of before now, Bridget," answered
Joan, speaking rapidly in a strange low voice -- "the thing that thou
and I have planned a hundred times if the worst should befall us. It is
tenfold more needful now than before. Bridget, I must quit this house at
sunset tomorrow, and thou must have my disguise ready. I must to France,
to find out there the truth of a tale I have this day heard. Nat will go
with me -- he has said so a hundred times; and I have long had money
laid by for the day I ever knew might come. Thou knowest all. He is a
man of the sea; I am his son. We have planned it too oft to be taken
unawares by any sudden peril. Thus disguised, we may wander where we
will, molested by none. Lose no time. Rise and go to Nat this very
night. I myself must not be seen with him or with thee. I must conduct
myself as though each day to come were like the one past. But thou
knowest what to do. Thou wilt arrange all. God bless thee, my faithful
Bridget; and when I come back again, thou shalt not lack thy reward!"

"I want none else but thy love, my heart's delight," said the old nurse,
gathering the girl into her fond arms; and Joan hid her face for one
moment upon that faithful breast and gave way to a short burst of
weeping, which did much for her overcharged heart.

Then she silently stole away and went quietly to her own chamber.

CHAPTER XXVIII. GASTON'S SEARCH.

"He would get better far more quickly could the trouble be removed from
his mind."

Gaston raised his head quickly, and asked:

"What trouble?"

Father Paul's face, thin and worn as of old, with the same keen,
kindling glance of the deep-set eyes, softened almost into a smile as he
met the questioning glance of Gaston's eyes.

"Thou shouldst know more of such matters than I, my son, seeing that
thou art in youth's ardent prime, whilst I wear the garb of a monk. Sure
thou canst not have watched beside thy brother's sickbed all these long
weeks without knowing somewhat of the trouble in his mind?"

"I hear him moan and talk," answered Gaston; "but he knows not what he
says, and I know not either. He is always feeling at his neck, and
calling out for some lost token. And then he will babble on of things I
understand not. But how I may help him I know not. I have tarried long,
for I could not bear to leave him thus; and yet I am longing to carry to
the King my tale of outrage and wrong. With every week that passes my
chance of success grows less. For