Chapter IX: Part 9

"There lies, I doubt not, the story of a hopeless love."

"But the others!" interposed Ralph sharply.

"The others!" Here Captain Protheroe laughed quickly, all the excitement returning to his face. "Ah! the old fox, how he duped us! These other letters are from no less a person than George Jeffreys, Lord Chief Justice of England."

"From Jeffreys, and to the Duke?"

"Even so. Faith! I knew the scare at the Duke's invasion was great, but I never dreamed 'twas so serious as to lead so cautious a toad as Jeffreys thus far to commit himself."

"Read!" commanded Barbara, in a maze of thought.

So Captain Protheroe again unfolded the letters and read their contents aloud, while his companions listened with breathless eagerness.

_To his Grace the Duke of Monmouth by the hand of my Secretary Stephen Jewars:_

YOUR GRACE.--Concerning the matters upon which Mr. Ferguson hath already spoken with me, I do assure your Grace that I am your Grace's most devoted servant in this affair, and I do earnestly pray that your Grace's present undertaking may meet with success. The time is well nigh ripe for the attempt. The nation hath been much discontented with the manner of the late elections, and the speech of Master Edward Seymour (of which doubtless your Grace hath heard), is the subject of conversation throughout the town, having awakened much thought in the minds of the people. His present Majesty sits but unsteadily upon the throne, and his power will be yet more greatly shaken when he hath carried out that which is in his mind. For 'tis his fixed intention to forward by all means the cause of the Papish religion so abhorrent to the people of England, and to this end he purposeth as soon as may be to seek to bring about the repeal of the Habeas Corpus and the abolition of the Test Act. It needeth but the introduction of such measures to awaken in all power the indignation of this people, and to turn their eyes at once to him who alone is at hand to save them from tyranny and oppression, your Grace's self. Therefore, your Grace, I do most humbly beseech you to delay yet a little while, this undertaking, till His Majesty shall have so deeply committed himself in defence of his religion that his person shall have become abhorred of all the people, and your Grace shall indeed be welcomed as the saviour of an unhappy nation. And to this end, I will with all diligence seek to abuse the mind of His Majesty with regard to the will of his subjects, and so urge him more speedily on his course.

I rely upon your Grace's sacred promise, to preserve this letter a secret even from your Grace's most intimate followers, for rumour is many tongued, and as you will readily conceive should a breath of suspicion light upon me, my power to assist your Grace with information of the Council Chamber will be forever destroyed.

Ever your Grace's most devoted servant,
GEORGE JEFFREYS.

"This second is dated June, written after the Duke's landing, when all London was in a ferment as to what should befall."

YOUR GRACE.--I do greatly rejoice to hear what manner of welcome hath been accorded your Grace. Only a consciousness that I may better serve your Grace in my present post holds me back from hastening to your side. But I must warn your Grace that many preparations are about to be made to withstand your progress. General Feversham will start for the West in three days, and with him all the forces collected in this neighbourhood; General Churchill hath already departed thither with the Blues. His Majesty hath further summoned home such regiments as are at present abroad in the Dutch service, but their loyalty is greatly questioned, and 'tis also feared that the militia of Devon and Somerset will at the first encounter go over to the side of your Grace.

It were wise, an it meet with your Grace's approval to strike rapidly for London, avoiding encounter with General Feversham (of whose route I will keep your Grace informed). For here be few troops and those of doubtful loyalty, and the late arrests in the City have won for your Grace many waverers.

Again relying upon your Grace's promise to keep this matter secret I remain deeply grateful to your Grace for your most generous offers, and I pray Heaven to send your Grace all success in this undertaking.

Ever your Grace's most devoted servant,
GEORGE JEFFREYS.

"So they run. Treason clear enow, is't not?"

"Pah! the traitor!" cried Ralph furiously. "And now, having himself conspired against the King, yet he goes free and sits high, judging his fellow conspirators."

"And such judgments," cried Barbara. "Such wicked, brutal judgments. Oh! 'tis unbearable."

"And yet, Mistress Barbara, methinks his lordship is himself in no very enviable position. I doubt not he would give much to know the whereabouts of these letters. And when he sits in court, and rolls out his bloody sentences, I dare swear his own head feels somewhat unsteady on his shoulders."

"That which we overheard in the inn at Taunton, was not that also part of his treachery?"

"By Heavens, yes. This explains his dealings with Ferguson. Doubtless Ferguson acted as go-between; he knew the secret and he is no man to spare his friend an he can use him. It was indeed highly important Ferguson should leave the country in safety."

"But why did not Duke Monmouth betray him?" asked Barbara.

"Because the Duke was no traitor," answered Ralph sharply.

"Possibly," answered the captain drily. "And otherwise, he had lost the proofs. Men say the Duke wrote to his Majesty, claiming to have some secret to confide in him after his arrest; is't possible he referred to this treachery of Jeffreys? But 'twould have been useless to bring such accusation without proof."

"Well, here are the proofs. Now what were best to do?" began Ralph eagerly.

"Nothing."

"Nothing! What! when you hold in your hands such perfect revenge, wouldest leave the scoundrel free to guard his neck in safety?"

"The safety of Jeffreys' neck is a matter of small importance to me compared with the safety of my own. Jeffreys is a man in power. There are, certainly, other men in power, who would give substantial consideration for the possession of this knowledge and who would joyfully work his ruin. Sunderland or my Lord Halifax, for example. There are such men, I say, but unfortunately, it is--er--far from convenient for me to appear before them at present. No, we are outlaws flying from the justice of the country, and the faster we fly, the wiser we shall be. Let us get safely to Holland, there will be time enough for revenge when our own necks are in safety."

