extent, and
that the old man who dwells there with his son is little different from
a sorcerer, whom it is not safe to approach -- at least not with intent
to meddle. Men say that he is in league with the devil, and that he has
sold his soul for the philosopher's stone, that changes all it touches
to gold. They say, too, that those who offend him speedily sicken of
some fell disease that no medicine can cure. Though he must have
wondrous wealth, he has let his house fall into gloomy decay. No man
approaches it to visit him, and he goes nowhither himself. His son,
Peter, who seems as little beloved as his father, goes hither and
thither as he will. But it is whispered that he shares in his father's
dealings with the Evil One, and that he will reap the benefit of the
golden treasure which has been secured to them. However that may be, all
men agree that the Sanghursts of Basildene are not to be meddled with
with impunity."

Raymond's face was very thoughtful. Such a warning as this, lightly as
it would be regarded in the present century, meant something serious
then; and Raymond instinctively crossed himself as he heard Gaston's
words. But after a moment's pause of thoughtful silence he said gravely:

"Yet perhaps on this very account ought we the rather to strive to win
our inheritance out of such polluted hands. Have we not others to think
of in this thing? Are there not those living beneath the shelter of
Basildene who must be suffering under the curse that wicked man is like
to bring upon it? For their sakes, Gaston, ought we not to do all in our
power to make good our rights? Are they to be left to the mercy of one
whose soul is sold to Satan?"

Gaston looked quickly into his brother's flushed face, and wondered at
the sudden enthusiasm beaming out of his eyes. But he had already
recognized that a change was passing over Raymond, even as a change of a
different kind was coming upon himself. He did not entirely understand
it, neither did he resent it; and now he threw his arm across his
brother's shoulder in the old caressing fashion of their boyhood.

"Nay, I know not how that may be. There may be found those who dare to
war against the powers of darkness, and with the help of the holy and
blessed saints they may prevail. But that is not the strife after which
my heart longs. Raymond, I fear me I love not Basildene, I love not the
thought of making it our own. It is for the glory of the battlefield and
the pomp