“Wife! no —­ ten thousand times no!” answered Joan, springing to her feet, and looking superb in her stately beauty, the light of love and happiness in her eyes, the flush of glad triumph on her cheek.  “Sir Knight, thou art Raymond’s brother, thou art my saviour, and I will tell thee all.  I was fleeing from Sanghurst —­ fleeing to France, to learn for myself if the tale he told of Raymond’s death were true; for sorely did I misdoubt me if those false lips could speak truth.  He guessed my purpose, followed and brought me back hither a captive.  To force me to wed him has long been his resolve, and he has won my father to take his side.  He was about to summon my father and a priest and make me his wife, here in this very place, and never let me stir thence till the chain was bound about me.  But I had a way of escape.  Yon faithful servant, who shared my perils and my wanderings, had given me his word to strike me dead ere he would see me wedded to Sanghurst.  No false vow should ever have passed my lips; no mockery of marriage should ever have been consummated.  I have no fear of death.  I only longed to die that I might go to my Raymond, and be with him for ever.”

“But now thou needest not die to be with him!” cried Gaston, enchanted at once by her beauty, her fearless spirit, and her loyalty and devotion to Raymond.  “My brother lives!  He lives for thee alone!  I have come to lead thee to him, if thou wilt go.  But first, sweet mistress, let me take thee to our Prince.  It is our noble Prince who has come to see into this matter his own royal self.  I had scarce hoped for so much honour, and yet I ever knew him for the soul of generosity and chivalry.  Let me lead thee to him.  Tell him all thy tale.  We have the craven foe in our hands now, and this time he shall not escape us!”

Gaston ground his teeth, and his eyes flashed fire, as he thought of all the wickedness of Peter Sanghurst.  He was within the walls of Basildene, his brother’s rightful inheritance; the memory of the cruelty and the treachery of this man was fresh in his mind.  The Prince was hearing all the tale; the Prince would judge and condemn.  Gaston knew well what the fate of the tyrant would be, and there was no room for aught in his heart beside a great exultant triumph.

Giving his arm to Joan, who was looking absolutely radiant in her stately beauty, he led her down into the hall below, where the Prince was seated with some knights and nobles round him —­ Master Bernard de Brocas occupying a seat upon his right hand —­ examining witnesses and looking at the papers respecting the ownership of Basildene which were now laid before him.  At the lower end of the hall, his hands bound behind him, and his person guarded by two strong troopers, stood Peter Sanghurst, his face a chalky-white colour, his eyes almost starting from his head with terror, all his old ease and assumption gone, the innate cowardice of his nature showing itself in every look and every gesture.