"Some day, when you have forgotten that you were inclined to hate me, I may tell you how much. Yet there is one thing I might tell you now, as a friend, in case there should be much of this vein of romance in you." "Yes, as a friend." "Newgate--the trial day of the highwayman, Galloping Hermit." He spoke abruptly, after a moment's pause, and had his intention been to startle her he could hardly have employed a better method. "I see you remember it," he said. "Lady Bolsover should not have taken you, it was no place for a woman--indeed, she and I almost quarrelled about it afterwards. You may remember I was with Lady Bolsover when that--that gentleman brought you out of the crowd, the mysterious person who did not want to be seen." "Yes, I remember," she said quietly. "A good-looking man, yet--" "You knew him, Lord Rosmore?" "Well enough to follow him; but I failed to find him." "Why should you follow him?" "You would hardly understand," he returned. "It is a matter concerned with politics. This you know, however, that the King has enemies. Monmouth plots in Holland, the Duke of Argyll is being defeated in Scotland. Well, Mistress Lanison, there are traitors and traitors--those that one may at least recognise as brave men, and others who are cowardly curs. Of the first is Argyll and, perhaps, Monmouth; of the second are those who promote rebellion from safe hiding-holes, and never show themselves to take a hand in the fighting. There is a rascal hiding from the officers of justice now--one Danvers--who is of this second kind, a scurrilous fellow who is willing to barter the lives of better men, but dares nothing himself. He is one of a gang. The man who came to your rescue at Newgate is a companion of his. I have wondered whether you have seen him since." "At least it was courteous of him to come to my rescue," Barbara said. "Never was there a man yet who had not a good instinct on occasion. Besides, the basest of men would not fail to grasp the opportunity of doing a service to a beautiful woman." "I was almost crying, and in that condition I am positively repulsive," she answered, almost as if she were angry at being spoken of as a beautiful woman. "What is the name of this man?" "He calls himself Crosby--Gilbert Crosby. Probably he has no right to the name. He is a dangerous and a clever man--dangerous because he plots and schemes while other men act, clever because he skilfully manages to evade the law. Many people find it difficult to believe ill of him, for he has all the appearance of a courageous gentleman." "I am among those people difficult to convince," said Barbara. "Exactly, hence my warning," said Rosmore. "You noted how quickly he disappeared. He saw me, and had no desire to face a man who knows him for what he is. Those grey eyes of his were sharper than mine or he would not have escaped so easily."