im, lad?" asked Sir Thomas of John.

"No," he answered quietly.

"Were you not afeared, Master Feversham?" said Rachel.

"Ay, a little--lest I should be full spent ere help could come. But for
that I trusted God. For aught else--nay: it was no time to think
thereof."

"Methinks, Jack Feversham," said Sir Thomas affectionately, "none shall
call thee a coward any more."

Feversham smiled back in answer.

"Sir Thomas," he said, "I fear God, and I love her. This was God's
work, and her great peril. How could I have held back?"

Sir Thomas glanced at his son; but Jack was twirling his moustache, and
intently contemplating one of the stags' heads which decorated the hall.

After that day, there was a great change in Blanche Enville. She had
come so near death, and that so suddenly, that she was sobered and
softened. God in His mercy opened her eyes, and she began to ask
herself,--What is the world worth? What, after all, is anything worth,
except to please God, and win His blessing, and inherit His glory?

Her opinion was changed, too, as it respected John Feversham. There was
no possibility of mistaking him for a coward any longer. And whatever
he had been, she could scarcely have failed to cherish some kindly
feeling towards the man who had risked his life for hers.

The two Johns left Enville Court together on the following Tuesday. And
after reaching London, Jack began to write letters home pretty
regularly, for that time,--always gay, airy, and sanguine.

Jack's first letter conveyed the information that he was absolutely
certain of obtaining the monopoly. Sir Christopher Hatton and Sir
Walter Raleigh had both promised their interest, and any thought of
failure after that was quite out of the question.

The second letter brought the news that Sir Christopher was very
ill--(in fact, he was dying)--and that, by some unfortunate mistake
(with Jack, any want of capacity to see his immense value, was always a
mistake), the monopoly had been granted to young Philip Hoby. But there
was no reason for disappointment. Jack had had an unusual run of good
luck that week at the gaming-table. It was quite Providential. For
Jack, like some other gentlemen of his day, dealt largely in religious
phrases, and did not trouble himself about religion in any other way.

The third letter stated that Jack had not been able to obtain the grant
of a wardship. That was another unfortunate mistake. But his good luck