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Then let him hasten to 'The Jolly Farmers, Tell him to wait there for me as he did once before. On no account must he leave it. Then start on your road, and leave Dorchester behind you as fast as horse can gallop. One of us shall find Rosmore before the dawn." Heavy clouds sailed majestically across the face of the moon.
"Shall I go?" said Harriet. "No; stay." "You may well want to go, girl," said Crosby. "You have betrayed an innocent woman into the hands of her enemies, and for reward what has this man promised you for reward?" "Will you listen to me a moment, Mr. Crosby?" said Rosmore. "Your confederates have made it impossible for me to refuse." "That is unworthy of you," Rosmore answered.
Rosmore, although he faced the window, saw nothing, heard nothing. His eyes were fixed upon those of his enemy, who was growing fiercer, more deadly every moment. The end was coming. Rosmore knew it, and felt weary. Every moment his enemy's point came nearer. It was parried this time and that, and again; but still it came. It touched him that time, not enough to scratch even, still it touched him!
The fight must end quickly. It was very certain that the wine he had taken was telling upon his endurance. He almost wished that the girl would scream for help; he was half inclined to call for it himself. It would be an easy way to bring the end. Lord Rosmore was not himself to-night. Harriet stood motionless and watched.
"I will give you until to-morrow," he answered. Barbara curtsied low and turned to the door. Rosmore drew back the curtains for her, and as she passed out whispered: "I love you, sweetheart. Say 'Yes' to-morrow." "Will she consent, think you?" Sir John asked as Rosmore came slowly back across the room. "I think so; yes, I think so." "I spoke sufficiently?" questioned Sir John.
It was here that Gilbert Crosby had caught his foot and stumbled last night as he and Martin had run from their pursuers; it was just here that the swords had first clashed, and the men had run eagerly together upon their prey; here, probably, a little later, Sydney Fellowes had given Lord Feversham's message to Lord Rosmore. Barbara would go no further.
Rosmore repeated, speaking like a man who was breathless from long running. "There's the village over yonder, two miles away." "Lend me your arm. So," and Rosmore drew himself to his feet. "Earn a guinea or two and help me to the village." "Can you walk at all?" asked the man. "The stiffness will go by degrees. Slowly to begin with, that's it. Two miles, eh?
But, bless you, sir, if the lovers were to come they'd get their refreshment out o' kisses and not trouble my ale." "What do you call this place?" "'The Jolly Farmers, sir, and I'm called Tom Saunders, very much at your service." "A poor spot for an inn, surely?" said Rosmore. "There are better, and there are worse," was the answer.
The hood had fallen from her fair hair as she turned and leaned towards him, and at this moment there was no doubt in her mind which way she would choose. Then with a cry she shrank back into the corner of the coach. It was not Gilbert Crosby beside her, but Lord Rosmore! Watson went back into Dorchester humming the chorus of a tavern song.
"Who would come to this infernal tomb?" said Rosmore. "Two of us have come," said Sir John, as he turned the key and raised the heavy lid. A few crumpled pieces of paper, one or two torn pieces of cloth, an empty canvas bag, half of a broken jewel case, and in one corner the glitter of two or three links of a gold chain. This was all the great chest contained!
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