ed each other so
long. I was thinking of that other treasure -- the love which has
enabled thee to triumph over evil, to forgive our enemies, to do good to
those that have hated us, to fight the Christian's battle as well as
that of England's King. I was thinking of that higher chivalry of which
in old days we have talked so much. Perchance we should give it now
another name. But thou hast been true and faithful in thy quest. Ah, how
proud I am of the stainless name of my knight!"

His fingers closed fast over hers, but he made no reply in words.
Raymond's nature was a silent one. Of his deepest feelings he spoke the
least. He had told his story to Joan; he knew that she understood all it
meant to him. It was happiness to feel that this was so without the need
of words. That union of soul was sweeter to him than even the possession
of the hand he held in his.

And so they rode on to Basildene.

But was this Basildene? Raymond passed his hand across his eyes, and
gazed and gazed again. Joan sat quietly in her saddle, watching him with
smiling eyes.

Basildene! yes, truly Basildene. There was the quaint old house with its
many gables and mullioned casements and twisted chimneys, its warm red
walls and timbered grounds around it; but where was the old look of
misery, decay, neglect, and blight? Who could look at that picturesque
old mansion, with its latticed casements glistening in the sun, and
think of aught but home-like comfort and peace? What had been done to
it? what spell had been at work? This was the Basildene of his boyhood's
dreams -- the Basildene that his mother had described to them. It was
not the Basildene of later years. How had the change come about?

"That has been our uncle's work these last two years," answered Joan,
who was watching the changes passing over her husband's face, and seemed
to read the unspoken thought of his heart. "He and I together have
planned it all, and the treasure has helped to carry all out. The hidden
hoard has brought a blessing at last, methinks, Raymond; for the chapel
has likewise been restored, and holy mass and psalm now ascend daily
from it. The wretched hovels around the gates, where miserable peasants
herded like swine in their sties, have been cleared away, and places fit
for human habitation have been erected in their stead. That fearful
quagmire, in which so many wretched travellers have lost their lives,
has been drained, and a causeway built across it. Basild