Part 5

"Aye, madame, you start and tremble at every sound."

"Nay--I assure you--I--I do not so," she stammered, trembling with eagerness. "Why, wherefore should I tremble."

"Nay, I know not, madame. Save as the poet saith--'A guilty conscience----'"

"I thank you for the suggestion, sir," she answered with a faint smile. "I will consult my conscience."

There was a pause, the silence broken only by the distant movements of the searchers.

"Is there a ghost in the room, madame," asked Captain Protheroe suddenly.

Barbara started violently.

"A ghost, sir?" she exclaimed.

"Aye, a ghost. I saw you staring at the wall behind me with so horrified an expression, methought you beheld an apparition at least, peeping over my shoulder."

Barbara dropped her head and bit her lip.

"'Twas but my own thoughts. There is nothing else."

Captain Protheroe wheeled round in his chair, and stared thoughtfully at the full-length portrait of an old Winslow knight in armour which confronted him.

"Now what is there in this same old gentleman (for I trust 'twas not my appearance that had such a horrifying effect upon you), what is there here to terrify you?"

"Nothing, sir, I assure you," repeated Barbara faintly.

"Yet there is certainly a strange look about this portrait," he mused. "There is a glint in his eye that mislikes me. One might almost believe," he continued, turning towards her, "that he hid some secret behind that fixed countenance."

Barbara stared at him a moment with terrified face, then she rose abruptly from the table.

"I--I wish you would leave me, sir," she answered curtly.

"That is a hard saying, madame," he exclaimed in mock astonishment. "Did not yourself bid me to supper?"

"Yes. But I am weary of you and now I bid you go."

He laughed quietly.

"That is easily said, madame, but not so easily answered. I may not----"

He was interrupted by a hurried knock at the outer door.

Barbara gave a slight scream and ran across the hall, but Captain Protheroe was at the door before her.

"Pardon me, madame, I must see to this," he said sternly.

He flung the door wide, standing himself in its shadow, and Peter Drew, the smith, rushed quickly into the hall.

"Ah, Mistress Barbara," he exclaimed breathlessly, not noticing her sign to him to be cautious, "the villain hath escaaeped me, and I can't faind no traaece of un anywhere."

"Very much my case, my friend," interrupted the captain, shutting the door quickly, and confronting the astonished smith with a quiet smile. "But what may be the name of this same escaped villain?"

Peter gasped at him stupidly.

"Come, fellow, out with it," cried the captain sharply.

The smith glanced at Barbara and shook his head.

"I don't know," he muttered sulkily.

Captain Protheroe turned to Barbara.

"May I--er--advise you, madame, to order this reluctant henchman of yours to be more speedy in his replies."

"You may tell the captain all you know, Peter," she said after a moment's hesitation. "Methinks 'twill not greatly enlighten him."

"'Tweren't nobbut a certain hawker, your honour. Her ladyship bid me keep un zaaefe till marnin' zo I fastened un oop zafe i' my farge. But when I were awai--er--awai on my biznez thicey marnin' my waife, plague on a meddlezome fingers, zay I, muzt needs oppen door, to zee, forzooth, whai it were zhut, and zo the fellow hath vled."

"Good! Why was this hawker to be thus secured?"

"He had angered me, sir," interrupted Barbara haughtily.

"Ah! summary justice, madame," answered the captain, laughing. "But hardly, methinks, within the measure of the law."

"I care nought for the law."

"So I can well believe. But come, I must know a little more concerning this hawker."

"That you cannot, sir," answered Barbara calmly. "For the simple reason that Peter knows no more, and I, who do know, do not purpose to tell you."

Captain Protheroe hesitated a moment. Then he continued lightly, but eyeing Barbara steadily the while:

"Ah, well! 'Tis of small import. Doubtless it will not be difficult to find the fellow himself and learn all I wish from his own lips."

Barbara's face grew suddenly white.

"Yet another man to search for," she exclaimed lightly, but with a strange hoarseness in her voice. "I' faith, captain, yours is no easy post. It must indeed be a wearisome life to seek and seek for that which like the philosopher's stone, is never to be found."

They were startled by a sudden clamour which arose in a distant part of the building, the clatter of pans and dishes, the angry shouts of the men, and above all the shrill voice of a woman pouring forth a torrent of furious abuse.

