Part 15

"Then we throw in our lots together?" he asked, smiling down on her.

"Indeed, sir, I see not what else remains for me," she answered simply, committing herself to his protection with an implicit faith.

Under his breath he prayed Heaven he might be the means of saving her.

The streets were very silent, they passed on unheeded, avoiding the watch by careful detours. Of their former pursuers they heard nothing; and, indeed, these latter had given up the chase in despair.

As for Robert, with the quick wit of one well versed in such adventures, experience culled from many encounters with the watch, when his two companions set off down the alley he had scrambled without more ado through the very window whence the alarm was first given, and biding there quietly till the pursuit had passed, he escaped thence as silently as he had entered, and made the best speed he could back home.

So none hindered the fugitives in their progress, and they hurried on, with hope ever dawning more brightly before them.

Suddenly a man reeled out of a cross-street, and ran straight into Barbara's arms. He started back with a drunken curse, stared stupidly down at her, and then passed on.

But when he had gone a few paces he paused irresolutely, looked back over his shoulder, and then turning, ran unsteadily after them and seized the girl's arm.

"Mistress," he said in a hoarse whisper, "I saw thee in court to-day."

Barbara gave a cry of horror and shrank back, Captain Protheroe clenched his fists, and glanced cautiously up and down the quiet street.

But the man laughed drunkenly.

"Bah!" he cried, "I'll not betray you, my beauty. 'Tis too pretty a face to lie hid in prison, and kissing, not scourging, were meeter for thee. Aye, and so I'd tell my Lord Jeffreys himself. I'll not betray thee. But get you from the town. Taunton streets are not for you. That bonny face is not soon forgotten, my angel."

Captain Protheroe scowled. His fingers itched to be at the man's throat, for though the warning was kindly, the tone was insolent, and the fellow leered at the girl with his bleared eyes. But a disturbance was not to be risked. With a curt nod, and a gently murmured word of thanks from Barbara, they hurried on, leaving the belated traveller leaning up against a wall chuckling over their hasty retreat.

But their progress was doomed, nevertheless, to meet with yet another check that night.

They had turned into a quiet street, on the outskirts of the town, when they were aware of three men coming towards them, carrying amongst them a ladder. Captain Protheroe drew Barbara into the shade of a doorway, and they waited for the party to pass. They stopped, however, before a small house, and laid their burden on the ground; then lighting a small lantern they stooped over the bundle on the ladder, and busied themselves over it for some minutes with muttered curses and ejaculations. There was a silence and a mystery about their proceedings that excited the captain's curiosity, and he craned forward eagerly to watch them.

Presently they rose and rearing the ladder against the house, held it there, while the leader of the three, an old man, small and hunchbacked, clambered up and entered the half-opened casement of a chamber in the upper story. He disappeared for a moment into the room, then returning to the window, proceeded to haul up the bundle by a rope to which it had been fastened.

With a sudden quick movement Captain Protheroe put his hand across Barbara's eyes, that she might not watch them, for he recognised in a moment the thing they were hauling up so eagerly, he understood too well the meaning of that dangling shadow on the wall. A hanged man was a common enough sight in those days, but what meant these silent men, with that helpless body here?

The man in the chamber hauled up the corpse, until the helpless, drooping head was on a level with the window ledge. He secured it there, descended the ladder, and stepped into the middle of the road chuckling and rubbing his hands, to see the effect of his handiwork.

His accomplices stared at him curiously.

"Well, master," growled one, "there he hangs for sure, and we're well paid for the job. But what a murrain a man wants wi' a hanged corpse dangling outside his chamber, is more than my wits can tell."

The hunchback turned slowly and faced the speaker, and his face was as the face of a madman.

