Master Mittachip’s attenuated frame quaked with terror. There was so much hatred, so much lust for revenge in Sir Humphrey’s half-choked voice, that instinctively the attorney cowered, as before some great and evil thing which he only half understood. After awhile Sir Humphrey managed to control himself. He was ashamed of having allowed his agent this one peep into the darkness of his soul. His love for Patience, though brutish and grasping, was as strong as his sensuous nature was capable of: his jealousy and hatred had been aroused by the strange scene he had witnessed on the Heath, and he was as conscious now of the longing for revenge, as of the desire to possess himself of Lady Patience and her fortune. "’Sdeath!" he said more calmly, "Beau Brocade and that rascal John Stich were after me in a trice, and they’d have had the letters back from me, had I not put a bullet into the damned thief!" "And wounded him, your Honour?" queried Mittachip, eagerly. "Nay! I could not wait to see! but I hoped I had killed him, for ’twas John Stich who rode after me, fortunately. He was too big a fool to do me any harm and I quickly made him lose my track." "And you’ve destroyed the letters, Sir Humphrey?" "Destroyed them, you fool? Nay, it would ill suit my purpose if Stretton were to die. Can’t you see that _now_," he said excitedly, "with those letters in my hand, I can force Lady Patience’s acceptance of my suit? While her brother’s life hangs in the balance I can offer her the letters, on condition that she consent to marry me, and threaten to destroy them if she refuse!" "Aye! aye!" murmured the attorney, "’twere a powerful argument!" "And remember," added his Honour, significantly, "there’ll be two hundred guineas for you the day that I wed Lady Patience. That is, _if_ you render me useful assistance to the end." "Two hundred guineas!!! Good lack, Sir Humphrey, I hope you’ve got those letters safe!" "Aye! safe enough for the present!" "About your person?" "Nay! you idiot! about my person? With so cunning a rascal as Beau Brocade at my heels!" "Then in your valise, Sir Humphrey?" "What? in a strange inn? Think you the fellow would be above breaking into my room? How do I know that mine host is not one of his boon companions? The rascal has many friends hereabouts." "B ... b ... but what have you done with them, Sir Humphrey?" queried the attorney, in despair. "In your ear, Master Mittachip," quoth his Honour, instinctively lowering his voice, lest the walls of the old inn had ears. "I thought the best plan was to hide the letters there, where Lady Patience and her chivalrous highwayman would least expect to find them." "How so, good Sir Humphrey?"