The highwayman leaned against the open carriage-door and watched the struggling emotions flickering over the face of the widow. Anger and disgust were succeeded by scornful mirth, and at last, with a gesture of indescribably haughty grace, she extended her hand, palm downward. "My hand, Sir Highwayman," she said loftily, "has been deemed not unworthy of royal kisses!" "My plebeian lips would not venture where a king’s have feasted," was the mocking retort. "But whoever in future may kiss your lips must come after Robin Freemantle, the Highwayman. So, sweet one, by your leave." He bent suddenly over her and kissed her boldly on the scarlet blossom of her mouth. She drew back, gasping with anger and amazement. "How dare you?" she almost screamed. He stood a moment as if half-dazed by his own audacity, then closed the carriage-door and replaced his beaver on his head. "Good night, Ladies," he cried in a tone of reckless gaiety. "A pleasant journey to London and a merry time at court, and as ’tis ill junketing on an empty purse, accept mine in exchange for yours." With which he flung a heavy wallet into the carriage and snatching the little silken trifle from Prue’s hand, sprang on his horse and was quickly lost in the gloom of night. "Insolent varlet!" cried Prue passionately. "Would I were a man to beat him to death!" And she burst into a flood of angry tears. "Console yourself, sweet cousin," said her companion coaxingly. "You have saved our jewels for the second time to-day—first by outwitting a sheriff and now by cajoling a highwayman. After all, what is a kiss? You have just as many left for Sir Geoffrey as you had before you were robbed of that one." "That is all very well," cried Prue, half laughing and half tearful, "but how would you have liked it if it had happened to you?" "Faith, I’m not sure I should have made such a fuss! After thirty one may well be grateful for the kisses of a handsome young gallant—for I could see he was young, and I’ll warrant me he was comely too—even if he is Robin Freemantle, the highwayman." "For shame, Cousin Peggie, an’ if you love me, never remind me of this," replied Prue, with a touch of irritation. "I would far rather have lost my few last jewels than have suffered such an insult." "So would not I," laughed the incorrigible cousin. "What with play and the haberdasher all I have left in the world is contained in the little box under my feet, and I should count that cheaply saved at the price of a kiss." "You were not asked to pay the price," said Prue coldly. Then, thrusting her head out of the window, she relieved her pent-up feelings by soundly berating the cowardly serving-men who had yielded without a blow to a force so inferior and were now wasting precious time hunting for their useless weapons instead of hastening to the near-by crossroads to meet the mail-coach in which the two ladies proposed traveling from Yorkshire to London.