Ralph submitted reluctantly. 'Twas natural that to him, whose own friends and followers had suffered so horribly at the hands of the lord chief justice, revenge should appear more sweet than life itself, but he recognised the truth of his companion's words, and for Barbara's sake, if for no other, consented to leave the matter in Captain Protheroe's hands.

The sun was now risen, and the clear light revealed the pallor of Barbara's face, the dark rings of weariness round her eyes. Reproaching himself for having so long forgotten her, Captain Protheroe proposed they should at once repair to the village.

Their preparations were soon completed. The captain buckled on Ralph's sword, tied the latter's hands behind him, and drawing Barbara's arm through his they marched forward.

*CHAPTER XIX*

The village of Chedzey was little more than a collection of mean cottages, the largest of which was the inn. The inhabitants were already stirring, and the wife of the innkeeper was standing at her door when the party approached.

She stared in amazement and pity at Barbara's tattered garments and weary face, and cast a scowl in the direction of the officer whom she recognized as one of the hated Tangiers regiment, lately the scourge of the countryside. To his demand for beds and breakfast she answered sulkily that he must seek further, the house could provide him nothing, and even when he sharply urged his commands, she advanced grumbling objections and refused to move from the doorway.

But upon this her husband appeared, in fear at sight of the officer, and sharply bade her hold her peace, and let the strangers enter.

"Art mad, wife?" he whispered. "Wouldest have the house burned about our ears, that thou darest to thwart one o' Kirke's officers? Stand by, and let him have his way."

"Thou wast ever a chicken-hearted fool, John," retorted the woman scornfully. "This is an honest house, and not for such wastrels as they o' the royal army. But have your way and don't blame me an you like not your customers."

"Pardon, your honour," cried the man, bowing low before the captain. "The woman's tongue runs out of all holding. Peace, jade, and get you in, or 'twill be the worse for you."

With an angry glance at her husband the woman withdrew, and the host led the way upstairs into a poorly-furnished parlour, where after some little delay breakfast was served, no very tempting meal, but welcome indeed to the famished travellers.

Judging that where most is told, least is surmised, Captain Protheroe gave mine host a detailed account of the capture of his prisoners, adding such realistic details as most appealed to his sense of fitness. His horse, he said had been shot by the rebel, hence his journeying to the village on foot, his only trooper having been despatched to Wells for fresh horses and escort.

Barbara and Ralph listened with great interest to the dramatic account of the latter's desperate struggle, with difficulty refraining from applause at the close of his picturesque statement.

But the woman's eyes filled with tears, when she learned the nature of her guests, and when later she conducted Barbara to her chamber, she hung over her with a thousand tender offices, bathing her tired feet, brushing out her tossed hair, doing all in her power to increase the comfort of the weary girl.

"Eh! my dearie, my dearie," she cried pityingly. "What will they do to thee? And so young, too, as thou art. But 'tis a black-hearted crew they are, and no denying it. My heart bleeds for thee, my beauty. Curse them! Curse them to hell, say I. Nay, my tongue runs wildly, I know, but who could help it. Look you, my pretty, I have a son, even such as thy brother yonder, but younger by some years. To the fight he would go, I could not hold him back. And I sat here all that bloody night, hearkening to the firing, dreaming that each shot bore his death. He came not back. Then I went out to search; I sought night and day among the slain, but he was not there. So I blessed Heaven, and waited his return. But he comes not, nor sends, and I know not where he lies; at times 'twould seem I can bear no more, but must e'en go seek him through the world, till I find him. Ah, my lamb! my son, my bonny son, where art thou?"

Thus she wailed, and Barbara, despite her weariness, comforted her as best she might, praying to Heaven for pity on this sorrow no earthly hand could soothe.

Presently the woman recovered, and with many apologies, rose to leave the room, yet she turned once again before she reached the door.

"My dearie, it seems not possible to aid thee, yet be sure, an I can do aught for thee, I will do it. And who can say? A chance may offer. I will watch. Now sleep, I will weary thee no more."

In order to give more realism to the story of his capture, and also to prevent their disturbance, Captain Protheroe chose to rest in the parlour, out of which both the sleeping chambers led. As luck would have it, they were the sole visitors to the inn, a little-frequented place, and were consequently left to sleep in peace throughout the day. They were full wearied, and it was not until five in the evening that Captain Protheroe roused his companions, and summoning mine host, gave orders that dinner be presently served.

The three adventurers were thoroughly refreshed by their long rest, their spirits were high, and when they assembled at the meal they were all prepared to play to the utmost advantage their several parts in the game of chance upon which they had embarked.

Therefore, while mine host prepared the table, Captain Protheroe, remembering his story, enquired most particularly whether his escort had not yet arrived, expressing great indignation when he learned that it was yet to be expected.

Barbara laughed mockingly behind mine host's fat back while this conversation was toward. Her amusement increased as the game proceeded. She longed to add dramatic touches of her own, but prudently refrained. Nevertheless, she challenged the officer mischievously with her eyes, and he, accepting the challenge, cursed the lazy trooper roundly, rated mine host, and bade him keep sharp lookout lest the escort, missing the house, ride past unheeding.

So they sat down to dinner, mocking at Fortune, jesting over the gulf which yawned at their feet.

And Fortune, in revenge for their confidence, turned her wheel.

