There was an atmosphere of unrest about the inn at Witley this evening. An hour ago a coach had arrived, and the best rooms were in requisition for the travellers, a lady and her maid. It was whispered amongst the loungers in the common room that she was a great lady, in spite of the fact that she travelled in a hired coach, but this idea was perhaps due to the fact that the maid was imperious, and demanded attention in a manner that carried weight. The servant of an ordinary person would hardly have been so dictatorial.

Even before the arrival of the coach the inn had been far more alive than usual, for a company of troopers had galloped up to it late in the afternoon making inquiry concerning a fugitive. He might be alone, but probably had a companion with him. Both men were minutely described, and it would seem that the capture of the companion would be likely to give the greater satisfaction.

No one at the inn had either seen or heard anything of them, and the troop had given up the pursuit. After refreshment, and a noisy halt of half an hour, the men had returned by the way they had come, leaving two of their company behind. These two were in the common room when the coach arrived, and, like everyone else in the house, were mightily interested in the lady and her maid. When the bustle had subsided a little they called for more ale and settled themselves comfortably in a corner.

"Well, for my part I'm not sorry the fellow got away," said one man, stretching out his legs easily. "We've enough prisoners to make examples of already."

"One more or less makes no matter," was the answer, "but it's wonderful how many have managed to slip through our fingers by the help of this fellow Crosby. I'd give something to lay him by the heels."

"Aye, that would mean gold enough in our pockets to jingle."

"And we shall get him presently," the other went on. "He is known to many of us now that he does not always hide himself behind the brown mask."

"If there were no money in it, I wouldn't raise a hand against him," said his companion, "for I've a sneaking fondness for the fellow. He's got courage and brains, and they've got the better of us up to now. Mark me, we shan't take him easily when the opportunity does offer. He'll make a corpse of one or two of us in the doing it."

"More guineas for those who are left," was the answer. "The other affair trots nicely," and he winked slowly over the tilted edge of his tankard.

"Wait!" said the other. "The netting of such fish may be sport enough, but there are handsome fish which are the devil to handle, and the taste of them is poison. Hist!"

His companion turned quickly at the warning, and through the open door saw the maid, who attended the great lady, in the passage without. She inquired for the landlord, who came quickly, and at the same time the trooper got up and crossed the room, giving no explanation to his companion.

"Must we start early to reach Dorchester to-morrow?" the maid inquired of the landlord.

"Yes, very early. The roads—"

"The roads are good, mistress," volunteered the trooper. "I have ridden over them to-day."

"You may be able to tell me better than the landlord, then," said the girl, and for some minutes they talked in a low tone as they stood in the doorway of the inn.

"A fine night, mistress," said the man as the girl was about to leave him. "With the moon up like this, lovers should be abroad. It's but a hundred yards to the open fields; will you come?"

"With you!" exclaimed the girl scornfully, looking him up slowly from his boots to his eyes.

"Why not?" The maid's eyes were attractive, her figure was neat, and the man had sufficient ale in him to make him bold. For an instant they looked at each other; then the girl laughed derisively.

"When the master grows tired, the man may prove useful, and the man has a fancy for sampling the wares forthwith," said the trooper as he caught hold of the girl and would have kissed her. Perhaps he did not expect any great resistance, and was unprepared, but at any rate she slipped from his embrace, dealing him a resounding box upon the ears as she did so.

"You shall be punished further before many hours are over," said the girl as she ran lightly up the stairs.

The man growled an oath as he stood with his hand to his assaulted ear.

"Did I not say that some were the devil to handle?" remarked his companion, who had come to the common-room door, and was smiling grimly.

"I grant she takes first trick, and with a heavy hand for so small a person, but the game is only commencing. One more draught of ale to drink success to the end of it, and then to horse."

As the troopers rode out of Witley presently a horseman drew back into the shadow of some trees by the roadside to let them pass.

"The remaining two," he murmured. "That's well; they have given up the pursuit," and he turned and went at a brisk canter across country.

The maid said nothing about the trooper to her mistress; she only told her that an early start would have to be made.

"Very well, Harriet, I shall want nothing more to-night, and will put myself to bed."

But Barbara Lanison was in no haste to seek sleep. She was tired, bodily tired, but mentally she was wakeful. There were some hours still before she could reach Dorchester, and many more hours might elapse before she could get speech with Judge Marriott. Having determined to make the sacrifice, she was eager that it should be over and done with, that she should know the full extent of the sacrifice. And perhaps, at the back of her mind, there was a little fear of herself. The question would arise, again and again, no matter how she tried to suppress it, was she justified in acting as she intended to do? Who was this man for whom she was prepared to give so much? A notorious highwayman, upon whose head there was a price. Yes, it was true, but he was also Gilbert Crosby, the man who had taken possession of her thoughts since the first moment she had seen him, the man who had sheltered and helped the peasantry fleeing from an inhuman persecution, and who must now pay for his courage with his life unless she pleaded for him. Was she justified? The question sounded in her ears when she fell asleep; she heard it when she awoke next morning. Yes, and mentally she flung back the answer, yes, for to her Gilbert Crosby was something more than a brave man, and was dear to her in spite of everything. He was the man who had set an ideal in her heart, he was the man she loved. Hardly to herself would she admit it, but it was love that sent her to the West.