"What in the devil's name----" began the captain, striding across the room.

"Oh! 'tis nothing," interrupted Barbara coolly. "Your men have doubtless encountered my waiting-woman, Phoebe. She is somewhat hot and hasty in her humour and--I am sorry for them."

As she spoke the door was flung open and the corporal rushed angrily into the room. He was a miserable sight to behold. His head was saturated with greasy broth which dripped from the ends of his scrubby hair and beard and trickled down his rubicund countenance; he was covered from head to foot with flour and dust, and he held his hand pitiably to his temple where a large bump, the size of an egg, was rapidly rising, to embellish his appearance.

Behind him marched Phoebe, weaponed with a besom, her face blazing with anger, her hair dishevelled, and her sleeves rolled up to her shoulders, showing the brawny arms of this amazon.

At sight of this couple, Barbara fell back into a chair, and laughed till her eyes filled with tears.

"My poor Sir Knight of the Whipcord," she gasped. "What hath befallen thee? Ah me, Phoebe, but thou art a very dragon!"

"A very devil," spluttered the corporal.

"Devil in thy teeth, fellow!" cried the enraged waiting-woman. "Mistress Barbara, what think ye? this fellow hath tramped through every hole and corner of the house; he hath rent the hangings, broken the chiny, forced open the closets, and made the place a very desolation. And then--then he was for trapesing into my kitchen, my kitchen that I had but just redd up, with his great muddy boots, to poke his nose into all my places, because, forsooth, he swears I have a man hid among the pots and pans! A man, indeed! The meddlesome fool! I warrant me 'tis no man, but the victuals that he is in search of."

"Patience, good Phoebe, patience," laughed Barbara. "As thou sayest ever, men are but fools and know no better."

"Humph! Mayhap they knew no better, but they know better now, I warrant. Though it repents me that I wasted the whole of a good basin of broth and a bag of flour i' the teaching of it."

Meanwhile Corporal Crutch, having mopped his brow, and beaten off much of his outer covering of flour, made shift to resume his customary air of pompous dignity.

"This woman, sir," he explained with a wave of the hand in the direction of Phoebe, "withstood us in the doorway of her kitchen, powerfully ammunitioned with pannikins. 'Twas, indeed, a post of some vantage, therefore I deemed it wisdom to lead her off, as you behold, by a feigned retreat, while the men make a flank attack, and secure the position by entering through the window."

On hearing this Phoebe set up a howl of rage, and disappeared speedily in the direction of the kitchen, to oust the intruders from the spot. The sounds of battle which presently arose proved the success of the corporal's manoeuvre.

Captain Protheroe drew the corporal aside.

"Well! You have searched?"

"Aye, sir, every nook and cranny in the place. Not a rat's hole has escaped us. He must be hid somewhere in this room, for there's no other place unsearched."

"'Tis very like, and I think I can put my finger on the place," answered the captain softly.

Barbara looked up.

"Well, captain, if you are satisfied that I have spoken the truth, perhaps you will take your leave, for I protest I am weary of you."

"One moment, madame," he answered, "I will but examine into the secret of this same cross-eyed ancestor of thine, and then you shall be no further troubled."

He turned, as he spoke, towards the picture, but Barbara sprang to her feet with a sharp cry, and darting past him, placed her back against the frame and turned to him full of defiance.

"Nay, sir, that you shall not," she cried resolutely.

Corporal Crutch paused in his search, and gazed at her in open-mouthed astonishment, but Captain Protheroe strode quickly to her side with a sharp frown.

"Come, madame," he began impatiently, "this is sheer folly. We must proceed with our work. I do, indeed, regret the painful business, but by your leave we will not prolong it. Be so good as to show me the secret of the spring."

"I will not."

"Then, madame, we must open it by force."

"You shall not pass me," she cried defiantly. "I will not move aside."

Captain Protheroe swore in desperation.

"Come, Mistress Barbara, be reasonable," he urged. "You know well that resistance is quite useless. I were loth to use violence, but an it must be so, methinks it were possible to move you without much injury to either of us."

Suddenly Barbara began to cry, leaning her head back against the frame and sobbing bitterly. But she did not cover her face with her hands as is the manner of most women.