"Harkee, my man," he said grimly. "The wench sleeping in yonder chamber is my niece, was my niece, for she's none o' mine now. She was a devil with her whims and tantrums, but for all that, she should have wedded my son, for she hath a pretty fortune of her own. But she would none of him, calling him 'fool' and 'dotard' because, forsooth, he is not so quick in his wits as some. And he my son. But I kept her close, and she should have gone my way in time, when Monmouth's army came to town, and with him this cursed fellow. They met, I scarce knew how, and she drew him on with her devil's eyes. But I kept her close, so I deemed, till at length I learned the fellow had been in secret night after night to visit the girl, thus, by her chamber window. Then we waited for him, I and my son, and fell on him in her room. But he worsted us, two to one though we were, and my son a giant in strength; and he slew my son. He slew my son, and she laughed when she saw him lying dead before her. And he my son. Her lover fled by the window, and I saw him no more. After the battle I sought him high and low until I found him. I brought him to his trial, and saw him hanged for a rogue. But she has heard nought of him as yet. Presently will we rouse her, and see how now she greets this lover of hers."

The man told his story in a cold, even tone, and at the end broke into a sudden savage chuckle; the light from the lantern illumined his face, and his companions shuddered at the sheer brutality of its expression.

But the two eavesdroppers who had heard the story, horror-struck, could endure no more, indeed, Barbara was trembling from head to foot. With one accord they crept from the doorway, fortunately unobserved by the three men, who stood so intently contemplating the horrible spectacle before them, and passed rapidly from the spot, horrified by the experience, and ever pursued by a wild unreasoning terror lest the sleeping girl should wake and come to the window, lest they should hear the greeting she gave her lover's corpse.

And so at length they left the town behind them, and reached the quiet country beyond.

The night lay dark and silent around them. The pure fresh wind blew on their faces, bearing the sweet scent of the woods upon its wings; the trees and hedges shadowed darkly above them, whispering soft answers to the wooing breeze. The air was full of the sweet mysterious noises of the night, when nature murmurs, in those voices which know neither sound nor language, yet speak so clearly to the listening heart.

The wide arch of the clear heavens stretched above them, spreading before their gaze the infinite glories of their star-lit space, teaching alike the infinite littleness and the infinite greatness of man; since though he comprehend so little of what lies around him, yet hath he in his being the breath of that spirit who "or ever the earth and the world was made, is God from everlasting, and shalt be, world without end."

The joy of freedom coursed through their veins, a great peace enfolded their hearts, and the Spirit of God rested upon them as they walked on in silence, side by side, into the darkness of the night.

At length, when they had walked three miles or more, Captain Protheroe stopped and stooping down carefully scanned his companion's face.

"We will go no further now," was the result of his scrutiny. "I fear me we must dispense with a roof for to-night at least. Can you endure a night in the open, think you?" he queried doubtfully.

Barbara smiled, stretching her arms out towards the sky.

"Indeed I can. Three nights in prison have wrought such effect upon me, I could wish never to behold a roof again."

"Good! then follow me. I know of a hiding-place that should shelter us safely for many a day."

He turned abruptly from the road, and helping her through the bordering hedge, struck across several rough fields, until a dark shadow of a wood loomed before them, and in a few minutes more they were enveloped in the blackness of its depths.

"Give me your hand," he said, drawing her nearer to him. "The paths are difficult to follow."

Indeed she could distinguish nothing in the intense darkness, but he walked on unerringly, leading her along a maze of narrow paths, bordered by thick brushwood, and a tangle of undergrowth.

"I played here as a lad," he said in explanation of his ready pilotage. "There is no better way to learn the lie of a country than to roam it as a boy. I verily believe I could go every step of the way with my eyes shut."

Presently he stopped, and turning, looked at her doubtfully.

"We should leave the path here, madame, but I fear 'tis a difficult passage, and scarce fit for you to traverse. Think you----"

Barbara laughed.

"Fear nothing for me. Be sure, sir, a woman can go through most things if she ardently desire to come out at the further end."

So they turned from the path, and plunged into the tangle of brushwood. Despite her boast, Barbara found the difficulties of the way far greater than she had expected, for the darkness was so deep she could distinguish little of what lay around her, and the briars and thorns caught her skirts at every step. Captain Protheroe went before to part the branches for her, where it was possible, or to help her to scramble over the tangle of bushes that barred their way. In spite of her fatigue the girl's spirits had quite recovered their customary buoyancy, and as they struggled forward, she climbing and scrambling, he pulling her on, she shook with laughter.

