Why she should so love and so
hate she could not have explained fully, but the love and hate were
facts, and she made no attempt to reason about them.
She heard Martin's voice at intervals, complaining, garrulous, and then
suddenly jesting, jests not meant for her ears, but fitted to the rough
company in the midst of which he rode. Poor Martin, she thought, Mad
Martin. This might make him mad indeed, drive from him entirely that
strange wit he had and which he used so wonderfully at times. He had
been her playfellow, and her teacher, too, in many things, yet he was
one of God's fools. There was compensation in that surely.
Barbara winced presently when Martin's voice was raised in higher
complaint.
"What are you trying to do, you fool?" cried a gruff voice.
"I want to see that my mistress is happy. She would like me to ride
beside her window; and I will, too."
It was probably at this moment that Gilbert Crosby caught sight of the
cavalcade, and thought the prisoner was being vilely ill-used. Well
might he think so, for Martin attempted to force his way through the
troopers and get to the window.
"She's used to me," he literally screamed.
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