Barbara looked up."Well, captain, if you are satisfied that I have spoken the truth, perhaps you will take your leave, for I protest I am weary of you.""One moment, madame," he answered, "I will but examine into the secret of this same cross-eyed ancestor of thine, and then you shall be no further troubled."He turned, as he spoke, towards the picture, but Barbara sprang to her feet with a sharp cry, and darting past him, placed her back against the frame and turned to him full of defiance."Nay, sir, that you shall not," she cried resolutely.Corporal Crutch paused in his search, and gazed at her in open-mouthed astonishment, but Captain Protheroe strode quickly to her side with a sharp frown."Come, madame," he began impatiently, "this is sheer folly. We must proceed with our work. I do, indeed, regret the painful business, but by your leave we will not prolong it. Be so good as to show me the secret of the spring.""I will not.""Then, madame, we must open it by force.""You shall not pass me," she cried defiantly. "I will not move aside."Captain Protheroe swore in desperation."Come, Mistress Barbara, be reasonable," he urged. "You know well that resistance is quite useless. I were loth to use violence, but an it must be so, methinks it were possible to move you without much injury to either of us."Suddenly Barbara began to cry, leaning her head back against the frame and sobbing bitterly. But she did not cover her face with her hands as is the manner of most women."Oh, go away, I beseech you," she pleaded, clasping her hands in entreaty, and raising tearful eyes to his face. "Rupert hath done you no injury, suffer him to escape this once, and I will be your debtor forever."Captain Protheroe stared down at her, wondering vaguely whether her eyes looked more lovely when bright with merriment, or when wide and soft with welling tears, and why he had never before noticed how inviting was a full quivering lip. Then suddenly recollecting the unprofitableness of such considerations, he glanced indignantly at the corporal and swore at him beneath his breath."You are making my duty very hard for me, madame," he pleaded gently."I—I want to," she sobbed. "Please go away.""No, Mistress Barbara, I cannot," he answered firmly.Barbara stopped her sobs and stared at him for a moment in astonishment. Then she suddenly turned on him furiously."You will not? You will not?" she cried. "Then have your way. See what lies concealed."She pressed a small button cunningly hidden amid the carving of the frame, and the portrait slipped back, revealing a large recess in the wall, deep enough to hold three men.The recess was empty.The two men stared at each other in utter astonishment, but Barbara flung herself into a chair, clapped her hands, and burst into a paroxysm of laughter."Fooled! Fooled!" she cried, pointing at them mockingly. "Was ever man, since the days of Adam, so bravely fooled. Oh! I shall die of laughter," and again the room rang with her merriment.Captain Protheroe turned to her grimly."Pardon my dulness, madame," he said harshly, "and be so kind as to explain what this means.""Means! Why, marry, it means that I have spoken truly. Rupert is not here, moreover, he never has been. Have I not said so throughout.""Not here? Impossible! Then these tremblings, entreaties, tears were all——""All a comedy, sir, which I trust you enjoyed as greatly as did I. Oh! tell me, sir, should I not make a brave player?" She danced a few steps towards him and dropped a mocking curtsey. "I await your applause, signors," she cried with a saucy laugh.Captain Protheroe strode the length of the room and swore to himself heartily, but Corporal Crutch was not so easily convinced."'Tis false, sir," he cried. "She is fooling us again. Why I saw the fellow enter, myself.""That you did not, corporal, an I may make so bold as to contradict you," laughed Barbara. "Though I wouldn't deny," she added solemnly, "the possibility of your having seen someone enter.""Aye, someone hailed by the name of 'Rupert,'" sneered the corporal."What's in a name?" quoted Barbara, laughing."Whom did he see, then?" demanded Captain Protheroe sharply."How should I know?" she retorted cheerfully. "'Twas not I who saw him. Ask the corporal.""An 'twere not Sir Rupert, 'twas the devil himself in his likeness. I saw him as plain as I see you. He is the very counterpart of yon wench, his sister.""That is true enough," answered Barbara calmly. "We be so alike that times have been known when we were mistaken for each other. And yet I will swear 'twas not Rupert whom you saw.""Will you have the goodness to explain the matter, madame?" interrupted the Captain impatiently."With all my heart, sir, though 'tis a somewhat lengthy tale. Know then, it commences with a stout corporal but half concealed behind a large laurel bush. Ah, ha! Sir Whipcord, you look guilty! Now this same corporal was a spy and an eavesdropper, and eavesdroppers must not be surprised if at times they overhear that whichisintended for their ears. 'Twas so in this case. The corporal, who bore a strange resemblance to this gentleman, overheard a pretty little plot, discussed especially for his edification, he stole and read a cunning little note, written for his eyes alone. Being a gentleman of extraordinary blindness, he walked into the trap as prettily as a bird. The rest was simple. It remained but to send a messenger, whom your soldiers kindly permitted to pass, to inform Rupert of our arrangements. Cicely and I, disguised but in linsey petticoats and woollen hoods ('tis passing strange how dress can make or mar a man) went down to the village this afternoon, and later I—I returned, alone. Perchance—I say perchance, 'twas I whom your corporal saw enter; and yet, sure, how could it be?""And your cousin?""Cicely? Oh, she is away passing the evening with Rupert, who, thanks to the corporal's kind thoughtfulness, in withdrawing all his men from the roads and the village, was enabled to visit her with perfect safety at a certain house we wot of. But, indeed, the time has passed so quickly while you have been here, that he will by now have returned whence he came, and I fear—I greatly fear you have missed him."Then at last Corporal Crutch, convinced of the truth of her statement, opened his mouth and commenced to swear; to swear so roundly that Barbara covered her ears, and Captain Protheroe curtly bade him be silent."'Tis thine own doing, thou blundering fool," he said angrily. "Wherefore didst not follow the messenger and trap the fellow in his hiding-place?""Nay, captain, give me some credit for the business," interposed Barbara cheerily. "'Twas a most excellently conceived plan. And yet," she mused, "I doubt if ever men were more easily fooled.""And may I ask, madame, what part in the plot this evening's entertainment served?""Oh that! Well, I cannot say that was altogether necessary, though I desired to keep you here till Rupert was safe away. But," she added roguishly, "'twas vastly amusing. And besides, methinks you deserved no better treatment after forcing your way thus churlishly into a lone woman's house."Captain Protheroe turned brusquely on his heel."There is nothing further to be gained by remaining here, corporal," he said. "Call up the men and march them back to quarters. And as for this fellow," he added, pointing to the smith, who had watched the scene with deep enjoyment, "keep him safe till morning; we may have need of him.""And what of the wench, captain? Can't we lay hands on her for aiding and abetting?"Captain Protheroe scowled."Leave me to deal with her, sirrah. I will follow you anon. And harkee. There is a certain hawker wandering in or near the village. Yon fellow can describe him. If we can lay hands on him, I doubt not he can tell us what may prove useful."Corporal Crutch started guiltily."A hawker, captain? Why, I know the fellow. I have him safe under—that is—er—I doubt not I can speedily lay hands on him.""Do so. See to it to-night, and we may yet catch our hare. Now begone."The corporal saluted and went out.Captain Protheroe glanced at Barbara, and he saw that no trace of her triumphant merriment remained.He turned and walked to the window and stood for some time in silence gazing out into the darkness while the last echoes of the retreating footsteps died away. Then all was still.CHAPTER VIICaptain Protheroe stood gazing out into the dark night, asking himself savagely why he still waited there, why he did not leave the girl at once and return with his men to the village, preparatory to setting out in pursuit of this man who still escaped them.It was clearly his duty to go—and yet—— There was still time, nothing could be done until the hawker was discovered, and his secret, whatever it might be, was learned. And in the meantime he could not resist the temptation to remain a little longer, to learn more of this girl who, while she mocked and flouted, yet fascinated him in spite of his anger against her. To punish her a little for the way she had outwitted him, aye, and to watch how she bore the punishment. So while he cursed himself for a fool in so doing, yet he remained.Barbara sat bolt upright, watching him furtively with eager eyes. Her hands were tightly clenched, and her lips pressed together in anxious thought. "Oh! what shall I do now?" she murmured again and again desperately. "What shall I do? The pedlar hath escaped. I have tried tears, they are useless. Oh, God! help me to play out the game."At last he turned, and crossing the room seated himself beside her. Leaning forward, his hands clasped between his knees, he eyed her steadily and spoke in a low even voice. "Mistress Barbara, have you ever heard tell of a certain