"It was nothing," she answered. "By chance I learnt your name, by chance I heard you were in danger, and I sent you a warning. I was in your debt, and I like to pay what I owe." "You have done that with interest." "Tell me, why are you here?" she asked. "Indeed, madam, to answer that question I have need of Martin, too, for he brought me." "I do not understand, Mr. Crosby--you are Mr. Gilbert Crosby, are you not?" "Yes; and I do not understand, either," he answered. "I have been under the guidance of Fate and a fiddler, and it would appear that the fiddler, at any rate, has played some trick with me, for I do assure you that he made me suppose he was doing your bidding in bringing me here." "We call him 'Mad Martin,'" she said with a little laugh. "Will you tell me his tale? It should be interesting, though I fear it must greatly have misled you." She turned from the door as she spoke, and sat down by the table. Perhaps it was as well Martin had gone, for there was no guessing what he had told this stranger, nor how far he might call upon her to support his action were he asked suddenly for an explanation. "It would also be interesting to me to learn who you are, and where I am," said Crosby with a smile. "You do not know? You have forgotten?" Barbara exclaimed. "I have not so poor a memory as that," he answered, "and will you deem it presumptuous in me when I say that I hoped it might be you who had rendered me this service? I did not know until Martin lit those candles and you turned towards me. Within a few hours of my seeing you at Newgate I was called away from London. I had no opportunity of making inquiry about you." "There was no reason why you should," she answered. "You did not forbid me to do so." "Indeed, no. I had small chance to do that," Barbara returned. "You disappeared so quickly and mysteriously." "I had seen you to your friends--why should I wait?" "If for nothing else, to be thanked. I wondered whether you had recognised an enemy in the neighbourhood of my aunt's coach." He laughed, but whether at the suggestion, or at her method of trying to draw a confession from him, it was impossible to tell. "Did you see the highwayman and thank him, as you proposed?" Barbara asked. "I did, and now it seems he was not this famous Galloping Hermit, after all." For a moment she was silent, recollecting that she had speculated whether this man himself might not be the wearer of the brown mask. "I am Barbara Lanison," she said suddenly, "niece to Sir John Lanison of Aylingford Abbey." "Am I in Aylingford Abbey?" Crosby asked. "A queer little corner of it appropriated by Martin Fairley. You seem surprised, sir." "Indeed, I am. I have passed through many surprises during the last few hours, not the least of them being that this is Aylingford, and that you are astonished to see me."