But Joan was there, and she was a woman; and vile as had been this man’s life, and deeply as he had injured her and him she loved tenfold more than her own life, he was still a human creature, and a creature without a hope either in this world or the world to come.  She could not but pity him as he stood there cowering and shuddering, and she turned swiftly towards the Prince and spoke to him in a rapid undertone.

Young Edward listened, and the dark cloud passed from his brow.  He was keenly susceptible to the nobler emotions, and an appeal to his generosity was not unheeded.  Raising his hand in token that he demanded silence, he turned towards the quaking criminal, and thus addressed him: 

“Peter Sanghurst, you stand convicted of many and hideous crimes —­ witchcraft, sorcery, treachery to your King, vile cruelty to his subjects —­ crimes for which death alone is scarce punishment enough.  You well merit a worse fate than the gallows.  You well merit some of those lingering agonies that you have inflicted upon your wretched victims, and have rejoiced to witness.  But we in England do not torture our prisoners, and it is England’s pride that this is so.  This fair lady, who owes you naught but grievous wrong, has spoken for you; she says that were Raymond de Brocas here, he would join with her in praying that your fate might be swift and merciful.  Therefore I decree that you are led forth without the gates of Basildene, and hanged upon the first tree out of sight of its walls.

“See to it, marshal.  Let there be no delay.  It is not fit that such a wretch should longer cumber the earth.  Away with him, I say!”

The soldiers closed around the condemned man and bore him forth, one of the marshals following to see the deed done.  Joan had for a moment covered her face with her hand, for even so it was rather terrible to see this tyrant and oppressor led forth from his own house to an ignominious death, and she was unused to such stern scenes.  But those around the table were already turning their attention to other matters, and the Prince was addressing himself to certain men who had come into the hall covered with cobweb and green mould.

“Has the treasure been found?” he asked.

“Yes, Sire,” answered the leader of this strange-looking band.  “It was cleverly hidden, in all truth, in the cellars of the house, and we should scarce have lighted on it but for the help of some of the people here, who, so soon as they heard that their master was doomed to certain death, were as eager to help us as they had been fearful before.  It has all been brought up for you to see; and a monstrous hoard it is.  It must almost be true, I trow, that the old man had the golden secret.  So much gold I have never seen in one place.”

“It is ill-gotten gold,” said the Prince, sternly, as he rose, and, followed by the nobles and Master Bernard de Brocas, went to look at the coffers containing the treasure hoarded up and amassed by the Sanghursts during a long period of years.  “But I trow since the Black Death has so ravaged these parts, it would be idle to strive to seek out the owners, and it would but raise a host of false claims that no man might sift.