Mistress Alice Lisle?"Barbara shuddered quickly, and her face grew very pale, but she answered him bravely:"Aye, sir, she who was beheaded last week at Winchester for harbouring rebels.""Good. And hast also heard of Mistress Judith Barge, condemned to be flogged for a like act of treason?""Indeed, sir, her story likewise is well known to me.""Ah! so you were forewarned. You did not act in ignorance of the fate awaiting you?"His face and voice were hard and her heart beat wildly, but she fought the rising fear and answered proudly:"Captain Protheroe, none but a fool goeth to war without counting the cost. I am no fool, sir."Suddenly his whole bearing changed, his face softened, and, raising her hand to his lips he said gently:"Madame, I salute the bravest lady I have ever known."Barbara flushed crimson."Nay, not so, sir," she answered, smiling bravely, "for there is yet a third story I have heard. For I have heard that in these last days it has been everywhere the custom for king's officers stationed in our villages to take up their quarters in the houses of the rebels, driving forth the occupants and taking unto themselves all their goods. Yet Cicely and I have remained here undisturbed. So I knew well, sir, that in playing my part I had to deal with no Kirke or Jeffries but with a gentleman of heart and honour, in whom a woman could place her trust.""Can so small a matter win a woman's trust?" he asked doubtfully.For an instant Barbara sat silent, twining her fingers together nervously, and breathing hard. She was preparing for her last great stake.Then she turned to him. Her eyes betrayed her fear, but her voice was firm:"Captain Protheroe, my brother lieth hid in the fisherman's hut, three miles eastward along the coast from Watchet. From thence he will escape to-morrow morn in a vessel bound for Holland."He sprang to his feet and turned on her in sudden anger."In Heaven's name, madame, why have you told me this?""Ah! sir, because an I had not you would have learned it elsewhere. This mad pedlar who hath escaped me, knows my secret; to-night he will betray it to you. So I prefer to tell you myself and throw myself on your mercy.""You play high, madame.""Aye, sir, to lose or to win all."He turned from her and paced the room angrily. So this was the result of his effort to punish the girl (fool that he was to try it), she flung herself on his mercy and challenged him to betray her confidence. Well, why should he not, seeing the confidence was given unasked. But his pride loathed the thought. He had never yet betrayed a woman's trust; the chivalry of his nature had remained unsoiled by the cynicism and callousness of those among whom he lived, and that chivalry now forbade him to profit by her moment of confidence.That he, Miles Protheroe, should fall a prey to the fascinations of a woman! He laughed savagely at the thought. And yet that this girl fascinated him he could not deny. Not only by her beauty (he was too much a connoisseur of woman's looks to be deeply moved by them), nor by her gaiety, infectious though it was; no, to him the charm lay chiefly in her manifest courage, for courage was his God, and she seemed the very personification of fearlessness.So he mused, warring betwixt pride, anger, and tenderness, while Barbara sat still, watching him with a desperate eagerness."Are you a soldier only, or a man?" she pleaded. "An ye be the first, go do your work. But oh, an ye be a man, ye cannot sure betray a woman's confidence.""You have taken an unfair advantage of me, madame, and you know it.""Aye, sir, 'tis true enough. Think not I feel no shame. But—Rupert is my brother."Her voice broke piteously over the last words. She was worn out with the terror and excitement of the day, and could scarce keep down her tears. She bit her lips, and her breast heaved with a strangled sob. He drew near and stared down at her gloomily."So because you are a woman and this rebel chances to be your brother, my honour must go bail for his life! Do you understand, Mistress Barbara, what you ask of me?"For an instant she hesitated. Then she raised her head and turned to him proudly:"Yes, sir, I understand, and—I ask it."He bowed."So be it, madame, your brother is safe from me."He turned coldly, and taking up his hat, walked to the door.Barbara followed him timidly."Captain Protheroe," she pleaded softly. "Honour may be one of the first virtues, but there is a greater even than Honour,—Charity."But now his anger mastered him, he would not relent."It may be so, madame," he answered curtly. "But in your presence I find the defence of my Honour more than I can well attend to. I bid you good-night."And turning abruptly he left the house.Barbara remained gazing after him, her cheek slowly flushing with rage and shame."And has not a woman honour too?" she cried at last fiercely. "Am I not dishonoured enough already by this night's work that he must needs fling his taunts in my face? There be women, perchance, who will play with men's honour as lightly as they throw the dice, and he may think it a little thing for me to ask this of him, but oh, were it not for Rupert I had sooner have died than thus have shamed myself."Flinging herself back into a chair she gnawed her clasped hands, and beat her foot upon the ground in silent fury.Half an hour later the door opened softly and Cicely stole cautiously into the room, Cicely with dishevelled hair, red eyelids, and her face alight with eagerness and terror."Barbara! Barbara!" she cried, coming eagerly forward, on seeing the room unoccupied save by her cousin. "The village is all astir, the troopers are busy looking to their horses, and David Marlow hath heard that on his return to the Inn, the Captain gave orders that they be ready to start on some expedition at three o'clock in the morning. Think you, Barbara, he can have heard even now of Rupert's hiding-place? Or think you they will intercept his return. He left me but half an hour since. Speak, cannot you?"Barbara looked up slowly, her face very pale. "Aye, he hath heard, I told him myself.""Barbara! Art thou mad, child?""Indeed I verily believe I am," she answered in a dazed voice. Then collecting her thoughts she told her cousin all that had passed in her interview with the captain. "Think you, Cicely," she continued nervously, "after that it were possible that he has betrayed me?""Possible!" cried Cicely in a voice of scorn and fury. "Why, thou little fool, 'tis the man's profession to spy and snare and betray us. Oh! Barbara, how could you be so rash, so wicked? Now 'tis too late to save him."Barbara roused herself."Nay, Cicely, I will not believe that of him. I have his promise. He is a hard man, but he will assuredly keep his word; he would never betray my trust.""Oh, thou art bewitched by his fair words. Nay, speak not to me. I will go pray, 'tis all that is left for me now."Sobbing bitterly she left the room.Barbara sat upright in her chair, clenching the arms with her hands and gazing straight before her."An he dare to do it?" she murmured under her breath. Then she sprang suddenly to her feet. "Heshallnot do it," she cried. "I must to the village—there is no other way. And yet,—sure,—nay, I cannot. Bah! I have shamed myself once before him, what matter an I do it once again!"CHAPTER VIIICaptain Protheroe strode thoughtfully up and down his room at the Inn, puffing furiously at his pipe and staring at the floor.On his return from his interview with Barbara he had found awaiting him an order to proceed at once to Taunton, and in the yard without he could hear his men still busy with preparations for their early start on the morrow. But though wearied in body with his long day's work the captain felt no inclination for sleep, and, his thoughts still busily occupied with the events of the past few hours, he passed the time pacing his room. His promise once given, he was not the man to waste many regrets upon what was passed, yet as he thought over the affair his brows puckered into a frown, and he ground the stem of his pipe savagely between his teeth. To wink at the escape of a rebel was indeed no great matter in those days. He knew well to what extent corruption and bribery were rife among his fellow officers and how few would hesitate to allow a rebel to slip through their hands could they thereby help to line their pockets. From the Lord Chief Justice downwards the custom was openly practised. Even the Queen's maids of honour, delicate women whose sensibilities were wrung by the death of a beetle, and who would have swooned at the idea of crushing a moth, even they openly trafficked in pardons, and complained bitterly when the life ransoms extracted from the impoverished friends of the prisoners failed to satisfy their demands. But hitherto Captain Protheroe had prided himself upon keeping his fingers clean amid such general corruption, and it enraged him to feel that at last he too had succumbed. Not indeed for a bribe's sake, but because a woman believed him worthy of her trust and his pride would not allow him to betray it.But was it in truth for that reason alone? Might not it also be because the woman was possessed of a pair of wonderful eyes and knew how to use them?"Bah!" he muttered angrily, pausing to knock the ashes from his pipe. "How a woman may play the deuce with a man's work!" Then drawing from his pocket a small bow of scarlet ribbon, he gazed at it for a few moments with a strange expression on his face, and with a short laugh flung it from him into a corner of the room and resumed his promenade.He was interrupted at length by a loud knock at the door, and at his summons Corporal Crutch entered to say that after diligent search he had discovered