For, as danger oft shows least when nearest to hand, scarcely had they commenced their meal when the sound of approaching horses broke upon their ears, and two minutes later after a confusion of shouts, the door was burst open, and mine host hurried into the room.

"Your honour!" he cried joyously. "All is well. Your honour's escort has arrived."

Ralph dropped his knife with a rude clatter, and half started from his seat, while a quick gasp of fear escaped from Barbara's white lips.

Captain Protheroe paused for a moment, his glass to his lips; cool soldier though he was, his hand trembled and the red wine splashed over the brim and stained his sleeve.

Then he turned on mine host with a sudden oath:

"What mean you by this intrusion, blockhead?" he thundered. "Shut the door and say your say. What is't?"

"The escort, your honour," stammered mine host. "'Twas even as your honour supposed. They had mistaken the place, and would have ridden past, had I not hailed them, saying your honour was even here. They wait in the street below."

"Let them wait, we cannot set out yet, before we have dined," retorted the captain sharply. "See the men have drink, and leave us. Shut the door behind you," he shouted as mine host left the room, "'tis most infernally cold here."

Directly the door was closed, all three sprang to the window. 'Twas even as the man had said. In the street below six mounted troopers were drawn up; but their leader was not in sight, he stood talking to mine host at the door.

"Heaven help us!" cried Ralph desperately. "What to do now, I wonder. What in heaven and earth can we do?"

Barbara was silent, her eyes fixed on Captain Protheroe's face.

He strode the room fiercely as his custom was, in thought. Then he gave a short laugh.

"So much for vainglorious boastings," he muttered. "Out of our own mouths we are betrayed. Certes, the game is against us now. We could hold the room--but that were folly. And escape is not to be thought on. Yet--Pah! what a fool! No. I see nought to be done, save wear a bold countenance, and play out the game to the end. 'Tis a wise maxim when the luck turns. And it may be the men have not yet heard----"

Again the door was opened and mine host entered once more; the joyous importance had died from his face; he looked depressed and dubious.

"Your honour!" he began nervously, "I seem, in my zeal to obey your commands, to have mistaken the matter. These men are not your honour's escort, but a party of dragoons riding from Bridgewater to Wells. Nevertheless, seeing the escort does not yet arrive, and learning your honour's difficulty, they put themselves at your honour's service. And their honourable commander craves the honour of waiting upon your honour in your honour's room."

A moment's perceptible silence, then with a curt "'Tis well, bring him here," mine host was dismissed.

The three fugitives waited in silence for the man's return. Only when the soldier's footstep sounded on the stairs, Captain Protheroe leaned forward and laid his hand on Barbara's arm.

"Do not be afraid, Mistress Barbara." he said quickly. "We will win safe through this somehow. Trust us."

And Barbara, with trembling lips, smiled bravely back at him.

"I am not afraid," she said simply.

Then mine host, with many obsequious bows, ushered in the visitor.

The officer was a big, blustering fellow, coarse of face, and rough in manner. He strode noisily into the room, and on seeing the captain burst into a boisterous laugh.

"Ha, Protheroe, my boy! Well met. The fellow below couldn't tell me your name or I warrant you I'd have been up here long before. What's all this about your escort, eh? Lost your horse, two captures, and the fool of a trooper not yet returned. Ha, ha! Protheroe, you go well to work. 'Tis good I came this way, you'd scarce fancy passing the night here, eh? We are riding to Wells and can take you on with us."

"Good!" answered the captain quickly. "But we've no hurry to start yet awhile. Sit down and drink, man, the night's young enough yet, and my men may still come. Look you, fellow,"--to mine host,--"set out more wine, and then begone and see to the men below. And harkee, don't come crashing in like a wild bull again; if we want you I will call. And if my men arrive, let them wait below. Now begone."

Then he turned to his guest.

"Come, Jonas, sit down, and drink; there's no need to start for another hour."

Captain Jonas was standing in the centre of the room, hat in hand, bowing elaborately to Barbara, and ogling her the while with his great protruding eyes.

"By Jove, Protheroe!" he drawled, "is this your capture. Zounds! What a prize. You're a hard man to keep such a beauty in limbo. Best put yourself under my protection, mistress; I'll keep you safe. I'll not swear to set you free, but at least I'll wager that pretty face shall never waste in prison."

Checking swiftly an angry movement from Ralph, Barbara curtsied with quiet dignity, and moved again to her seat at the table.

"Oh, ho! a lady, eh? Who is she, Protheroe?" asked Captain Jonas in an audible whisper.

Captain Protheroe shrugged his shoulders.

"Pah! Only a rebel. Come, drink, man, and tell Us news. Where do you hail from?"

"Bridgewater! As dead and drear a hole as ever man was quartered in. Praise be to the devil we're moving on to Wells, and in a month we'll be quit o' this cursed west country, where there is neither a pretty woman--saving your presence, madame--nor a decent bottle of wine for a man to solace himself withal. I thought you were at Taunton, Protheroe!"

"I was--till yesterday. Is there no news from your way?"

"By-the-way, Protheroe!" he exclaimed with a sudden burst of laughter, setting down his glass and slapping his knee. "How could I have forgot it! I' faith there is news, news o' the queerest, and you are the very man it concerns."

"Ah! What then?"

"A fellow came over from Taunton yesterday morning with the wildest tale. Some cock-and-bull story of your arrest, and then later of a prison-breaking, and your disappearance with some woman. But 'twas but a half-drunk trooper, and as I was over in Taunton on Monday and heard nought o' the matter, I beat the fellow as a slanderer of the King's service. 'Twas all a lie, I suppose."

