He pulled himself together with a vigorous effort of will, forcing himself to speak quietly and firmly, conquering the faintness and dizziness which was rapidly overpowering him. "Madam!" he said gently, "dare I hope that you will believe me when I say that I know naught of those letters? ... John Stich, as you know, is loyal and true ... not even to me would he have revealed your secret ... nay, more! ... it seems that I too have been tricked to further a villain’s ends. Will you not try and believe that had I known what those letters were I would have guarded them, for your sweet sake, with my last dying breath?" She did not reply: for the moment she could not, for her tears choked her, and there was the magic of that voice which she could not resist. Still she would not look at him. "Sir!" she said a little more calmly, "Heaven has given you a gentle voice, and the power of tender words, with which to cajole women. I would wish to believe you, but..." She was interrupted by the sound of voices, those of Thomas and Timothy, her men, who had kept a lookout for John Stich. The next moment the smith himself, breathless and panting, came into view. He had ridden hard, for Jack o’ Lantern’s flanks were dripping with sweat, but there was a look of grave disappointment on the honest man’s face. "Well?" queried Beau Brocade, excitedly, as soon as John had dismounted. "I’m feared that I’ve lost the scoundrel’s track," muttered John, ruefully. "No?" "At first I was in hot pursuit, he galloping towards Brassington; suddenly he seemed to draw rein, and the next moment a riderless horse came tearing past me, and then disappeared in the direction of Aldwark." "A riderless horse?" "Aye! I thought at first that maybe he’d been thrown; I scoured the Heath for half a mile around, but ... the mist was so thick in the hollow, and there was not a sound.... I’d have needed a blood-hound to track the rascal down." An exclamation of intense disappointment escaped from the lips of Lady Patience and of Beau Brocade. "Do you know who it was, John?" queried the latter. "No doubt of that, Captain. It was Sir Humphrey Challoner right enough." "Sir Humphrey Challoner!" cried Patience, in accents of hopeless despair, "the man who covets my fortune now holds my brother’s life in the hollow of his hand." Excitedly, defiantly, she once more turned to Beau Brocade. "Nay, sir," she said, "an you wish me to believe that you had no part in this villainy, get those letters back for me from Sir Humphrey Challoner!" He drew himself up to his full height, his pride at least was equal to her own. "Madam! I swear to you..." he began. He staggered and would have fallen, but faithful Stich was nigh, and caught him in his arms. "You are hurt, Captain?" he whispered, a world of anxiety in his kindly eyes. "Nay! nay!" murmured Beau Brocade, faintly, "’tis nothing! ... help me up, John! ... I have something to say ... and must say it ... standing!"