So he kissed the beautiful fair
hair and waited for Barbara to look up, that he might read her heart
through her eyes and kiss her lips.
Barbara did not look up. Almost unasked she had crept into the arms that
opened to her, quickly and without question. From the first moment she
had seen Gilbert he had been more to her than any other man, and, if she
had not dared to admit it even to herself, she knew she loved him. Had
she not come to the West to save him? Had she not been ready to
sacrifice herself for him? She, too, had placed no trust in Lord
Rosmore, yet the unexpected had happened. He had brought Gilbert Crosby
to her. They were to escape together. She and Galloping Hermit, the
notorious wearer of the brown mask, were to go together! He was a man, a
true man, she had said it, she meant it, but--Ah, strive to forget them
as she would, Rosmore's words had left a sting behind them. For all he
was a man, he was a highwayman, and she was Barbara Lanison, of
Aylingford Abbey! She did not look up as she gently disengaged herself
from his arms.
"Tell me everything," she said quietly. "We have only an hour. I heard
him tell you so when you came in.
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