Captain Protheroe glanced quickly at the speaker. Then he leaned across the table and poured out a fresh glass of wine.

"Well, no, not entirely a lie," he answered coolly. "I was arrested, a jest of the colonel's, some wager with my Lord Jeffreys. I was released in the morning, of course. The prison-breaking is true, too, 'twas the same night. But a tale grows like a mushroom in the telling. Heard any news from town?"

"What should I hear in a hole like Bridgewater?" answered Captain Jonas indignantly.

Then he turned to Barbara, at whom he had been staring with insulting openness ever since his entrance.

"I could swear I have seen your face before, madame, but I can't for the life of me recollect where. 'Tisn't a face one forgets soon, neither," he continued, ogling her afresh.

"My poor face is honoured by your recollection, sir," answered the girl coolly. "It must be some time ago that we met. Since my escape I have necessarily had little converse with the King's officers."

The man laughed loudly.

"I don't doubt it, madame. Your escape, eh? So you broke prison, did you? Was that long since?"

Barbara bit her lip in irritation at her slip.

"Some while since, sir. But few words make least mischief, so, an't please you, I'll keep my story for the crown lawyers to devise. You can hear it then, an you care to attend my trial."

"By Jove, madame, you have courage," laughed the man admiringly. "Come, what is your name?"

"That also, sir, 'tis the lawyer's business to discover," she answered calmly.

The soldier laughed once more, and turning to Captain Protheroe, he entered forthwith into a keen discussion as to the merits of the new regiments the King was then raising and the possibility of the formation of a large standing army in the country.

The three conspirators drew sighs of relief at the change of subject, and for some little time there was peace, while the new arrival chattered, drank, and ogled Barbara, and they waited with anxious hearts for the next move in the game.

Suddenly Captain Jonas broke off abruptly in the middle of a dissertation concerning the absolute demand for more careful training of cavalry, and after staring for a moment fixedly at the girl, he burst into a quick laugh.

"By Jove! I have it," he shouted. "'Twas in court at Taunton, I saw you, madame, and not later than Monday last. I saw your trial. What a fool I am! And the name, the name? What was it now? Ha, ha! madame, I'll have it in a minute, we'll not leave it to the lawyers to devise."

"Well! Lydia Philbeg, an you must have it," answered Barbara calmly.

But Captain Jonas shook his head.

"Softly, madame, it ran not so. Philbeg! No, I swear that was not the name."

"What a pother about a name," interrupted Captain Protheroe impatiently. "Leave the girl in peace, an she wishes to be unknown. Fill your glass, man, and pass the bottle. 'Tis poor stuff, but what can one expect in such a hole? Where are you quartered in Wells, eh?"

"We put up at the Green Buck. 'Tis not much of a place, but the wine is fair, and old Dame Barbara has--By Heavens! the very name. That's queer now. Barbara----Barba--Barbara Winslow or I'm a Dutchman! Your health, Mistress Barbara Winslow. Ha, ha! I knew I'd remember it soon. We toasted you after the trial, before I rode back to quarters. Lydia Philbeg, forsooth! Ha, ha! madame, I've got you now!"

"'Well, I hope to goodness you're satisfied now, Jonas," answered the Captain impatiently. "What a man you are for hunting a hare to death!"

But a sudden gravity had come over Captain Jonas.

"Barbara Winslow!" he muttered. "Zounds! Protheroe, that's queer. 'Tis the very name of the woman they said you had run off with from Taunton gaol."

Captain Protheroe set down his glass suddenly. He saw suspicion dawning in his companion's eyes. "Hang it all, Jonas! The fellow must have been a d---- an infernal fool. Mistress Winslow escaped indeed, and I was posted after her in pursuit, and caught her this morning. That's the length of the story. Why, devil take you, man, if I had run off with her, should I be here now? Not unless I was a greater fool than--than you are."

But suspicion still hardened in the soldier's eyes.

"Then did the lady escape alone?" he questioned cunningly.

"I bore Mistress Winslow company," interrupted Ralph quietly.

Captain Jonas turned to him sharply.

"You?" he asked contemptuously. "And who may you be?"

The youth drew himself up haughtily.

"I am Sir Ralph Trevellyan," he answered, eyeing the captain defiantly.

"Ralph Trevellyan. Why that's the name o' the fellow who escaped us at Burrows' Farm, four days syne. Burrows' son told me so himself, under the whip. You never saw the inside of Taunton gaol, my friend."

"Tut! man," interposed Captain Protheroe lightly. "Let them have their little romance. We can prove their identity well enow, so a lie more or less is no matter, and seems to cheer their spirits mightily. Fill your glass, and tell us the latest about the fair Arabella."

Captain Jonas darted a sharp glance at the speaker. Captain Protheroe leaned back in his chair, and met the suspicious glance with a lazy smile. But behind his nonchalant demeanour his wits worked shrewdly, and he never for an instant took his eyes from his companion's face.

There was a slight pause. Then in an altered voice Captain Jonas asked:

"Where did you take them, Protheroe?"

"Peste! What a man you are for detail. If you must have the story, I ran them to earth between four and five this morning, in hiding in Mart Mill three miles south of Bridgewater."

A strange light crept into Captain Jonas' eyes. There was dead silence for a moment before he answered in a strange voice:

"That is strange, Protheroe. I drew that cover myself this morning at four o'clock, and I'll be sworn it was empty."

Then suddenly dashing down his glass, he sprang to his feet.

