There were few coaches and lackeys in the square when Sydney Fellowes left Lady Bolsover's. Hastily taking leave in the hall of an acquaintance who seemed inclined to bear him company, he hurried away, too much absorbed in his thoughts to think of the dangers of the streets for a lonely man at that hour of the night. He went quickly to Pall Mall, and entered a coffee-house there. A man at once rose from a corner to attract his attention. It was Martin Fairley.

"She evidently expected someone to-night," said Fellowes in a low tone as they sat down together, "but I cannot guess who, nor whether it was man or woman. Of one thing I am certain, whoever she expected, Mistress Lanison was disappointed."

"Who was there?"

"Sir John Lanison for one, Martin. No, his niece did not expect him, nor
Lady Bolsover either. His arrival was a surprise to both of them."

"And to me," Martin answered; "but it is bad news. What brings him from
Aylingford? Can Rosmore be in town?"

"No, that is impossible," returned Fellowes. "He is busy with preparations for the assizes, and is in command of the military force placed at the disposal of Judge Jeffreys. For the present Rosmore is tied to the West. I would he might find a speedy grave there."

"Sir John comes like an ill-omened bird; I wish I knew his reason," said
Martin thoughtfully. "Did he speak with his niece?"

"A few words only, and there was the courtesy as of strangers between them. I could not hear what was said, but it was nothing that had any special interest for Mistress Lanison. Her expression did not change."

"Do you imagine you can read her so easily?"

"Ah, Martin, I know; there is no imagination in it. Were I cunning with a brush and colour, I could paint you a thousand of her expressions and tell you the thoughts which lay behind them all. I am a lover, remember, with all a lover's quick perception, although the lady I worship thinks no more of me than of the soiled glove she casts aside."

Martin looked at him for a moment in silence, and then laid his hand on his arm.

"Soiled gloves go in pairs, Master Fellowes."

"You mean—"

"There is small difference sometimes between a lover and a madman. Had I my fiddle with me I might play to you all that I mean."

Fellowes drummed with his fingers on the little table before him for a moment, and then seemed to shake himself out of a dream.

"There must be too few women in the world, Martin, when the desires of so many men are for one. To-morrow—what must be done to-morrow?"

"I shall see her to-morrow afternoon; until then I cannot tell what is to be done. A message will find you at your lodging?"

"Yes, I shall wait. If I do not hear, I shall make some excuse for being at Lady Bolsover's again in the evening."

Outside the coffee-house they separated. Where Martin went at nights Fellowes did not know, nor did he inquire. Fairley could find him, if necessary, and that was enough.

Neither did Barbara know where Martin lived, or she would surely have sent him a message next day, for long before noon she had made up her mind to act without delay.

The coming of Sir John was as ill-omened to her as it was to Martin. In some manner, she was convinced, his presence in London nearly concerned her, and much might depend on her promptness in carrying out the resolution she had made. So she awoke with a convenient headache, and had the news conveyed to her aunt. Then, assured that she would be left undisturbed, she dressed very carefully, anxious to look her best, and even practised her most winning smiles before her mirror. Her maid, who could be trusted and was a child of intrigue by nature, loyally assisted her mistress, and they were able to leave the house together without hindrance. Calling a coach, they were driven to the Temple, where Judge Marriott had his lodging. Barbara had determined to appeal to him. If he would, he certainly could save Gilbert Crosby, and, if she hoped so to entreat him that the reward he asked for his help should not be too heavy, she was prepared to pay whatever price he demanded. In imagination she saw herself his wife, and though she shuddered at the thought she never contemplated stopping the coach and going back to St. James's Square, her mission unfulfilled.

"Judge Marriott has left London," said the servant when Barbara inquired for him.

"When does he return?"

The servant did not know. It seemed evident that his general instructions were to be reticent concerning his master's going and coming.

"I must see him without delay on a matter of the gravest importance—the gravest importance to him," said Barbara, and she was surely speaking nothing but the truth, for the easy winning of her must be of great moment to any man. "Can you tell me where I shall find him? Has he gone to Aylingford Abbey?"

The man thought not, but his imagination did not appear to help him further than that.

"It is most important," repeated Barbara, and in her hand was a golden bribe.

