This was his hour, and if he had any fear or regret, there
were no eyes keen enough to note the fact.
Tyburn and its fatal tree were in sight across a surging crowd. Even at
the last moment the King might intervene, it was whispered, and there
were some who looked for signs of a swift-coming messenger. But the cart
came nearer, slowly and surely; the space round the gallows was kept
clear with difficulty, and there was no sign of hurrying reprieve.
This was the end of the game. Now was the great test of courage. He was
too great a man to indulge in small things to prove it.
"I've been used to riding in the night; a morning ride tires one," he
said carelessly. "Let's get it over, or I shall be getting hungry, as
all these folks must be. There's a good pair of boots for anyone who has
the courage to wear them. I'm ready. Make an end of it."
And the landlady at the "Punch-Bowl" that night drank to his memory,
declaring that he had died game, as was fitting for a gentleman of the
road.
CHAPTER II
BARBARA LANISON
As the coach rolled heavily homewards towards St. James's Square, Lady
Bolsover speedily recovered from her anxiety concerning her niece; she
did not even reprimand her for getting lost in the crowd, and seemed to
take no interest whatever in the gentleman who had come to the rescue
and had not waited to be thanked.
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