r smoke and noise), and that the Prince, when he hears of it, will
urge his father to march once more into France, and put an end to the
petty annoyances and treacherous attacks which are goading the royal
lion of England to wrath and fury."

"Pray Heaven it may!" cried Gaston, starting to his feet and pacing up
and down the hall. "Thou knowest, uncle mine, how the Prince and the
King did long ago confirm to me the rights of the De Brocas to the
ancient Castles of Orthez and Saut. If he would but give me his royal
warrant for mustering men and recovering mine own, I trow, be the walls
of Saut never so strong, that I would speedily make mine entrance within
them! Uncle, the Sieur de Navailles is hated and feared and reviled by
all men for miles around his walls. I trow that, even amongst those who
bear arms for him, some would be found who would gladly serve another
master. Stories of the punishments he is wont to inflict upon all who
fall beneath his displeasure have passed from mouth to mouth, and bitter
is the rage burning in the breasts of those whose helpless kinsfolk have
suffered through his tyrant cruelty. I trow an armed band, coming in the
name of the English King, could soon smoke that old fox out of his hole;
whilst all men would rejoice at his fall. Let me to the King -- let me
tell my tale! I burn to be on the wing once more! Where may his Majesty
be found?"

"Softly, softly, boy! We must think somewhat more of this. And we have
two foes, not one alone, to deal with. Peter Sanghurst is, as it were,
beneath our very hand. He is at Basildene, fuming like a wild thing at
the sudden disappearance of Mistress Joan. There be, nevertheless, some
who say that this wrath is all assumed; that he has captured the lady,
and holds her a prisoner in his hands, all the while pretending to know
naught of her. I know not what truth there may be in such rumours. The
Sanghurst bears an evil name, and many are the stories whispered about him."

"What!" almost shouted Gaston, in the fierceness of his excitement,
"Mistress Joan a prisoner in Basildene, the captive of that miscreant!
Uncle, let us lose not an hour! Let us forthwith to the King. He will
give us his royal warrant, and armed with that we will to Basildene, and
search for her there, and free her ere the set of sun. Oh, it would be
like him -- it would be all in a piece with his villainy! I cannot rest
nor breathe till I know all. Uncle, may we not set forth this ver