"I ought not to give any information," said the man, "but you say it is important to my master. He has set out for Dorchester to deal with some of the rebel prisoners there."

"You are sure he goes first to Dorchester?"

"Quite certain, madam."

Barbara was deeply thoughtful as the coach drove back to St. James's Square. An unforeseen obstacle was placed in the way of her self-sacrifice, an obstacle so great that it did not seem possible to overcome it. Was Judge Marriott's absence of her uncle's contriving? It did not seem probable, but she was in the mood to connect him with all disaster, and when, on returning to the house, she learnt that Sir John was there with Lady Bolsover, her suspicions seemed confirmed. Barbara was the more determined to defeat his schemes. She would certainly have sent to Martin had she known where to find him, but as it was she was obliged to act for herself.

Harriet Payne came at noon, with a sad and gloomy countenance.

"What is it?" Barbara asked. "Is there further and worse news?"

"No, nothing further."

"Your face has a wealth of trouble in it."

"Indeed, madam, and is it any wonder?" the girl asked. "I am so helpless, and I could wish to be so strong. Every hour counts, and what can I do?"

"You have travelled far to ask my help, that is something."

"Yes, madam; but yesterday you gave me little hope, and even that little is gone. In this matter you are as helpless as I am."

Barbara laughed, a little hardly perhaps, remembering in which direction her power lay.

"Had I been powerless, do you suppose your master would have sent you to me? I have had to decide whether I shall use that power."

"And you will use it?"

"I have already tried to do so this morning, and failed."

"Here? In London?"

"Yes. In which direction did you imagine my power lay?"

"I could not tell, but I thought—I thought it must be in Dorchester where my master is a prisoner. Madam, there are powerful men in the West who may be bribed, who are being bribed every day. I thought it was with them you would have to deal."

"The man I hoped to see in London is gone to the West," said Barbara.

"Then—"

"Yes, I intend to follow him, and at once. In this enterprise you will be of more service to me than my own maid. Will you go with me?"

"Gladly, madam," and the girl's face brightened at once. "I have made the journey to London more than once, and know that at the house where the coach stops a carriage and horses can be procured."

"You are beginning to make yourself useful at once," Barbara returned. "Wait here for me. I have to give my maid instructions, and then we will start without delay."

Barbara told her maid to be on the watch for Martin Fairley, and to tell him that she had gone to Dorchester.

"He will understand why," she said; "and as I shall not want you with me, and yet do not want you to be questioned, you had better return to the Abbey as soon as you have seen Martin. Be sure and do not let anyone hear you give the message."

The girl had friends in London, and asked if she might spend a day or two with them before returning to Aylingford.

"It will fit my plan excellently," Barbara answered. "Leave this house as soon as you possibly can after seeing Martin, and if your friends will have you, stay with them until I send for you. You will be well out of the way of questions."

"No questions would make me betray you," said the girl.

"I know, but your face is a tell-tale one," Barbara answered. "You have the virtue of not being able to lie easily."

The girl was honest, and it was no fault of hers that she failed to deliver her message to Martin Fairley. She saw him come to the house, and hurried down to him, meaning to catch him in the square and speak to him where none could overhear her, and so carry out her mistress's instructions to the letter. But Fairley had departed quickly, and was nowhere to be seen. For some time she waited for his return, and when he did not come, thought it best to fulfil the other part of her instructions and leave the house at once.

The servants at Lady Bolsover's knew nothing of Martin Fairley, not even his name. He had twice been admitted to see Mistress Lanison, but, for all the servants knew, he was some tradesman with whom she had dealings. Many such came to Lady Bolsover's. As Martin came to the door that day one servant called to another to fetch a coach for Sir John Lanison, and, hearing that Sir John was in the house, Martin departed quickly, saying that he would come at a more convenient hour. He did not want Sir John to know that he was in London, but he was curious to know upon what mission Sir John had come to town. Here was an opportunity to satisfy his curiosity which he had not counted upon, and he turned swiftly into the first alley which presented itself, and waited. He was so intent on watching for Sir John that he failed to notice Barbara's maid, who on her side was not anxious to attract too much attention either from those who might be at the windows of the house or from idlers in the square.

