er. Joan had made no marriage for herself, she
was unwed at an age when most girls are wives and mothers, and Sir Hugh
was growing weary of her company. He wished to plunge once again into a
life of congenial dissipation, and into those researches for magic
wealth which had always exercised so strong a fascination over him; and
the first step necessary for both these objects appeared to be to marry
off his daughter, and that, if possible, to the man who was supposed to
be in possession of these golden secrets.

Joan, however, knew nothing of the hopes and wishes filling her father's
mind. She was glad to come back to the home she had always loved the
best of her father's residences, and which was so much associated in her
mind with her youthful lover.

She believed that so near to Guildford she would be sure to hear news of
Raymond. Master Bernard de Brocas would know where he was; he might even
be living beneath his uncle's roof. The very thought sent quick thrills
of happiness through her. Her face was losing its thoughtful gravity of
expression, and warming and brightening into new beauty. She had almost
forgotten the proximity of Basildene, and Peter Sanghurst's hateful
suit, so long had been the time since she had seen him last, until the
sound of his voice, breaking in upon a happy reverie, brought all the
old disgust and horror back again, and she turned to face him with eyes
that flashed with lambent fire.

Yet as she stood there in the entrance to that leafy bower which was her
favourite retreat at Woodcrych, Peter Sanghurst felt as though he had
never before seen so queenly a creature, and said in his heart that she
had grown tenfold more lovely during the years of her wanderings.

Joan was now no mere strip of a girl. She was three-and-twenty, and had
all the grace of womanhood mingling with the free, untrammelled energy
of youth. Her step was as light, her movements as unfettered, as in the
days of her childhood; yet now she moved with an unconscious stately
grace which caused her to be remarked wherever she went; and her face,
always beautiful, with its regular features, liquid dark eyes, and full,
noble expression, had taken an added depth and sweetness and
thoughtfulness which rendered it remarkable and singularly attractive.
Joan inspired a considerable amount of awe in the breasts of those
youthful admirers who had flitted round her sometimes during the days of
her wanderings; but she had never given