"Oh, go away, I beseech you," she pleaded, clasping her hands in entreaty, and raising tearful eyes to his face. "Rupert hath done you no injury, suffer him to escape this once, and I will be your debtor forever."

Captain Protheroe stared down at her, wondering vaguely whether her eyes looked more lovely when bright with merriment, or when wide and soft with welling tears, and why he had never before noticed how inviting was a full quivering lip. Then suddenly recollecting the unprofitableness of such considerations, he glanced indignantly at the corporal and swore at him beneath his breath.

"You are making my duty very hard for me, madame," he pleaded gently.

"I--I want to," she sobbed. "Please go away."

"No, Mistress Barbara, I cannot," he answered firmly.

Barbara stopped her sobs and stared at him for a moment in astonishment. Then she suddenly turned on him furiously.

"You will not? You will not?" she cried. "Then have your way. See what lies concealed."

She pressed a small button cunningly hidden amid the carving of the frame, and the portrait slipped back, revealing a large recess in the wall, deep enough to hold three men.

The recess was empty.

The two men stared at each other in utter astonishment, but Barbara flung herself into a chair, clapped her hands, and burst into a paroxysm of laughter.

"Fooled! Fooled!" she cried, pointing at them mockingly. "Was ever man, since the days of Adam, so bravely fooled. Oh! I shall die of laughter," and again the room rang with her merriment.

Captain Protheroe turned to her grimly.

"Pardon my dulness, madame," he said harshly, "and be so kind as to explain what this means."

"Means! Why, marry, it means that I have spoken truly. Rupert is not here, moreover, he never has been. Have I not said so throughout."

"Not here? Impossible! Then these tremblings, entreaties, tears were all----"

"All a comedy, sir, which I trust you enjoyed as greatly as did I. Oh! tell me, sir, should I not make a brave player?" She danced a few steps towards him and dropped a mocking curtsey. "I await your applause, signors," she cried with a saucy laugh.

Captain Protheroe strode the length of the room and swore to himself heartily, but Corporal Crutch was not so easily convinced.

"'Tis false, sir," he cried. "She is fooling us again. Why I saw the fellow enter, myself."

"That you did not, corporal, an I may make so bold as to contradict you," laughed Barbara. "Though I wouldn't deny," she added solemnly, "the possibility of your having seen someone enter."

"Aye, someone hailed by the name of 'Rupert,'" sneered the corporal.

"What's in a name?" quoted Barbara, laughing.

"Whom did he see, then?" demanded Captain Protheroe sharply.

"How should I know?" she retorted cheerfully. "'Twas not I who saw him. Ask the corporal."

"An 'twere not Sir Rupert, 'twas the devil himself in his likeness. I saw him as plain as I see you. He is the very counterpart of yon wench, his sister."

"That is true enough," answered Barbara calmly. "We be so alike that times have been known when we were mistaken for each other. And yet I will swear 'twas not Rupert whom you saw."

"Will you have the goodness to explain the matter, madame?" interrupted the Captain impatiently.

"With all my heart, sir, though 'tis a somewhat lengthy tale. Know then, it commences with a stout corporal but half concealed behind a large laurel bush. Ah, ha! Sir Whipcord, you look guilty! Now this same corporal was a spy and an eavesdropper, and eavesdroppers must not be surprised if at times they overhear that which _is_ intended for their ears. 'Twas so in this case. The corporal, who bore a strange resemblance to this gentleman, overheard a pretty little plot, discussed especially for his edification, he stole and read a cunning little note, written for his eyes alone. Being a gentleman of extraordinary blindness, he walked into the trap as prettily as a bird. The rest was simple. It remained but to send a messenger, whom your soldiers kindly permitted to pass, to inform Rupert of our arrangements. Cicely and I, disguised but in linsey petticoats and woollen hoods ('tis passing strange how dress can make or mar a man) went down to the village this afternoon, and later I--I returned, alone. Perchance--I say perchance, 'twas I whom your corporal saw enter; and yet, sure, how could it be?"

"And your cousin?"

"Cicely? Oh, she is away passing the evening with Rupert, who, thanks to the corporal's kind thoughtfulness, in withdrawing all his men from the roads and the village, was enabled to visit her with perfect safety at a certain house we wot of. But, indeed, the time has passed so quickly while you have been here, that he will by now have returned whence he came, and I fear--I greatly fear you have missed him."

