"I do not know, but the fact remains, she is a prisoner. This I can tell you, she journeyed to the West to appeal to you on behalf of Gilbert Crosby, and was arrested on the way."
"But Crosby has not been captured?"
"Don't you think you and I could make up our minds that he has?" said
Rosmore.
"I do not see the necessity. My influence will have to be exerted to procure her release. I shall have kept my word, and—"
"And the reward?" asked Rosmore.
"It will not be so great that it will be beyond her power to pay," was the answer.
"Shall I make a guess?" said Rosmore. "If your influence is exerted, Barbara Lanison becomes the wife of Judge Marriott. Ah! I see I have hit near the mark. I have another plan. 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."
"My dear Rosmore, if you are serious, your impudence is colossal, if you are in jest, I fail to see the point of it."
"I have not come to the point, for jest it is, and one you may profit by. Sit down again and fill your glass—we can enjoy the joke together. Although you do not ask for any reward, you get one—five hundred or a thousand guineas, the exact amount we can decide, but at any rate a goodly sum for two scraps of paper. I should advise you to close with such an offer."
"Still the jest does not appeal to me."