"I am no judge, since Mr. Fellowes has never made verses for me,"

answered the lady.

"So facile a poet may remedy that on the instant," said Branksome.

"Come, Master Rhymster, there's a kiss from the reddest lips I know waiting as payment for a stanza."

"They are kisses which are not at your disposal," answered the lady, but she looked at Fellowes.

"Gad! I believe you may have the kiss without the trouble of earning it, Fellowes," laughed Branksome. "I can go bail for the goods."

Mistress Dearmer pouted, but the laugh was against her until Fellowes came to the rescue.

"You shall have a sonnet," he said. "You may pay if you think it worthy."

Another woman caught Sir Philip's hand and whispered, "The poetry could hardly be so bad as the kisses are cheap, could it?"

Lord Rosmore and his host had walked to the end of the terrace talking confidentially.

"I should have said more, but you came to interrupt us," Sir John replied in answer to a question from his companion.

"You can force her to do as you wish," said Rosmore. "Indeed, if necessary, you must."

"How?"

"You are her guardian. If your powers are limited, that is no reason you should tell her so."

"You seem strangely doubtful about your own powers, Rosmore, yet rumour has it that few women are proof against you."

"She may be one of the few, that is why you have spoken to her. I want her more than I have ever wanted anything on earth. You--well, if all else fails, you must force her to marry me."

"There is another alternative," and Sir John stopped and drew himself up stiffly.

"I don't think you would take it," Rosmore answered carelessly. "I should not advise you to take it."

"She spoke of grey eyes," said Sir John, as though he were disinclined to argue the point. "She has thought of some man with grey eyes."

"Tell me all she said--it may be useful," and for some minutes Rosmore listened attentively while Sir John talked.

"I have more than one way of wooing," Rosmore said presently, "and my love must condone them all. The siege shall begin forthwith. A man may win any woman if he is subtle enough; in that conviction lies the secret of the success with which rumour credits me. I may persuade your niece to believe my eyes are grey, or perchance charm her into hating grey eyes henceforth. Where shall I find her, Sir John?"

"Probably in the Nun's Room."

"No place for so desirable a lady, and surely a strange room to have in Aylingford Abbey," laughed Rosmore. "There are many strange things about Aylingford which Mistress Barbara must never discover."

Sir John laughed, a forced laugh with a curse underneath it, and his hands tightened a little as he watched his guest go quickly along the terrace.

CHAPTER IV

THE NUN OF AYLINGFORD

Before she had taken many steps Barbara regretted that she had not remained with her uncle. Lord Rosmore must have said something to Sir John, and would guess that they had been talking about him; it would have been better to have stayed and shown him by her manner how distasteful the subject was to her. But she did not turn back. If she had missed an opportunity, it was certain that many more would be given her. She even began to wonder whether she really disliked Lord Rosmore; he had certainly given her no definite cause. In London he had not attempted to pay her any marked attention, and last night, when he had bent low over her hand, was the first time there had been anything noticeable in his behaviour. She liked him better--far better--than Judge Marriott; Sydney Fellowes hardly counted, and there was no other man whose coming had pleased her or whose departure had caused her a single regret. The man who had come to her help at Newgate was a shadow, a dream. Only curiosity could account for her remembering him. Indeed, it was doubtful if she did really remember him; were she to meet him she would probably not know him again. No, she had no ground for disliking Lord Rosmore. She did not dislike him, but, since he had been chosen for her, there was ample reason why she could never love him. Any woman would naturally hate the man she was commanded to love.