"By Heavens, Protheroe!" he shouted fiercely, "I believe you've been lying to me from beginning to end."

But he got no further. Ere Captain Protheroe could snatch his sword from its sheath, Ralph was at the man's throat, burying his fingers deep in the soft flesh.

Captain Jonas was a strong man, and despite the suddenness of the attack, he fought with desperate fury. They swayed together, tottered, fell; rolling over in a wild indistinguishable mass of struggling limbs. There was no sound, save only Ralph's quick breathing and now and again a choking, inarticulate cry from Captain Jonas. Over again they rolled, and now the man's struggles were weaker. Ralph's grip had told.

"Oh! are you killing him?" whispered Barbara, watching the struggle in horror.

"No, he's not dead yet," gasped Ralph. "Out of the way, Barbara, while we finish him."

"Ah, no! You will not kill him now!" she gasped.

"There will be no need if he is quiet," answered the captain quickly. "But we must get him out of the way as soon as we can. Give me a cloth to gag him."

Quickly Barbara tore off her kerchief, and together the men gagged his mouth, and strapped his arms with his own sword-belt. They rifled his pockets of money, and took sword and pistol, for necessity knows no law.

Meanwhile Captain Protheroe devised his plan.

"We must get out of here as soon as possible," he urged, "or these cursed troopers will be down on us. And 'twere useless to slip away secretly, 'twould but arouse suspicion, and bring mine host to the search. We must play high again and carry it off by a bold show. What then? The gallant captain is drunk, he would have been so in another hour, had he been left in peace. We will put him to bed, and bid the men leave him undisturbed. Then we take three of the troopers' horses and ride off, leaving them to follow. when their officer is returned to his senses. What say you?"

"But is there no risk----" began Barbara.

"Good Heavens! madame, of course there are, a thousand risks, but we have no time to stop and count them. Once let the men discover us, and it's all over. Now to bed with this gentleman. We must wait a little to give him a reasonable time to get drunk, and then--away."

They carried Captain Jonas into one of the bed chambers, tied him securely to the bed with one of the sheets, and covering him over well, they left him, locking the door behind them.

Then they sat down to wait, their hearts leaping at every footstep, watching the light fade in the west, and listening to the distant sounds of the troopers carousing at the back of the house.

But after half an hour they could endure no more. Ralph's nerves were shaken by the struggle, for his strength was not yet returned after his wound, and Barbara was trembling from head to foot. So Captain Protheroe resolved to wait no longer, but to make their escape while they could.

Accordingly they descended the stairs, and summoning mine host, they paid their reckoning generously, telling him at the same time that the captain had gone to sleep and must in no wise be disturbed.

Mine host showed no surprise. He knew his wines, and doubtless was accustomed to the speedy overthrow of his guests. Moreover, it was not often that his house met with such patrons, and he blessed Heaven secretly for his good fortune in sending him a second officer in need of a night's shelter.

Then, with some misgivings Captain Protheroe summoned one of the troopers, and bade him bring up three of the horses. But the man was half-fuddled with drink, and only stared stupidly at the officer. So they thrust him aside and unhitched the horses themselves, and the cool, leisurely manner in which they went about the business disarmed suspicion, and none made a motion to gainsay them.

Captain Protheroe lifted Barbara into the saddle. She was perforce obliged to ride astride. He felt her tremble in his arms, but her face was calm and firm.

The woman came out of the house with a cloak and wrapped it round her.

Barbara stooped down quickly.

"The troopers!" she whispered; "keep them here. I may escape from him, but from the troopers never."

The woman patted her hand tenderly.

"Trust me, my dearie," she answered softly. "An wine can make them drunk they shan't move till morning. God keep thee safe, my dearie."

"And bring your son to you again."

"I ride to Wells," said Captain Protheroe as he mounted. "If my men arrive send them after me. Tell Captain Jonas I hope to meet him there anon. Good-even."

They clattered off into the darkness.

"Was that wise?" whispered Barbara when they had left the village behind them. "Will they not seek us in Wells?"

The captain smiled sagely.

"Truth is often expedient, Mistress Barbara, because no one believes it. Captain Jonas is one if those crafty fools who if they would ride secretly to Wells say loudly: 'I ride to Taunton,' and follow the road a mile or so before they double back, chuckling at their wisdom. I trust him to judge me by himself."

"Is not horse-stealing a capital offence?" queried Ralph cheerfully.

Captain Protheroe laughed.

"I' faith, I have committed so many capital offences during the last three days, that one more or less is of small moment. Prison-breaking, petty larceny, assault and robbery, and horse-stealing; 'tis a lively record."

"We are well out of the last danger," sighed Barbara.

"By Heavens! Yes. I thought not to get off so easily. My only plan was to make the fellow drunk, or to lead Mistress Barbara to feign illness when 'twas time to set out, and so we remain behind. But the stars are on our side, we have not only routed the enemy, but got off with their supplies and transport, into the bargain. We should be at Wells by nine o'clock."

"And what then? How shall we enter? Will not the gates be shut?"

"I think not. An they be 'tis no great matter to have them opened. They make small difficulty of letting any enter, 'tis in getting out the trouble lies."

"Aye! 'tis ever easier to go into a trap than to get out again," muttered Ralph doubtfully.

"Oh, Ralph! what words of ill omen!" cried Barbara with a shudder.

"In truth, I see not why we should go to Wells at all. Why not ride straight to the coast?" he queried, discontentedly.