It was still early when the coach rolled out of Witley, but it was not early enough, nor was the pace fast enough, to satisfy Barbara. She became suddenly fearful of pursuit which might stop her from reaching Dorchester. She began to dread some breakdown which might delay her and cause her to arrive too late.

"Shall we be in time?" she asked more than once, turning to Harriet
Payne.

"Yes, madam, you need have no fear. The assizes have not yet begun in
Dorchester."

Pursuit was behind, but it was the pursuit of a friend. Whether it was the fault of the horseman or his mounts, disaster rode with Martin Fairley. To begin with, his horse cast a shoe, and by the time a smith was found and his work done, an hour had been wasted. Before the end of the first stage the horse collapsed; there was considerable difficulty in getting a remount, and the animal procured was a sorry beast for pace. Martin fretted at the delay, and cursed the adverse fates which so hindered him. Once he was within three miles of the coach, and then his horse went dead lame. Hours were lost before he could get another horse and resume the journey, and during those hours much might have happened.

The coach had left only an hour when he arrived at the inn at Witley.

"Yes, the travellers were a lady and her maid," the landlord told him.

"Going to Dorchester?" Martin asked.

"Yes. They started early."

"Has anyone inquired for them?"

"No."

"Some breakfast, landlord—ale and bread and cheese will do—and a horse at once."

"Yes, sir."

"And for heaven's sake give me a horse with four sound legs and with wind enough in its bellows to stand a gallop."

Fairley was soon in the saddle again, and this time with a better horse under him. His spirits rose as the miles were left rapidly behind, and as he turned each bend in the road he looked eagerly for a dust cloud before him proclaiming that his pursuit was nearly at an end.

Barbara sat silently in the corner of the carriage, Harriet Payne sat upright, looking from the window. It was Harriet who first noticed that the post-boy was suddenly startled, and that, in looking back, he had almost allowed the horses to swerve from the roadway.

"What is it?" she called from the window, as she looked back along the road they had come.

The post-boy pointed with his whip. Barbara looked hastily from the other window. There was much dust from their own wheels, but, beyond, there was another cloud surrounding and half concealing a horseman who was fast overtaking them.

"Looks like a highwayman," said the post-boy.

"Better a highwayman than some others who might have followed us," said Barbara, leaning back in her corner again. "Tell the boy to go on quietly, Harriet. This may be a very worthy gentleman who has need of haste."

A few minutes later the horseman galloped up to the window.

"Martin! You!" Barbara exclaimed.

"Had I not been delayed upon the journey I should have caught you before this. I wish I had."

"Why, Martin? Do you suppose I am to be turned from my purpose?"

Fairley rode beside the open window, and Barbara leaned forward to talk with him.

"I do not know your purpose," he said, "but I fear a trap has been set for you."

"A trap!" Harriet exclaimed.

"Why do you think so, Martin?" Barbara asked.

Fairley told her how he had followed Sir John to the hostelry in the
Haymarket.

"You see, mistress, he knew where you would hire. He went direct to this place and made his inquiries as though he knew beforehand what answers he would receive. His smile was so self-satisfied that I scented danger."

"And you see we are safe, nothing has happened."

"Not yet," was the answer. "There is presently a by-road I know of, and by your leave we will take it."

Barbara felt a little quick tug at her sleeve, and turned to Harriet.

"Do not give him leave. I do not trust him," whispered the girl.

"Why not?"

"Some who seem to be your friends are no friends to Mr. Crosby."

"This is no friend to be afraid of," laughed Barbara. "Were you not told to seek a fiddler at Aylingford if you failed to find me? This is he!"

"A fiddler!" Harriet exclaimed. She had evidently not expected the fiddler to be a man of this sort, and was not satisfied.

Barbara turned to the window again. "Tell me what you fear, Martin. I must not be hindered in reaching Dorchester, but take this by-road you talk of if you think it safer."

"It will be a wise precaution, and will not delay us long upon the journey." He rode forward a little, and spoke to the post-boy.

"He will delay us, I know he will," said Harriet. "I have no faith in him, and it may just make the difference in saving my master."

"Don't be foolish, girl. Your master has no better friend in the world."

"I cannot help it, but I do not believe it," sobbed the girl.

"You have told me the assizes have not begun in Dorchester. We shall not be too late."