Then at last Corporal Crutch, convinced of the truth of her statement, opened his mouth and commenced to swear; to swear so roundly that Barbara covered her ears, and Captain Protheroe curtly bade him be silent.

"'Tis thine own doing, thou blundering fool," he said angrily. "Wherefore didst not follow the messenger and trap the fellow in his hiding-place?"

"Nay, captain, give me some credit for the business," interposed Barbara cheerily. "'Twas a most excellently conceived plan. And yet," she mused, "I doubt if ever men were more easily fooled."

"And may I ask, madame, what part in the plot this evening's entertainment served?"

"Oh that! Well, I cannot say that was altogether necessary, though I desired to keep you here till Rupert was safe away. But," she added roguishly, "'twas vastly amusing. And besides, methinks you deserved no better treatment after forcing your way thus churlishly into a lone woman's house."

Captain Protheroe turned brusquely on his heel.

"There is nothing further to be gained by remaining here, corporal," he said. "Call up the men and march them back to quarters. And as for this fellow," he added, pointing to the smith, who had watched the scene with deep enjoyment, "keep him safe till morning; we may have need of him."

"And what of the wench, captain? Can't we lay hands on her for aiding and abetting?"

Captain Protheroe scowled.

"Leave me to deal with her, sirrah. I will follow you anon. And harkee. There is a certain hawker wandering in or near the village. Yon fellow can describe him. If we can lay hands on him, I doubt not he can tell us what may prove useful."

Corporal Crutch started guiltily.

"A hawker, captain? Why, I know the fellow. I have him safe under--that is--er--I doubt not I can speedily lay hands on him."

"Do so. See to it to-night, and we may yet catch our hare. Now begone."

The corporal saluted and went out.

Captain Protheroe glanced at Barbara, and he saw that no trace of her triumphant merriment remained.

He turned and walked to the window and stood for some time in silence gazing out into the darkness while the last echoes of the retreating footsteps died away. Then all was still.

*CHAPTER VII*

Captain Protheroe stood gazing out into the dark night, asking himself savagely why he still waited there, why he did not leave the girl at once and return with his men to the village, preparatory to setting out in pursuit of this man who still escaped them.

It was clearly his duty to go--and yet---- There was still time, nothing could be done until the hawker was discovered, and his secret, whatever it might be, was learned. And in the meantime he could not resist the temptation to remain a little longer, to learn more of this girl who, while she mocked and flouted, yet fascinated him in spite of his anger against her. To punish her a little for the way she had outwitted him, aye, and to watch how she bore the punishment. So while he cursed himself for a fool in so doing, yet he remained.

Barbara sat bolt upright, watching him furtively with eager eyes. Her hands were tightly clenched, and her lips pressed together in anxious thought. "Oh! what shall I do now?" she murmured again and again desperately. "What shall I do? The pedlar hath escaped. I have tried tears, they are useless. Oh, God! help me to play out the game."

At last he turned, and crossing the room seated himself beside her. Leaning forward, his hands clasped between his knees, he eyed her steadily and spoke in a low even voice. "Mistress Barbara, have you ever heard tell of a certain Mistress Alice Lisle?"

Barbara shuddered quickly, and her face grew very pale, but she answered him bravely:

"Aye, sir, she who was beheaded last week at Winchester for harbouring rebels."

"Good. And hast also heard of Mistress Judith Barge, condemned to be flogged for a like act of treason?"

"Indeed, sir, her story likewise is well known to me."

"Ah! so you were forewarned. You did not act in ignorance of the fate awaiting you?"

His face and voice were hard and her heart beat wildly, but she fought the rising fear and answered proudly:

"Captain Protheroe, none but a fool goeth to war without counting the cost. I am no fool, sir."

Suddenly his whole bearing changed, his face softened, and, raising her hand to his lips he said gently:

"Madame, I salute the bravest lady I have ever known."

Barbara flushed crimson.

"Nay, not so, sir," she answered, smiling bravely, "for there is yet a third story I have heard. For I have heard that in these last days it has been everywhere the custom for king's officers stationed in our villages to take up their quarters in the houses of the rebels, driving forth the occupants and taking unto themselves all their goods. Yet Cicely and I have remained here undisturbed. So I knew well, sir, that in playing my part I had to deal with no Kirke or Jeffries but with a gentleman of heart and honour, in whom a woman could place her trust."

