ever, could not sleep; so, after an hour or two had passed,
she rose, lit a candle, threw on a wrap, and descended the broad
staircase, intent upon a queer and enthralling Spanish book--the story
of a mad knight and his comic, matter-of-fact attendant, which was a
favourite of her father's.

The book was wont to stand in a corner of the library close to his hand
as he sat writing by the window, and, opening the door, Barbara crossed
the floor with her hand outstretched to take it. So familiar was she
with the mad knight's position on the shelves that she carried no light.

Her hand was within a yard of the sheepskin cover when she leaped back
with frozen blood, for there, a foot from her, in her father's chair,
was the figure of a man. Instantly she remembered the open window. A
breath from the roses floated in and fanned her face; until her dying
day Barbara had but to be conscious of the scent of roses to see again
that darkened room, to feel again that tightening of the heart. She
could neither scream nor move.

The tension was snapped by the man himself, who suddenly awoke and
stretched his arms, and, in doing so, smote Barbara on the shoulder. He
sprang to his feet with a cry of astonishment and apology, and at that
moment she was herself again.

"A thousand pardons," he said, bowing low before her.

"Who--who are you?" Barbara found words to ask. "And what is your
business here? It is no part of a gentleman's behaviour to enter houses
by the window."

"Nay," said the man, and Barbara noted that his speech was of one
gently born--"nay, it is truly no gentleman's conduct, but in these
days, when Kings are laid low at the hands of traitors"--and his voice
had a bitter ring--"and rebels sit in high places, a gentleman must
perforce descend to trickery and meanness now and then."

Barbara repeated her question. "But tell me who you are, and what you
want? There is a gate to the place; there are servants to open it. Why
did you steal upon us thus? And Bevis?" she added, as a sudden
misgiving seized her, "he was chained by the window. Have you killed
him? Oh, say you have not hurt Bevis?"

"Nay, I could not hurt an old friend," said the stranger. "Bevis and I
are old friends. He remembered me at once."

Barbara's fear diminished somewhat at these words. "Old friends!" she
exclaimed, half reassured.

"Yes," said the stranger, "we were together in the west. Colonel
Mvddelton, whom I have striven hither to talk