John said nothing: he could not see Jack’s face in the gloom, and did not understand his wild, mad mood, but his faithful heart ached to hear the ring of bitter longing in the voice of his friend. There was a moment’s pause, whilst Bathurst made a visible effort to control his excitement. Then he said more calmly,— "Here, John! take this money, friend!" He dived in the pocket of his big caped coat and then placed in John’s hand the two bags of money he had extracted from Master Mittachip and his clerk. "I’ve just got it from a blood-sucking agent of Sir Humphrey Challoner’s: ’tis money wrung from poor people, who can ill afford it." "Aye! aye!" quoth John, with a sigh. "I want two guineas to go to Mistress Haddakin, who has just lost her husband: the poor wretch is nigh to starving. Then thirty shillings are for the Widow Coggins, up Hartington way: those blood-suckers took her last shilling yesterday. Wilt see to it, friend John?" "Aye! aye!" "The rest is for the poor box at Aldwark this time. Perhaps there’ll be more before the morn." "Captain..." "Hush! don’t begin to lecture, John!" said Beau Brocade, with curious earnestness. "I tell thee, friend, there’s madness in my veins to-night. I pray thee go back home, and leave me to myself." "Don’t send me away, Captain," pleaded John, "I ... I ... am uneasy, and..." "Dear, kind, faithful John," murmured Bathurst. "Zounds! but I’m an ungrateful wretch, for I vow thou dost love me, friend." "You know I do, Captain. I ... I ... I’d give..." "Nay ... nothing!" interrupted Jack, quickly, "give me nothing but that love of thine, friend ... it is more precious than life ... but I pray thee, let me be to-night ... I swear to thee I’ll do no harm.... I’ll see thee in the morn, John.... I’ll be safe ... never fear!" John Stich sighed. He knew that further protest was useless. Already Beau Brocade had turned Jack o’ Lantern’s head once more towards the crest of the hill. The smith waited awhile, listening while he could to the sound of the horse’s hoofs on the rain-sodden earth. His honest heart was devoured with anxiety both for his friend and for the brave young lady who was journeying townwards to-night. Suddenly it seemed to him as if far away he could hear the creaking of wheels on the distant Wirksworth road. The air was so still, that presently he could hear it quite distinctly. ’Twas her ladyship’s coach, no doubt, plying its slow, wearying way along the quaggy road. It would be midway to the little town by now. The narrow track on which John stood cut the road at right angles, about a mile and a half away. The smith took to blaming himself that he had kept her ladyship’s journey a secret from Beau Brocade. The latter was a monarch on the Heath: he would have kept footpads at bay, watched and guarded the coach, and seen it, mayhap, safely as far as Wirksworth.