The coach had drawn out of the shadows into the moonlight, and Lord Rosmore started back, so close was the pistol to his head. He looked along it, and along the man's extended arm, and into his face, and a half-smothered cry broke from his lips. He had been caught unawares. Physically he was no coward, but the sight of the brown mask seemed to paralyse him.
"You!"
"Open the door and get out. Quickly, or, by heaven, you shall fall out with a bullet through your brain."
From this man Lord Rosmore knew he could expect no mercy, knew that he was likely to be as good as his word, and he got out.
"Down with you," said the highwayman to the post-boy. "Take this rope, and see that you fasten this gentleman securely to that tree yonder. One loose knot that may give him a chance of escape, and I'll see to it that you never throw your leg across the back of a horse again."
Covering them with his pistol, he watched this operation performed.
"See that he has no firearms," and the lad hastened to do as he was told.
The highwayman carefully examined the cord, and made sure that the captive could not get free without help. Then he went to the door of the coach.
"You are safe, Mistress Lanison."
"Gilbert!" she whispered.