Lady Bolsover. She did not pester her niece for reasons why she had left Aylingford, it was only natural that any right-minded person would prefer London; nor did Barbara enlighten her. Before Barbara had been in the house an hour her aunt had given her a lively account of Monmouth's execution, and the horrors of it lost nothing in the telling.

"Surely you were not there!" Barbara exclaimed.

"No, I was not. I was tempted to venture, but I decided that it was wiser to keep away. I should certainly have shown sympathy with the poor man, and to do so would be dangerous. I a.s.sure you, Barbara, all the news in town lately has concerned this rebellion, and--let me whisper it, for it comes near treason to say it--half London has been in two minds whether to cast in its lot with Monmouth or with the King. There is no denying the fact that the King is not popular, and, to put no fine point on it, has the temper and cruelty of the devil."

Lady Bolsover was genuinely pleased to have her niece with her again.

After her own fashion she liked Barbara, and the presence of so attractive a person in her house was likely to re-establish the number and importance of her visitors, who, truth to tell, had not been so a.s.siduous in their attentions since Barbara left her. The good lady was full of schemes for making the hours pa.s.s pleasantly, of course for her niece's sake, and, having a.s.sured herself that Barbara was still heart-whole, she was prepared to welcome to her house in St. James's all the eligible men she could entice there.