At length, after ten minutes' tedious struggle, their way was barred by a network of branches and creepers so tightly enlaced that the barricade was clearly not due to nature alone. Captain Protheroe after a few paces to the left, paused, and pushing aside a branch which yielded to his efforts with but slight resistance, he stepped through the opening, and their journey was at an end.

Barbara found herself in a small clearing, a sloping hollow in the ground, enclosed by a ring of trees and a network of branches. The ground was thickly carpeted with moss, she felt the spring of it beneath her feet; the faint sound of running water announced the near neighbourhood of a spring; far overhead, through the thick interlacing leaves she could see the stars.

"This is our camp," said Captain Protheroe, glancing round with a proprietary air of old acquaintanceship. "'Twill be nigh twenty years since my cousins and I first made it. We were Oxenham's men then, an I remember rightly," he continued with a smile, "fighting against the Spaniards in the Neck of Panama. My father had read us the history, and we built our camp according to the fashion therein described. By the look of it, one would say that none had been here since. The forest stretches far, and 'tis an unfrequented place. 'Twill shelter us well for to-night at least, and then we can lay our plans. And now, madame, you must rest."

He turned to one corner of the clearing, where the moss grew thick and soft, and pulling down some branches, together with long fronds of bracken, he built a rough bower to shelter her from the cool breeze, and give her at least a thought of privacy. Then he spread his cloak upon the ground, and rolled the wide cape over a pile of leaves and grass to form a rough pillow.

He eyed his handiwork with an air of dissatisfaction.

"'Tis a poor place," he muttered; "but I can do no more to-night."

Barbara crossed to his side; she looked up at him with a sudden smile, but her eyes were soft and dark with unshed tears.

"For this, for a thousand kindnesses, Captain Protheroe, I must remain forever in your debt."

She held out her hand; he stooped low before her, and pressed it to his lips.

"Madame, I am amply rewarded."

So he answered her, and had she met the look in his eyes she had known that his words were true.

Long after Barbara's tired eyes had closed in sleep, Captain Protheroe lay silent, motionless, lost in thought.

Twelve hours ago he had held rank in the royal army, rich in wealth, in power, in all the prosperity and happiness of a favoured officer. Now he was an outcast from his profession, an exile from his home, a rebel over whose head hung the penalty of death.

Yet he did not blame his fate. For there, beside him, an outlaw as he, helpless save for his protection, was the one woman in the world who throughout his life had awakened the worship of his nature, and though the star of his fortunes hung low and dim on the horizon, yet before him, in the darkness gleamed the rising star of love.

Yes, he was amply repaid.

So these two rested peacefully in the shade of the sheltering leaves, while behind them in Taunton, Prudence and Robert tossed sleepless, in a consternation of wonder and doubt, and Cicely, to whom Prue had confided the whole story, prayed desperately the night through in an agony of newly awakened hope.

*CHAPTER XVII*

Barbara opened her eyes wonderingly and gazed upwards into a maze of soft shimmering green. She had slept long and soundly on her improvised couch, and some moments passed ere she could collect her thoughts, and solve the mystery of her surroundings. But gradually the events of the previous night took shape from the mist of dreams that clouded her brain, and she awoke to the new day. With a prayer of thankfulness for her safety she sprang from her couch, and stepped out of her bower into the wider enclosure beyond.

But there she paused, with a quick gasp of wonder and delight at the scene which met her eyes.

She was alone in a strange, green world. The ground was carpeted with thick, springy moss. The walls were of green leafy bushes, and intertwining branches festooned with trails of creepers hanging from tree to tree. Far overhead the giants of the forest greeted each other in a close embrace, each tree trunk arching high to meet its neighbour, and all veiled in the delicate shimmer of the ever-moving leaves. Here and there a shaft of green light pierced through the branches and lit up to a brilliant sparkle the emerald dewdrops which lay thickly encrusted on the moss.

