keep un zaaefe till marnin' zo I fastened un oop zafe i' my farge. But
when I were awai--er--awai on my biznez thicey marnin' my waife, plague
on a meddlezome fingers, zay I, muzt needs oppen door, to zee, forzooth,
whai it were zhut, and zo the fellow hath vled."
"Good! Why was this hawker to be thus secured?"
"He had angered me, sir," interrupted Barbara haughtily.
"Ah! summary justice, madame," answered the captain, laughing. "But
hardly, methinks, within the measure of the law."
"I care nought for the law."
"So I can well believe. But come, I must know a little more concerning
this hawker."
"That you cannot, sir," answered Barbara calmly. "For the simple reason
that Peter knows no more, and I, who do know, do not purpose to tell
you."
Captain Protheroe hesitated a moment. Then he continued lightly, but
eyeing Barbara steadily the while:
"Ah, well! 'Tis of small import. Doubtless it will not be difficult to
find the fellow himself and learn all I wish from his own lips."
Barbara's face grew suddenly white.
"Yet another man to search for," she exclaimed lightly, but with a
strange hoarseness in her voice. "I' faith, captain, yours is no easy
post. It must indeed be a wearisome life to seek and seek for that
which like the philosopher's stone, is never to be found."
They were startled by a sudden clamour which arose in a distant part of
the building, the clatter of pans and dishes, the angry shouts of the
men, and above all the shrill voice of a woman pouring forth a torrent
of furious abuse.
"What in the devil's name----" began the captain, striding across the
room.
"Oh! 'tis nothing," interrupted Barbara coolly. "Your men have doubtless
encountered my waiting-woman, Phoebe. She is somewhat hot and hasty in
her humour and--I am sorry for them."
As she spoke the door was flung open and the corporal rushed angrily
into the room. He was a miserable sight to behold. His head was
saturated with greasy broth which dripped from the ends of his scrubby
hair and beard and trickled down his rubicund countenance; he was
covered from head to foot with flour and dust, and he held his hand
pitiably to his temple where a large bump, the size of an egg, was
rapidly rising, to embellish his appearance.
Behind him marched Phoebe, weaponed with a besom, her face blazing with
anger, her hair dishevelled, and her sleeves rolled up to her shoulders,
showing the brawny arms of this amazon.
At sight of this couple, Barbara fell back into a chair, and laughed
till her eyes filled with tears.
"My poor Sir Knight of the Whipcord," she gasped. "What hath befallen
thee? Ah me, Phoebe, but thou art a very dragon!"
"A very devil," spluttered the corporal.
"Devil in thy teeth, fellow!" cried the enraged waiting-woman.
"Mistress Barbara, what think ye? this fellow hath tramped through every
hole and corner of the house; he hath rent the hangings, broken the
chiny, forced open the closets, and made the place a very desolation.
And then--then he was for trapesing into my kitchen, my kitchen that I
had but just redd up, with his great muddy boots, to poke his nose into
all my places, because, forsooth, he swears I have a man hid among the
pots and pans! A man, indeed! The meddlesome fool! I warrant me 'tis
no man, but the victuals that he is in search of."
"Patience, good Phoebe, patience," laughed Barbara. "As thou sayest
ever, men are but fools and know no better."
"Humph! Mayhap they knew no better, but they know better now, I
warrant. Though it repents me that I wasted the whole of a good basin
of broth and a bag of flour i' the teaching of it."
Meanwhile Corporal Crutch, having mopped his brow, and beaten off much
of his outer covering of flour, made shift to resume his customary air
of pompous dignity.
"This woman, sir," he explained with a wave of the hand in the direction
of Phoebe, "withstood us in the doorway of her kitchen, powerfully
ammunitioned with pannikins. 'Twas, indeed, a post of some vantage,
therefore I deemed it wisdom to lead her off, as you behold, by a
feigned retreat, while the men make a flank attack, and secure the
position by entering through the window."
On hearing this Phoebe set up a howl of rage, and disappeared speedily
in the direction of the kitchen, to oust the intruders from the spot.
The sounds of battle which presently arose proved the success of the
corporal's manoeuvre.
Captain Protheroe drew the corporal aside.
"Well! You have searched?"
"Aye, sir, every nook and cranny in the place. Not a rat's hole has
escaped us. He must be hid somewhere in this room, for there's no other
place unsearched."
"'Tis very like, and I think I can put my finger on the place," answered
the captain softly.
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 which _is_ intended 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. "He _shall_ not 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.