"Nay, fair lady ... I pray you rise," he said respectfully. "Odd’s my life! but ’tis not beauty’s place to kneel.... There! there!" he added, leading her to a chair and sitting beside her, "you know how to plead a cause; will you deign to confide somewhat more fully in your humble servant? We owe your family some reparation at anyrate, and you some compensation for the sorrow you have endured." And speaking very low at first, then gradually gaining confidence, Patience began to relate the history of the past few days, the treachery, of which she had been a victim, the heroic self-sacrifice of the man who was about to lay down his life because of his devotion to her and to her cause. His Highness listened quietly and very attentively, whilst she, wrapped up in the bitter joy of memory, lived through these last brief and happy days all over again. Even before she had finished, he had sent word to the Sergeant to bring both his other prisoners before him at once. Sir Humphrey and Jack Bathurst were actually in the room before Patience had quite completed her narrative. Bathurst ill and pale, but with that strange air of aloofness still clinging about his whole person. He seemed scarce to live, for his mind was far away in the land of dreams, dwelling on that last exquisite memory of his beautiful white rose lying passive in his arms, the memory of that first and last, divinely passionate kiss. The Duke looked up when the prisoners entered the room; although he knew neither of them by sight, he had no need to ask whose cause the beautiful girl beside him had been pleading so earnestly. "What do you wish to say, sir?" he said, addressing Sir Humphrey Challoner first. "You are no doubt aware of her ladyship’s grievances against you. They are outside my province, and unfortunately outside the province of our country’s justice. But I would wish to know why you should have pursued the Earl of Stretton and that gentleman, your fellow-prisoner, with so much hatred and malice." "I have neither hatred nor malice against the Earl of Stretton," replied Sir Humphrey, with a shrug of the shoulders, "but no doubt her ladyship would wish to arouse your Royal Highness’s sympathy for a notorious scoundrel. That gentleman is none other than Beau Brocade, the most noted footpad and most consummate thief that ever haunted Brassing Moor." The Duke of Cumberland looked with some surprise, not altogether unmixed with kindliness, at the slim, youthful figure of the most notorious highwayman in England. He felt all a soldier’s keen delight in the proud bearing of the man, the straight, clean limbs, the upright, gallant carriage of the head, which neither physical pain nor adverse circumstances had taught how to bend. Then he remembered Lady Patience’s enthusiastic narrative, and said, smiling indulgently,— "Odd’s my life! but I did not know gentlemen of the road were so chivalrous!" "Your Royal Highness..." continued Sir Humphrey. "Silence, sir!"