Besides, you are Martin's
guest, not mine, and--"
The door opened, and Martin entered.
"It is late, mistress. I must see you along the terrace."
"I had not thought of the time," Barbara said, rising quickly and
folding her cloak round her.
"There are certain hours in life one does not stay to count," Martin
answered, "but they burn candles, for all that. See how much these have
lessened since I lighted them."
"I am glad, Martin, that you have brought your guest to a safe place,"
said Barbara. "Good-night, Mr. Crosby. Perhaps to-morrow you will tell
me more."
The door closed, and Crosby was alone. Indeed, there was much more to
tell, but the telling was not all for him to do. What was it Barbara
Lanison had heard of him which had evidently impressed her unfavourably,
although it was perhaps against her will, and who had told her these
things? Then, too, this fiddler must be made to speak clearly, for he
must surely know a great deal.
Martin Fairley quickly returned, and closed and locked the door.
"There must be some explanation between us," said Crosby. "This lady did
not expect me."
"Are you sure of that?"
"She told me so.
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