And then it was Lord Grimsby’s voice that answered her.
“Ay, madam, the court will willingly grant you five minutes. Nay, I will grant you ten, in the cause of justice, for I like not the way this matter has been handled.” And even Lord Grimsby himself could not have told whether it was the devil who had prompted him to so interfere with the decorum of the law.
The girl bowed her thanks with informal gratitude, then hurried from the room. She passed so close to Lindley that he seemed enveloped in a strange perfume that floated from her, and after she had passed he, and he alone, saw a tiny scrap of paper lying at his feet. As carelessly as possible he picked it up, and saw that it was written on. He read as follows:
Mistress Judith’s Star is at Cavanaugh’s inn, three squares away. Fetch him to the end of the lane with what speed you may.
Johan.
In the tumult that followed the curious interruption of the morning’s work, Lindley’s exit was unnoticed. It was less than five minutes before he returned, and in that time he had delivered the white horse, with its starred forehead, to Johan, who was waiting, apparently at ease, at the end of the lane. Lindley stopped not to question the boy, so anxious was he to see what was happening in the court.
There were a clamor of voices, a rustle of silks, a clanking of spurs and swords. Many averred that the lady was some well-known beauty infatuated by Lord Farquhart, playing merely for time. Others thought she might be lady to the real highwayman, whoever he was, and that she was about to force him to reveal himself. Some suggested that she might even be the highwayman himself. Lord Grimsby was trying to recall if ever he had heard of the devil guising himself as a young red-headed girl, covering himself, from horned head to cloven hoof, in azure velvet. Lord Farquhart still sat quite unmoved, seemingly as indifferent as ever to the world, apparently unmindful of his champion. Ashley’s face was black with rage, and he stood all alone in the midst of the crowd. Lady Barbara had flung aside her mask; her loosened cloak and its hood had fallen from her, but her white face was hidden behind her white hands. Jack Grimsby, Treadway, all of Farquhart’s friends, were watching eagerly, intently, the door through which the woman had disappeared, through which she or the real highwayman must reappear. There had been a movement to follow her, but this had been checked by Lord Grimsby’s voice. The word of the court had been given. Its word was not to be violated. The stranger should not be followed or spied upon. Lord Grimsby’s lips were working feverishly, and those nearest to him heard muttered imprecations and prayers, but prayers and imprecations were alike addressed to the ruler of the nether world.
Through the window that faced Lord Farquhart fluttered a faint breeze, and, suddenly, on its wings, floated a song caroled gayly by careless lips.
Lips that vie with the poppy’s hue,
Eyes that shame the violet’s blue,
Hearts that beat with love so true,
Barb’ra, sweet, I come to you!
As the last line was reached, the window framed a figure; a figure that seemed as familiar to all as the voice that crossed the figure’s lips. And yet the figure was cloaked and hatted and masked in black.
“Lord Farquhart!” shouted a hundred voices, looking from the motionless prisoner to the picture in the window.