"Barbara!"
She turned with a sharp little cry of bewilderment. The landlord,
standing at the inn doorway, had been thrust aside, and Gilbert Crosby
was beside her. He lifted her from the coach, yet even when he had set
her on the ground he did not release her.
"Gilbert, I do not understand--I thought--" and her eyes turned towards
the masked horseman.
"I know not who you really are, sir," said Crosby. "I know that you are
called 'Galloping Hermit,' I know that I am so deeply your debtor that I
can never hope to repay. At Lenfield a little while ago you saved my
life, to-day you bring me what is more than life."
"And a message," said the highwayman. "Word from a certain fiddler you
expected to find here. He will not come. It has fallen to my lot to
rescue this lady from a scoundrel, and I do not think he will attempt to
follow you. There are horses to be had from the landlord here, and in
half an hour you may be on the road for Southampton. The fiddler bids
you not to wait for him, but, on the road, to stop at a house named 'The
Spanish Galleon,' There you will find a friend who has secured your safe
departure from the country.
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