"But they have hanged and shot men without waiting for a trial. I know; I have seen them. They hate my master, and were they to learn you were hurrying to his rescue, they would kill him before you came."

"I am doing my best," said Barbara.

"Keep to the high road, mistress," urged the girl.

Barbara turned from her impatiently, and Martin came back to the window.

"What is your purpose when you arrive in Dorchester?" he asked.

"I cannot tell you."

Martin made a little gesture to indicate Harriet Payne.

"I have told no one, and shall not do so until my purpose is accomplished," said Barbara.

"Mistress, I have some knowledge of things in the West. My fiddle and I hear many things, and I might give you useful news."

"You cannot help me in this, Martin."

"I am under no oath not to thwart you should the price you are prepared to pay be too large."

"That is why I do not tell you, Martin."

Fairley asked no further question, but rode on by the carriage in silence. He believed that she was going to bargain with Lord Rosmore, and his brain was full of schemes to frustrate her, or at least to prevent her fulfilling the bargain, even if it were made. It was not necessary to be honest in dealing with such a scoundrel, he argued, and even if it were wise to let the bargain be struck, he would see to it that Lord Rosmore should not profit by it.

"This is the road," he said to the post-boy, and the carriage swung round into what was little more than a lane.

Harriet Payne gave a little cry, and looked from the window.

"I thought we were over, but we are off the road. Forbid this way, mistress; I pray you forbid it."

For an instant Barbara wondered whether this was a scheme of Martin's to keep her from her purpose but the idea was absurd. He was as anxious that Gilbert Crosby should be rescued as she was. She commanded Harriet to keep quiet.

Progress was slower now, for this side road was heavy, and the coach came near to being overturned more than once.

"It will be better presently," said Martin, but it was a long time before his prophecy came true, and when it did, the improvement was not very great.

"I wouldn't have come if I had known," growled the post-boy.

"You'll go where you're told," said Martin, "and the more words about it, the less pay."

They had travelled slowly for an hour or more, along a winding road between thick copses and high-hedged fields, when Martin suddenly brought his horse to a standstill and listened.

"Stop!" he said to the post-boy, and immediately the grinding wheels were still.

There was the quick thud of hoofs behind them, coming so rapidly that there was no hope of escape if they were pursued. Barbara leaned forward, looking at Martin as he unfastened the holster and half drew out a pistol; but Harriet Payne had thrust her head from the other window.

"I knew it! He has betrayed us!" she said shrilly.

"The devil take that wench!" growled Martin.

Two men rode round the bend in the road, then two more, then others, a score of them at least. With an oath Martin let the pistol fall back into the holster. The odds were too great. His head sunk a little, and he looked strangely limp in his saddle.

"Fire at them! Be a man and defend us!" shrieked Harriet, but Martin did not move.

Barbara looked at him with wondering eyes; she was still looking at him when the coach was surrounded.

"Your servants, Mistress Lanison," said a man at the door. "We are sent to bring you to Dorchester."

"By whom?"

"I had my orders from my superior; I cannot say who first gave them."

"I am travelling to Dorchester."

"We must be your escort, madam."

"Am I a prisoner?"

"One that shall be well treated by us and by all, I trust. This rogue here has led you off the road. A little further from the highway and I suppose you would have robbed them, you scoundrel."

"No, sir, I only thought the dust would be less this way," Fairley answered meekly.

Another man looked keenly at Martin, and then laughed.

"Surely this is that fiddler fellow we know something of?"

"Yes, sir," said Martin, crooking his arm as though a fiddle were in it, and in a timid voice he sang a few notes, like a wail, but they had often seemed a laugh to Barbara. She could not tell which they were now. "My fiddle is lost, or I would play for you, so long, so sweetly, that you would see flagons of ale around you, and think you tasted them too."

"I would the fiddle were found, then," said one.

"Having lost it, you carry pistols instead."

"Yes, sir, every gentleman does so, but there's many dare not use them. I didn't use them. You'll remember that, for it's to my credit, and let me go."

The man removed the pistols from his holster.

"They're dangerous toys for a fool."

"Truly, I feel much happier without them," said Martin.

"Coward!" said Harriet Payne from the window as the coach was turned.
"Coward!"

Barbara said nothing.

"Please let me ride by the other window," pleaded Martin. "This wench has no music in her soul, and does not like me."

"You shall ride behind," was the answer.

"Thank you, sir; I shall not see her then. She is not beautiful to look at."

The man laughed.

"Look to this fool, some of you, and give him a cuff if he grows sleepy."

"Sleepy! Never in good company," said Martin.

The post-boy whipped up the horses, and the carriage went slowly back towards the main road, surrounded by its escort.

Barbara was still bound for Dorchester, but a prisoner. Would she now be able to get speech with Judge Marriott?