"What, when I am all dressed up in ribbons and laces for the wedding? No difference, forsooth! What do you say to that, Sir Geoffrey?" "I was just going to suggest that you were altogether too fine a bride for the occasion," said Sir Geoffrey, rather glumly. "A less resplendent toilet would be less likely to attract attention." "Eclipse me then under this big cloak," she replied, giving it to him. "Do you think, you foolish man, that I am dressed up like this to wed a footpad? I am on my way to Marlborough House to dine with the duchess, and must hasten or I shall be late and may chance to get a box o’ the ear for my first course." Robin Freemantle sat at the rough table in his cell, writing busily. Several closely written sheets were spread out before him, and when he finished the last and signed his name to it he threw the pen down and sat drumming on the table with his fingers. It was an idle action but by no means idly performed, for the frown on his forehead and the movements of his long, sinewy hands were full of purpose, and angry purpose, too. Presently the frown died away and a look of wistful sadness replaced it. He took up the written sheets and turned them in his fingers as though half-disposed to tear them up, smiling bitterly as he glanced from page to page. "What good will it do me," he muttered, "when my bones are rotting in an unmarked grave, to bequeath a feud to perhaps unborn generations? Shall I fling down my mother’s reputation for the lawyers to fight over, like dogs over a bone, when I am not there to protect it, and when the outcome of the struggle will interest me as little as it will her?" A dim vision, more imagination than memory, rose before him of the fair, young mother who had faded from his life twenty-three years ago, and beside it another face radiant with life and laughter, a pair of blue eyes sparkling through curled lashes, a pair of round, white arms gleaming in the darkness, a scarlet mouth—every nerve tingled at the thought that his own had touched it, and might again. But no! she had been merely playing with him. How could he have been fooled by the ruse of a spoiled beauty to feed her own vanity and punish his audacity? _She_ want to marry _him_! It was fantastic, absurd, and what could be more improbable than the reason for such a folly? She had a wager on it, perhaps, or merely wished to amuse herself at the expense of the daring highwayman who had robbed her of a kiss. Well, she had had her way. He had shown that she had but to beckon and he was ready to follow, and that had doubtless ended her whim. "She will not come!" he said, aloud, in a tone of poignant disappointment, that plainly showed how he clung to the promise he feigned to discredit. The jailer opened the door noisily. "Visitors for the highwayman," he announced. "More fine ladies and gentlemen."