"Nay, I fear no footpads. They're welcome to what money I have, and they'd not care to rob me of my letters," she said eagerly. "But I'll put up at the Moorhen, John. We all need a rest. I suppose there's no way across the Heath from thence to Wirksworth."
"None, your ladyship. This is the only possible way. Back here to the cross-roads and on to Wirksworth from here."
"Then I'll see you again, dear," she said tenderly, clinging to Stretton, "at sunset mayhap. I'll start as soon as I can. You may be sure of that."
"And guard the letters, little sister," he said as he held her closely, closely to his heart. "Guard them jealously, they are my only hope."
"You'll write the letter to Lady Edbrooke," she added. "Have it ready when I return, and perhaps write out your own petition to the King—I'll use that or not as Lord Edbrooke advises."
Then once more, womanlike, she clung to him, hating to part from him even for a few hours.
"In the meanwhile you will be prudent, Philip," she pleaded tenderly. "Trust nobody but John Stich. Any man may prove an enemy," she added with earnest emphasis, "and if you were found before I could reach the King..."
She tore herself away from him. Her eyes now were swimming in tears, and she meant to seem brave to the end. Stich was urging her to hurry. After all she would see Philip again before sunset, before she started on the long journey which would mean life and safety to him.
Two minutes later, having parted from her brother, Lady Patience Gascoyne entered her coach at the cross-roads, where Mistress Betty had been waiting for her ladyship with as much patience as she could muster.
By the time Sir Humphrey Challoner's coach had reached the bottom of the decline on the Hartington Road, and begun the weary ascent up to the blacksmith's forge, Lady Patience's carriage was well out of sight beyond the bend that led eastward to Aldwark village.