She turned from the terrace and, pa.s.sing through a low doorway from which the door had gone long ago, entered a wide s.p.a.ce enclosed by ruinous and moss-grown walls. It was open to the sky and littered with _debris_. At one end the blocked-up entrance from the present house was distinctly visible; at the other a small door, deeply sunk into the ma.s.sive masonry, gave entrance to a small round tower or bastion, which rose some feet above the walls and overhung the terrace. The tower had escaped ruin, almost accidentally it would seem, for there were no signs of any particular care having been expended upon it. This open s.p.a.ce had evidently been chiefly occupied by a large hall, its floor a little lower than the terrace level, but adjoining the tower end of it there had been other rooms, for traces of stone steps could be seen in the wall. In one corner, too, there had been a room below the level of the floor--indeed, some of the stone flags still projected over it. Its walls, strong and dungeon-like, were built down some fifteen feet; two or three narrow slits piercing the outer wall in a sharp upward angle had evidently given this buried chamber a dim light, and the entrance to it could only have been from the top, probably by a trap door. Some _debris_ had fallen into it, but not very much, and creepers had sown themselves and, climbing over part of the walls to the top, had spread themselves over a portion of the floor of the hall.

Barbara picked her way across the fallen _debris_ and stood looking down into this hole for a few minutes. It seemed to possess a certain fascination for her, as though it were in some way connected with her history. Then she went to the small door in the tower. It was locked, and although she knocked several times, and stood back to look up at the narrow windows above her, there was no sound, and no one answered her summons. She sat down upon a fallen piece of stonework, and her thoughts troubled her. Truly, she had come back to a new life. Even that locked door seemed to have its significance. She did not remember ever to have found it fastened before when she really wanted to enter.

She turned at the sound of approaching footsteps, and then rose quickly to her feet.

"What a place to hide in!" exclaimed Lord Rosmore as he came towards her. "I have never had the curiosity to penetrate into this rubbish heap before, and behold I am rewarded by finding a jewel."

"I came here to be alone for a little while," she said.

"I came for the same reason."

"You did not follow me?" she asked, evident disbelief in her tone.

"I wish I could say that I had, if it would please you; but, alas! truth will out. I came to think and to get through a troubled hour where my fellows could not see me. In this, at least, we can sympathise with each other it would seem."

"We can talk plainly, perhaps; it will be best," she answered.

"At least, I can explain," said Rosmore; "but won't you be seated again?

That is better," he went on as she sat down, "it seems to make confession of my fault easier. A little while since I spoke to your uncle about you. It was unwise, I know that now, but I did not think so then. Your position and your wealth seemed to make it the honourable thing to do. Sir John was kind enough to wish me good fortune, and I was content to wait. It was not my intention that Sir John should say anything to you, I did not imagine he would do so. Now, I learn that you have been pestered with my sentiments by proxy, that I have been forced to your notice. It is enough surely to make me seek solitude, where I may curse the hard fate that ruins me."

"I thought--"

"I dare not try and understand all you thought," Rosmore interrupted. "I can only suppose that Sir John meant to be kind, that in some sense he did not consider me an altogether unworthy alliance; but that I should ever have my wooing done for me--the idea is maddening! A man could not take a surer road to a woman's contempt."

"My uncle has made a mistake," said Barbara. "I understand, and you have my thanks for the explanation."

"And your forgiveness?"

"I hardly think I had become angry."

"You lift my trouble from me with generous hands," said Rosmore. "Truly, Sir John has made a mistake, his desire perhaps marring his judgment; but, as truly, I am your humble worshipper. No! please hear me out. In London I did not thrust myself upon you because I had wit enough to understand that professions with even a suspicion of lightness in them were distasteful to you; now, after what has occurred, I am at a disadvantage, and I have no intention of putting my happiness to the test at such an inopportune time. For the present look upon me as a friend who hopes presently to win a greater regard, and who is, meanwhile, always at your service."

"I thank you," Barbara said, and the man's nerves tingled as she rose and swept him a graceful curtsy. She had never looked more beautiful, never so desirable as at that moment. He had conquered so often and so carelessly that he could not think of failure now.

"So we are friends and our troubles gone," he said gaily. "They are lost in the _debris_ of this ruinous place. It is strange this part should have been left in ruins, while the rest of the Abbey has been so carefully rebuilt and preserved."

"It is because of the Nun of Aylingford."

"A nun! In an Abbey for monks?"

"Strange, but true. I thought everyone knew the story."