ication, and would have cast himself at the boy's feet had he
not been restrained. The terrible remorse which so often falls upon a
guilty conscience at the last hour had the miserable man in its
clutches. His mind was too far weakened to think of his many crimes even
blacker than this one. The sight of Raymond had awakened within him the
memory of the defrauded woman, and he could think of nothing else. She
had come back from the dead to put him in mind of his sin. If he could
but make one act of restitution, he felt that he could almost die in
peace. He gripped Raymond's hand hard, and looked with agonizing
intensity into his face.

"I am not Alicia," he answered gently. "Her spirit is at rest and free,
and no thought of malice or hatred could come from her now. I am her
son. I know all -- how you drove her forth from Basildene, and made
yourself an enemy; but you are an enemy no longer now, for the hand of
God is upon you, and I am here in His name to strive to soothe your last
hours, and point the way upwards whither she has gone."

"Alicia's son! Alicia's son!" almost screamed the old man. "Now Heaven
be praised, for I can make restitution of all!"

Raymond raised his eyes suddenly at an exclamation from Roger, to see a
tall dark figure standing motionless in the doorway, whilst Peter
Sanghurst's fiery eyes were fixed upon his face with a gaze of the most
deadly malevolence in them.

CHAPTER XX. MINISTERING SPIRITS.

"The sickness in the town! Alackaday! Woe betide us all! It will be next
within our very walls. Holy St. Catherine protect us! May all the Saints
have mercy upon us! In Guildford! why, that is scarce five short miles
away! And all the men and the wenches are flying as for dear life,
though if what men say be true there be few enough places left to fly
to! Why, Joan, why answerest thou not? I might as well speak to a block
as to thee. Dost understand, girl, that the Black Death is at our very
doors -- that all our people are flying from us? And yet thou sittest
there with thy book, as though this were a time for idle fooling. I am
fair distraught -- thy father and brother away and all! Canst thou not
say something? Hast thou no feeling for thy mother? Here am I nigh
distracted by fear and woe, and thou carriest about a face as calm as if
this deadly scourge were but idle rumour."

Joan laid down her book, came across to her mother, and put her strong
hand caressingly upon her shoulder. P