"I was hard pressed, mind you, and had but a few seconds in which to make up my mind. I dismounted, then lashed my horse into a panic. As I expected he made straight for his own stables, at anyrate, he galloped off like mad in the direction of Aldwark, whilst I remained cowering in the dense scrub, grateful for the mist, which was very dense in the hollow. There I remained hidden for about half an hour, until all sound died away on the Heath. What happened to that damned highwayman or to John Stich I know not, but I did not feel that the letters were safe whilst they were about my person. I knew that I was some distance from this village, and still further from Aldwark, and feared that I should be pursued and overtaken. At any rate, I crept out of my hiding-place and presently found myself close to a wooden hut, not far from the roadside: and there, underneath some bramble and thorny stuff, I hid the letters well out of sight." "Oh! but they won’t be safe there, Sir Humphrey," moaned Mittachip, who seemed to see the golden vision of two hundred guineas vanishing before his eyes. "Think of it. Any moment they might be unearthed by some dolt of a shepherd!" "’Sdeath! I know that, you fool! They’re in a dry place now, but I only mean them to remain there until you can take them to your own house at Wirksworth, and put them in your strong room till I have need of them." But this suggestion so alarmed Master Mittachip that he lost his balance and nearly fell off the edge of his chair. "I, Sir Humphrey? .... I ... cross that lonely Heath again? ... and with those letters about my person?..." "Tush, man! the footpads wouldn’t take letters from you, and Beau Brocade will be keeping an eye on me, and wouldn’t again molest you..." "Aye! but he knows I enjoy the honour of your confidence, good Sir Humphrey! Believe me, the letters would not be safe with me." "Adsbud!" said his Honour, firmly, "then I’ll have to find someone else to take care of those letters for me, and," he added significantly, "to earn the two hundred guineas." Master Mittachip gave an anxious gasp. That two hundred guineas!!! the ultimate ambition of his sordid, miserable existence! No! he would not miss that! ... and yet he dreaded the Heath ... and was in terror of Beau Brocade ... and he dreaded his Honour’s anger ten thousand times more than either: that anger would be terrible if, having taken charge of the letters, he should be robbed of them. The alternative was an awful one! He racked his tortuous brain for a likely issue. Sir Humphrey had risen, kicked his chair to one side, and made as if he would go.