Presently the moon, which had been under a cloud, shot into the clear sky, so that I could see her plainly. She was clad from head to foot in a long garment, while on her head she wore a hood, as if even in the loneliness of midnight she desired to hide her face. I could see, too, that she was tall and that she moved with rapidity and ease; but that was all, for her back was toward me, and although the light of the moon was bright I could not even tell the colour of the garment she wore.
As I came up close to her, my heart fell to beating wildly, not because of my exertion in overtaking her, but because of the strangeness of my adventure. In truth it seemed as though I were in a dream from which I should presently awake, only to find what had taken place was but the wild fancy which comes to one when one loses control over one's own imaginings.
Whether I should have dared to speak to her I know not, but when I was only a few yards from her I happened to kick a stone which lay in my way, and as it rattled along the road she turned around sharply, and with a cry of fear.
"What do you wish?" she asked, and I noted that her voice trembled not one whit.
But I did not reply; I was so much wrought upon that no words would come to me.
"I have naught to give you," she said, "so pass on and allow me to go my way."
As she spoke her hood dropped from her face and I saw her every feature plainly.
CHAPTER V
A MIDNIGHT MEETING
My first glance at the woman's face showed me that it was the same as I had seen a few hours before. In the moonlight she looked very pale, and I saw that she was young, not indeed as I judged more than twenty years of age. But what struck me most was the fact that she betrayed no fear; rather I saw a look of defiance, and I could not understand how a woman who had, as I thought, been cowed by the man at the inn could meet me here alone at midnight and be so brave. Nay, as I thought, there was a look of defiance in her face, and a confidence in her own strength.
"I desire naught from you, and I have no will to molest you," I said.
"Then go your way."
"Ay, I will go my way," I replied, "and perchance my way may be yours."
"It cannot be. If you have no will to molest me, take your road and I will take mine."
Her quiet confidence almost angered me. Fearfulness I was prepared to meet, while cries I expected; but to be quietly commanded to pass on, knowing what I knew, made me somewhat impatient, and hence more at my ease.
"It may be, mistress, when I have told you what is in my mind, you will not be so desirous to be rid of me."
"There can be naught in your mind that concerns me." Then with a flash as quick as light she said, "Do you boast of gentle blood, young sir?"
"I am of gentle birth," I replied.
"Then you must know that when a lady would be alone no man of honour will stay by her side."
"That's as may be," I replied. "The lady may be surrounded by dangers of which she knows nothing, in which case the man of honour will stay and protect her even against her will!"
For a moment she gazed around her as if she apprehended danger, but only for a moment.
"Will it please you to pass on?" she said.
"Not until I have told you what is in my mind."
"Then you are a spy."
"As you will," I replied, for the words angered me, and even although I had no sufficient excuse for remaining by her side, I determined to know more of her.
"Perhaps my first impression was right," she went on, "and you are a common thief. If so, it is useless coming to me, I have no money."
At this I was silent, for my brain refused to give me a suitable answer.
"So having no money, and having no desire to remain longer in your company, I will e'en go on my way."
"No you will not."
At this her eyes flashed like fire.
"Why?" she asked.
"Because you are afraid to let me know where you are going."
At this she gazed fearfully at me, but she spoke no word.
"Nevertheless, I know the place for which you are bound," I said. "But if I were you I would not go."
"Why?"
"Because the man who sent you seeks only his own safety and not yours. Because he desires to use you only as a key to unlock the door by which he would enter, because he has gained power over you only to make you his tool."
"What do you know of the man who sent me?"
This she said, as I thought, involuntarily, for she quickly went on: "How do you know I have been sent? In these days even a woman may——" and then she stopped suddenly, like one afraid.
"Because I have been staying at the Barley Sheaf," I replied. "Because I saw you come to the inn; because I heard your conversation to-night with the man who hath sent you to do his bidding, against your own will."
"Then you are a spy?"
"If you will, but let me tell you what is in my mind before you call me by that name again. I was awakened an hour or two ago by the sound of a woman sobbing. She was pleading with some man not to send her out at midnight, but he persisted. I heard him threaten her, I heard him tell her that if her name were known some dread calamity would happen to her. I knew that he had some power over her, possessed some secret concerning her, and that she had perforce to do his will."
"Well, what then, sir?" she asked sharply.
"He commanded her to go to Pycroft, along a road that is infested by footpads."
"And what have you to do with this?"
"Nothing except that I determined to follow her, and offer her what protection and help I could give her. Ay, and more, to rid her from the man who is so unworthy to call himself her protector."
At this she came up close to me, and looked steadily into my face.
"Is that all you know?" she said.
"That is all."
"And that is your reason for following me?"
"That is my reason."
"What is your name?"
I could see no harm in telling her. My name was unknown, and my mission hither was, I believed, a secret.
"Roland Rashcliffe," I said.
"Of Epping?"
"Of that family, yes."
"And this is true?"
"On my word as a gentleman, yes."
Again she looked at me steadily as if she were in sore straits what to do, and did not know whether she might trust me.
"You know nothing about me beyond what you have said?"
"Nothing."
"And you desire only to see me safe from harm?"
"That is all," and at the time it was true, for under the influence of the woman's presence my own mission to Pycroft seemed of little import.
"And if I allow you to accompany me