In the meanwhile, he, a mere lad, became an outcast, condemned to death by Act of Parliament. Presently all might be cleared, all would be well, but for the moment he was like a wild beast, hiding in hedges and ditches, with his life at the mercy of any grasping Judas willing to sell his fellow-creature for a few guineas.
It was horrible! horrible! Philip vainly tried all the day to rouse himself from his morbid reverie. At intervals he would grasp the kind smith's hand and mutter anxiously,—
"My letter to my sister, John?—You are sure she had it?"
And patient John would repeat a dozen times the day,—
"I am quite sure, my lord."
But since the Corporal's visit Philip's mood had become more feverish.
"My letter," he repeated, "has Patience had my letter? Why doesn't she come?"
And spite of John's entreaties he would go to the entrance which faced the lonely Heath, and with burning eyes look out across the wilderness of furze and bracken towards that distant horizon where lay his home, where waited his patient, loving sister.
"I beg you, my lord, come away from the door, it isn't safe, not really safe," urged John Stich again and again.
"Then why will you not tell me who took my letter to Stretton Hall?" said the boy with feverish impatience.