John Stich and Mistress Betty were carrying on an animated conversation in a remote corner of the forge. Patience did not wish to disturb them: she was deeply grateful to John, and felt kindly disposed towards the suggestion of romance conveyed by the smith's obvious appreciation of pretty Mistress Betty.
She crossed the shed, and opening the door at the further end of it, she found that it gave upon a small yard which separated the forge from the cottage, and in which Stich and his mother, who kept house for him, had with tender care succeeded in cultivating a few flowers: only one or two tall hollyhocks, some gay-looking sunflowers, and a few sweet-scented herbs. And on the south aspect a lovely trail of creeping white rose, the kind known as "Five Sisters," threw its delicate fragrance over this little oasis in the wilderness of the Moor.
And, almost mechanically, whilst her fancy once more went a-roaming in the land of dreams, Patience began to hum the quaint old ditty: "My beautiful white rose."
Suddenly—at a quick thought mayhap—her eyes grew dim, her cheeks began to burn: she drew towards her a cluster of snowy blossoms, on which the earlier rains had left a mantle of glittering diamonds, and buried her glowing face in its pure, cool depths. Then she detached one lovely white rose from the parent bough, and, sighing, pinned it to her belt.
CHAPTER XIII
A PROPOSAL AND A THREAT
Sir Humphrey Challoner had not been long in making up his mind to take Master Mittachip's pernicious advice. He twisted the old adage that "everything is fair in love" to a justification of his own evil purpose. He was not by any means a bad man. Save for his somewhat inordinate love of money, he had none of the outrageous vices which were looked upon with leniency in the quality in those days.
He drank hard, and exacted his pound of flesh equally from all his tenants, but neither of these characteristics was unusual in an English squire of the early eighteenth century: a great many of them were impecunious, and all were fond of good cheer. Originally he had meant no harm to the young Earl of Stretton. His plan, as he clumsily conceived it, was to get Philip into trouble first, then to extricate him from it, for the sake of earning the gratitude of the richest heiress in the Midlands and the most beautiful woman in England to boot.
Sir Humphrey Challoner was not a diplomatist: he was a rough country gentleman of that time, with but scant notions of abstract right and wrong where his own desires were at stake.
His original plan had failed through that very Act of Parliament which placed Philip's life in immediate and imminent peril. Sir Humphrey did not desire the lad's death: of course not. He had nothing to gain thereby, and only wished for the sister's hand in marriage. He started for London post-haste, hoping still to use what influence he had, and also what knowledge he possessed of Philip's attitude at the time of the rebellion, in order to bring about the boy's justification and release.