Patience was clinging to her brother, half hysterical, nervous, excited.
"You are safe, dear," she murmured, touching with trembling motherly hands the dear head so lately in peril, "quite safe ... let me feel your precious hands ... oh! it was so horrible! ... another moment and you were discovered! ... Sir!" she added once more, turning to the stranger with the sweet impulse of her gratitude, "my thanks just now must have seemed so poor ... I was nervous and excited ... but see! here is one who owes you his life, and who, I know, would wish to join his thanks to mine."
But there was a change in his manner now. He bowed slightly before her and said very coldly,—
"Nay, madam! let me assure you once again that I have done naught to deserve your thanks. John Stich is my friend, and he seemed in trouble ... if I have had the honour to serve you at the same time, 'tis I who should render thanks."
She sighed, somewhat disappointed at his coldness. But Philip, with boyish impulse, held out both hands to him.
"Nay, sir," he said, "I know not who you are, but I heard everything from behind that door, and I know that I owe you my life..."
"I beg you, sir..."
"Another moment and I had rushed out and sold my life dearly. Your noble effort, sir, did more than save that life," he added, taking Patience's hand in his, "it spared a deep sorrow to one who is infinitely dear to me ... my only sister."
"Your ... your sister?"
"Aye! my sister, Lady Patience Gascoyne, I am the Earl of Stretton, unjustly attainted by Act of Parliament. The life you have just saved, sir, is henceforth at your command."