"It has gone out. Ah, Martin, you are a dreamer and look at the world through a veil of cloud, while I am a woman prone to trust too easily. We are easy to deceive, you and I." "Yes, dreamer as I am, I have recognised much of the falsehood," said Martin. "You like Mr. Gilbert Crosby?" "One grows to like a man when you have fought by his side in an awkward corner." "You would trust him?" "Don't you?" asked Martin. "He told me something of himself, but it was told to deceive. I found that in the ruins, just where he stumbled last night. He dropped it," and Barbara held out the brown mask which she had drawn from her dress. Martin took it and turned it this way and that. "He did not tell me that he was Galloping Hermit the highwayman," she said. "Very strange," said Martin. "Another might have dropped it. Many men tramped that spot that evening. Sir John, Lord Rosmore, and a dozen others." "Yes, and later, Mr. Fellowes," said Barbara. "He came with a despatch calling Lord Rosmore back into Dorsetshire." "Might not Mr. Fellowes have dropped it?" Martin asked. "He might. You may find many possibilities, but not probabilities." "The famous mask," mused Fairley, "and you find it, mistress. For my part I have had a kindly thought for the wearer. There are tales about him which make him different from other highwaymen." "Yes, Martin, I know, but I had almost--ah! you would not understand." "I saw the beam of light, and it has now gone out, you say. This wisp of brown silk has extinguished it. But consider, might there not be some great purpose for a man taking to the road?" "There might, Martin." "I have heard, mistress, of a great noble who wore fool's motley that he might the better stand between his King and danger. I have heard of one who lay bound in chains for years that his friend might be saved. Men have died for others ever since this world was young." "True, Martin." "So Galloping Hermit may have some purpose which, did we but know it, would make him a hero to crown rather than a scoundrel to hang. His heart may beat honestly; the eyes which looked from these holes--" "Were grey, Martin," and there was a catch in Barbara's voice which her companion was quick to notice. "Courage, mistress, the beam of light is still shining. We must get rid of this." "No, give it me. I may see him again and give it to him." "And perhaps be mistaken after all," said Martin. "The highwayman has long since provided himself with another mask, so we may destroy this." "No, Martin." "Why keep so dangerous a trifle? See, it burns." He took the candle and the mask to the hearth, and made sure that no tell-tale particle of the silk remained. "Mistress, it is gone. Be wise, forget that you ever found it," and Martin trampled the ashes into dust. CHAPTER XV BARBARA LANISON IN TOWN