The following morning Judith Ogilvie awoke later than was her usual
custom. She yawned as though she were not fully refreshed by her
night's sleep. She rubbed her eyes, then stretched her arms high above
her head. Then she drew one hand back and looked long and somewhat
lovingly at a round piece of gold that the hand held. Then she kissed
the gold and blushed rosy red in the empty solitude of her own room.
At last, nestling down again among the bed covers, she laughed--and a
gurgling, rippling melody it was.
"So he'll win me in spite of my hatred," she murmured. "And yet--and
yet, methinks if any man could win me, without much wooing either,
'twould be no other than my cousin, Master Cecil Lindley. Heigh-ho!
He's a taking way with him, and who knows?--perhaps--yes, perhaps,
he'll take even me, after I've had out my play acting with him."
Doubtless, then, she drowsed again, for she was awakened once more by
a voice and a vehement pair of knuckles on her door.
"Master Ogilvie desires that you should descend at once to speak with
your cousin, Mr. Lindley," said the voice, when Judith had sleepily
ordered the knuckles to be silent.
"My cousin, Mr. Lindley?" questioned Judith. Even to the maid she
feigned surprise. "How and when came my cousin, Mr. Lindley?"
"In the night, some time, I believe," the voice answered. "He must
return to London in an hour's time, and he desires to see you and
speak with you."
"Say to Mr. Lindley that both he and Master Ogilvie, my father, know
well enough that Mistress Judith Ogilvie will hold no communication
whatsoever with Mr. Lindley. Furthermore say that--can you remember
all this, Marget?--say that if Mr. Lindley is unable to read the
letter lately written him by Mistress Judith Ogilvie, doubtless he
will find some clerk in London more versed in scholarly arts than he,
who will read it to him." The footsteps retreated slowly from the
door. "And, Marget, Marget," Judith called again, "when Mr. Lindley
has departed you may waken me again."
* * * * *
On that selfsame morning, the Lady Barbara Gordon also awoke late in
the house of her aunt, the wife of Timothy Ogilvie. She also seemed
little refreshed by her night's sleep. She also yawned and rubbed her
eyes and stretched her arms above her head. She also laughed, but
there was no rippling melody in the sound. Then she, too, held out one
hand and looked at it curiously, looked curiously at all the ringless
fingers, looked at the one finger that held Lord Farquhart's betrothal
ring.
The Lady Barbara had been seriously considering the new aspect of the
situation. Indeed, the situation looked serious, and yet Lady Barbara
doubted if it could in reality be as serious as it seemed. Was it
possible, she asked herself, that Lord Farquhart had been only jesting
the night before, when he had declared himself to be the highwayman of
whom all London stood in dread? But jesting had hitherto held no place
in her intercourse with Lord Farquhart. If he were indeed this
highwayman, why had he jeopardized his life and honor by revealing the
secret to her? It was absurd for him to say that he desired to test
her loyalty before he gave her his name and title. Did he suppose for
a moment that she would betray him? And yet by betraying him she could
escape this hateful marriage! But--was he trying to frighten her so
that she would refuse to marry him--so that she alone would incur old
Gordon's wrath--so that he would still be free to love and have his
Sylvia?
Here she clinched her small fists and declared that, highwayman or
not, she'd marry him! She would show him that he could not disdain her
for any Sylvia. And then a tiny imp with immature horns and a budding
tail whispered something in her ear, and she laughed again, and again
there was no melody in the sound.
"Ay, I'll show him," she said aloud. "It will not be so hard to marry
him now. I fancy he will find it difficult to make objections to my
comings and goings."
All this, perhaps, will prove that the Lady Barbara knew more of
London life than its gossip. Also it might prove that there were other
ingredients in the Lady Barbara's character than dutiful submission to
her father's commands. Undoubtedly, it shows that the devil's children
are as subtle as the devil himself.
And yet, when the Lady Barbara called for her maid and while she
waited for her, she looked at the hand the highwayman had kissed so
often the night before. She blushed faintly and smiled slightly. But
that only shows that every lover has a chance to win, that Lord
Farquhart, offering love, might have wooed successfully. But to the
maid, the lady said only:
"When Mr. Ashley comes, I will see him. To anyone else say that I
desire to be left to myself."
* * * * *
Lord Farquhart's awakening on that same morning was the most curious,
the most unpleasant, of them all. It occurred even later in the day
than the others, and there was no laughter of any kind on his lips.
Rather were they framing curses. Another day and night of freedom were
gone. His marriage to the Lady Barbara Gordon was a day nearer. How
could he laugh? Why should he not curse?
Suddenly his eyes fell on a tabouret that stood near his bed. On it
lay a withered rose and half a dozen jeweled rings. The rose he had
never seen before. The rings he was almost sure he had seen on Lady
Barbara's hands.
Hurriedly summoning a servant, he demanded an explanation of how the
articles had come there.
The man, also unrefreshed by his night's sleep, admitted that he had
found the flower and the jewels in Lord Farquhart's coat, that he had
placed them on the tabouret himself.
"In my coat? In what coat?" demanded Lord Farquhart.
"In your lordship's riding coat," stammered the servant. "In the coat
that you wore yesterday when we rode to The Jolly Grig. It seemed
safer to me to place the jewels near your lordship's bed than to leave
them in the coat."
And now it was Lord Farquhart's turn to rub his eyes. He wondered if
he was indeed awake. And then the curses that had shaped his lips
passed the threshold and poured forth in volumes upon the head of the
luckless servant, who was in no wise to blame, and finally upon the
Lady Barbara herself. For to Lord Farquhart's mind came no other
solution of the mystery than that the Lady Barbara had met with no
highwayman at all, that the whole story of the hold up had been but a
silly country girl's joke gotten up by herself and her servants.
Doubtless it was a joke on him that she had planned, and he had been
too dull to see its point. The upshot of his thoughts and the end of
his ravings were a command to the servant to return the articles
forthwith to the Lady Barbara Gordon, to the lady herself, in person,
and to say to her that Lord Farquhart would wait upon her late that
afternoon.