-morrow to London. Doubtless I shall see Mistress Judith there."

"Why, then, 'tis only that the scene will shift to London," cried
Lindley. "Cheer up, my lad, we'll name a tryst in London. Besides,
there's news waiting you in London; news for you and your master
concerning your bond to him. You hardly look the part of a lad who's
won to freedom by a pretty bit of swordplay. You should have learned
ere now to fit your countenance to the parts you perform."

"But I've performed so few parts, Master Lindley. I am only Johan, the
player's boy, and, by your leave, I'll go now, and for a
tryst--she--for our tryst, say at ten o'clock, in front of Master
Timothy Ogilvie's mansion, where Mistress Judith and her father lodge.
I'll have surely seen Mistress Judith then, and can report to you any
change, if change there be."

The slender lad slipped back into the shadows of the Ogilvie woods,
but for full ten minutes he held Lindley's thoughts away from the lady
of his heart's desire. What could ail the lad to be so changed, so
spiritless? Was his love so deep that to be weaned from Judith for
even a few short hours could break his spirit thus? Or was it possible
that the duel and the fatigues of that midnight encounter had been too
much for his strength? Lindley could answer none of these questions,
so the lover's thoughts soon strayed back to Mistress Judith, and the
player's lad was forgot.

But even Mistress Judith held not all of Lindley's thoughts that
night, for Lord Farquhart's fate was resting heavily on his mind. That
Farquhart was, indeed, the gentleman of the highways Lindley knew to
be impossible, and yet all the facts seemed to be against the
imprisoned lord. Even Lindley's word had gone against him, for Lindley
had been questioned, and had been obliged to admit that he had heard
Lord Farquhart singing in his room above the stairs at the very time
when Clarence Treadway, when Farquhart himself, swore that he was
asleep belowstairs in Treadway's room. There was no evidence,
whatsoever, for Lord Farquhart save his own words. All the evidence
was against him.

And the affair that had savored more of a jest than of reality seemed
gradually to be settling down to a dull, unpleasant truth. Farquhart
could and would tell but the one tale. Ashley would tell but one tale,
and he, in truth, had convinced himself of Farquhart's guilt, absurd
as it seemed. The Lady Barbara could only lie on her bed and moan and
sob, and cr