The Lady Barbara's coach was wobbling slowly along the moonlit road
that led to The Jolly Grig. Fast enough it traveled, however,
according to Lady Barbara's way of thinking, in spite of the fact
that, at the tavern, she would find a lover and love awaiting her; the
lover, Lord Percy Farquhart, to whom she was betrothed, to whom she
would, indeed, be married in a fortnight's time, and love in the
person of Harry Ashley, who had loved her long, and whom she thought
she loved. Under her gauntlet Lord Percy's betrothal ring chafed her
finger. On her breast lay the red rose she wore always, for no other
reason than that Ashley had asked her so to do.
Querulous to the ancient dame who traveled with her she had been from
the start, and more than querulous to the two black-eyed maids whose
sole apparent duties were to divine my lady's wishes before they could
be expressed in words.
"Absurd; I say it is absurd that I should be dragged up to London in
all this mire," Lady Barbara cried, in a petulant, plaintive voice.
"What do I want with the latest fallals and fripperies to catch my
Lord Farquhart's fancy when he never so much as looks at me? I know
full as well as he that his Mistress Sylvia in rags would be more to
him than I would be if I were decked in the gayest gauds the town
could offer."
"Sylvia!" gasped her attendant dame.
"Ay, Sylvia, I said," answered the Lady Barbara. "Don't think that I'm
deaf to London gossip, and don't imagine that I'm the unsophisticated
child my father thinks me, merely because I acquiesce in this brutal
plan to marry me to a man I hate. I know how my Lord Farquhart
entertains himself. Not that I'd have his love, either. I'd hate him
offering love more than I hate him denying it."
The petulant voice ran on and on, its only vehemence induced by the
muddy ruts in the road. Mistress Benton, using every force to keep
awake, interjected monosyllabic exclamations and questions. The two
maids, exerting all their powers to fall asleep, gave little heed to
their mistress' railings.
The outriders, lured onward by an imagined maltiness in the air, had
permitted an ever-increasing distance between themselves and their
lady's coach. It was certainly some several moments after they had
passed a moon-shadowed corner that the lumbering coach horses
stumbled, wavered and stopped short. Sleepy Drennins recovered his
seat with difficulty, the sleepy coach boys sprang to the horses'
heads, Mistress Benton squawked, and the young maids squeaked with
terror. Only the Lady Barbara was quite calm. But it must be
remembered that the Lady Barbara would welcome delay in any form. But
even she drew back in some alarm from the masked face that appeared at
the coach door.
"Aaaaay! God help us!" screamed Mistress Benton. "'Tis the Black Devil
himself."
The two maids clung to each other and scurried into an anguished
unconsciousness.
The mask had opened the coach door, and his face was close to the Lady
Barbara's.
"A word in your ear, sweet cousin Babs," he whispered. "But first
order your men, on pain of death, to stand each where they are."
The Lady Barbara recognized dimly a familiar tone in the voice. She
saw Lord Farquhart's coat.
"Lord Farquhart! Percy!" The cry was faint enough in itself, but it
was muffled, too, by the gauntleted hand of the highwayman.
"Only for _your_ eyes, my cousin," he answered. "Only for _your_
ears."
"What prank is this?" she demanded, haughtily, and yet she had,
indeed, given her orders to her men to stand each in his place on pain
of death.
"A lover's prank, perhaps, my sweetheart," the mask answered. "A prank
to have a word alone with you. Come, step down upon my cloak and walk
with me out into the moonlight. I would see by it your daffodil hair,
your violet eyes, your poppy lips, your lily cheeks."
A mocking, rippling laugh crossed the Lady Barbara's lips. At once she
gave her hand to her strange cavalier.
"I thought my eyes and ears were not mistaken," she said. "Now I know
in very truth that you are my cousin Percy, for that is the only
lover-like speech that ever came from his lips to me. You believe in
repetition, it seems."
In spite of old Mistress Benton's commands and prayers, the Lady
Barbara had stepped from the coach and the stranger had slammed the
door upon the gibbering dame.
"Ripening corn in a wanton breeze, I should call the hair to-night,"
he said. "Bits of heaven's own blue, the eyes; roses red and white,
the cheeks, and ripe pomegranate the lips. Does that suit you better,
Lady Babs?"
The Lady Barbara's laughter rang back to Mistress Benton's frenzied
ears.
"The moonlight seems to infuse your love with warmth, my cousin." The
lady leaned with coquettish heaviness upon the arm that supported her
hand.
"The icicle that holds your heart has chilled my love till now, my
sweet," the mask answered.
"But why did you stop me in this fashion?" The Lady Barbara had drawn
back from the ardor in her escort's voice. "What means this silly
masquerade? What words would you speak to me here? In this fashion?"
"'Tis but a lover's prank, as you said," he answered, lightly. Then,
singing softly Lord Farquhart's song to Sylvia, he swung her lightly
from him, and bowed low before her as though she were his partner in a
dance.
Hearts that beat with love so true!
Barb'ra, sweet, I come to you!
She, falling in with his humor, dropped him an answering courtesy,
and, drawing off her gauntlet, gave him her bare hand. He fell on his
knee before her, and lightly touched the hand with his lips.
"Give me the glove, sweetheart," he cried, "and the rose you wear on
your heart and--and all these rings that mar your sweet, white hand
with their gaudy reds and blues. Leave only mine to prove that you are
only mine."
He drew the jewels from her hand, and, suddenly, she started from him.
"Take off your mask, Percy, and lift your hat," she cried,
impulsively.
"You ask too much, sweet cousin." Still he answered lightly. He was
still on his knees before her. "My mask and my hat proclaim my trade,
if not to you, at least to your servants."
The roses in her cheeks faded, then blossomed once again. Again she
laughed, but this time the rippling music held a tremor. Her hand
caught her heart.
"For an instant," she gasped--"oh! for an instant I thought--I was
afraid that you might indeed be----"
"And for once you thought the truth, sweet cousin. But you've naught
to fear." The mask's voice had grown serious. He was on his feet and
holding both her hands in his. "I am he; I am he in dread of whom all
London shivers, and it was to tell you that--that I stopped you,
Barbara. To tell you and to test, if not your love, at least your good
intentions as my wife. The world tells me that I cannot win your love,
that it has been given irretrievably to another. But your fidelity I
must prove before you wear my name. I am placing my life, my safety,
my honor, in the sweet jeopardy of your hands. My life is forfeit, as
you know. My life is henceforth in your hands." She was shrinking away
from him, but he held her fast. "My friends--your lover--await us at
The Jolly Grig. I shall be with them before you arrive. You will face
them and me in ten minutes or less. If you intend to keep faith with
me as my wife, you will meet me as your betrothed. You will give no
sign of this new knowledge of me."
"But--but----" she stammered.
"There are no buts, sweet cousin, sweetheart." Already he was leading
her back to the coach. "You may cry out, if you will, when you see us,
that you were held up by the black highwayman. In truth, there will be
no need for you to tell the tale. Your servants will save you the
trouble. In proof of the story, the fellow has stolen your rose and
your glove and your rings. In ransom of your life, you swore that he
should not be followed. We'll hurry you on to town. We'll give the
alarm, and the constables and their men will have a mad and a merry
chase. But from now on, this is our secret. We are one in that
already."
Courteously and slowly he drew her to the coach, pressing her forward
as she held reluctantly back. Denying her all chance to answer, he
handed her into the coach and disappeared.