Barbara hardly knew whether
he were her friend or foe. Sir Philip Branksome had left Aylingford full
of the doughty deeds which were to be done by him, but it was whispered
that he was still in London, talking loudly in coffee-house and tavern.
Judge Marriott had hurried back to town, thirsting to take a part in
punishing these rebels, but before he went he had made opportunity to
whisper to Barbara: "Should there be a rebel who has a claim on your
sympathy, Mistress Lanison, though he be as black as the devil's dam,
yet he shall go free if you come and look at me to plead for him. Gad!
for the sake of your pretty eyes, I would not injure him though the King
himself stood at my elbow to insist." Barbara could do no less than
thank him, and felt that he was capable of perjuring himself to any
extent to realise his own ends, and wondered if there were any
circumstances which could bring her to plead for mercy to Judge
Marriott.
Mad Martin had gone, too, with his fiddle under his arm. "Folks will
marry for all there is fighting in the West," he had said, "and my
fiddle and I must be there to play for them." He had said no more about
Gilbert Crosby, had probably forgotten by this time that she had ever
mentioned the name with interest.
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