When the ranger presently left them, to see what simple preparations he could make for their comfort during the night, he motioned to Roger to come nearer, and looking steadily at him, he said: 

“Roger, I am going to Basildene tonight, to see what human skill may do for the old Sanghurst.  He is our enemy —­ thine and mine —­ therefore doubly is it our duty to minister to him in the hour of his extremity.  I go forth this night to seek him.  Wilt thou go with me? or dost thou fear to fall again under the sway of his evil mind, or his son’s, if thou puttest foot within the halls of Basildene again?”

For a moment a look of strong repulsion crossed Roger’s face.  He shrank back a little, and looked as though he would have implored his young master to reconsider his resolution.  But something in the luminous glance of those clear bright eyes restrained him, and presently some of their lofty purpose seemed to be infused into his own soul.

“If thou goest, I too will go,” he said.  “At thy side no harm from the Evil One can come nigh me.  Have I not proved that a hundred times ere now?  And the spell has long been broken off my neck and off my spirit.  I fear neither the sorcerer nor his son.  If it be for us —­ if it be a call —­ to go even to him in the hour of his need, I will go without a thought of fear.  I go in the name of the Holy Virgin and her Son.  I need not fear what man can do against me.”

Great was the astonishment of the worthy ranger when he returned to hear the purpose upon which his guests were bent; but he had already imbibed some of that strange reverential admiration for Raymond which he so frequently inspired in those about him, and it did not for a moment occur to him to attempt to dissuade him from an object upon which his mind was bent.

The October night, though dark and moonless, was clear, and the stars were shining in the sky as the little procession started forth.  The ranger insisted on being one of the number.  Partly from curiosity, partly from sheer hatred of solitude, and a good deal from interest in his companions and their errand of mercy, he had decided to come with them, not merely to show them the way to Basildene, which he could find equally well by night as by day, but to see the result of their journey there, and take on with him to Guildford the description of the old sorcerer’s home and his seizure there.

As they moved along through the whispering wood, the man, in low and awe-stricken tones, asked Roger of his old life there, and what it was that made him of such value to the Sanghursts.  Raymond had never talked to the lad of that chapter in his past life, always abiding by Father Paul’s advice to let him forget it as far as possible.