But the voice was the same, as Lord Claud quickly assisted him to change his garments, to assume wig and mask, and soot his forehead over.

Tom had not been unprepared for this denouement, and yet when he saw himself in the habiliments of a highway robber, his heart throbbed with a painful sense of wonderment at how it had all come about.  Yet the fascination exercised over him by his companion, and his own love of adventure and excitement, were so strong, that he did not know whether he dreaded or desired the coming struggle.

“What are we going to do?” he asked in a low voice.

“To take our due that they will not give us,” was the stern reply.  “They had their choice, and must abide by their blindness and obstinacy.  I am not going to be treated with contempt; no one who has ever tried to do so has done it with impunity.  Every man has a right to his own—­is it not so, honest Tom?”

“Yes, truly,” answered Tom, with a note of indignation in his voice.  “Those who withhold our due must suffer for it.”

“They shall suffer in pocket; and if what we shall obtain this night be more than our due, the fault is theirs, not ours.  Tom, you are to taste a new experience this night—­one which is full of joy to those who have drunk often of the cup.  There be times when I say that I am happiest dressed as tonight, a good horse beneath me, a bright moon above, and a booty worth having well in view.  It is so full of rare surprises and delight; and, if a man but have his wits about him, it is so monstrous easy, too!”

Tom seemed to catch the spirit of his comrade.  Those were days when crime was lightly thought of, though so heavily punished.  A strain of recklessness in Tom’s blood made the notion of even robbery on the king’s highway fascinating rather than terrible—­at least when he could say to himself that he was but “taking his own.”

It was plain enough now that this was the secret of Lord Claud’s life—­hinted at more or less plainly by many before, but never altogether understood by Tom.  Yet Lord Claud was received, feted, made much of in the society of the gay city, even by those who more than suspected where his influx of wealth came from.  He had even received instructions, and been intrusted with an important commission, by one so high in office as the great Duke of Marlborough.  Surely there could be no great stigma resting upon one who was thus employed in the service of his country.  It seemed to Tom (as it has seemed to others before and since) that if only success crowned these efforts, there was no disgrace attached to them.

But it was a significant if—­and he knew it!

“And suppose we are taken?” he said tentatively.

“We should be hanged,” answered Lord Claud coolly.  “But we shall not be taken.  Make your mind quite clear on that point.  Do just as I tell you, and have no fears.  The rest will follow of itself.”

Tom had come to have that sort of implicit trust in his companion which some men have the power to inspire.  It makes them dangerous to foes, because they appear to bear charmed lives; and their companions trust implicitly in their luck, and know no fear.  Tom felt that if Lord Claud told him to ride through fire or water, he would do it without hesitation, knowing that the thing was possible, and believing he would accomplish it.