"Yes, sir," said Martin, crooking his arm as though a fiddle were in it, and in a timid voice he sang a few notes, like a wail, but they had often seemed a laugh to Barbara. She could not tell which they were now. "My fiddle is lost, or I would play for you, so long, so sweetly, that you would see flagons of ale around you, and think you tasted them too."
"I would the fiddle were found, then," said one.
"Having lost it, you carry pistols instead."
"Yes, sir, every gentleman does so, but there's many dare not use them. I didn't use them. You'll remember that, for it's to my credit, and let me go."
The man removed the pistols from his holster.
"They're dangerous toys for a fool."
"Truly, I feel much happier without them," said Martin.
"Coward!" said Harriet Payne from the window as the coach was turned.
"Coward!"
Barbara said nothing.
"Please let me ride by the other window," pleaded Martin. "This wench has no music in her soul, and does not like me."