"I wouldn't have come if I had known," growled the post-boy.
"You'll go where you're told," said Martin, "and the more words about it, the less pay."
They had travelled slowly for an hour or more, along a winding road between thick copses and high-hedged fields, when Martin suddenly brought his horse to a standstill and listened.
"Stop!" he said to the post-boy, and immediately the grinding wheels were still.
There was the quick thud of hoofs behind them, coming so rapidly that there was no hope of escape if they were pursued. Barbara leaned forward, looking at Martin as he unfastened the holster and half drew out a pistol; but Harriet Payne had thrust her head from the other window.
"I knew it! He has betrayed us!" she said shrilly.
"The devil take that wench!" growled Martin.
Two men rode round the bend in the road, then two more, then others, a score of them at least. With an oath Martin let the pistol fall back into the holster. The odds were too great. His head sunk a little, and he looked strangely limp in his saddle.
"Fire at them! Be a man and defend us!" shrieked Harriet, but Martin did not move.
Barbara looked at him with wondering eyes; she was still looking at him when the coach was surrounded.