ult that followed the curious interruption of the morning's
work, Lindley's exit was unnoticed. It was less than five minutes
before he returned, and in that time he had delivered the white horse,
with its starred forehead, to Johan, who was waiting, apparently at
ease, at the end of the lane. Lindley stopped not to question the boy,
so anxious was he to see what was happening in the court.

There were a clamor of voices, a rustle of silks, a clanking of spurs
and swords. Many averred that the lady was some well-known beauty
infatuated by Lord Farquhart, playing merely for time. Others thought
she might be lady to the real highwayman, whoever he was, and that she
was about to force him to reveal himself. Some suggested that she
might even be the highwayman himself. Lord Grimsby was trying to
recall if ever he had heard of the devil guising himself as a young
red-headed girl, covering himself, from horned head to cloven hoof, in
azure velvet. Lord Farquhart still sat quite unmoved, seemingly as
indifferent as ever to the world, apparently unmindful of his
champion. Ashley's face was black with rage, and he stood all alone in
the midst of the crowd. Lady Barbara had flung aside her mask; her
loosened cloak and its hood had fallen from her, but her white face
was hidden behind her white hands. Jack Grimsby, Treadway, all of
Farquhart's friends, were watching eagerly, intently, the door through
which the woman had disappeared, through which she or the real
highwayman must reappear. There had been a movement to follow her, but
this had been checked by Lord Grimsby's voice. The word of the court
had been given. Its word was not to be violated. The stranger should
not be followed or spied upon. Lord Grimsby's lips were working
feverishly, and those nearest to him heard muttered imprecations and
prayers, but prayers and imprecations were alike addressed to the
ruler of the nether world.

Through the window that faced Lord Farquhart fluttered a faint breeze,
and, suddenly, on its wings, floated a song caroled gayly by careless
lips.

Lips that vie with the poppy's hue,
Eyes that shame the violet's blue,
Hearts that beat with love so true,
Barb'ra, sweet, I come to you!

As the last line was reached, the window framed a figure; a figure
that seemed as familiar to all as the voice that crossed the figure's
lips. And yet the figure was cloaked and hatted and masked in black.

"Lord Farquhart!" shouted a hundred voice