the missing pedlar, and that the fellow confessed to having certain matters of import to make known to the captain alone. The corporal had no desire that Captain Protheroe should hear of his first interview with Simon, feeling that his customary acuteness had slightly failed him on that occasion, and after a vain attempt to extract some information on his own account from the sulky pedlar, he was at length forced to hand the man over to his superior officer, threatening him first, however, with dire penalties should he breathe a word concerning their previous encounter."Bring the fellow in, I will see him," answered the captain, on learning that the pedlar was without.The order was obeyed and the hawker, glancing furtively from side to side, was pushed rather than ushered into the room."Well, my man," Began Captain Protheroe, eyeing him sharply, "what is your business with me?""An it please your honour, I have information to sell to your honour concerning the hiding-place of a certain rebel.""To sell to me!" answered the captain sternly. "It is not for a loyal subject of his Majesty to drive bargains with his officers. We do not buy information, we exact it."The manner in which these words were uttered caused the hawker to modify his tone."May it please your honour," he whimpered, "is there no reward for the arrest of a rebel?""If your information be correct, and above all of value (which I greatly doubt), you shall have such money for your services as they deserve. Now for your story, and waste no more of my time."Thus driven to a corner and moved as much by desire of vengeance as by greed of gold, the hawker related how he had received the letter from Sir Rupert Winslow, and the information it contained."Then the ladies know nought of the matter as yet?" enquired the captain."Nothing whatever, your honour.""But this letter—where is it?""I—I have mislaid it, sir—but——""You are lying to me, knave," interrupted the captain coldly. "By Heaven! an I find you trying to deceive me you shall taste o' the rope's end before an hour is passed."The hawker cowered before such a prospect, and discovering after much protestation and evasion that the captain evidently knew more of the matter than he had expected, he decided to tell the truth. Thereupon he gave a full account of the transaction, up to the time of his escape from the smithy, omitting only (out of respect for the Corporal's threats) to refer to his interview with that worthy.Captain Protheroe listened attentively to the narrative, smiling slightly at the complaint of Barbara's treatment. When it was ended he turned coldly on Simon."That will do. You can go.""But the reward, your honour," began the hawker nervously.The captain eyed him sternly."An I had my will with you, fellow, you should to the pillory as a thief and extortioner. But as, in this world, a rogue must be paid for his roguery, take your liberty and deem it meet reward for information which I received an hour since. Be off with you."The hawker, with a deep, heartfelt curse, shuffled out of the room."I would that I had seen her braving the fellow," muttered the captain as he recharged his pipe.So engrossed was he in his meditations that he paid no heed to a sudden clamour in the yard without, and he sprang to his feet with an oath of astonishment when the door was flung wide open, and the corporal burst violently into the room."We have him, captain!" he cried, almost dancing with eagerness, "we have him at last, the very fellow himself. Caught as clean as a bird in a net.""What means this, sirrah?" interrupted the captain sharply. "Art mad, or drunk; or both together?"The corporal's face fell. He pulled himself together and saluted in a somewhat crestfallen fashion."Your pardon, captain," he continued more calmly. "But an it please you, we have taken Sir Rupert Winslow himself."It was now Captain Protheroe's turn to betray excitement."Taken Sir Rupert Winslow! Why, fellow, 'tis impossible. You are dreaming.""Dreaming or no," answered the corporal sulkily, "he is without. We spied him skulking round the stables to the back o' the Inn. I doubt not wi' intent to steal a fresh horse. There we ambushed him. He made a fierce resistance, but," with an air of supreme complaisance, "I soon overpowered him.""The devil take the rash fool!" muttered the captain. "Well, bring him in, corporal. And do you see that the men get to rest, we must be off at daybreak to-morrow. I will see to the security of the prisoner."The corporal saluted, and a moment later ushered his prisoner into the room.Captain Protheroe looked up curiously at his entrance, and for some minutes silently surveyed him, until the prisoner, weary of such intent scrutiny, tossed his hat on to the table, and flung himself back into a chair with a half-embarrassed, half-reckless air.The captain broke the silence."This is a strange ending, sir, to so lengthy a chase," he said gravely."Ah, well! 'twas bound to end sooner or later, and as well this way as another," he answered with a short laugh. "In truth, 'twas a hole and corner business, and I am weary of it.""You have been to visit your sister at the Manor House?" queried the captain.The prisoner looked up haughtily."My past movements are my own affairs, sir; you and I are concerned with the present alone.""I take you, sir," answered the captain quietly. "Moreover, I understand the reason of your presence here, and I honour you for it. It is irregular, of course, but under the circumstances, I cannot refuse to give you every satisfaction.""Satisfaction!" exclaimed the prisoner in astonishment."Aye, sir. You doubtless understand me.""Not I. I have no personal quarrel with you, that I know of.""No quarrel! Then am I wrong in supposing you to be the brother of Mistress Barbara Winslow?""And what then, sir," demanded the prisoner sharply. "What of her?"Captain Protheroe shrugged his shoulders."Ah! I see I am mistaken," he replied. "I deemed, sir, you had ventured hither in order to seek me and to demand satisfaction for my behaviour towards your sister. But since——""Will you have the goodness to explain, sir," interrupted the prisoner fiercely.The captain smiled calmly."Egad! I confess 'twas a somewhat low piece of work. But the wench was so exasperating and withal so pretty. And I give you my word," he added with a cynical laugh, "she showed no over-great reluctance to my kisses."The prisoner sprang to his feet, his fists clenched, his eyes blazing with passion."May Heaven have mercy on you, sir, but 'tis a most dastardly lie.""Heaven will need have mercy on you my friend, if you give the lie so freely," answered the captain coldly. "But perchance you are willing to fight now, sir, unless"—with a laugh—"you have smaller regard for your sister's reputation than I surmised.""Now, by Heaven! you shall swallow your words," cried the youth, white with fury.Captain Protheroe rose."I am at your service," he answered coolly. "I have two rapiers handy, there is no time like the present, and as for place, why this chamber will serve as well as anywhere."The prisoner bowed assent, and after a moment's hesitation flung off his cloak and turned to take his rapier."One moment, sir," continued the captain. "Seeing that I am in no manner bound to grant you, my prisoner, this satisfaction, before I indulge you there is one stipulation I would make.""Name it.""That the encounter beà entrance." Then seeing his opponent hesitate, he continued:"Mark me, sir. An the advantage be mine, you shall have your choice of meeting death by my hand presently, or on the gallows some few weeks hence. If, on the other hand, the victory fall to you, you will doubtless use the opportunity to regain your freedom, and since my life must go bail for your safe-keeping, I claim the right to a similar choice. If you refuse these conditions I must withdraw the privilege I would confer.""Have it as you will." cried the prisoner impatiently."Draw then, and defend yourself."They took their positions and the blades crossed.After the first few passes a look of surprise crept into Captain Protheroe's eyes as he realised his adversary's skill. He, himself, had studied the art in many countries, and knew that few swordsmen in England were his equal, yet he found this youth no mean opponent. From the outset he felt no doubt of the result—a skilled swordsman soon gauges the extent of his adversary's powers.As for the prisoner, after the first fierce attack his fury subsided, and he steadied himself to parry with eager watchfulness the captain's point. His eye was quick, his wrist supple, and he was well practised in the art. But he lacked strength. Slowly he was driven backward, backward, across the room, till at length he was fighting with his foot pressed against the wall. Even then he showed no fear, nor relaxed for an instant his resolute defence. Suddenly the captain's wrist seemed to relax its merciless strain and with a quick movement the prisoner had twisted the blade from his grasp and it flew with a clatter among the furniture of the room.Captain Protheroe clasped his hands behind his back, and fixing his eyes full on his opponent's face waited what should follow.The prisoner stood for a space staring at him in silence, the expression of his face changing from astonishment to triumph, from triumph to deep dismay. Then he dropped the point of his rapier and turned away.