There was the quick thud of hoofs behind them, coming so rapidly that there was no hope of escape if they were pursued. Barbara leaned forward, looking at Martin as he unfastened the holster and half drew out a pistol; but Harriet Payne had thrust her head from the other window. "I knew it! He has betrayed us!" she said shrilly. "The devil take that wench!" growled Martin. Two men rode round the bend in the road, then two more, then others, a score of them at least. With an oath Martin let the pistol fall back into the holster. The odds were too great. His head sunk a little, and he looked strangely limp in his saddle. "Fire at them! Be a man and defend us!" shrieked Harriet, but Martin did not move. Barbara looked at him with wondering eyes; she was still looking at him when the coach was surrounded. "Your servants, Mistress Lanison," said a man at the door. "We are sent to bring you to Dorchester." "By whom?" "I had my orders from my superior; I cannot say who first gave them." "I am travelling to Dorchester." "We must be your escort, madam." "Am I a prisoner?" "One that shall be well treated by us and by all, I trust. This rogue here has led you off the road. A little further from the highway and I suppose you would have robbed them, you scoundrel." "No, sir, I only thought the dust would be less this way," Fairley answered meekly. Another man looked keenly at Martin, and then laughed. "Surely this is that fiddler fellow we know something of?" "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." "You shall ride behind," was the answer. "Thank you, sir; I shall not see her then. She is not beautiful to look at." The man laughed. "Look to this fool, some of you, and give him a cuff if he grows sleepy." "Sleepy! Never in good company," said Martin. The post-boy whipped up the horses, and the carriage went slowly back towards the main road, surrounded by its escort. Barbara was still bound for Dorchester, but a prisoner. Would she now be able to get speech with Judge Marriott? CHAPTER XIX THE HUT IN THE WOOD