In vain she sought for Bathurst among the crowd: with wild, unreasoning agony she longed for him in this moment of her greatest need, and he was not there. She felt sure that if only he were near her he would think of something, do something, to avert the appalling catastrophe. "I give your ladyship one minute’s time to stand quietly aside," said the Sergeant, roughly. "After that I give my men orders to lay hands on you, and on any one who dares to interfere." "Give me the letters," whispered Sir Humphrey Challoner, insinuatingly, in her ear. "I can yet save your brother." "How?" she murmured involuntarily. He looked up towards the top of the stairs. "Then he _is_ up there?" She did not reply. It was useless to deny it, the next few moments would bring the inevitable. "Stand back, Sergeant," quoth John Stich, defiantly. "I have the honour to protect her ladyship’s person against any outrage from you." "Good words, smith," retorted the Sergeant, "but I tell ye I’ve been tricked twice by you and I mean to know the reason why. Let her ladyship allow me to search the room upstairs and I’ll not lay hands on her." "Ye shall not pass," repeated the smith, obstinately. "The letters," whispered Sir Humphrey, "give me the letters and I pledge you my honour that I can save him yet." But half mad with terror and misery, scornful, defiant, she turned on him. "Your honour!" she said, with infinite contempt. But in her inmost heart she murmured in agonised despair,— "What’s to be done? Oh, God, protect him!" "Stand back, John Stich," repeated the Sergeant, for the third time, "or I give my men the order to charge. Now then, my men!" "Ye shall not pass!" was the smith’s persistent, obstinate answer to the challenge. "Forward!" shouted the soldier in a loud voice. "Into it, my men! Use your bayonets if anyone interferes with ye!" The soldiers, nothing loth, were ready for the attack: there had already been too much parleying to suit their taste. They had been baffled too often in the last few days to be in the mood to dally with a woman, be she her ladyship or no. With a loud cry they made a dash for the stairway, which behind Stich and Lady Patience lost itself in the gloom above. And it was from out this darkness that at this moment a light-hearted, fresh young voice struck upon the astonished ears of all those present. "Nay! too much zeal, friend Stich. Stand aside, I pray you. Faith! it’ll give me great pleasure to converse with these gallant lobsters." And Jack Bathurst, pushing the bewildered smith gently to one side, came down the stairs with a smile upon his face, calm, debonnair, dressed as for a feast.