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"I cannot forgive even your future wife for deceiving Mistress Lanison." "You will presently, when you understand that Mistress Lanison has been saved from the intrigues of her uncle and guardian. For the rest, her happiness lies chiefly in your hands, and you may find me more useful as a living friend than I should have proved as a dead enemy. Gad! you look as if you doubted it.
That night Gilbert Crosby and Barbara Lanison left England, and a few weeks later were married in Holland, in which country they found their first home together.
Indeed, she had come as a revelation to the men whose lives were made up of Court intrigue and artificiality. Perhaps another reason why Barbara Lanison found it difficult to understand the sensation she created lay in the fact that her heart and affections remained entirely untouched. Those blue eyes, underneath their long lashes, saw very keenly, and gave her a quick insight into character.
"My face must be a poor index to my thoughts," he answered, with quick yet forced gaiety. "I have just finished a good work." "What is that?" "Making two people happy. Come and kiss me, and I'll tell you all about it." Yet all her kisses and arts of pleasing could not keep the thoughtfulness out of his face as he told her how Barbara Lanison and Gilbert Crosby were to leave Dorchester together.
You shall write me two orders, one for the release of Mistress Lanison, the other for the release of Gilbert Crosby. The execution of these orders shall be at my discretion as to time. They may be given because of your love for her, if you will, but you must be self-sacrificing and claim no reward."
"Always supposing that your knowledge is correct, is it not possible that Mistress Lanison may foolishly believe herself enamoured of a certain somewhat notorious person, and that those who have her well-being at heart think it necessary to protect her from this notorious person until she becomes more sensible?" Harriet Payne watched him as he spoke.
"Willingly!" exclaimed the girl. "She hates him; she was wiser than I was. I loved him. She is in his power to-night." "Which road did they take?" asked Fellowes. "That which goes towards the river, afterwards I do not know. If you are men follow him. Avenge Mistress Lanison and me." "You have lied before this," said Martin quietly. "With a lie you brought Mistress Lanison to the West.
"What can we do?" said Crosby, pacing the room with short, nervous strides. "It is damnable to be so helpless." "Wait; there is nothing else to do. Marriott is doing his best to find out where Mistress Lanison is imprisoned. He is to let me know. If we can find that out we may yet beat this devil Rosmore." "He may be honest in this," said Crosby.
Dearmer was in the fashion; Barbara knew that, for even at Lady Bolsover's she had often been made to blush, but she had never heard in St. James's Square a tithe of the ribaldry which assailed her at the Abbey. It was natural, perhaps, that Barbara Lanison should propound a problem to herself. Was she foolish to resent what was little more than the fashion of the day?
It was possible, even probable, that Sir John Lanison might not know all Rosmore's plans, or might not have told everything he knew, but all faith in Rosmore must fall like a building of cards. "That road to the river must be watched, Fellowes," said Martin. "I'll go at once." "And I will get to 'The Anchor' and see Crosby." They were leaving the house when a woman met them, inquiring for Mr.
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