[image]"HE DROPPED THE POINT OF HIS RAPIER AND TURNED AWAY""'Tis enough, I am satisfied.""But pardon me, sir, I am not," answered Captain Protheroe drily. "Methinks you have forgotten my stipulation."The prisoner bit his lip and answered coldly: "I do not choose to comply with it; nor do I hold with such folly.""'Tis a pity you did not express that opinion before, sir. Yet there remains no choice for you. I prefer death by the sword to death by the scaffold. I am ready. You will therefore carry out our contract at once, or forfeit all claim to be counted a man of honour."The prisoner flushed angrily and once more raised his rapier. But meeting the quiet smile and steady gaze of his opponent he dropped the weapon upon the table and turned away."You must wait. I cannot kill you now.""Your reason, sir?""I—I am not in a killing humour."Captain Protheroe's lips twitched, but he answered gravely:"Then may I beg you, sir, to overcome your humour without delay."The prisoner breathed quickly and was silent.Then Captain Protheroe laughed quietly. "Ah, well! from time immemorial women have loved to delay theircoup-de-grâce. You but carry out the traditions of your sex, madame."The prisoner turned to the captain a pair of wide blue eyes filled with horrified amazement."Ah! I thought I could not be mistaken, Mistress Barbara," continued the captain, smiling. "Pray be seated, you must be worn out with fatigue."Barbara sank unresisting into the chair he pushed forward, and drooped her head in silence."May I ask, madame, to what cause I owe the honour of this visit?" queried the captain politely."Cicely said—we thought——" she began. Then recovering herself she continued firmly. "I had a suspicion that you might play me false, and might even now be about to set out to arrest Rupert.""Indeed! So you affected this—er—disguise to prevent our departure. Is it so, madame?""I knew no other way," muttered Barbara."I gave you my word.""Aye, but I liked not the manner in which you gave it. You—you angered me.""That is a pity," he answered quietly. Then seating himself on the edge of the table beside her, he eyed her coolly, and continued with a slight drawl. "Ah, well! the resemblance is certainly a strong one. Sir Rupert, methinks, is a trifle broader in the chest, and—there be one or two more details," he added, slowly surveying her figure.Barbara drooped her head still lower, and flushed angrily at the veiled insolence of his tone."You will wonder how I noted the difference," continued the captain. "The fact is, as I was riding home alone, after my visit to the Manor House, I chanced to encounter the real Sir Rupert, and we had some conversation together.""You met Rupert!" cried Barbara, forgetting all in her astonishment. "Oh! where is he?""He should by this well-nigh have reached the coast.""Alone?""Alone, madame.""So you have kept your promise?" she cried in amazement."Yes, Mistress Barbara, strange though it may seem to you, I have. It is a pity you did not trust me, you would have spared yourself the inconvenience of this—masquerade."The covert sneer in his tone stung her to a sudden anger."And why should I trust you?" she cried haughtily. "You are my enemy.""I was your enemy, madame, but I had believed myself now to have some claim upon your trust and friendship.""I see not upon what you base such a belief," she answered still in anger."Why else, madame, think you, did I set your brother free?""I have but your word concerning that transaction," she answered scornfully. "You were alone when you encountered Rupert.""Certainly. What follows?""My brother, Captain Protheroe, hath his sword.""A sword!" he laughed. "Why so have I, madame.""Verily, sir," she answered with a mocking laugh, "yonder it lies."Captain Protheroe, in astonishment, glanced from her face of triumph to the distant corner where lay his discarded rapier."Damnation!" he muttered with a short angry laugh. "I had forgot.""Aye, so I thought, sir," she answered, smiling scornfully. "And my brother is a better swordsman than I. Yet 'twas a prettily conceived story.""Mistress Barbara, in good truth, I swear——""I have already heard more oaths this evening than I am accustomed to," she interrupted. "I will not trouble you to further tax your powers. I wish you good-evening, sir."She rose to depart, but he stepped quickly before her, and leaned his back against the door."A moment, madame, I beg," he said, his voice harsh with anger. "Since it has pleased you to withdraw your trust in me, I see not that I am any longer bound to respect your confidence. 'Tis but an hour since I parted from Sir Rupert. He can yet be overtaken."Barbara raised a terrified face to his."Oh, no! You could not do that," she said."And wherefore not?""Oh, because—because——" she faltered."Well, madame, your reason?" he demanded again harshly.Barbara flung up her head defiantly, and snatching her rapier from the table raised the point to his breast."Because, sir, by your own showing," she replied, facing him boldly, "your life is now mine, to do with as I will. Make one motion towards my brother's undoing, and I swear by Heaven I will run you through as blithely as ever I ran needle into cloth."For a space they stood thus, she with face alight with excitement, he staring down with astonished admiration into her blazing eyes.Then he laughed quietly."Pardon me, Mistress Barbara," he said, eyeing her coolly. "Your doublet is awry."Instantly she dropped her rapier, her hands flew to her waist, she looked down in deep consternation. All her newborn resolution had vanished, she was but a woman once more."My doublet is not your concern, sir," she muttered."Your pardon, madame," he answered pleasantly. "I should in truth have thought a doublet rather my concern than yours; but as you will. If you prefer to wear it thus, of course——""I—I knew not exactly how it should be worn," she faltered, glancing doubtfully at her figure. Then recollecting herself she continued angrily. "My dress is my own affair, sir. Why should I not play the Rosalind, an it so please me?""No reason whatever, Mistress Barbara," he continued lightly. "I can only rejoice at my good fortune in being present at the performance. By my faith, the dress becomes you wondrous well." And again he submitted her to a critical survey from head to foot.Her head drooped, her breast heaved, and turning suddenly from him she sank into a chair and burying her face in her outstretched arms upon the table, she burst into bitter sobs.Captain Protheroe regarded her doubtfully."Woman's last weapon?" he queried with a cynical laugh.The sobs redoubled in force; they shook her whole body."Come, come!" he protested roughly, "this is useless, madame. I have already once this evening had the pleasure of seeing your tears; I know their value. Besides, you should bear in mind your character; tears are ill-suited to doublet and hose."Still she sobbed on, unheeding.He moved impatiently and hummed a tune which quickly wandered away into incoherence. "I would I knew if it were counterfeit," he muttered.Still she wept, with quick-drawn breath, and short, gasping, helpless sobs, very terrible to a man's ears.He took two steps towards her, and then paused. "No," he muttered. "I will not. She hath already duped me twice, I will be hanged if I let her do so again. 'Tis but counterfeit."He turned from her resolutely and seating himself with his back to her waited stolidly until she should see fit to relinquish this last design.Minute after minute passed. Soon the sobs died away."Ah, good!" he thought with a smile. "So my lady has decided to try another plan."He waited impatiently for her next move. There was no sound in the room save an occasional sobbing gasp.At last he could wait no longer, but rising quickly hurried to her side. Her eyes were closed and she lay very still. Then he listened for the regular breathing. There was no doubt of the matter, she was asleep, asleep as peacefully as an infant."So it was no counterfeit," he muttered slowly; "she hath sobbed herself to sleep. What a brute she must think me! What a brute I am!"He stood close beside her gazing down at the graceful yielding figure, at the dark lashes curling on to the flushed, tear-stained cheeks, at the rosy half-opened mouth, at the loose mass of hair framing her perfect face. His breath came fast, his heart beat quickly.Suddenly he turned from her and hurried from the room, locking the door behind him. Away from the room, away from the Inn, away to the river-bordered meadow behind. And there he paced the night through, puffing unconsciously at an unlighted pipe, until the first rays of dawn softened the sky.Before he set out he crept once more into the room where Barbara still lay asleep. He paused first to throw a cloak gently over the form of the sleeping girl, then he turned to pick up his sword and collect his papers.But ere he left the room he hesitated once more, and turning strode into the far corner. Here he knelt down and searched eagerly for a certain knot of scarlet ribbon, which being found, he folded carefully and with a short half-shamed laugh, placed in the pocket of his doublet.So Captain Protheroe and his men rode from the village. But Barbara slept on peacefully, while the sunbeams stole into the room and played with her dark curls. And there an hour later Phoebe found her, when, in answer to a message sent by the captain ere he left, she came down from the Manor House to search for her missing lady.
Barbara looked up.
"Well, captain, if you are satisfied that I have spoken the truth, perhaps you will take your leave, for I protest I am weary of you."
"One moment, madame," he answered, "I will but examine into the secret of this same cross-eyed ancestor of thine, and then you shall be no further troubled."
He turned, as he spoke, towards the picture, but Barbara sprang to her feet with a sharp cry, and darting past him, placed her back against the frame and turned to him full of defiance.
"Nay, sir, that you shall not," she cried resolutely.