"Simply because Mistress Barbara cannot lie out in any hole and corner, until we have the luck to find a vessel bound for Holland. She is not as we are," answered Captain Protheroe sharply. "In Wells she will be at least comfortably housed."

"But indeed I am strong. I can endure hardship," cried Barbara eagerly. "Think not of that. Let us to the coast an it be indeed the safer plan."

"On my honour, Mistress Barbara, I believe the boldest plan is ever the safest. I know that the coast is strictly guarded, escape in these garments would be impossible; we have 'fugitive' writ large upon us. But who would dream of seeking us in Wells? Where should we be safer than under the protecting care of my Lord Jeffreys himself?"

So they acquiesced, and galloped on rapidly through the gathering darkness. But half-a-mile from the town they halted, and dismounting, drove their horses into the fields, deeming it wiser to enter the town on foot. Half-an-hour later they were safely sheltered in an old rambling house, situated in the lower part of the towns where Mistress Fytch dwelt.

*CHAPTER XX*

Mistress Fitch was a quiet old dame who, unlike the majority of her kind, concerned herself but little with her neighbours. Her connection with the Protheroe family had imbued her with a certain show of pride, and the gossips in their turn--finding that she displayed a disposition to resent their advances, and finding, moreover, that the old lady's uneventful existence furnished no scope for their curiosity--had ceased to interest themselves in her and her affairs.

She lived in a house larger, indeed, than her needs, where one room was ever kept prepared for the occupation of her beloved Master Miles, should he chance to be in the neighbourhood. The main feature of her life indeed was a devotion to her foster-son; nothing he could do ever came amiss to her, and she had the most absolute confidence in his judgments.

Accordingly, when he and his companions arrived late one night, and abruptly informed the old lady that they must take up their abode with her for a while, it required only a word or two of explanation of the circumstances of their position to satisfy the old lady, and to cause her to set about her preparations for their accommodation.

They found but little difficulty in concealing their presence in the house. Lest an arrival had been noted, Mistress Fytch was instructed, if questioned, to speak of a visit from her nephew and niece from Taunton; but their entry into the house had been at a late hour, when the neighbours had already retired to rest, and as a matter of fact none had marked them.

They dared not venture forth save after nightfall and then with extreme caution, but, although at times the hours hung somewhat heavily on their hands, the rest and the peaceful atmosphere of the house were very welcome after the turmoil of the past week.

Barbara soon found full occupation for her time. With intent to relieve Mistress Fytch, she took into her own hands the greater part of the housework, and busied herself about parlour and kitchen with all the delight of a child engaged in a new amusement. She had certainly slight knowledge of the art of cookery, but it was never her nature to anticipate difficulties, and she applied herself to her new tasks with the same grave resolution, the same hopeful self-confidence that she was ever wont to bring to bear upon all her undertakings.

Some of her experiments certainly horrified poor Mistress Fytch, but the old lady speedily grew to love the girl, despite her whimsies, and despairing of controlling so determined an assistant, she let her have her way.

But Barbara had also another task to her hand. For Ralph, his strength exhausted by exposure and starvation, was laid low with a fever, and for two days lay delirious, dependent on her care. She nursed him with unwearying tenderness, though the duty was no light one, and she shrank in dread at his raving, which wrung her heart sorely. For ever his talk was of Barbara, Barbara his perfect woman, Barbara whom he worshipped with his heart and soul. And as she listened to his words, and learned the story of his years-long devotion, her heart grew heavy with pity and she redoubled her tenderness towards him, crying to herself that she was cruel, cruel, to have nought to give him in return.

Even when the delirium passed, and he was on the speedy road to recovery, her self-reproach, her gratitude, led her in cruel kindness still to continue her tender ministrations, and as he watched her waiting upon him, hovering over him, ever watchful to supply his wants, it seemed to him that Mistress Fytch's simple rooms were changed to a veritable paradise, and those few short days passed like a glimpse of heaven.

But for Miles Protheroe life during those days was alternate heaven and hell.

For howsoever rapturously a man may love a woman, regarding constantly her courage, her beauty or even her disdain, yet is his love made more devout when he may watch her, moving simple, gracious, sweet, about her household work. Then first is revealed to him the full influence of her nature. No haughty queen, no unapproachable goddess she, but the bright light of a man's life, the very homemaker, glorifying by the beauty of her gracious presence the humblest tasks.

Captain Protheroe thus day by day grew to love Barbara more, but with the growth of his love his despair increased at sight of her devotion to Sir Ralph.

As she listened perforce to the sick man's ravings, he would steal from the room with despairing heart and maddened thought, that another could pour out to her so freely the words which he might not speak.

So the days passed, until preparation for their escape from the country could be perfected. Captain Protheroe had not been idle in searching for news of a vessel bound for Holland. There was a certain old shipmaster, John Quelch, whom he had known since boyhood, and to him he resolved to turn for help, for Master Quelch, he knew well, was a frequent visitor to Wells, where his sister kept an inn. Accordingly at the inn he ventured secretly to seek news of him, and there, luck being with him, he discovered the man himself, and confided to him his difficulties. Master Quelch owed something to the captain's kindness in former days, and having readily promised his help, two days later brought the welcome news that his brother's vessel, the _Roaring George_, was shortly to sail from Listoke and the skipper would take them on board. He further suggested that they journey to the coast as his companions, and thus there would be less danger of interruption on their way, since such journeys of seamen and their relatives were frequent betwixt Wells and the sea, and he was a man well known upon the road.

