nly his
obscurity, and the remoteness of his possessions in the far south, would
protect him from Edward's wrath when the affairs of the rebel Gascons
came to be inquired into in detail.

Gaston listened eagerly, and treasured it all carefully up, feeling sure
he could place his rival and the usurper of the De Brocas lands in a
very unenviable position with the royal Edward at any time when he
wished to make good his own claim.

The visit of the De Brocas brothers (as they were known in these parts)
was not made by stealth. All the world might know it now for all they
cared, protected as they were by their stout men-at-arms, and surrounded
by the glamour of the English King's royal favour. Gaston and Raymond
ranged the woods and visited their old haunts with the zest of youth and
affectionate memories, and Gaston often hunted there alone whilst his
brother paid a visit to Father Anselm, to read with him or talk of
Father Paul.

It was after a day spent thus apart that Gaston came in looking as
though some unwonted thing had befallen him, and when he and his brother
were alone in their room together, he began to speak with eager rapidity.

"Raymond, methinks I have this day lost my heart to a woodland nymph or
fairy. Such a strange encounter had I in the forest today! and with it a
warning almost as strange as the being who offered it."

"A warning, Gaston? what sort of warning?"

"Why, against our old, old enemy the Navailles, who, it seems, knows of
our visit here, and, if he dared, would gladly make an end of us both.
So at least the fairy creature told me, imploring me, with sweetest
solicitude, to be quickly gone, and to adventure myself in the woods
alone no more. I told her that our visit was well-nigh at an end, and
that we purposed to reach England ere the autumn gales blew shrill. At
that she seemed mightily pleased, and yet she sighed when we said adieu.
Raymond, she was the loveliest maiden my eyes have ever beheld: her hair
like silk, and of the deepest golden hue; her eyes of the colour of
violets nestling beneath brown winter leaves. Her voice was like the
rippling of a summer's brook, and her form scarce of this earth, so
light, so airy, so full of sylvan grace. She was like the angelic being
of a dream. I have never seen a daughter of earth so fair. Tell me,
thinkest thou it was some dream? Yet it is not my wont to slumber at my
sport, and the little hand I held in mine throbbed with the warmth of