Corporal Crutch paused in his search, and gazed at her in open-mouthed astonishment, but Captain Protheroe strode quickly to her side with a sharp frown.
"Come, madame," he began impatiently, "this is sheer folly. We must proceed with our work. I do, indeed, regret the painful business, but by your leave we will not prolong it. Be so good as to show me the secret of the spring."
"I will not."
"Then, madame, we must open it by force."
"You shall not pass me," she cried defiantly. "I will not move aside."
Captain Protheroe swore in desperation.
"Come, Mistress Barbara, be reasonable," he urged. "You know well that resistance is quite useless. I were loth to use violence, but an it must be so, methinks it were possible to move you without much injury to either of us."
Suddenly Barbara began to cry, leaning her head back against the frame and sobbing bitterly. But she did not cover her face with her hands as is the manner of most women.
"Oh, go away, I beseech you," she pleaded, clasping her hands in entreaty, and raising tearful eyes to his face. "Rupert hath done you no injury, suffer him to escape this once, and I will be your debtor forever."
Captain Protheroe stared down at her, wondering vaguely whether her eyes looked more lovely when bright with merriment, or when wide and soft with welling tears, and why he had never before noticed how inviting was a full quivering lip. Then suddenly recollecting the unprofitableness of such considerations, he glanced indignantly at the corporal and swore at him beneath his breath.
"You are making my duty very hard for me, madame," he pleaded gently.
"I—I want to," she sobbed. "Please go away."
"No, Mistress Barbara, I cannot," he answered firmly.
Barbara stopped her sobs and stared at him for a moment in astonishment. Then she suddenly turned on him furiously.
"You will not? You will not?" she cried. "Then have your way. See what lies concealed."
She pressed a small button cunningly hidden amid the carving of the frame, and the portrait slipped back, revealing a large recess in the wall, deep enough to hold three men.
The recess was empty.
The two men stared at each other in utter astonishment, but Barbara flung herself into a chair, clapped her hands, and burst into a paroxysm of laughter.
"Fooled! Fooled!" she cried, pointing at them mockingly. "Was ever man, since the days of Adam, so bravely fooled. Oh! I shall die of laughter," and again the room rang with her merriment.
Captain Protheroe turned to her grimly.
"Pardon my dulness, madame," he said harshly, "and be so kind as to explain what this means."
"Means! Why, marry, it means that I have spoken truly. Rupert is not here, moreover, he never has been. Have I not said so throughout."
"Not here? Impossible! Then these tremblings, entreaties, tears were all——"
"All a comedy, sir, which I trust you enjoyed as greatly as did I. Oh! tell me, sir, should I not make a brave player?" She danced a few steps towards him and dropped a mocking curtsey. "I await your applause, signors," she cried with a saucy laugh.
Captain Protheroe strode the length of the room and swore to himself heartily, but Corporal Crutch was not so easily convinced.
"'Tis false, sir," he cried. "She is fooling us again. Why I saw the fellow enter, myself."
"That you did not, corporal, an I may make so bold as to contradict you," laughed Barbara. "Though I wouldn't deny," she added solemnly, "the possibility of your having seen someone enter."
"Aye, someone hailed by the name of 'Rupert,'" sneered the corporal.
"What's in a name?" quoted Barbara, laughing.
"Whom did he see, then?" demanded Captain Protheroe sharply.
"How should I know?" she retorted cheerfully. "'Twas not I who saw him. Ask the corporal."
"An 'twere not Sir Rupert, 'twas the devil himself in his likeness. I saw him as plain as I see you. He is the very counterpart of yon wench, his sister."
"That is true enough," answered Barbara calmly. "We be so alike that times have been known when we were mistaken for each other. And yet I will swear 'twas not Rupert whom you saw."
"Will you have the goodness to explain the matter, madame?" interrupted the Captain impatiently.
"With all my heart, sir, though 'tis a somewhat lengthy tale. Know then, it commences with a stout corporal but half concealed behind a large laurel bush. Ah, ha! Sir Whipcord, you look guilty! Now this same corporal was a spy and an eavesdropper, and eavesdroppers must not be surprised if at times they overhear that whichisintended for their ears. 'Twas so in this case. The corporal, who bore a strange resemblance to this gentleman, overheard a pretty little plot, discussed especially for his edification, he stole and read a cunning little note, written for his eyes alone. Being a gentleman of extraordinary blindness, he walked into the trap as prettily as a bird. The rest was simple. It remained but to send a messenger, whom your soldiers kindly permitted to pass, to inform Rupert of our arrangements. Cicely and I, disguised but in linsey petticoats and woollen hoods ('tis passing strange how dress can make or mar a man) went down to the village this afternoon, and later I—I returned, alone. Perchance—I say perchance, 'twas I whom your corporal saw enter; and yet, sure, how could it be?"
"And your cousin?"
"Cicely? Oh, she is away passing the evening with Rupert, who, thanks to the corporal's kind thoughtfulness, in withdrawing all his men from the roads and the village, was enabled to visit her with perfect safety at a certain house we wot of. But, indeed, the time has passed so quickly while you have been here, that he will by now have returned whence he came, and I fear—I greatly fear you have missed him."
Then at last Corporal Crutch, convinced of the truth of her statement, opened his mouth and commenced to swear; to swear so roundly that Barbara covered her ears, and Captain Protheroe curtly bade him be silent.
"'Tis thine own doing, thou blundering fool," he said angrily. "Wherefore didst not follow the messenger and trap the fellow in his hiding-place?"
"Nay, captain, give me some credit for the business," interposed Barbara cheerily. "'Twas a most excellently conceived plan. And yet," she mused, "I doubt if ever men were more easily fooled."
"And may I ask, madame, what part in the plot this evening's entertainment served?"
"Oh that! Well, I cannot say that was altogether necessary, though I desired to keep you here till Rupert was safe away. But," she added roguishly, "'twas vastly amusing. And besides, methinks you deserved no better treatment after forcing your way thus churlishly into a lone woman's house."
Captain Protheroe turned brusquely on his heel.
"There is nothing further to be gained by remaining here, corporal," he said. "Call up the men and march them back to quarters. And as for this fellow," he added, pointing to the smith, who had watched the scene with deep enjoyment, "keep him safe till morning; we may have need of him."
"And what of the wench, captain? Can't we lay hands on her for aiding and abetting?"
Captain Protheroe scowled.
"Leave me to deal with her, sirrah. I will follow you anon. And harkee. There is a certain hawker wandering in or near the village. Yon fellow can describe him. If we can lay hands on him, I doubt not he can tell us what may prove useful."
Corporal Crutch started guiltily.
"A hawker, captain? Why, I know the fellow. I have him safe under—that is—er—I doubt not I can speedily lay hands on him."
"Do so. See to it to-night, and we may yet catch our hare. Now begone."
The corporal saluted and went out.
Captain Protheroe glanced at Barbara, and he saw that no trace of her triumphant merriment remained.
He turned and walked to the window and stood for some time in silence gazing out into the darkness while the last echoes of the retreating footsteps died away. Then all was still.
CHAPTER VII
Captain Protheroe stood gazing out into the dark night, asking himself savagely why he still waited there, why he did not leave the girl at once and return with his men to the village, preparatory to setting out in pursuit of this man who still escaped them.
It was clearly his duty to go—and yet—— There was still time, nothing could be done until the hawker was discovered, and his secret, whatever it might be, was learned. And in the meantime he could not resist the temptation to remain a little longer, to learn more of this girl who, while she mocked and flouted, yet fascinated him in spite of his anger against her. To punish her a little for the way she had outwitted him, aye, and to watch how she bore the punishment. So while he cursed himself for a fool in so doing, yet he remained.
Barbara sat bolt upright, watching him furtively with eager eyes. Her hands were tightly clenched, and her lips pressed together in anxious thought. "Oh! what shall I do now?" she murmured again and again desperately. "What shall I do? The pedlar hath escaped. I have tried tears, they are useless. Oh, God! help me to play out the game."
At last he turned, and crossing the room seated himself beside her. Leaning forward, his hands clasped between his knees, he eyed her steadily and spoke in a low even voice. "Mistress Barbara, have you ever heard tell of a certain Mistress Alice Lisle?"
Barbara shuddered quickly, and her face grew very pale, but she answered him bravely:
"Aye, sir, she who was beheaded last week at Winchester for harbouring rebels."
