And then she tried to find
excuses for that past, some reason that could justify the life he had
chosen. Some very definite reason there must have been. The artificial
glamour of the life would not attract such a man as Gilbert Crosby. He
must have imagined that justice was on his side, that there was some
wrong to right, to make him defy all the laws of life and property and
become a menace and a terror to his fellows.
Stories concerning Galloping Hermit had already passed into legend. His
greatest exploits always seemed to be against those who were cruel in
their dealings with others, who were unjust, or those whose lives were
notoriously bad; and there were many tales of courtesy, of
consideration, of help, which were totally out of keeping with the
ordinary career of a highwayman. Barbara remembered his treatment of
Judge Marriott, remembered what he had said. He was, the world said it,
quite apart from all other highwaymen; nevertheless, there was a price
upon his head, and the shadow of Tyburn lay dark across his path. And
yet he was Gilbert Crosby, the man she loved, the man who was blessed
and nightly prayed for in many a humble home in this West Country.
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