"Sure it must be even thus under the sea," murmured Barbara, "except that there, men say, is ever silence, and here is ever sound."

She paused again to hearken with wondering delight to the thousand voices of the forest, the never ceasing whisper of the leaves, the ripple of water, the songs of the birds, clear among them the trill of the robin, even then beginning his winter serenade, all the mysterious sounds heard only in the heart of woodland life.

Close at hand a spring bubbled up and trickled away in a tiny silver stream. Barbara plunged face and hands into the clear, cold water, and the blood went tingling through her veins. She hesitated a moment, glancing round to make sure she was alone. Then with a half defiant toss of her head, she drew off shoes and stockings, and sitting on the soft moss, dabbled her feet in the stream.

The fresh air of the morning blew upon her face. She was gay with freedom, with health, joy, sheer animal happiness. She laughed aloud, and flinging back her head burst into a wild song of life and love which she had heard Rupert sing a score of times, but which she had never until now fully understood.

But as she sang she stopped abruptly and sprang to her feet, crimsoning with blushes, for the bushes where she sat were parted, and Captain Protheroe stepped out and stood before her, on the other side of the tiny stream.

"Good-morning, Mistress Barbara," he cried gaily. "Is it you indeed, or has some nymph of the forest sought haven in our glade?"

Barbara looked down at her bare feet guiltily, and then as her glance travelled slowly up her figure, she gave a sudden gasp of helpless dismay.

The bottom of her skirt hung limply about her, in veritable shreds and tatters; it was covered with green and brown stains and was torn in a score of places. Her bodice was equally dishevelled, one sleeve had been pulled right out of the gathers, and her dainty lawn fichu hung round her neck in a long draggled string.

For a moment she was filled with consternation, then gradually the ridiculous in the situation tickled her humour, and after one minute's pause her face dimpled into mischief and she broke into a merry laugh.

As for Captain Protheroe, he vowed to himself that never before had she looked so lovely. Her cheeks glowed with health and freshness, and her eyes danced, her pretty feet and slender ankles peeped from beneath her skirt, and her face and figure seemed infinitely attractive, a harmonious part of the beauty around her. She was adorable, and he longed to tell her so; aye, more, he longed to tell her of his new-born love, to plead for her mercy, to lay his life, his worship in homage at her feet.

But he dared not speak his thoughts, he dared not let himself be carried away by her beauty, lest losing for a moment his self-restraint, he lose it forever, and destroy at once his honour and the hope of her love.

So with an effort he turned his gaze aside and assumed once more his customary manner of careless raillery.

"Ah! Mistress Barbara," he cried gaily, again glancing at her garments disarranged and travel-stained, "I vow 'tis too bad of me. I knew it was no path of roses we followed last night, but I little dreamed the journey was so severe an one as this betokens. It was indeed careless of me, and yet I knew no other way. I pray your forgiveness."

"Indeed, there is nought to forgive. Is it not ever a path of thorns that leads to Paradise, and methinks e'en Paradise can scarce be more lovely than this."

He flushed with pleasure.

"You like our camp, madame!"

"'Tis perfection. I have never seen aught so lovely. The forest is a new world to me."

"A new world, and you the queen on't."

"A pretty queen i' faith, in rags and tatters. More like a beggar-maid methinks."

"An all beggar-maids were so, madame, one would judge King Cophetua a man of infinite discernment, and wisest choice."

Her eyes danced in recognition of the compliment, but meeting his glance she deemed it wiser to bring him back to earth.

"An I be queen, prithee, fair subject, give me my breakfast, for I am hungry as a trooper."

"'Twill be a somewhat cheerless meal, I fear," he muttered discontentedly; "I have been abroad in search of something better to offer than the cold bacon and pasty we purloined from the inn, but I met with little success. Here are all my spoils."

He unfolded two large leaves filled with wild plums and berries, and together they sat down to the meal. Barbara laughed lightly at the extraordinary collection of viands her companion produced from his bundle, but Captain Protheroe regarded the food scattered about on the ground with a rueful countenance.