"Good. And hast also heard of Mistress Judith Barge, condemned to be flogged for a like act of treason?"
"Indeed, sir, her story likewise is well known to me."
"Ah! so you were forewarned. You did not act in ignorance of the fate awaiting you?"
His face and voice were hard and her heart beat wildly, but she fought the rising fear and answered proudly:
"Captain Protheroe, none but a fool goeth to war without counting the cost. I am no fool, sir."
Suddenly his whole bearing changed, his face softened, and, raising her hand to his lips he said gently:
"Madame, I salute the bravest lady I have ever known."
Barbara flushed crimson.
"Nay, not so, sir," she answered, smiling bravely, "for there is yet a third story I have heard. For I have heard that in these last days it has been everywhere the custom for king's officers stationed in our villages to take up their quarters in the houses of the rebels, driving forth the occupants and taking unto themselves all their goods. Yet Cicely and I have remained here undisturbed. So I knew well, sir, that in playing my part I had to deal with no Kirke or Jeffries but with a gentleman of heart and honour, in whom a woman could place her trust."
"Can so small a matter win a woman's trust?" he asked doubtfully.
For an instant Barbara sat silent, twining her fingers together nervously, and breathing hard. She was preparing for her last great stake.
Then she turned to him. Her eyes betrayed her fear, but her voice was firm:
"Captain Protheroe, my brother lieth hid in the fisherman's hut, three miles eastward along the coast from Watchet. From thence he will escape to-morrow morn in a vessel bound for Holland."
He sprang to his feet and turned on her in sudden anger.
"In Heaven's name, madame, why have you told me this?"
"Ah! sir, because an I had not you would have learned it elsewhere. This mad pedlar who hath escaped me, knows my secret; to-night he will betray it to you. So I prefer to tell you myself and throw myself on your mercy."
"You play high, madame."
"Aye, sir, to lose or to win all."
He turned from her and paced the room angrily. So this was the result of his effort to punish the girl (fool that he was to try it), she flung herself on his mercy and challenged him to betray her confidence. Well, why should he not, seeing the confidence was given unasked. But his pride loathed the thought. He had never yet betrayed a woman's trust; the chivalry of his nature had remained unsoiled by the cynicism and callousness of those among whom he lived, and that chivalry now forbade him to profit by her moment of confidence.
That he, Miles Protheroe, should fall a prey to the fascinations of a woman! He laughed savagely at the thought. And yet that this girl fascinated him he could not deny. Not only by her beauty (he was too much a connoisseur of woman's looks to be deeply moved by them), nor by her gaiety, infectious though it was; no, to him the charm lay chiefly in her manifest courage, for courage was his God, and she seemed the very personification of fearlessness.
So he mused, warring betwixt pride, anger, and tenderness, while Barbara sat still, watching him with a desperate eagerness.
"Are you a soldier only, or a man?" she pleaded. "An ye be the first, go do your work. But oh, an ye be a man, ye cannot sure betray a woman's confidence."
"You have taken an unfair advantage of me, madame, and you know it."
"Aye, sir, 'tis true enough. Think not I feel no shame. But—Rupert is my brother."
Her voice broke piteously over the last words. She was worn out with the terror and excitement of the day, and could scarce keep down her tears. She bit her lips, and her breast heaved with a strangled sob. He drew near and stared down at her gloomily.
"So because you are a woman and this rebel chances to be your brother, my honour must go bail for his life! Do you understand, Mistress Barbara, what you ask of me?"
For an instant she hesitated. Then she raised her head and turned to him proudly:
"Yes, sir, I understand, and—I ask it."
He bowed.
"So be it, madame, your brother is safe from me."
He turned coldly, and taking up his hat, walked to the door.
Barbara followed him timidly.
"Captain Protheroe," she pleaded softly. "Honour may be one of the first virtues, but there is a greater even than Honour,—Charity."
But now his anger mastered him, he would not relent.
"It may be so, madame," he answered curtly. "But in your presence I find the defence of my Honour more than I can well attend to. I bid you good-night."
And turning abruptly he left the house.
Barbara remained gazing after him, her cheek slowly flushing with rage and shame.
"And has not a woman honour too?" she cried at last fiercely. "Am I not dishonoured enough already by this night's work that he must needs fling his taunts in my face? There be women, perchance, who will play with men's honour as lightly as they throw the dice, and he may think it a little thing for me to ask this of him, but oh, were it not for Rupert I had sooner have died than thus have shamed myself."
Flinging herself back into a chair she gnawed her clasped hands, and beat her foot upon the ground in silent fury.
Half an hour later the door opened softly and Cicely stole cautiously into the room, Cicely with dishevelled hair, red eyelids, and her face alight with eagerness and terror.
"Barbara! Barbara!" she cried, coming eagerly forward, on seeing the room unoccupied save by her cousin. "The village is all astir, the troopers are busy looking to their horses, and David Marlow hath heard that on his return to the Inn, the Captain gave orders that they be ready to start on some expedition at three o'clock in the morning. Think you, Barbara, he can have heard even now of Rupert's hiding-place? Or think you they will intercept his return. He left me but half an hour since. Speak, cannot you?"
Barbara looked up slowly, her face very pale. "Aye, he hath heard, I told him myself."
"Barbara! Art thou mad, child?"
"Indeed I verily believe I am," she answered in a dazed voice. Then collecting her thoughts she told her cousin all that had passed in her interview with the captain. "Think you, Cicely," she continued nervously, "after that it were possible that he has betrayed me?"
"Possible!" cried Cicely in a voice of scorn and fury. "Why, thou little fool, 'tis the man's profession to spy and snare and betray us. Oh! Barbara, how could you be so rash, so wicked? Now 'tis too late to save him."
Barbara roused herself.
"Nay, Cicely, I will not believe that of him. I have his promise. He is a hard man, but he will assuredly keep his word; he would never betray my trust."
"Oh, thou art bewitched by his fair words. Nay, speak not to me. I will go pray, 'tis all that is left for me now."
Sobbing bitterly she left the room.
Barbara sat upright in her chair, clenching the arms with her hands and gazing straight before her.
"An he dare to do it?" she murmured under her breath. Then she sprang suddenly to her feet. "Heshallnot do it," she cried. "I must to the village—there is no other way. And yet,—sure,—nay, I cannot. Bah! I have shamed myself once before him, what matter an I do it once again!"
CHAPTER VIII
Captain Protheroe strode thoughtfully up and down his room at the Inn, puffing furiously at his pipe and staring at the floor.
On his return from his interview with Barbara he had found awaiting him an order to proceed at once to Taunton, and in the yard without he could hear his men still busy with preparations for their early start on the morrow. But though wearied in body with his long day's work the captain felt no inclination for sleep, and, his thoughts still busily occupied with the events of the past few hours, he passed the time pacing his room. His promise once given, he was not the man to waste many regrets upon what was passed, yet as he thought over the affair his brows puckered into a frown, and he ground the stem of his pipe savagely between his teeth. To wink at the escape of a rebel was indeed no great matter in those days. He knew well to what extent corruption and bribery were rife among his fellow officers and how few would hesitate to allow a rebel to slip through their hands could they thereby help to line their pockets. From the Lord Chief Justice downwards the custom was openly practised. Even the Queen's maids of honour, delicate women whose sensibilities were wrung by the death of a beetle, and who would have swooned at the idea of crushing a moth, even they openly trafficked in pardons, and complained bitterly when the life ransoms extracted from the impoverished friends of the prisoners failed to satisfy their demands. But hitherto Captain Protheroe had prided himself upon keeping his fingers clean amid such general corruption, and it enraged him to feel that at last he too had succumbed. Not indeed for a bribe's sake, but because a woman believed him worthy of her trust and his pride would not allow him to betray it.
But was it in truth for that reason alone? Might not it also be because the woman was possessed of a pair of wonderful eyes and knew how to use them?
"Bah!" he muttered angrily, pausing to knock the ashes from his pipe. "How a woman may play the deuce with a man's work!" Then drawing from his pocket a small bow of scarlet ribbon, he gazed at it for a few moments with a strange expression on his face, and with a short laugh flung it from him into a corner of the room and resumed his promenade.
