to some horrible death, to act as a warning to others like-minded
with himself. Since the loss of his niece, almost as mysterious to him
as the escape of Raymond de Brocas from the prison, the clouds of doubt
and suspicion had closed more and more darkly round the miserable man,
who had let himself become the slave of his passions until these had
increased to absolute madness. His unbridled fury and fits of maniac
rage had estranged from him even the most attached of his old retainers,
and in proportion as he felt this with the instinct of cunning and
madness, the more did he exact from those about him protestations of
zeal and faithfulness, the more did he watch the words and actions of
his servants, and mark the smallest attempt on their part to restrain or
thwart him.

Small wonder was it, then, when Gaston de Brocas stood forth in the
sunshine, the King's warrant in his hand, words of good augury upon his
lips, and a compact little body of armed men at his back, proclaiming
himself the Lord of Saut, and inviting to his service the men who were
now trembling before the caprices and cruel cunning of a madman, that
they exchanged wondering glances, and spoke in eager whispers together,
fearful lest the Navailles should approach from behind ere they were
aware of it, and feeling that there was here such a chance of escape
from miserable bondage as might never occur again.

And whilst they still hesitated -- for the fear of treachery was never
absent from the minds of those bred up in habits and thoughts of
treachery -- another wonder happened. Out from the little knot a few
paces behind the young knight two more figures pressed forward, and the
men-at-arms rubbed their eyes and looked on in silent wonder: for one of
the pair was none other than the fairy maiden who had lived so long
amongst them, and had endeared herself even to these rude spirits by her
grace and sweetness and undefinable charm; the other, that youth with
the wonderful eyes and saint-like face who had been captured and borne
away to Saut after the battle before St. Jean d'Angely, and whose body
they all believed had long ago been lying beneath the sullen waters of
the moat, where so many victims of their lord's hatred had found their
last resting place.

And as they stared and looked at one another and stared again, a silvery
voice was uplifted, and they all held their breath to listen.

"My friends," said the lady, urging her palfrey till she reac