Why had he done so? Who was he? Such
questions brought another in their train. Why had the voice of the
highwayman with the brown mask seemed familiar? She tried to remember
the exact figure of the man who had come to her rescue at Newgate, her
fair brow frowning a little with the endeavour, but only the look in his
eyes and the sound of his voice remained. Somehow the highwayman's voice
had seemed unnatural.
The opening and closing of a door startled her, and she turned quickly
to see her uncle crossing the terrace.
"It is surprising to find you alone in these days, Barbara. London has
worked marvels, and it would seem that you have become a reigning toast,
Such is the news that has filtered down to Aylingford."
"That may be my misfortune; it is certainly none of my choice," was her
answer.
"And she has grown as quick at repartee as the best of them," laughed
Sir John, touching her shoulder lightly with approval. His laugh was a
pleasant one, his face kindly, his pose rather graceful, in spite of the
fact that his increasing bulk gave him anxiety. Report declared that his
youth had had wild passages, that one episode in his career had led to a
duel in which Sir John had killed his man, and it was whispered at the
time that justice and honour had gone down before the better
swordsmanship of a libertine.
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