The Brown Mask | Page 9

not this woman belong to him? True, he had no family behind
him to boast of, but he had made a position, and the way to greater
things lay open before him. Jeffreys was his friend, and Jeffreys was a
power with the new King. High honours might be in the near future for
Judge Marriott. He was an ugly man--with all his willingness to do so,
he could not gainsay that; but he consoled himself with the reflection
that many beautiful women had married men whose looks certainly did
not recommend them. It was only the commonplace that women turned
from, and he was sufficiently ugly not to be commonplace.
So Judge Marriott exerted himself to amuse and interest his fair young
charge as they journeyed together into Hampshire, and not altogether
without success. He soon discovered that all discussion concerning the
trial was unwelcome, that the girl's foolish sympathies had been with
the prisoner rather than the judge, and he quickly talked of other things.
He almost made Barbara believe that he regretted Nature had not made
him a highwayman instead of a judge, and he certainly succeeded in
making the girl confess to herself that he was not such an unpleasant
travelling companion as she had expected.
The day had been cloudy, threatening rain, and twilight came early.
When the coach began to cross Burford Heath it was dusk. Barbara was
tired, and leaned back in her corner, while the judge lapsed into silence,
not altogether oblivious to the fact that there might be dangers upon the
heath. The road was heavy, and in places deep-rutted; the grinding and
crunching of the wheels, the only sound breaking the stillness of the
evening, grew monotonous; and the constant heavy jolting was trying.
Suddenly there was a cry from the post-boys, and the coach came to a
standstill with a jerk.
"Curse them! They've managed to break down!" exclaimed Marriott.
His hand trembled a little as he let down the window, and it seemed to
Barbara that he was more afraid than angry. He thrust his head out of

the window with an oath, then drew it in sharply. A horseman stood at
the door with a pistol in his hand.
"There is payment to make for crossing the heath."
The judge broke out into a torrent of abuse, but whether at the man who
barred his way or at himself for being unprepared, it was difficult to
say.
"And the payment is extra for cursing your luck, especially in the
presence of a lady," said the man sharply, in a tone which admitted no
argument and proved him master of the situation.
Barbara, sitting upright, looked steadily into the masked face of the
highwayman, deeply interested, but without fear. Was it fancy, or was
there a familiar note in the man's voice? Marriott had shrunk back in
the coach as he fumbled for his purse. He tried to conceal his face from
the man, for, should the highwayman discover his identity, he might
consider the moment opportune to avenge his brother of the road who
had so recently died at Tyburn.
"A meagre purse for so famous a judge," the man said, weighing it in
his hand; "but your money is a small matter. I have a bigger score to
settle than that. Out with you!" and the man flung open the coach door.
Marriott shrank farther back until he appeared a very small and mean
man in the corner of the coach. He tried to speak, but his words were
inarticulate, and Barbara could feel him trembling violently.
"Get out, or--"
"Surely, sir, you would not kill him?" and Barbara stretched out an arm
to protect him.
"Do you plead for him, mistress? He is lucky to have such an advocate.
Get out, judge. For the sake of those bright eyes beside you, you may
keep your life, but you shall do penance for your sins. Get out, I say."

Very reluctantly Marriott crept from the carriage.
"You have all my money," he whimpered.
"Down on your knees, then, and ask pardon for passing judgment on a
better man than yourself. Down! Quickly, or this pistol of mine may
forget that I have made a promise."
Marriott sank upon his knees in a place where the road was very
muddy.
"The man I sent to Tyburn--say it after me."
"The man I sent to Tyburn," repeated Marriott.
"--was a gentleman compared to me."
"--was a gentleman compared to me."
"I am an unjust judge, a scoundrel at heart, a mean, contemptible
coward, unfit to consort with honest men, and every pure, good woman
should spurn me like dirt. Say it! Louder! The lady should be interested
in your confession."
Marriott said the words, raising his voice as he was