"An excellent picture!" cried Martin. "He should be as easy to find as a cat in winter time. Cats always go towards the fire, you know, and blink the dreamy hours away in the warmth of the blaze. Oh, we'll find this Gilbert Crosby, never fear; and when we find him, what shall we say? Our Lady of Aylingford is in love. Come with us." "You are foolish, Martin." "I was born so, they say, and therefore cannot help it, but, being a fool, I am convinced that folly is sometimes better than wisdom. To-night, like a fool, I will dream of this Gilbert Crosby, and learn in what direction he must be sought for; but now I must be wise and tell you that the hour grows late and that children should be in bed." "I fear that childhood, and with it happiness, is being left far behind me, Martin," Barbara said with a sigh. She could not see him clearly in the shadows, could not discern the strange light in his eyes, nor catch the hushed echo to her sigh which came from her crazy companion. "No, no; we are all children right to the end," he said suddenly. "There are moments when we know it and feel it, and, alas! there are times, too, when we are blind and feel quite old. Open your eyes and you'll know that childhood has you always by the hand, keeping love and purity and fair dreams blossoming in your heart. Come, I will take you along the terrace lest Mr. Fellowes or my Lord Rosmore or--Ah! how many more are there who would not give half their years and most of their fortune to stand in the shoes of this fool to-night." "Peace, Martin." "Do you hear her little fiddle?" and he laid his hand lovingly on the polished wood for a moment. "You must not laugh while I am away. Maybe we'll have a laugh together when I return, for the moon is too bright to go out on to my roof and get wisdom from the stars. Come, mistress." And they went down the narrow, winding stair together. CHAPTER VII KING MONMOUTH The day was dying slowly, the west still aglow after the sinking of the sun. Thin wreaths of mist were rising from the wide, deep trenches, or "rhines," as the country folk called them, which intersected and drained this moorland, making cultivation possible where once had been a great marshy pool with shifting islands here and there, and rush-covered swamps. Silence was over the land, broken now and again by the call of a bird, and presently by the quick beating of hoofs. A solitary horseman came rapidly along a road which skirted the edge of the moor. He was dusty with a long journey, and his horse came to a standstill at the first tightening of the rein. The rider had been in the saddle since early morning, and although he had not loitered on his journey, his eyes and ears had been keenly set all day, and, whenever practicable, he had chosen by-paths in preference to the main road. His was a mission which might bring him many dangers, and enemies even amongst those he sought to befriend.