"That was the impression created in my mind, your Honour." "And why does she take those letters to London?" said Sir Humphrey, bringing his heavy fist crashing down upon the table, and causing glasses and dishes to rattle, whilst Master Mittachip almost lost his balance. "Why does she take them to London, I say? Because they are the proofs of her brother’s innocence. It is easy to guess their contents. Requests, admonitions, upbraidings on the part of the disappointed rebels, obvious proofs that Philip had held aloof." He pushed his chair noisily away from the table, and began pacing the narrow room with great, impatient strides. But while he spoke Master Mittachip began to lose his placid air of apologetic deference, and a look of alarm suddenly lighted his meek, colourless eyes. "Good lack," he murmured, "then my Lord Stretton is no rebel?" "Rebel?—not he!" asserted Sir Humphrey. "His sympathies were thought to be with the Stuarts, but he went south during the rebellion—’twas I who advised him—that he might avoid being drawn within its net." But at this Master Mittachip’s terror became more tangible. "But your Honour," he stammered, whilst his thin cheeks assumed a leaden hue, and his eyes sought appealingly those of his employer, "your Honour laid sworn information against Lord Stretton ... and ... and ... I drew up the papers ... and signed them with my name as your Honour commanded..." "Well! I paid you well for it, didn’t I?" said Sir Humphrey, roughly. "But if the accusation was false, Sir Humphrey ... I shall be disgraced ... struck off the rolls ... perhaps hanged..." Sir Humphrey laughed; one of those loud, jovial, laughs which those in his employ soon learnt to dread. "Adsbud!" he said, "an one of us is to hang, old scarecrow, I prefer it shall be you." And he gave Master Mittachip a vigorous slap on the shoulder, which nearly precipitated the lean-shanked attorney on the floor. "Good Sir Humphrey..." he murmured piteously, "b ... b ... b ... but what was the reason of the information against Lord Stretton, since the letters can so easily prove it to be false?" "Silence, you fool!" said his Honour, impatiently, "I did not know of the letters then. I wished to place Lord Stretton in a perilous position, then hoped to succeed in establishing his innocence in certain ways I had in my mind. I wished to be the one to save him," he added, muttering a curse of angry disappointment, "and gain _her_ gratitude thereby. I was journeying to London for the purpose, and now..." His language became such that it wholly disconcerted Master Mittachip, accustomed though he was to the somewhat uncertain tempers of the great folk he had to deal with. Moreover, the worthy attorney was fully conscious of his own precarious position in this matter. "And now you’ve gained nothing," he moaned; "whilst I ... oh! oh! I..."