She leaned forward to listen. Yes, he was on the road behind
her, she could hear the steady canter of his horse; why did he not ride
where she could see him? He must know that she would want him close
beside her. Did he know it? He wore the brown mask to-night, and, oh,
the difference it made! With that silken disguise, and with his coat
close fastened at the throat, she would never have recognised him in the
moonlight had she not known who he was. Involuntarily she shuddered a
little at the thought that he was indeed two men, so distinct that even
she, had she not known, would have failed to see her lover in the wearer
of the brown mask. Why did he not come to the window, come as himself,
without that hideous disguise which distressed her and brought so many
horrible fancies and fears into her mind? Should she call to him? She
was much tempted to do so, but surely he knew what was best for her
to-night. There might be other enemies upon the road, she was safer
perhaps in the charge of the brown mask than she would have been had he
ridden beside her as Gilbert Crosby.
The coach rolled steadily on through the night, now in the shadow of
dark woods, now across a stretch of common land where the misty
moonlight seemed to turn the landscape into a dream world, silent and
empty save for the sound of the grinding wheels and the steady beating
of the horses' hoofs.
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