"Coward!" said Harriet Payne from the window as the coach was turned.
"Coward!"
Barbara said nothing.
"Please let me ride by the other window," pleaded Martin. "This wench
has no music in her soul, and does not like me."
"You shall ride behind," was the answer.
"Thank you, sir; I shall not see her then. She is not beautiful to look
at."
The man laughed.
"Look to this fool, some of you, and give him a cuff if he grows
sleepy."
"Sleepy! Never in good company," said Martin.
The post-boy whipped up the horses, and the carriage went slowly back
towards the main road, surrounded by its escort.
Barbara was still bound for Dorchester, but a prisoner. Would she now be
able to get speech with Judge Marriott?
CHAPTER XIX
THE HUT IN THE WOOD
The grinding of wheels, the sharp stroke of horses' hoofs, and the
voices of men lessened and died into silence. No sound disturbed the
narrow, winding lane which twisted its way now between neglected and
forlorn looking fields, presently through woods of larch and pine, again
across some deserted piece of common land. One might have followed the
lane for hours without meeting a soul, without hearing a human sound
beyond the echoes of one's own footsteps sent back from the depth of a
copse.
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