Her rescue had been so sudden, so unexpected, that it was difficult for Barbara to realise that she was alone in the coach, that she need no longer shrink away from a man she hated, that her ears were no more assailed by threats and vile insinuations. The relief was so intense that for a little while she revelled in her liberty, and cried a little for very joy. Why did not the man who had delivered her come to the door of the coach and talk to her? Not as he had done just now, calling her Mistress Lanison and seeming not to hear when she had called him Gilbert, but as he had spoken to her that other night in her prison in Dorchester. She leaned forward to listen. Yes, he was on the road behind her, she could hear the steady canter of his horse; why did he not ride where she could see him? He must know that she would want him close beside her. Did he know it? He wore the brown mask to-night, and, oh, the difference it made! With that silken disguise, and with his coat close fastened at the throat, she would never have recognised him in the moonlight had she not known who he was. Involuntarily she shuddered a little at the thought that he was indeed two men, so distinct that even she, had she not known, would have failed to see her lover in the wearer of the brown mask. Why did he not come to the window, come as himself, without that hideous disguise which distressed her and brought so many horrible fancies and fears into her mind? Should she call to him? She was much tempted to do so, but surely he knew what was best for her to-night. There might be other enemies upon the road, she was safer perhaps in the charge of the brown mask than she would have been had he ridden beside her as Gilbert Crosby.