"'Tis poor fare indeed, Mistress Barbara. But that foul witch, Misfortune, has driven us forth into the wilderness, and we must needs endure the distresses she showers on us with as bold a heart as we may."

"Fie, fie! sir," answered Barbara gaily, devouring her bread and blackberries with infinite gusto. "Where are your eyes? This is no wilderness, but a sweet enchanted isle. Some gentle enchantress hath led us hither, and now encloses us with a hundred magic spells safely guarded from the malice of our foes."

"And here we shall dwell happily ever after. Runs not the story so? For my part I should be well content," he added softly.

Again Barbara ignored the tenderness in his voice.

"This is no pasty, neither is it mere greasy bacon that you eat," she continued her parable calmly, "though to your eyes so it may appear. 'Tis magic food that our enchantress hath supplied. While this water," she added, stooping with cupped hand to drink from the spring, "sure no ordinary water could have so sweet a taste. 'Tis the nectar of the gods, and whosoever drinks it shall remain forever young."

"I' faith, madame, you are a lesson in contentment. For myself, hard fare is nothing, but I feared for you. I went fishing also this morning, but with ill success, my hand has lost its cunning since boyhood. But you shall have trout for supper, or I will drown in the attempt."

Barbara laughed brightly.

"Tell me of your camp here when you were a boy," she commanded.

So he told her of his boyhood, becoming boy again as he talked. Told of his games, adventures, beliefs, of life in those golden days when the forest had been to him a place of magic, each rock a fortress, each rotting tree-trunk a fearsome beast of prey, each flower-clad glade a dwelling for the fairies. And she listened to all with a sweet eagerness, a ready comprehension, a quick sympathy which led him to another and yet another tale, till his whole boyhood lay open before her like a book, and through the boy she learned to know the man, the man as he really was beneath his veneer of careless gallantry, brave, honest, simple, and chivalrous. For the man who looks back with love to the days of his childhood preserves one treasure in his heart which the world may never sully.

Thus they talked, these two, cut off from all their world. Naturally, openly they talked, disclosing to one another their deepest, purest thoughts, for the spell of the forest was upon them, and for the nonce the man and the woman met face to face, simple and unashamed The sunlight played about them, the leaves danced and whispered, and the air thrilled with the song of the birds.

"And were there no women in your camp?" asked Barbara at last, smiling.

"Yes, one. We would have appointed her our cook, our slave, as is the manner of lads towards most maids of their age. But not she! How that chit of a maiden ruled us, and how presently we worshipped her! She would sit here, our queen, enthroned and crowned, while we must scour the forest for fruit and flowers, rare gifts for her Majesty. We must wait upon her pleasure, fight for her favours, be in all things her slaves. Young as she was, she knew her power well, she tyrannised over us even then, and we--we loved her for it with all our hearts."

His voice was soft and tender, and a shadow fell on Barbara's heart.

"Where is she now?" she asked, with eager, too eager, Interest.

Again he hesitated, and answered in a cold, slightly restrained voice:

"She hath been, for some years, at the court of his Majesty, King Louis."

Then there fell a silence between them, but no longer the silence of sympathy, for he was lost in recollection, and she in wondering doubt.

Presently he rose abruptly to his feet.

"I think, Mistress Barbara, 'twere well I should go and reconnoitre. I will soon return; but I would fain see, if possible, what our enemies are about. Are you afraid to stay here alone?"

"Afraid?" she asked in astonishment, "why, what should harm me?"

"Yes, 'twas a foolish question to ask you, Mistress Barbara, I might have known the answer," he replied admiringly.

He paused a moment, smiling down at her, turned with a nod, and vanished into the wood.

For some time after his departure Barbara lay still, nestling in the luxurious couch of moss, wrapt in dreams. But the fresh joy of the morning had passed, and her dreams grew less bright.

She remembered now for the first time the helplessness of her position; an outcast, with no shelter save such as Captain Protheroe might provide, no escape save through his contrivance, no protection save his arm; she was utterly dependent upon him.