day."

The prayer was repeated, and so like a real prayer was it that, in the
darkness of the coach, Barbara smiled. Prayer and Judge Marriott seemed
so wide asunder.

"Now get back into the coach, and take care your muddy clothes do not
soil the lady's gown, as your presence could hardly fail to be
pestilential to her, did she but know you as you really are. Good-night,
fair mistress; some day I hope to see you under better escort."

For a moment he bowed low over his horse's neck, then he turned and
galloped straight across the heath.

Judge Marriott had entered the coach hurriedly, so glad to escape from
the highwayman that he did not consider how poor a figure he had cut in
the sight of the girl. Fearful that his tormentor might not yet have
done with him, he sank back in his corner again. Barbara was sitting
forward looking from the window.

"He has gone," she said.

"Curse him!" said Marriott in a whisper. He was still afraid, and his
voice trembled. "Surely his mask was--"

"It was brown," said Barbara. "I thought the man who wore the brown mask
was dead."

"I thought so too," he muttered as he leaned forward to the window and
watched the highwayman disappear into the shadows of the night.