The appearance of Philip at the foot of the stairs, and dressed in a serving-man’s suit, further enhanced their bewilderment. But already Patience stood proud, defiant, and almost feverish in her excitement, confronting the astonished group of soldiers. "This, Sergeant!" she said, taking hold of her brother’s hand, "is Philip Gascoyne, Earl of Stretton, my brother. Arrest _him_ if you wish, he surrenders to you willingly, but I call upon you to let your prisoner go free." The Sergeant was sorely perplexed. The affair was certainly getting too complicated for his stolid, unimaginative brain. He would have given much to relinquish command of this puzzling business altogether. "Then you, sir," he said, addressing Philip, "you are the Earl of Stretton?" "I am Philip James Gascoyne, Earl of Stretton, your prisoner, Sergeant," replied the lad, proudly. "But then, saving your ladyship’s presence," said the soldier, in hopeless bewilderment, "who the devil is my prisoner?" "Surely, Sergeant," quoth Sir Humphrey, with a malicious sneer, "you’ve guessed that already?" Jack Bathurst, exhausted and faint after his long fight and victory, had listened motionless and silent to what was going on around him. With the letters safely bestowed in the Sergeant’s wallet and about to be placed before His Royal Highness the Duke of Cumberland himself, he felt that indeed his task was accomplished. Fate had allowed him the infinite happiness of having served his beautiful white rose to some purpose. Philip now would be practically safe; what happened to himself after that he cared but little. At sound of Sir Humphrey’s malicious taunt, an amused smile played round the corners of his quivering mouth; but Patience, with a rapid movement, had interposed herself between Sir Humphrey and the Sergeant. "Your silence, Sir Humphrey," she commanded excitedly, "an you’ve any chivalry left in you." "Aye!" he replied in her ear, "my silence now ... at a price." "Name it." "Your hand." So low and quick had been questions and answers that the bewildered Sergeant and his soldiers had not succeeded in catching the meaning of the words, but Sir Humphrey’s final eager whisper, "Your hand!" reached Jack Bathurst’s sensitive ear. The look too in the Squire of Hartington’s face had already enabled him to guess the purport of the brief colloquy. "Nay, Sir Humphrey Challoner," he said loudly, "but ’tis not a marketable commodity you are offering to this lady for sale. I’ll break your silence for you. What is the information that you would impart to these gallant lobsters? ... That besides being my mother’s son I am also the highwayman, Beau Brocade!" "No! no! no!" protested Patience, excitedly. "Odd’s my life!" quoth the Sergeant, "but methought..." "Aye, Beau Brocade," said Sir Humphrey, with a sneer, "robber, vagabond and thief, that’s what this ... _gentleman_ means."