"Let the coach wait here," she said to the driver, "we may sleep at Wirksworth to-night."
"Ah! my good Stich," she added, grasping the smith's hand eagerly, "my brother, how is he?"
"All the better since he knows your ladyship has come," replied Stich.
A few moments later brother and sister were locked in each other's arms.
"My sweet sister! My dear, dear Patience!" was all Philip could say at first.
But she placed one hand on his shoulder and with a gentle motherly gesture brushed with the other the unruly curls from the white, moist forehead. He looked haggard and careworn, although his eyes now gleamed with feverish hope, and hers, in spite of herself, began to fill with tears.
"Dear, dear one," she murmured, trying to look cheerful, to push back the tears. All would be well now that she could get to him, that they could talk things over, that she could do something for him and with him, instead of sitting—weary and inactive—alone at Stretton Hall, without news, a prey to devouring anxiety.
"That awful Proclamation," he said at last—"you have heard of it?"
"Aye!" she replied sadly, "even before you did, I think. Sir Humphrey Challoner sent a courier across to tell me of it."
"And my name amongst those attainted by Act of Parliament!"