Then she silently stole away and went quietly to her own chamber.

CHAPTER XXVIII.  GASTON’S SEARCH.

“He would get better far more quickly could the trouble be removed from his mind.”

Gaston raised his head quickly, and asked: 

“What trouble?”

Father Paul’s face, thin and worn as of old, with the same keen, kindling glance of the deep-set eyes, softened almost into a smile as he met the questioning glance of Gaston’s eyes.

“Thou shouldst know more of such matters than I, my son, seeing that thou art in youth’s ardent prime, whilst I wear the garb of a monk.  Sure thou canst not have watched beside thy brother’s sickbed all these long weeks without knowing somewhat of the trouble in his mind?”

“I hear him moan and talk,” answered Gaston; “but he knows not what he says, and I know not either.  He is always feeling at his neck, and calling out for some lost token.  And then he will babble on of things I understand not.  But how I may help him I know not.  I have tarried long, for I could not bear to leave him thus; and yet I am longing to carry to the King my tale of outrage and wrong.  With every week that passes my chance of success grows less.  For Peter Sanghurst may have been before me, and may have told his own false version of the tale ere I may have speech with King or Prince.  I know not what to do —­ to stay beside Raymond, or to hasten to England ere time be farther flown.  Holy Father, wilt thou not counsel me?  I feel that every day lost is a day lived in vain, ere I be revenged upon Raymond’s cruel foes!”

The youth’s eyes flashed.  He clenched his hands, and his teeth set themselves fast together.  He felt like an eagle caged, behind these protecting walls.  For his brother’s sake he was right glad of the friendly shelter; but for himself he was pining to be free.

And yet how was he to leave that dearly-loved brother, whose eyes followed him so wistfully from place to place, who brightened up into momentary life when he entered the room, and took so little heed of what passed about him, unless roused by Gaston’s touch or voice?  Raymond had been very, very near to the gates of death since he had been brought into the Monastery, and even now, so prostrated was he by the long attack of intermittent fever which had followed his wonderful escape from Saut, that those about him scarce knew how the balance would turn.  The fever, which had at first run high and had been hard to subdue, had now taken another turn, and only recurred at intervals of a few days; but the patient was so fearfully exhausted by all he had undergone that he seemed to have no strength to rally.  He would lie in a sort of trance of weakness when the fever was not upon him, scarce seeming to breathe unless he was roused to wakefulness by some word or caress from Gaston; whilst on the days when the fever returned, he would lie muttering indistinctly to himself, sometimes breaking forth into eager rapid speech difficult to follow, and often trying to rise and go forth upon some errand, no one knew what, and struggling hard with those who held him back.