"La! you needn't be in such a hurry, Master Stich!" retorted Mistress Betty, adding with all the artifice of which she was capable, "the stranger wasn't."
But this was too much for John. There had been such a wealth of meaning in Betty's brown eyes.
"Oh! he wasn't? was he?" he asked with a jealous frown, "and pray what had he to say to you? There was no message except the letter."
But the demon of mischief was satisfied and Betty was disposed to be kind, even if slightly mysterious.
"Oh, never mind!" she rejoined archly, "he gave me a letter which I gave to my lady. That was early this morning."
"Well? ... and?"
But matters were progressing too slowly at anyrate for one feverish, anxious heart. Philip had tried to hold himself in check, though he was literally hanging on pretty Mistress Betty's lips. Now he could contain himself no longer. Lady Patience had had his letter. The mysterious highwayman had not failed in his trust, and the news Betty had brought meant life or death to him.
Throwing prudence to the winds, he pushed John Stich aside, and seizing the young girl by the wrist, he asked excitedly,—
"Yes? this morning, Betty? ... then ... then ... what did her ladyship do?"
Betty was frightened, and like a child was ready to drown her fright in tears. She had not recognised my lord in those dirty clothes.