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Updated: May 2, 2025
Some few months ago Sir John Lanison, of Aylingford Abbey in Hampshire, Lady Bolsover's brother and Barbara's uncle and sole guardian since the death of her parents, had suggested that his sister should take charge of his ward for a little while. Practically she knew nothing of London, he said, and it was time she did.
"I should ask that another might take my place, and then " "Then the heavy hand of the King upon us," said Sir John. "I must think. You cannot expect me to answer now, at once," said Barbara. "Duty may not wait," said Sir John. "You shall have my answer to-morrow, Lord Rosmore," Barbara said. "I must have the night to decide. Duty does not compel you to march Mad Martin from Aylingford to-night."
She was surrounded at the time, and Fellowes made no effort to secure her attention. He evidently considered himself in disgrace still, although Barbara had forgiven him, and had ceased to associate him with the evil which was at Aylingford Abbey. It was not so easy to dissociate Judge Marriott from Aylingford.
He sought for her from one end of the land to the other, still believing in her, until by some artifice he was brought to believe in her unfaithfulness. Life had lost all zest for him, and he came here at last, to Aylingford Abbey, to seek consolation in a life of religion.
Yesterday Martin travelled back towards Aylingford in company with a stranger. Unless I am in error, that stranger was Gilbert Crosby, otherwise known as Galloping Hermit, and I have taken care to guard every road of escape from the Abbey to-night." "Certainly a wise precaution," said Barbara quietly; "but how does it concern me?"
They were to escape together. She and Galloping Hermit, the notorious wearer of the brown mask, were to go together! He was a man, a true man, she had said it, she meant it, but Ah, strive to forget them as she would, Rosmore's words had left a sting behind them. For all he was a man, he was a highwayman, and she was Barbara Lanison, of Aylingford Abbey!
"Surely Martin cannot be 'Galloping Hermit'!" Barbara exclaimed. "He is. You will find the whole history in those papers," said Fellowes. "I knew soon after that night at Aylingford, the night Rosmore and I fought in the hall. It is a strange history. He came to Aylingford shortly after you were brought there as a child, a chance derelict it seemed, and not a little mad at times.
His victims, too, were always those who had bad reputations; and, one thing more, Mistress Lanison, his victims have always won largely at Aylingford Abbey. Where Sir John squandered your fortune, Martin compelled Sir John's guests to disgorge on the high road. He knew when they were worth robbing.
Still, it is ever the little weaknesses which are the danger-points in great enterprises, and Rosmore realised that Fellowes' presence in Dorchester might bring all his plans to the ground. Great was his satisfaction, therefore, when Barbara entered the coach and the horses started on their journey. At that moment Fellowes was listening to Martin Fairley's account of his visit to Aylingford.
Sir Philip Branksome had left Aylingford full of the doughty deeds which were to be done by him, but it was whispered that he was still in London, talking loudly in coffee-house and tavern.
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