"But the rebel, Captain..." feebly protested the Sergeant, "my duty..."
"Nay, Sergeant, as you will," said Bathurst, coolly, with a great show of complete indifference; "but while you parley here, Beau Brocade will slip through your fingers. He is at the house now: he may be gone by sunset. Odd's life! search for your rebels! go on! waste time! and the hundred guineas are lost to you and your men for ever."
It was obvious that both sergeant and men were determined not to lose this opportunity of a bold bid for fortune.
"Done with you, sir," he said resolutely. "After all," he added, as a concession to his own sense of duty, "I can always come back and search the forge afterwards."
All the soldiers seemed as one man to be uttering a sigh of relief and eager anticipation, and even before the Sergeant had spoken the word, they turned to go.
"You are a wise man, Sergeant," said Bathurst, jovially. "Off with you! straight along that road you see before you. The cottage is just beyond that clump of distant firs, there you'll see the bridle path. But I'll overtake you before then, never fear. Time to give my horse a handful of oats..."
But even while he spoke the Sergeant had called "Attention!"
"I'll not fail you, sir," he shouted excitedly. "A hundred guineas! odd's my life! 'tis a fortune! Left turn! Quick march!"
The young man stood in the doorway and watched the little squad as, preceded by their Sergeant, they plodded their way northwards in quest of fortune. John Stich too followed them with his eyes, until the bend in the road hid the red coats from view. Then both turned and came within.
But Lady Patience through it all never looked at the soldiers; her eyes, large, glowing, magnetic, were fixed upon the stranger in the forge, as if in a trance of joy and gratitude.