Patience felt that without his help she was indeed powerless to fight her cunning enemy. She was never for one moment in doubt as to the motive which prompted Sir Humphrey Challoner to steal the letters. He meant to hold them as a weapon over her to enforce the acceptance of his suit; this she knew well enough. Her instincts, rendered doubly acute by the imminence of the peril, warned her that the Squire of Harrington meant to throw all scruples to the wind, and would in wanton revenge sacrifice Philip by destroying the letters, if she fought or defied him openly. Patience bethought her of the scene at the forge, when Bathurst’s ready wit had saved her brother from the officious and rapacious soldiers: now that the terrible situation had to be met with keenness and cunning, she once more turned, with hope in her heart, to the one man who could save Philip again: but he, alas! lay helpless. And all along the weary way to Brassington she was listening with aching heart and throbbing temples to his wild, delirious words and occasional, quickly-suppressed moans. However, they reached the Packhorse at last in the small hours of the morning: money, lavishly distributed by Lady Patience, secured the one comfortable room in the inn for the wounded man. As soon as the day broke John Stich went in quest of Master Prosser, the leech, a gentleman famed for his skill and learning. Already the rest on a good bed, and Lady Patience’s cool hand and gentle words, had done much to soothe the patient. Youth and an iron constitution quickly did the rest. The leech pronounced the wound to be neither deep nor serious, and the extraction of the ball caused the sufferer much relief. Within an hour after the worthy man’s visit, Jack Bathurst had fallen into a refreshing sleep, and at John Stich’s earnest pleading, Lady Patience had thrown herself on a bed in the small room which she had secured for herself and Mistress Betty, and had at last managed to get some rest. The sun was already well up in the heavens when Jack awoke. His eyes, as soon as they opened, sought anxiously for her dear presence in the room. "Feel better, Captain?" asked John Stich, who had been watching faithfully by his side. "I feel a giant, honest friend," replied the young man. "Help me up, will you?" "The leech said you ought to keep quiet for a bit, Captain," protested the smith. "Oho! he did, did he?" laughed Jack, gaily. "Well! go tell him, friend, from me, that he is an ass." "Where is she, John?" he asked quietly, after a slight pause. "In the next room, Captain." "Resting?" "Aye! she never left your side since you fainted on the Heath." "I know—I know, friend," said Jack, with a short, deep sigh; "think you I could not feel her hand..." He checked himself abruptly, and with the help of John Stich raised himself from the bed. He looked ruefully at his stained clothes, and a quaint, pleasant smile chased away the last look of weariness and suffering from his face.