"Well?" queried Mittachip.

"Oi'm thinking, sir..."

"What?"

"How can Oi go on your errand when Oi've got to guard this 'ere sheep for you?"

"Oh, d.a.m.n the sheep!" quoth Master Mittachip, emphatically.

"Well, sir! if you be satisfied..."

"You know my house at Wirksworth?"

"Aye, aye, sir."

"I'll give you a packet. You are to take it to Wirksworth now at once, and to give it to my clerk, Master Duffy, at my house in Fulsome Street.

You are quite sure you understand?"

"I dunno as I do!" quoth Jock, vaguely.

But with an impatient oath Sir Humphrey turned into the hut: matters were progressing much too slowly for his impatient temperament. He pushed Mittachip aside, and said peremptorily,-

"Look here, shepherd, you want to earn a guinea, don't you?"

"Aye, sir, that I do."

"Well, here's the packet, and here's a letter for Master Duffy at Master Mittachip's house in Fulsome Street. When Master Duffy has the packet and reads the letter he will give you a guinea. Is that clear?"

And he handed the packet of letters, and also a small note, to Jock Miggs, who seemed to have done with hesitation, for he took them with alacrity.

"Oh! aye! that's clear enough," he said, "'tis writ in this paper that I'm to get the guinea?"

"In Master Mittachip's own hand. But mind! no gossiping, and no loitering. You must get to Wirksworth before c.o.c.k-crow."

Jock Miggs slipped the packet and the note into the pocket of his smock.

The matter of the guinea having been satisfactorily explained to him, he was quite ready to start.

"Noa, for sure!" he said, patting the papers affectionately. "Mum's the word! I'll do your bidding, sir, and the papers'll be safe with me, seeing it's writ on them that I'm to get a guinea."

"Exactly. So you mustn't lose them, you know."

"Noa! noa! I bain't afeeard o' that, nor of the highwaymen; and Beau Brocade wouldn't touch the loikes o' me, bless 'im. But Lordy! Lordy!

these be 'mazing times."

Already Sir Humphrey was pushing him impatiently out of the hut.

"And here," added his Honour, pressing a piece of money into the shepherd's hand, "here's half-a-crown to keep you on the go."

"Thank 'ee, sir, and if you think t' sheep will be all right..."

"Oh, hang the sheep!..."

"All right, sir ... if Master Mittachip be satisfied ... and I'll leave t' dog to look after t' sheep."

He took up his long, knotted stick, and still shaking his head and muttering "Lordy! Lordy!" the worthy shepherd slowly began to wend his way along the footpath, which from this point leads straight to Wirksworth.

Sir Humphrey watched the quaint, wizened figure for a few seconds, until it disappeared in the gloom, then he listened for awhile.

All round him the Heath was silent and at peace, the plaintive bleating of the sheep in the pen added a note of subdued melancholy to the vast and impressive stillness. Only from far there came the weird echo of hound and men on the hunt.

His Honour swore a round oath.

"Zounds!" he muttered, "the rogue must be hard pressed, and he's not like to give us further trouble. Even if he come on us now, eh, you old scarecrow? ... the letters are safe at last! What?"

"Lud preserve me!" sighed the attorney, "but I hope so."

"Back to Bra.s.sington then," quoth Sir Humphrey, l.u.s.tily. "Beau Brocade can attack us now, eh? Ha! ha! ha!" he laughed in his wonted boisterous way, "methinks we have outwitted that gallant highwayman after all."

"For sure, Sir Humphrey," echoed Mittachip, who was meekly following his Honour's lead across the road to where their horses were in readiness for them.

"As for my Lady Patience! ... Ha!" said his Honour, jovially, "her brother's life is ... well! ... in my hands, to save or to destroy, according as she will frown on me or smile. But meseems her ladyship will have to smile, eh?"

He laughed pleasantly, for he was in exceedingly good temper just now.

"As for that chivalrous Beau Brocade," he added as he hoisted himself into the saddle, "he shall, an I mistake not, dangle on a gibbet before another nightfall."

"Hark!" he added, as the yelping of the bloodhound once more woke the silent Moor with its eerie echo.

Mittachip's scanty locks literally stood up beneath his bob-tail wig.

Even Sir Humphrey could not altogether repress a shudder as he listened to the shouts, the cries, the snarls, which were rapidly drawing nearer.

"We should have waited to be in at the death," he said, with enforced gaiety. "Meseems our fox is being run to earth at last."

He tried to laugh, but his laughter sounded eerie and unnatural, and suddenly it was interrupted by the loud report of a pistol shot, followed by what seemed like prolonged yells of triumph.

Master Mittachip could bear it no longer; with the desperation of intense and unreasoning terror he dug his spurs into his horse's flanks, and like a madman galloped at breakneck speed down the hillside into the valley below.

Sir Humphrey followed more leisurely. He had gained his end and was satisfied.

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE QUARRY

Some few minutes before this the hunted man had emerged upon the road.