"There's more knighting than comes from the King's hand, my good Philpotts." "H'm?" said Philpotts, uncomprehending. "Nothing," answered Neville. "I'm glad to see you're not giving in beaten." "A man, Philpotts, is never beaten till he has said in his heart, 'I am beaten.'" "That's right. Keep up your heart, and your heart'll keep you up in spite of Fate." "Pooh! Show me Fate and I will show you the will of a man; but what have you there in your hand?" "Oh, ye may well ask. 'Tis no slight honor, I can tell you, to get a letter from Mistress Margaret Brent. I know 'tis from her, for the boy that brought it bade me say so; twice he said it, and bade me not forget, as if that were likely." Neville reached out his hand for the letter, and bending near the lantern broke the seal and read,-- "I am sure, sir, you will be glad to know that there are those who believe in your innocence and will do all they can to establish it. My position is a delicate one, for I can neither thwart those in power, nor openly act against them; but what I can do I will, and meanwhile should you by any chance reach Kent Island you may find a refuge and a shelter." The note had neither beginning nor end. "I thank you!" said Neville aloud, as if the writer of the note were near; and may not souls draw near as well as bodies? Philpotts hearing his voice turned back. "Was it good news?" he asked. "The best." "Will it help ye?" "Ay, on the scaffold itself." "Never be talking so much of what's far off. There's no luck in prophesying ill things. Was ever any one in your family hung?" "No; none rose so high," said Neville, with bitter humor. "Still another sending for thee. 'Twas brought by Mistress Calvert's son while his mother was within. I wonder does the child think we mean to starve you." As he spoke he drew out a loaf of bread. "He said you were not to wait till morning, but eat it _all_ to-night." Neville smiled, a sweet, wholesome, human smile. "Give it me," he said, and broke off a great chunk. To his surprise he found the loaf hollow, and inside was Cecil's knife wrapped round with a bit of paper on which was scrawled in a childish hand,-- "I crep out of bed to get this Loaf. I was afraid of bars tho you say they cum not into houses. I dug out the Bred with my nife and thru the crums out at the Windo so Mother sh'd not see them. I hope you will stab your jalor, and jump out your Windo too. Sum day you shal cum to Robin Hood's Barn. You may keep the Nife. CALVERT." "Here, Philpotts," said Neville, handing over the knife, "this is for you; but with your leave I will keep the note," and he folded it and laid it next his heart, as though it had been written by his own son. "Why not keep it yoursel', Master?" "I have no use for it." "I can find one." "Still harping on escape? Every one seems to know me for a coward."