Like a fettered lion he paced up and down the narrow floor of the dingy inn parlour, chafing under restraint, humiliated at the thought of being unable to join in the fight, that was being made for his safety.
His sister's cry came to him in this agonising moment like the most joyful, the most welcome call to arms.
"The door! ... quick!..." he shouted as loudly as he could, "it is locked!"
She found the bolt and tore open the door, and the next instant he was running downstairs, closely followed by Patience.
The Sergeant and soldiers had been not a little puzzled at hearing her ladyship suddenly calling in mad exultation on her brother, whom they believed they were even now holding prisoner.
The appearance of Philip at the foot of the stairs, and dressed in a serving-man's suit, further enhanced their bewilderment.
But already Patience stood proud, defiant, and almost feverish in her excitement, confronting the astonished group of soldiers.
"This, Sergeant!" she said, taking hold of her brother's hand, "is Philip Gascoyne, Earl of Stretton, my brother. Arrest him if you wish, he surrenders to you willingly, but I call upon you to let your prisoner go free."
The Sergeant was sorely perplexed. The affair was certainly getting too complicated for his stolid, unimaginative brain. He would have given much to relinquish command of this puzzling business altogether.
"Then you, sir," he said, addressing Philip, "you are the Earl of Stretton?"