fortified by royal warrant, and with a heart beating high with hope
and love, Gaston set out with some two score soldiers as a bodyguard to
reconnoitre the land; and upon the evening of the second day, the
brothers saw, in the fast-fading light of the winter's day, the red
roofs of the old mill lying peacefully in the gathering shadows of the
early night.

Their men had been dismissed to find quarters in the village for
themselves, and Roger was their only attendant, as they drew rein before
the door of the mill, and saw the miller coming quickly round the angle
of the house to inquire what these strangers wanted there at such an hour.

"Jean!" cried Gaston, in his loud and hearty tones, the language of his
home springing easily to his lips, though the English tongue was now the
one in which his thoughts framed themselves. "Good Jean, dost thou not
know us?"

The beaming welcome on the miller's face was answer enough in itself;
and, indeed, he had time to give no other, for scarce had the words
passed Gaston's lips before there darted out from the open door of the
house a light and fairy-like form, and a silvery cry of rapture broke
from the lips of the winsome maiden, whilst Gaston leaped from his horse
with a smothered exclamation, and in another moment the light fairy form
seemed actually swallowed up in the embrace of those strong arms.

"Constanza my life -- my love!"

"O Gaston, Gaston! can it in very truth be thou?"

Raymond looked on in mute amaze, turning his eyes from the lovers
towards the miller, who was watching the encounter with a beaming face.

"What means it all?" asked the youth breathlessly.

"Marry, it means that the maiden has found her true knight," answered
Jean, all aglow with delight; but then, understanding better the drift
of Raymond's question, he turned his eyes upon him again, and said:

"You would ask how she came hither? Well, that is soon told. It was one
night nigh upon six months agone, and we had long been abed, when we
heard a wailing sound beneath our windows, and Margot declared there was
a maiden sobbing in the garden below. She went down to see, and then the
maid told her a strange, wild tale. She was of the kindred of the Sieur
de Navailles, she said, and was the betrothed wife of Gaston de Brocas;
and as we knew somewhat of her tale through Father Anselm, who had heard
of your captivity and rescue, we knew that she spoke the truth. She said
that since the escape, whic