He was interrupted at length by a loud knock at the door, and at his summons Corporal Crutch entered to say that after diligent search he had discovered the missing pedlar, and that the fellow confessed to having certain matters of import to make known to the captain alone. The corporal had no desire that Captain Protheroe should hear of his first interview with Simon, feeling that his customary acuteness had slightly failed him on that occasion, and after a vain attempt to extract some information on his own account from the sulky pedlar, he was at length forced to hand the man over to his superior officer, threatening him first, however, with dire penalties should he breathe a word concerning their previous encounter.
"Bring the fellow in, I will see him," answered the captain, on learning that the pedlar was without.
The order was obeyed and the hawker, glancing furtively from side to side, was pushed rather than ushered into the room.
"Well, my man," Began Captain Protheroe, eyeing him sharply, "what is your business with me?"
"An it please your honour, I have information to sell to your honour concerning the hiding-place of a certain rebel."
"To sell to me!" answered the captain sternly. "It is not for a loyal subject of his Majesty to drive bargains with his officers. We do not buy information, we exact it."
The manner in which these words were uttered caused the hawker to modify his tone.
"May it please your honour," he whimpered, "is there no reward for the arrest of a rebel?"
"If your information be correct, and above all of value (which I greatly doubt), you shall have such money for your services as they deserve. Now for your story, and waste no more of my time."
Thus driven to a corner and moved as much by desire of vengeance as by greed of gold, the hawker related how he had received the letter from Sir Rupert Winslow, and the information it contained.
"Then the ladies know nought of the matter as yet?" enquired the captain.
"Nothing whatever, your honour."
"But this letter—where is it?"
"I—I have mislaid it, sir—but——"
"You are lying to me, knave," interrupted the captain coldly. "By Heaven! an I find you trying to deceive me you shall taste o' the rope's end before an hour is passed."
The hawker cowered before such a prospect, and discovering after much protestation and evasion that the captain evidently knew more of the matter than he had expected, he decided to tell the truth. Thereupon he gave a full account of the transaction, up to the time of his escape from the smithy, omitting only (out of respect for the Corporal's threats) to refer to his interview with that worthy.
Captain Protheroe listened attentively to the narrative, smiling slightly at the complaint of Barbara's treatment. When it was ended he turned coldly on Simon.
"That will do. You can go."
"But the reward, your honour," began the hawker nervously.
The captain eyed him sternly.
"An I had my will with you, fellow, you should to the pillory as a thief and extortioner. But as, in this world, a rogue must be paid for his roguery, take your liberty and deem it meet reward for information which I received an hour since. Be off with you."
The hawker, with a deep, heartfelt curse, shuffled out of the room.
"I would that I had seen her braving the fellow," muttered the captain as he recharged his pipe.
So engrossed was he in his meditations that he paid no heed to a sudden clamour in the yard without, and he sprang to his feet with an oath of astonishment when the door was flung wide open, and the corporal burst violently into the room.
"We have him, captain!" he cried, almost dancing with eagerness, "we have him at last, the very fellow himself. Caught as clean as a bird in a net."
"What means this, sirrah?" interrupted the captain sharply. "Art mad, or drunk; or both together?"
The corporal's face fell. He pulled himself together and saluted in a somewhat crestfallen fashion.
"Your pardon, captain," he continued more calmly. "But an it please you, we have taken Sir Rupert Winslow himself."
It was now Captain Protheroe's turn to betray excitement.
"Taken Sir Rupert Winslow! Why, fellow, 'tis impossible. You are dreaming."
"Dreaming or no," answered the corporal sulkily, "he is without. We spied him skulking round the stables to the back o' the Inn. I doubt not wi' intent to steal a fresh horse. There we ambushed him. He made a fierce resistance, but," with an air of supreme complaisance, "I soon overpowered him."
"The devil take the rash fool!" muttered the captain. "Well, bring him in, corporal. And do you see that the men get to rest, we must be off at daybreak to-morrow. I will see to the security of the prisoner."
The corporal saluted, and a moment later ushered his prisoner into the room.
Captain Protheroe looked up curiously at his entrance, and for some minutes silently surveyed him, until the prisoner, weary of such intent scrutiny, tossed his hat on to the table, and flung himself back into a chair with a half-embarrassed, half-reckless air.
The captain broke the silence.
"This is a strange ending, sir, to so lengthy a chase," he said gravely.
"Ah, well! 'twas bound to end sooner or later, and as well this way as another," he answered with a short laugh. "In truth, 'twas a hole and corner business, and I am weary of it."
"You have been to visit your sister at the Manor House?" queried the captain.
The prisoner looked up haughtily.
"My past movements are my own affairs, sir; you and I are concerned with the present alone."
"I take you, sir," answered the captain quietly. "Moreover, I understand the reason of your presence here, and I honour you for it. It is irregular, of course, but under the circumstances, I cannot refuse to give you every satisfaction."
"Satisfaction!" exclaimed the prisoner in astonishment.
"Aye, sir. You doubtless understand me."
"Not I. I have no personal quarrel with you, that I know of."
"No quarrel! Then am I wrong in supposing you to be the brother of Mistress Barbara Winslow?"
"And what then, sir," demanded the prisoner sharply. "What of her?"
Captain Protheroe shrugged his shoulders.
"Ah! I see I am mistaken," he replied. "I deemed, sir, you had ventured hither in order to seek me and to demand satisfaction for my behaviour towards your sister. But since——"
"Will you have the goodness to explain, sir," interrupted the prisoner fiercely.
The captain smiled calmly.
"Egad! I confess 'twas a somewhat low piece of work. But the wench was so exasperating and withal so pretty. And I give you my word," he added with a cynical laugh, "she showed no over-great reluctance to my kisses."
The prisoner sprang to his feet, his fists clenched, his eyes blazing with passion.
"May Heaven have mercy on you, sir, but 'tis a most dastardly lie."
"Heaven will need have mercy on you my friend, if you give the lie so freely," answered the captain coldly. "But perchance you are willing to fight now, sir, unless"—with a laugh—"you have smaller regard for your sister's reputation than I surmised."
"Now, by Heaven! you shall swallow your words," cried the youth, white with fury.
Captain Protheroe rose.
"I am at your service," he answered coolly. "I have two rapiers handy, there is no time like the present, and as for place, why this chamber will serve as well as anywhere."
The prisoner bowed assent, and after a moment's hesitation flung off his cloak and turned to take his rapier.
"One moment, sir," continued the captain. "Seeing that I am in no manner bound to grant you, my prisoner, this satisfaction, before I indulge you there is one stipulation I would make."
"Name it."
"That the encounter beà entrance." Then seeing his opponent hesitate, he continued:
"Mark me, sir. An the advantage be mine, you shall have your choice of meeting death by my hand presently, or on the gallows some few weeks hence. If, on the other hand, the victory fall to you, you will doubtless use the opportunity to regain your freedom, and since my life must go bail for your safe-keeping, I claim the right to a similar choice. If you refuse these conditions I must withdraw the privilege I would confer."
"Have it as you will." cried the prisoner impatiently.
"Draw then, and defend yourself."
They took their positions and the blades crossed.
After the first few passes a look of surprise crept into Captain Protheroe's eyes as he realised his adversary's skill. He, himself, had studied the art in many countries, and knew that few swordsmen in England were his equal, yet he found this youth no mean opponent. From the outset he felt no doubt of the result—a skilled swordsman soon gauges the extent of his adversary's powers.
As for the prisoner, after the first fierce attack his fury subsided, and he steadied himself to parry with eager watchfulness the captain's point. His eye was quick, his wrist supple, and he was well practised in the art. But he lacked strength. Slowly he was driven backward, backward, across the room, till at length he was fighting with his foot pressed against the wall. Even then he showed no fear, nor relaxed for an instant his resolute defence. Suddenly the captain's wrist seemed to relax its merciless strain and with a quick movement the prisoner had twisted the blade from his grasp and it flew with a clatter among the furniture of the room.
Captain Protheroe clasped his hands behind his back, and fixing his eyes full on his opponent's face waited what should follow.
The prisoner stood for a space staring at him in silence, the expression of his face changing from astonishment to triumph, from triumph to deep dismay. Then he dropped the point of his rapier and turned away.
[image]"HE DROPPED THE POINT OF HIS RAPIER AND TURNED AWAY"
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"HE DROPPED THE POINT OF HIS RAPIER AND TURNED AWAY"
"'Tis enough, I am satisfied."
