"This is mere trickery," she cried. "You play a coward's part, my lord, fighting with a drunken man."
"He insulted you—that sufficed for me."
"I did not ask you to punish him," she answered.
She faced Lord Rosmore, shielding Fellowes, who was behind her. Now
Fellowes gently touched her arm.
"Grant me your pardon, Mistress Lanison, and then let me pay the penalty," he said.
She had thrust out her arm to keep him behind her, when the big door at the end of the hall opening on to the terrace was flung open, and on the threshold stood a tall figure, dark and distinct against the moonlit world beyond. His garments were of nondescript fashion, but his pose was not without grace. Under one arm he carried a fiddle, and the bow was in his hand. He raised it and waved it in a sort of benediction.
"Give you greeting, ladies and gentlemen—and news besides. Monmouth has landed at Lyme, and all the West Country is aflame with rebellion."
CHAPTER VI
MAD MARTIN
The sudden interruption served to relax the tension in the hall. There was the quick shuffling of feet, as though these men and women had suddenly been released from some power which had struck them motionless, and eager faces were turned towards the doorway. Barbara did not move. Her eyes were still fixed on Lord Rosmore's face, her arm was still outstretched to prevent a renewal of the fight.