having come, and having learned who and what manner of man I was, he feared to leave me alone with his father, lest I should be told the secret of the hidden hoard, which the old man longed to tell me but dared not.  Doubtless the parchment he wished to place in my hands is there; but his son hovered ever within earshot, and the old man dared not speak.  Yet with his last breath he called me lord of Basildene, and charged me to remove from it the curse which in his own evil days had fallen upon the place.”

“Peter Sanghurst will not love you the more for that,” said John.

“Verily no; yet methinks he can scarce hate me more than he does and has done for long.”

“He is no insignificant foe,” was the thoughtful rejoinder.  “His hate may be no light thing.”

“He has threatened me oft and savagely,” answered Raymond, “and yet no harm has befallen me therefrom.”

“Why has he threatened thee?” asked Joan breathlessly; “what hast thou done to raise his ire?”

“We assisted Roger, the woodman’s son, to escape from that vile slavery at Basildene, of which doubtless thou hast heard, sweet lady.  That was the first cause of offence.”

“And the second?”

Raymond’s clear gaze sought her face for a moment, and Joan’s dark eyes kindled and then slowly dropped.

“The second was on thy account, sweet Joan,” said Raymond, with a curious vibration in his voice.  “He saw us once together —­ it is long ago now —­ and he warned me how I meddled to thwart him again.  I scarce understood him then, though I knew that he would fain have won this fair hand, but that thou didst resolutely withhold it.  Now that I have reached man’s estate I understand him better.  Joan, he is still bent upon having this hand.  In my hearing he swore a great oath that by fair means or foul it should be his one day.  He is a man of resolute determination, and, now that his father no longer lives, of great wealth too, and wealth is power.  Thou hast thwarted him till he is resolved to humble thee at all cost.  I verily believe to be avenged for all thou hast cost him would be motive enough to make him compass heaven and earth to win thee.  What sayest thou?  To withstand him may be perilous —­”

“To wed him would be worse than death,” said Joan, in a very low tone.  “I will never yield, if I die to save myself from him.”

Unconsciously these two had lowered their voices.  John had dropped asleep beside the fire with the ease of one exhausted by weakness and long watching.  Joan and Raymond were practically alone together.  There was a strange light upon the face of the youth, and into his pale face there crept a flush of faint red.