Fairley had to wait nearly an hour, and then Sir John came. He took no notice of the coach, had no doubt given the servants some instructions concerning it, but walked leisurely across the square with the air of a man at peace with himself and all the world. Whatever plot might be on foot, it had received no check, and Fairley argued the worst from that handsome, smiling face.

"He is delighted with some great villainy," he said to himself as he came from his hiding-place and followed him.

Sir John Lanison was conscious that some attention was paid to him as he passed. He was a fine gentleman, and retained a little of that old-fashioned grace which had been the admiration of the town a couple of decades ago, when foolish women had looked upon him almost as a hero of romance, and men had thought twice before raising the anger of so accomplished a swordsman. A remembrance of former triumphs, with perhaps a little sigh to keep it company, came to him as he went towards the Haymarket, but certainly no thought of Martin Fairley was in his mind. His destination was a hostelry where he was evidently known, and there was a rush to do his bidding. He was travelling to Aylingford to-morrow, and must needs have the best coach and horses procurable. He was going alone; yes, and would start at an early hour. His orders were received with bows and much obsequiousness.

"Tell me, landlord, have you sent out a coach in that direction to-day?"

"Not to Aylingford, sir."

"But in that direction. The road does not only lead to the Abbey."

"Why, yes, sir; a coach started for the West early this afternoon," was the answer.

"In these days the traffic sets more this way," said Sir John. "What kind of passengers were they?"

"Two women; one closely veiled, but if her face were equal to her figure, to hide it was cheating mortals out of a pleasure. The other was a maid, a pert little baggage who ordered us about somewhat."

"Going to Exeter?"

"No, to Dorchester."

Sir John nodded, and the smile of satisfaction seemed permanent.

"You observe closely, landlord. I warrant you could describe the mistress's clothing for all you were so ordered about by the maid."

The landlord grinned, and proved his observation by a somewhat close description.

"I get asked such questions sometimes," he said, "when a mistress runs away, or a rebel makes hastily for the sea-coast and safety. It is well to be observant."

Sir John laughed, and having demanded that the post-boys supplied to-morrow should not be of the sort who see a highwayman in every broken tree trunk by the wayside, he departed.

The conversation had been overheard by a crowd of loafers in the adjoining room, who had suspended their drinking to watch this fine gentleman to whom the landlord was so attentive. Then the clatter and conversation began again, and only one man was interested enough to seek further information. He had only entered a few moments ago; now he approached the landlord.

"I heard your description just now; it interested me."

The landlord looked at Fairley from head to foot, and then brought his eyes to bear keenly on his face.

"You are not known to me."

"But I am to the lady, unless I mistake not. You spoke of runaway mistresses, and truly I think that shot at a venture found its mark."

"You would follow her?"

"If your answer to a question or two satisfies me, I will ride without delay the best horse you have."

The questions were asked, and Martin was so satisfied that he was impatient to be gone.

"So that I am well paid it's no odds to me," said the landlord. "I made the lady no promise, and she's not the first who has grown tired of her husband, nor will she be the last."

"She may thank you for giving me the information," Fairley answered.
"Ink and paper quickly, landlord; I must write a letter before I go."

By the time the horse was ready the letter was written.

"Find a messenger for this, landlord, and see that it is delivered without delay. There is payment for the messenger; tell him he will receive a like sum from the gentleman to whom this is addressed."

There was a certain awkwardness about Martin Fairley as he rode out of the yard, enough to show that he was not so accomplished a horseman as some men; yet he had improved in his riding since he had borne Gilbert Crosby company from "The Jolly Farmers" that night.

The letter was delivered to Sydney Fellowes before Fairley had gone many miles upon his journey.

"I believe Mistress Lanison is on her way to Dorchester, and I am following," Fellowes read. "What plan is in her mind I cannot tell, but since it seems to give Sir John much satisfaction, I argue that some trap lies in the way. It is possible that I may be mistaken, so will you go to Lady Bolsover's to-night and make sure that Mistress Lanison has gone. If she has, and you can come, make all haste to Dorchester. There is a little tavern called 'The Anchor' in West Street. No one of consequence would use it, so you shall find word of me there."

Not many hours later Sydney Fellowes was also riding towards the West.