"Curse your impudence!" said Sir John, and before Barbara was aware of his intention, he had seized her wrist and commenced to drag her towards the door, "Curse your impudence! We will see who is master at Aylingford. I shall have what guests I choose, and, by heaven, you shall treat them as I demand! You may flout Lord Rosmore, but I will see to it that you obey me." "You hurt my wrist, sir." "If it brings you to reason, it is perhaps the easiest way for you," he retorted. "Guests that are good enough for me shall be good enough for you." "And if they say I am a scheming light o' love, you, sir, will no doubt find means to prove that they are right." "Gad! your own prudery is doing that. Perhaps I might not have to make much inquiry to find that they had seen far more than I have. Much might go on in these rooms and the rest of the Abbey be none the wiser." Barbara's free hand was suddenly raised to strike him, but she let it fall to her side again. He held her wrist the tighter, and laughed in her face. "It is well for you that your daring stops short of that," he sneered. "Last night I heard words spoken out of the darkness," said Barbara. "'It is a sacred trust,' said a voice; 'God requite you if you fail in it. When she is of age give her that which is hers. She is free. Beware.'" There was magic in the words. Sir John let go her wrist and started backwards with a curious, muffled sound in his throat. His face was suddenly white with fear, and his trembling hands were linked together, straining at each other. Barbara did not move, and in her motionless attitude and the fixed gaze in her eyes the man seemed to perceive an added terror. "Who spoke them?" he stammered. "A voice out of the darkness." "They--they recall--what am I saying? Have your own way to-night; we shall both talk more calmly to-morrow." "To-morrow cannot undo to-night, sir. I have decided to ask Lady Bolsover to let me visit her for a while. Two days ago I received a letter from her asking me to go to her again." "I will see. We will talk of it to-morrow." "There is naught to do, sir, but arrange for my journey to town." It was almost as one suddenly stricken with a palsy that Sir John left the room and stumbled along the corridor. As he passed a man drew hastily back into the shadows, and then went light-footedly to Barbara's door. She had already locked it. He knocked. "I have nothing more to say," said Barbara. The man chanted a little stave in a low voice, and the door flew open. "Martin!" "You are in trouble, mistress, you need not tell me. Much I overheard, the rest I can guess. Lord Rosmore has departed. I met him on the road, at least he passed along the road, and I stood in the wood by the side to see him pass. Mr. Crosby is already busy in Dorsetshire, and I return to hear you are going to London." "Yes, Martin." "Dark hours, indeed," he said, "but there is the beam of light."