A thoroughly cruel man is always at heart a coward, and Peter Sanghurst, who had taken the liveliest delight in inflicting pain of every kind upon those in his power, now stood shivering and almost fainting with apprehension at the fate in store for himself.  As plentiful evidence had been given of his many acts of barbarity and tyranny, there had been fierce threats passed from mouth to mouth that hanging was too good for him —­ that he ought to taste what he had inflicted on others; and the wretched man stood there in an agony of apprehension, every particle of his swaggering boldness gone, and without a vestige of real courage to uphold him in the hour of his humiliation.

As the Prince saw the approach of Joan, he sprang to his feet, and all the assembled nobles did the same.  With that chivalrous courtesy for which he became famous in history, the Prince bent the knee before the lady, and taking her by the hand, led her to a seat of honour beside himself, asking her of herself and her story, and listening with respectful attention to every word she spoke.

Gaston then stood forward and told again his tale of Raymond’s capture, and deep murmurs of indignation ran through the hall as he did so.  The veins swelled upon the Prince’s forehead as he heard the tale, and his eyes emitted sparks of fierce light as they flashed from time to time upon the trembling prisoner.

“Methinks we have heard enough, gentlemen,” said he at length, as Gaston’s narrative drew to a close.

“Marshal, bring hither your prisoner.

“This man, gentlemen, is the hero of these brave deeds of valour of which we have been hearing.  This is the man who dares to waylay and torture English subjects to wring from them treasure and gold; the man who dares to bring this vilely-won wealth to purchase with it the favour of England’s King; the man who wages war on foreign soil with the friends of England, and treacherously sells them into the hand of England’s foe; who deals with them as we have heard he dealt and would have dealt with Raymond de Brocas had not Providence worked almost a miracle in his defence.  This is the man who, together with his father, drove from this very house the lawful owner, because that she was a gentle, tender woman, and was at that moment alone and unable to defend herself from them.  This is the man who is not ashamed to call himself the master of Basildene, and who has striven to compass by the foulest ends the death of the true owner of the property —­ though Raymond de Brocas braved the terrors of the Black Death to tend and soothe the last dying agonies of that man’s father.  This is the man who would wed by force this fair maiden, and strove to deceive her by the foulest tricks and jugglery.  Say, gentlemen, what is the desert of this miscreant?  What doom shall we award him as the recompense of his past life?”

A score of hideous suggestions were raised at once, and the miserable Peter Sanghurst shook in his shoes as he saw the fierce, relentless faces of the soldiers making a ring round him.  Those were cruel days, despite the softening influence of their vaunted chivalry, and the face of the Prince was stern and black.  It was plain that he had been deeply roused by the story he had heard.