His condition was pitiable. His Honour viewed him with no small measure of contempt. Then suddenly Sir Humphrey’s face lighted up with animation. The scowl disappeared, and a shrewd, almost triumphant smile parted the jovial, somewhat sensuous lips. "Easy! easy! you old coward," he said pleasantly, "things are not so bad as that.... Adsbud! you’re not hanged yet, are you? and," he added significantly, "Lord Stretton is still attainted and in peril of his life." "B ... b ... b ... but..." "Can’t you see, you fool," said Sir Humphrey with sudden earnestness, drawing a chair opposite the attorney, and sitting astride upon it, he viewed the meagre little creature before him steadfastly and seriously; "can’t you see that if I can only get hold of those letters now, I could _force_ Lady Patience into accepting my suit?" "Eh?" "With them in my possession I can go to her and say, ’An you marry me, those proofs of your brother’s innocence shall be laid before the King: an you refuse they shall be destroyed.’" "Oh!" was Master Mittachip’s involuntary comment: a mere gasp of amazement, of terror at the enormity of the proposal. He ventured to raise his timid eyes to the strong florid face before him, and in it saw such a firm will, such unbendable determination, that he thought it prudent for the moment to refrain from adverse comment. "Truly," he murmured vaguely, as his Honour seemed to be waiting for him to speak, "truly those letters mean the lady’s fortune to your Honour." "And on the day of my marriage with her, two hundred guineas for you, Master Mittachip," said Challoner, very slowly and significantly, looking his man of business squarely in the face. Master Mittachip literally lost his head. Two hundred guineas! ’twas more than he earned in four years, and that at the cost of hard work, many kicks and constant abuse. A receiver of rents has from time immemorial never been a popular figure. Master Mittachip found life hard, and in those days two hundred guineas was quite a comfortable little fortune. The attorney passed his moist tongue over his thin, parched lips. The visions which these imaginary two hundred guineas had conjured up in his mind almost made his attenuated senses reel. There was that bit of freehold property at Wirksworth which he had long coveted, aye, or perhaps that partnership with Master Lutworth at Derby, or... "’Twere worth your while, Master Mittachip, to get those letters for me, eh?" His Honour’s pleasant words brought the poor man back from the land of dreams. "I? I, Sir Humphrey?" he murmured dejectedly, "how can I, a poor attorney-at-law...?" "Zounds! but that’s your affair," said his Honour with a careless shrug of his broad shoulders, "Methought you’d gladly earn two hundred guineas, and I offer you a way to do it." "But how, Sir Humphrey, how?"