Raymond bent his head, whilst Joan’s clasp tightened on his hand.  They both knew that John was dying, but they had looked too often upon death to fear it now.  They did not summon any one to his side.  No priest was to be found at that time, and John had not long since received the Sacrament with one who had lately died in the house.  There was no restlessness or pain in his face, only a great peace and rest.  His voice died away, but he still looked at Raymond, as though to the last he would fain see before his eyes the face he had grown to love best upon earth.

His breath grew shorter and shorter.  Raymond thought he made a sign to him to bend his head nearer.  Stooping over him, he caught the faintly-whispered words: 

“Tell my father not to grieve that I did not die a knight.  He has his other sons; and I have been very happy.  Tell him that —­ happier, I trow, than any of them —­”

There were a brief silence and a slight struggle for breath, then one whispered phrase: 

“I will arise and go to my Father —­”

Those were the last words spoken by John de Brocas.

CHAPTER XXII.  THE BLACK VISOR.

“Brother, this is like old times,” said Gaston, his hand upon Raymond’s shoulder as they stood side by side in the extreme prow of the vessel that was conveying them once again towards the sunny south of France.

The salt spray dashed in their faces, the hum of the cordage overhead was in their ears, and their thoughts had gone back to that day, now nigh upon eight years back, when they, as unknown and untried boys, had started forth to see the world together.

Gaston’s words broke the spell of silence, and Raymond turned his head to scan the stalwart form beside him with a look of fond admiration and pride.

“Nay, scarce like those old days, Sir Gaston de Brocas,” he answered, speaking the name with significant emphasis; and Gaston laughed and tossed back his leonine head with a gesture of mingled pride and impatience as he said: 

“Tush, Brother!  I scarce know how to prize my knighthood now that thou dost not share it with me —­ thou so far more truly knightly and worthy.  I had ever planned that we had been together in that as in all else.  Why wert thou not with me that day when we vanquished the navy of proud Spain?  The laurels are scarce worth the wearing that thou wearest not with me.”

For Gaston was now indeed a knight.  He had fought beside the Prince in the recent engagement at sea, when a splendid naval victory had been obtained over the Spanish fleet.  He had performed prodigies of valour on that occasion, and had been instrumental in the taking of many rich prizes.  And when the royal party had returned to Windsor, Gaston had been named, with several more youthful gentlemen, to receive knighthood at the hands of the Prince of Wales.  Whereupon Master Bernard de Brocas had stood forward