“But, Joan, Joan, if you do this—feel inside my coat here, to the left—you will save an army, girl, maybe a throne! Here ’tis, Joan, see—no, not that—here! Say the seal is that of the Governor of Bristol, who stole it from me for a while: but the handwriting will be known for the King’s: and no hand but yours must touch it till you stand before Sir Ralph Hopton. The King shall thank you, Joan; and God will bless you for’t.” “Hope so, I’m sure. But larn me what to say, lad: for I be main thick witted.” So I told her the message over and over, till she had it by heart. “Shan’t forgit, now,” she said, at length; “an’ so hearken to me for a change. Bide still, nor fret thysel’. Here’s pasty an’ oat cake, an’ a keg o’ water that I’ll stow beside thee. Pay no heed to feyther, an’ if he wills to get drunk an’ fight wi’ Jan Tergagle—that’s the cat—why let’n. Drunk or sober, he’s no ’count.” She hid the letter in her bosom, and stepp’d to the door. On the threshold she turned— “Jack—forgot to ax: what be all this bloodshed about?” “For Church and King, Joan.” “H’m: same knowledge ha’ I o’ both—an’ that’s naught. But I dearly loves fair play.” She was gone. In a minute or so I heard the trampling of a horse: and then, with a scurry of hoofs, Joan was off on the King’s errand, and riding into the darkness. Little rest had I that night; but lay awake on my bracken bed and watched the burning peat-turves turn to grey, and drop, flake by flake, till only a glowing point remained. The door rattled now and then on the hinge: out on the moor the light winds kept a noise persistent as town dogs at midnight: and all the while my wound was stabbing, and the bracken pricking me till I groaned aloud. As day began to break, the old man picked himself up, yawned and lounged out, returning after a time with fresh turves for the hearth. He noticed me no more than a stone, but when the fire was restack’d, drew up his chair to the warmth, and breakfasted on oat cake and a liberal deal of liquor. Observing him, the black cat uncoil’d, stretch’d himself, and climbing to his master’s knee, sat there purring, and the best of friends. I also judged it time to breakfast: found my store: took a bite or two, and a pull at the keg, and lay back—this time to sleep. When I woke, ’twas high noon. The door stood open, and outside on the wall the winter sunshine was lying, very bright and clear. Indoors, the old savage had been drinking steadily; and still sat before the fire, with the cat on one knee, and his keg on the other. I sat up and strain’d my ears. Surely, if Joan had not failed, the royal generals would march out and give battle at once: and surely, if they were fighting, not ten miles away, some sound of it would reach me. But beyond the purring of the cat, I heard nothing.