"Can so small a matter win a woman's trust?" he asked doubtfully.

For an instant Barbara sat silent, twining her fingers together nervously, and breathing hard. She was preparing for her last great stake.

Then she turned to him. Her eyes betrayed her fear, but her voice was firm:

"Captain Protheroe, my brother lieth hid in the fisherman's hut, three miles eastward along the coast from Watchet. From thence he will escape to-morrow morn in a vessel bound for Holland."

He sprang to his feet and turned on her in sudden anger.

"In Heaven's name, madame, why have you told me this?"

"Ah! sir, because an I had not you would have learned it elsewhere. This mad pedlar who hath escaped me, knows my secret; to-night he will betray it to you. So I prefer to tell you myself and throw myself on your mercy."

"You play high, madame."

"Aye, sir, to lose or to win all."

He turned from her and paced the room angrily. So this was the result of his effort to punish the girl (fool that he was to try it), she flung herself on his mercy and challenged him to betray her confidence. Well, why should he not, seeing the confidence was given unasked. But his pride loathed the thought. He had never yet betrayed a woman's trust; the chivalry of his nature had remained unsoiled by the cynicism and callousness of those among whom he lived, and that chivalry now forbade him to profit by her moment of confidence.

That he, Miles Protheroe, should fall a prey to the fascinations of a woman! He laughed savagely at the thought. And yet that this girl fascinated him he could not deny. Not only by her beauty (he was too much a connoisseur of woman's looks to be deeply moved by them), nor by her gaiety, infectious though it was; no, to him the charm lay chiefly in her manifest courage, for courage was his God, and she seemed the very personification of fearlessness.

So he mused, warring betwixt pride, anger, and tenderness, while Barbara sat still, watching him with a desperate eagerness.

"Are you a soldier only, or a man?" she pleaded. "An ye be the first, go do your work. But oh, an ye be a man, ye cannot sure betray a woman's confidence."

"You have taken an unfair advantage of me, madame, and you know it."

"Aye, sir, 'tis true enough. Think not I feel no shame. But--Rupert is my brother."

Her voice broke piteously over the last words. She was worn out with the terror and excitement of the day, and could scarce keep down her tears. She bit her lips, and her breast heaved with a strangled sob. He drew near and stared down at her gloomily.

"So because you are a woman and this rebel chances to be your brother, my honour must go bail for his life! Do you understand, Mistress Barbara, what you ask of me?"

For an instant she hesitated. Then she raised her head and turned to him proudly:

"Yes, sir, I understand, and--I ask it."

He bowed.

"So be it, madame, your brother is safe from me."

He turned coldly, and taking up his hat, walked to the door.

Barbara followed him timidly.

"Captain Protheroe," she pleaded softly. "Honour may be one of the first virtues, but there is a greater even than Honour,--Charity."

But now his anger mastered him, he would not relent.

"It may be so, madame," he answered curtly. "But in your presence I find the defence of my Honour more than I can well attend to. I bid you good-night."

And turning abruptly he left the house.

Barbara remained gazing after him, her cheek slowly flushing with rage and shame.

"And has not a woman honour too?" she cried at last fiercely. "Am I not dishonoured enough already by this night's work that he must needs fling his taunts in my face? There be women, perchance, who will play with men's honour as lightly as they throw the dice, and he may think it a little thing for me to ask this of him, but oh, were it not for Rupert I had sooner have died than thus have shamed myself."

Flinging herself back into a chair she gnawed her clasped hands, and beat her foot upon the ground in silent fury.

Half an hour later the door opened softly and Cicely stole cautiously into the room, Cicely with dishevelled hair, red eyelids, and her face alight with eagerness and terror.

"Barbara! Barbara!" she cried, coming eagerly forward, on seeing the room unoccupied save by her cousin. "The village is all astir, the troopers are busy looking to their horses, and David Marlow hath heard that on his return to the Inn, the Captain gave orders that they be ready to start on some expedition at three o'clock in the morning. Think you, Barbara, he can have heard even now of Rupert's hiding-place? Or think you they will intercept his return. He left me but half an hour since. Speak, cannot you?"

Barbara looked up slowly, her face very pale. "Aye, he hath heard, I told him myself."