During the course of this eventful day the attention of the Sergeant and soldiers had been distracted, through Bathurst’s daring actions, from Stich’s supposed nephew out o’ Nottingham, but as the beautiful September afternoon turned to twilight and then to dusk, and band after band of hunters set out to scour the Heath, it became quite clear both to Patience and to the smith that Philip must be got away from the forge at any cost. He could remain in temporary shelter at the Packhorse, under the guise of one of Lady Patience’s serving-men, at anyrate until another nightfall, when a fresh refuge could be found for him, according as the events would shape themselves within the next few hours. Therefore, as soon as the shadows of evening began to creep over Brassing Moor, Stich set out for the cross-roads. He walked at a brisk pace along the narrow footpath which led up to his forge, his honest heart heavy at thought of his friend, all alone out there on the Heath. The weird echo of the man-hunt did not reach this western boundary of the Moor, but even in its stillness the vast immensity looked hard and cruel in the gloom: the outlines of gorse bush and blackthorn seemed akin to gaunt, Cassandra-like spectres foreshadowing some awful disaster. Within the forge Philip too had waited in an agony of suspense, whilst twice the glorious sunset had clothed the Tors with gold. Driven by hunger and cold out of the hiding-place on the Moor which Bathurst had found for him, he had returned to the smithy the first night, only to find John Stich gone and no trace of his newly-found friend. His sister, he knew, must have started for London, but he was without any news as to what had happened in the forge, and ignorant of the gallant fight made therein by the notorious highwayman. The hour was late then, and Philip was loth to disturb old Mistress Stich, John’s mother, who kept house for him at the cottage. Moreover, he had the firm belief in his heart that neither Bathurst nor Stich would have deserted him, had they thought that he was in imminent danger. Tired out with the excitement of the day, and with a certain amount of hope renewed in his buoyant young heart, he curled himself up in a corner of the shed and forgot all his troubles in a sound sleep. The next morning found him under the care of old Mistress Stich at the cottage. She had had no news of John, who had wandered out, so she said, about two hours after sunset, possibly to find the Captain; but she thrilled the young man’s ears with the account of the daring fight in the forge. "Nay! but they’ll never get our Captain!" said the worthy dame, with a break in her gentle old voice, "and if the whole countryside was after him they’d never get him. Leastways so says my John." "God grant he may speak truly," replied the young man, fervently; "’tis shame enough on me that a brave man should risk his life for me, whilst I have to stand idly behind a cupboard door."