She had thrust out her arm to keep him behind her, when the big door at
the end of the hall opening on to the terrace was flung open, and on the
threshold stood a tall figure, dark and distinct against the moonlit
world beyond. His garments were of nondescript fashion, but his pose was
not without grace. Under one arm he carried a fiddle, and the bow was in
his hand. He raised it and waved it in a sort of benediction.
"Give you greeting, ladies and gentlemen--and news besides. Monmouth has
landed at Lyme, and all the West Country is aflame with rebellion."
CHAPTER VI
MAD MARTIN
The sudden interruption served to relax the tension in the hall. There
was the quick shuffling of feet, as though these men and women had
suddenly been released from some power which had struck them motionless,
and eager faces were turned towards the doorway. Barbara did not move.
Her eyes were still fixed on Lord Rosmore's face, her arm was still
outstretched to prevent a renewal of the fight.
The man stood in the doorway for a moment with his bow raised, pleased,
it seemed, with the sensation he had caused. He had spoken in rather a
high-pitched voice, almost as if his words were set to a monotonous
chant or had a poetic measure in them.
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