The coach
would certainly make for the coast presently. Some delay there must be
before reaching it, and further delay before a vessel could be found to
carry the fugitives into safety. Crosby could not possibly be prepared
for what had happened, and time must be wasted in making up his mind how
to use to the best advantage the trick in the game which had fallen to
him. Galloping Hermit, the highwayman, must be cautious how he went, and
caution meant delay at every turn. He would not easily escape.
So the dawn found Lord Rosmore with aching limbs but with a clear brain,
and he looked about him, as far as he was able, wondering from which
direction help would most likely come. On the ground, at a little
distance from him, lay a heavy coat, just as Barbara had thrown it from
the coach last night, and a growling oath came from Rosmore's dry lips.
He wished with all his heart that he had delivered her into Judge
Jeffreys' hands in Dorchester. She would have been just such a delicate
morsel as the loathsome brute would have gloated over. How easily, too,
he might have had Crosby hanged in chains. He had been a fool to let
love influence him.
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