"But pardon me, sir, I am not," answered Captain Protheroe drily. "Methinks you have forgotten my stipulation."
The prisoner bit his lip and answered coldly: "I do not choose to comply with it; nor do I hold with such folly."
"'Tis a pity you did not express that opinion before, sir. Yet there remains no choice for you. I prefer death by the sword to death by the scaffold. I am ready. You will therefore carry out our contract at once, or forfeit all claim to be counted a man of honour."
The prisoner flushed angrily and once more raised his rapier. But meeting the quiet smile and steady gaze of his opponent he dropped the weapon upon the table and turned away.
"You must wait. I cannot kill you now."
"Your reason, sir?"
"I—I am not in a killing humour."
Captain Protheroe's lips twitched, but he answered gravely:
"Then may I beg you, sir, to overcome your humour without delay."
The prisoner breathed quickly and was silent.
Then Captain Protheroe laughed quietly. "Ah, well! from time immemorial women have loved to delay theircoup-de-grâce. You but carry out the traditions of your sex, madame."
The prisoner turned to the captain a pair of wide blue eyes filled with horrified amazement.
"Ah! I thought I could not be mistaken, Mistress Barbara," continued the captain, smiling. "Pray be seated, you must be worn out with fatigue."
Barbara sank unresisting into the chair he pushed forward, and drooped her head in silence.
"May I ask, madame, to what cause I owe the honour of this visit?" queried the captain politely.
"Cicely said—we thought——" she began. Then recovering herself she continued firmly. "I had a suspicion that you might play me false, and might even now be about to set out to arrest Rupert."
"Indeed! So you affected this—er—disguise to prevent our departure. Is it so, madame?"
"I knew no other way," muttered Barbara.
"I gave you my word."
"Aye, but I liked not the manner in which you gave it. You—you angered me."
"That is a pity," he answered quietly. Then seating himself on the edge of the table beside her, he eyed her coolly, and continued with a slight drawl. "Ah, well! the resemblance is certainly a strong one. Sir Rupert, methinks, is a trifle broader in the chest, and—there be one or two more details," he added, slowly surveying her figure.
Barbara drooped her head still lower, and flushed angrily at the veiled insolence of his tone.
"You will wonder how I noted the difference," continued the captain. "The fact is, as I was riding home alone, after my visit to the Manor House, I chanced to encounter the real Sir Rupert, and we had some conversation together."
"You met Rupert!" cried Barbara, forgetting all in her astonishment. "Oh! where is he?"
"He should by this well-nigh have reached the coast."
"Alone?"
"Alone, madame."
"So you have kept your promise?" she cried in amazement.
"Yes, Mistress Barbara, strange though it may seem to you, I have. It is a pity you did not trust me, you would have spared yourself the inconvenience of this—masquerade."
The covert sneer in his tone stung her to a sudden anger.
"And why should I trust you?" she cried haughtily. "You are my enemy."
"I was your enemy, madame, but I had believed myself now to have some claim upon your trust and friendship."
"I see not upon what you base such a belief," she answered still in anger.
"Why else, madame, think you, did I set your brother free?"
"I have but your word concerning that transaction," she answered scornfully. "You were alone when you encountered Rupert."
"Certainly. What follows?"
"My brother, Captain Protheroe, hath his sword."
"A sword!" he laughed. "Why so have I, madame."
"Verily, sir," she answered with a mocking laugh, "yonder it lies."
Captain Protheroe, in astonishment, glanced from her face of triumph to the distant corner where lay his discarded rapier.
"Damnation!" he muttered with a short angry laugh. "I had forgot."
"Aye, so I thought, sir," she answered, smiling scornfully. "And my brother is a better swordsman than I. Yet 'twas a prettily conceived story."
"Mistress Barbara, in good truth, I swear——"
"I have already heard more oaths this evening than I am accustomed to," she interrupted. "I will not trouble you to further tax your powers. I wish you good-evening, sir."
She rose to depart, but he stepped quickly before her, and leaned his back against the door.
"A moment, madame, I beg," he said, his voice harsh with anger. "Since it has pleased you to withdraw your trust in me, I see not that I am any longer bound to respect your confidence. 'Tis but an hour since I parted from Sir Rupert. He can yet be overtaken."
Barbara raised a terrified face to his.
"Oh, no! You could not do that," she said.
"And wherefore not?"
"Oh, because—because——" she faltered.
"Well, madame, your reason?" he demanded again harshly.
Barbara flung up her head defiantly, and snatching her rapier from the table raised the point to his breast.
"Because, sir, by your own showing," she replied, facing him boldly, "your life is now mine, to do with as I will. Make one motion towards my brother's undoing, and I swear by Heaven I will run you through as blithely as ever I ran needle into cloth."
For a space they stood thus, she with face alight with excitement, he staring down with astonished admiration into her blazing eyes.
Then he laughed quietly.
"Pardon me, Mistress Barbara," he said, eyeing her coolly. "Your doublet is awry."
Instantly she dropped her rapier, her hands flew to her waist, she looked down in deep consternation. All her newborn resolution had vanished, she was but a woman once more.
"My doublet is not your concern, sir," she muttered.
"Your pardon, madame," he answered pleasantly. "I should in truth have thought a doublet rather my concern than yours; but as you will. If you prefer to wear it thus, of course——"
"I—I knew not exactly how it should be worn," she faltered, glancing doubtfully at her figure. Then recollecting herself she continued angrily. "My dress is my own affair, sir. Why should I not play the Rosalind, an it so please me?"
"No reason whatever, Mistress Barbara," he continued lightly. "I can only rejoice at my good fortune in being present at the performance. By my faith, the dress becomes you wondrous well." And again he submitted her to a critical survey from head to foot.
Her head drooped, her breast heaved, and turning suddenly from him she sank into a chair and burying her face in her outstretched arms upon the table, she burst into bitter sobs.
Captain Protheroe regarded her doubtfully.
"Woman's last weapon?" he queried with a cynical laugh.
The sobs redoubled in force; they shook her whole body.
"Come, come!" he protested roughly, "this is useless, madame. I have already once this evening had the pleasure of seeing your tears; I know their value. Besides, you should bear in mind your character; tears are ill-suited to doublet and hose."
Still she sobbed on, unheeding.
He moved impatiently and hummed a tune which quickly wandered away into incoherence. "I would I knew if it were counterfeit," he muttered.
Still she wept, with quick-drawn breath, and short, gasping, helpless sobs, very terrible to a man's ears.
He took two steps towards her, and then paused. "No," he muttered. "I will not. She hath already duped me twice, I will be hanged if I let her do so again. 'Tis but counterfeit."
He turned from her resolutely and seating himself with his back to her waited stolidly until she should see fit to relinquish this last design.
Minute after minute passed. Soon the sobs died away.
"Ah, good!" he thought with a smile. "So my lady has decided to try another plan."
He waited impatiently for her next move. There was no sound in the room save an occasional sobbing gasp.
At last he could wait no longer, but rising quickly hurried to her side. Her eyes were closed and she lay very still. Then he listened for the regular breathing. There was no doubt of the matter, she was asleep, asleep as peacefully as an infant.
"So it was no counterfeit," he muttered slowly; "she hath sobbed herself to sleep. What a brute she must think me! What a brute I am!"
He stood close beside her gazing down at the graceful yielding figure, at the dark lashes curling on to the flushed, tear-stained cheeks, at the rosy half-opened mouth, at the loose mass of hair framing her perfect face. His breath came fast, his heart beat quickly.
Suddenly he turned from her and hurried from the room, locking the door behind him. Away from the room, away from the Inn, away to the river-bordered meadow behind. And there he paced the night through, puffing unconsciously at an unlighted pipe, until the first rays of dawn softened the sky.
Before he set out he crept once more into the room where Barbara still lay asleep. He paused first to throw a cloak gently over the form of the sleeping girl, then he turned to pick up his sword and collect his papers.
But ere he left the room he hesitated once more, and turning strode into the far corner. Here he knelt down and searched eagerly for a certain knot of scarlet ribbon, which being found, he folded carefully and with a short half-shamed laugh, placed in the pocket of his doublet.
So Captain Protheroe and his men rode from the village. But Barbara slept on peacefully, while the sunbeams stole into the room and played with her dark curls. And there an hour later Phoebe found her, when, in answer to a message sent by the captain ere he left, she came down from the Manor House to search for her missing lady.