The fugitives accepted the offer right willingly, and this matter being arranged, time again hung heavily on Captain Protheroe's hands until the day arrived for departure. It was easy for Barbara to wait, busy with her many duties; it was easy for Ralph, still weak from his fever; but he had nought to do save sit hour-long watching Barbara at her work, and wondering wherein exactly lay the magic of her charm. All her ways fascinated him, and he could not keep his eyes from following her every movement.

This persistent watch upon her doings for a time annoyed and embarrassed Barbara. She felt sadly conscious of a want of habitude in her work, and feared lest a critical brain lurked behind his observant glance. She endeavoured to appear perfectly confident even with the results of her cookery, but 'twas at times a trying effort. Yet, finding no comments were offered, and her failures passed unnoticed, she grew emboldened to meet him glance for glance, and what she read in his eyes was so unmistakable that it brought the blush to her cheek, and the mischievous smile to her lips, and, for women are at best but mortal, sent her about her work with added daintiness and allurement.

But at length he could no longer satisfy himself with watching in silence; the force of his love, hopeless though he feared it to be, overpowered his prudence; he could not restrain his tongue.

Barbara was in the kitchen, concerned with the making of a pasty. She was alone, nor aware of his presence in the next room, and as she worked she sang a plaintive little song concerning the mystery of love. Thus it ran:

"Oh! what is love? Some say it is but sorrow,
Passion unholden, joy a three-part pain.
Here for to-day but gone for aye to-morrow,
Leaving behind a memory and a stain,
If this be so, my heart it shall not move.
Let me not love. Let me not love.

"Oh! what is love? Some say 'tis but a dreaming
Born in the Spring-time of a single sigh.
Blazing in glory, earth an Eden seeming,
Dying of passion as the roses die.
If this be so, if love a vision prove,
Let me not love. Let me not love.

"Oh! what is love? A worship all undying.
Faith looks to faith, and heart to heart has fled.
Faith is fulfilled, no more the soul goes sighing.
Love is for aye, and time itself is dead.
If this be so, if earth a heaven may prove.
Ah! give me love. Ah! give me love."

Scarcely was the song ended when Captain Protheroe strode abruptly into the room, and crossing to her side seized her almost roughly by the arm.

"Mistress Barbara," he asked hoarsely, "know you aught of what you sing?"

She paused, silent, wondering at his tone.

"Ah! Mistress Barbara," he continued more gently; "would it were mine to teach you the meaning of your words."

But, though she dearly loved to read that look upon his face, yet at his words a spirit of mischief possessed her; and, maiden-like, loving him she loved to show him cruelty that she might hereafter prove the kinder in atonement. So drawing from him she turned to place her pasty in the oven, at the same time asking mischievously:

"What! Wouldest teach me that love is sorrow, sir?"

He smiled at her and shook his head.

"Nay, that was not all your song, Mistress Barbara."

"A worship all undying," she repeated softly. Then she turned to him demurely.

"Captain Protheroe, how long is't since you saw the lady of whom you spake to me in the forest, she who was once your queen?"

He started back angrily.

"Mistress Barbara! Who hath been spreading scandalous stories concerning me?" he cried in a fury of indignation.

She stared at him in amazement.

"Nay, sir, none that I know on," she faltered.

"Then what----"

"I did but wonder how long a man's 'worship undying' lives," she answered mischievously.

He eyed her keenly for a moment, then he laughed.

"Sure a man can scarce be writ down inconstant because he remain not true to his childhood's love."

"Yet some men have proved themselves so constant," she murmured softly.

"That should be easy, madame, to one who hath known you all his life," he answered quickly, disarming her by his gallantry. Then he continued: "'Twould indeed go hard with me, must I forfeit all other loves for that one, seeing the lady hath been wed for more than ten years."

"She is wed! Ah!" Then she looked at him curiously. "You loved her once?" she asked gently.

"Love!" he cried quickly. "What should a boy of eighteen know of love? Oh! he may dream he loves, but he knows nought of life; to him all women are angels. But when a man loves, a man who knows his world, who hath seen both what is good and evil in woman, who hath outgrown his illusions; when he loves---- Ah! madame, what must a man feel, who, having learned to detect the flaw in every gem, yet finds one perfect pearl; who, having come to fear that purity in woman is but a dream of youth, yet meets one to restore to him his hope. Ah! truly, a boy may love a perfect woman, but a man must worship her with all his soul."

There was silence between them. Presently he continued more lightly.

"That, Mistress Barbara, is a man's love; what do you know of a woman's?"

"A woman's love!" she began dreamily. Then on a sudden she sprang to her feet with a sudden cry.

"Oh! my pasty, my pasty! I had altogether forgot it."

She flew to open the oven-door, but alas! it was too late, the pasty was a cindered crust. She drew it out and laid it on the table, then turned to Captain Protheroe with a look of deep reproach. To her indignation he was laughing heartily at the disaster.

"Oh! 'tis too bad!" she cried indignantly. "'Twas you who made me forget it."

"'Pon my honour, Mistress Barbara, I am very sorry," he answered penitently; "is't indeed ruined. Could we not scrape it or--or in some other means----"

"No," she answered in melancholy tone; "'tis useless. I must e'en set to work upon another."

"But I may stay and talk to you?" he pleaded.

"Certes, no," she cried sharply; "'twould but cause me to forget again. Prithee, leave me alone, I do better so. Indeed I will not have you here. Go!"

She frowned angrily, and he fled from her in despair, nor marked the blank look of disappointment on her face when he obeyed her, nor the sigh with which she turned again to work. For man will never understand that he was not born to obey woman, and that woman, true to nature, does not require obedience at his hands.

