“I meant to ask—­Shall a priest be sent for?  Surely Major Dudley would consent.”

“I don’t know.  I have not loved such priests lately.  I had rather die as near your mother as may be.”

“Miss Woodford,” said a voice at the door, and going to it, Anne found herself clasped in her uncle’s arms.  With very few words she led him to the bedside, and the first thing he said was “God bless you, Peregrine, for what you have done.”

Again Peregrine’s face lighted up, but fell again when he was told of the Portsmouth surgeon’s arrival at the same time, saying with one of his strange looks that it was odd sort of mercy to try to cure a man for Jack Ketch, but that he should baffle them yet.

“Do not set your mind on that,” said Dr. Woodford, “for Lord Cutts was so much pleased with you that he would do his utmost on your behalf.”

“Much good that would do me,” said poor Peregrine, setting his teeth as his tormentor came in.

Meantime, in Mrs. Dudley’s parlour, while that good lady was assisting the surgeon at the dressing, Anne and her uncle exchanged information.  Mr. Fellowes had arrived on foot at about noon, with his servant, having only been released after two hours by a traveller, and having been deprived both of money and horses, so that he could not proceed on his journey; besides that he had given the alarm about the abduction, and raised the hue and cry at the villages on his way.  There had been great distress, riding and searching, and the knowledge had been kept from poor Charles Archfield in his prison.  Mr. Fellowes had gone on to London as soon as possible, and Dr. Woodford had just returned from a fruitless attempt to trace his niece, when Sir Edmund Nutley and Lord Cutts appeared, with the joyful tidings, which, however, could be hardly understood.

Nothing, Dr. Woodford said, could be more thorough than the vindication of Charles Archfield.  Peregrine had fully stated that the young man had merely interposed to prevent the pursuit of Anne Woodford, that it was he himself who had made the first attack, and that his opponent had been forced to fight in self-defence.  Lord Cutts had not only shown his affidavit to Sir Philip, but had paid a visit to the Colonel himself in his prison, had complimented him highly on his services in the Imperial army, only regretting that they had not been on behalf of his own country, and had assured him of equal, if not superior rank, in the British army if he would join it on the liberation that he might reckon upon in the course of a very few days.

“How did you work on the unhappy young man to bring about this blessed change?” asked the Doctor.

“Oh, sir, I do not think it was myself.  It was first the mercy of the Almighty, and then my blessed mother’s holy memory working on him, revived by the sight of myself.  I cannot describe to you how gentle, and courteous, and respectful he was to me all along, though I am sure those dreadful men mocked at him for it.  Do you know whether his father has heard?”