“What fate?” asked Gaston breathlessly; but she went on as though she had not heard.

“I thought of thee as I had seen thee in the wood.  I said in my heart, ’He is noble, he is brave.  He will rest not night nor day whilst his brother lies a captive in these cruel hands.  I have but to watch and to wait.  He will surely come.  And when he comes, I will show him the black hole in the wall —­ the dark passage to the moat —­ and he will dare to enter where never man has entered before.  He will save his brother, and my vow will be fulfilled!’”

Gaston drew his breath hard, and a light leaped into his eyes.

“Thou knowest a secret way by which the Tower of Saut may be entered —­ is that so, Lady?”

“I know a way by which many a wretched victim has left it,” answered the girl, whose dark violet eyes were dilated by the depth of her emotion.  “I know not if any man ever entered by that way.  But my heart told me that there was one who would not shrink from the task, be the peril never so great.  I will see that the men-at-arms have drink enough to turn their heads.  I have a concoction of herbs which if mingled with strong drink will cause such sleep to fall upon men that a thunderbolt falling at their feet would scarce awaken them.  I will see that thou hast the chance thou needest.  The rest wilt thou do without a thought of fear.”

“Fear to go where Raymond is —­ to share his fate if I may not rescue him!” cried Gaston.  “Nay, sweet lady, that would be indeed a craven fear, unworthy of any true knight.  But tell me more.  I have many times wandered round the Tower of Saut in my boyhood, when its lord and master was away.  Methinks I know every loophole and gate by heart.  But the gates are so closely guarded, and the windows are so narrow and high up in the walls, that I know not how they may be entered from without.”

“True:  yet there is one way of which doubtless thou knowest naught, for, as I have said, men go forth that way, but enter not by it; and the trick is known only to a few chosen souls, for the victims who pass out seek not to come again.  They drop with sullen plash into the black waters of the moat, and the river, which mingles its clearer water with the sluggish stream encircling the Tower, bears thence towards the hungry sea the burden thus entrusted to its care.”

Gaston shivered slightly.

“Thou speakest of the victims done to death within yon gloomy walls.  I have heard dark tales of such ere now.”

“Thou hast heard nothing darker than the truth,” said the girl, her slight frame quivering with repressed emotion and a deep and terrible sense of helpless indignation and pity.  “I have heard stories that have made my blood run cold in my veins.  Men have been done to death in a fashion I dare not speak of.  There is a terrible room scarce raised above the level of the moat, into which I was once taken, and the memory of which has haunted me ever