'Twas that same evening. Ralph was rapidly recovering health and spirits, and the three were seated together in his room, chatting merrily.

Presently Mistress Fytch climbed the stair, and entered the room, her face beaming with pleasure.

"Mistress Barbara, my dearie," she began. "There is a pedlar below."

"A pedlar!" cried Barbara, springing up with an alacrity that drew a laugh from both her companions; "a pedlar!"

"Aye, dearie. 'Twas Master Miles here bid me find one, saying you had need of matters for your journey. This fellow hath but just come to town, and they tell me he hath some rare stuffs to show, so I e'en bade him bring them here to-night."

"Oh! Nannie, how good, how--how heavenly of you," cried Barbara with shining eyes. "I will go to him on the instant, I will buy of his best, I will. Oh! how I have grown to hate the very sight of this gown! To think that I need no longer wear it!"

She clapped her hands in sheer delight.

"Don't buy the whole pack, Barbara," cried Ralph cheerily as she hurried away; "or we must charter a special vessel to carry your wardrobe to Holland!"

"You grow well too fast, Ralph," was the laughing reply. "I must needs put you on bread and water an you wax too impertinent."

She shut the door behind her, and tripped down the stairs humming a merry tune, all a woman's inexplicable joy of purchase dancing in her eyes. The visitor was in the parlour, into which opened alike the door of the staircase and the door of the street. He was standing with his back towards her, busily unstrapping his pack, but turned upon her entrance.

On a sudden her cheeks grew white as her kerchief, and her eyes filled with fear. It was none other than Simon!--For a moment she hoped wildly that he might not recognise her or, even recognising her, might not be aware of her arrest and trial, but the hope was destined soon to fade. For an instant the man stared at her in amazement, then a quick gleam of satisfaction flashed across his face, and he broke into a low chuckle.

"Mistress Barbara Winslow!" he cried with an ugly grin at the trembling girl. "I come from Taunton, Mistress Winslow, from Taunton, where there be those who mightily desire your presence. There's an empty cell in Taunton gaol for your ladyship, there's an idle whipping-post awaiting you there, Mistress Barbara Winslow!"

Again he chuckled and rubbed his hands with malicious glee.

Barbara's first impulse was to cry for help, and so bring down the two men from above stairs to her aid. But with an effort she controlled herself, for she perceived on the instant what must be the result. The pedlar was but a step from the street door; at her first alarm he would make his escape, and returning speedily with the guard, would secure not herself alone, but her friends. Her wit seemed to desert her now, in her greatest need; she could devise no plan of escape to insure the safety of the three. As yet the others might be safe, the man knew nothing of their presence in the house. Was it not better, braver, to go with him at once, surrender herself, since clearly Heaven willed not her escape, and so shield her companions from the danger that threatened them? For had Captain Protheroe rescued her from prison (she gave poor Rob little credit for his share) only that she should, by cowardice, betray him now? And Ralph! Had she saved him from death in the forest, only to insure for him a death a thousand times more horrible? Ralph, so weak, so lightly despairing, who loved her so truly. Yes, she might still save these two who had done so much for her. She would not shrink from the sacrifice.

Her mind was made up.

"God wills it," she said. "You have found me. I will go with you."

"That is wisdom, mistress," grinned the man. "'Tis not here as at Durford." Quickly he put up again his pack, and shouldering it, laid his hand upon her arm.

Firm and unflinching Barbara followed him to the door. Simon laid his hand upon the latch, another moment and they would have been in the street. Suddenly he paused. He turned his head to listen, and a smile of low cunning crept slowly into his eyes. For they heard the opening of a door, and a man's cheery whistle sounded in the room above. Barbara gave a quick gasp of terror, she felt the pedlar's eyes were fixed upon her face.

"Quick, quick," she cried losing her wits in her excitement; "let us be off. Someone is coming."

"Aye," said the man slowly; "someone is coming. And there are two rewards to be won in Taunton."

He released her arm, and still with his hand upon the latch, turned to confront the newcomer.

Barbara could do no more. With a sigh of desperation she sank into a chair and covered her face with her hands.

The door opened and Captain Protheroe appeared.

For a moment the two men stood staring at each other, then the truth flashed to the brain of the soldier and he made a spring forward to secure the pedlar. But the man was too quick for him; he darted through the already opened door, into the street, slamming the door behind him.

Captain Protheroe was about to follow, but recognising the hopeless folly of such action, he stopped, and having fastened the door turned to where Barbara sat, white and trembling.

"The fellow knew you?" he asked sharply.

"Yes, he was about to take me to the guardhouse," she answered, trembling.

"Good Heavens! why didn't you cry for help? We might have seized him perchance."

"I--I feared, an I did so, he would discover that you and Ralph were here," she stammered. "'Twould have undone all three. And Ralph----"

"You would have gone without a word?"

Barbara hesitated.

"I--I could not bear that Ralph should be taken," she muttered, shy even then, of confessing her fear for his capture too.

He looked down at her for a moment with deep pain in his eyes:

"I see," he said gently; "I--I understand."

She knew that he did not understand but she could not tell him so, and indeed he gave her no time. In an instant he was alert, ready for action.

"No time to lose, Mistress Barbara," he said cheerily. "We must be out of this directly. I'll give your friend a quarter of an hour to tell his tale and return with the guard."

"But how! Where?" she cried desperately. "Ralph can't travel yet."