“Where is your master?” asked Gaston of the old seneschal, who stood at his bridle rein, his eyes wandering from his face to that of Raymond and Constanza and back again; “I marvel that this tumult has not brought him forth.”

“The walls are thick,” replied the old man, “and he lives for days together in a world of his own, no sound or sight from without penetrating his understanding.  Then again he will awaken from his dream, and show us that he has heard and seen far more than we have thought.  And if any man amongst us has dropped words that have incensed him —­ well, there have been men who have disappeared from amongst us and have never been seen more; and tales are whispered of horrid cries and groans that have issued as from the very bowels of the earth each time following their spiriting away.”

Constanza shuddered, and a black frown crossed Gaston’s face as he gave one quick glance at his brother, who had so nearly shared that mysterious and terrible doom.

“The man is a veritable fiend.  He merits scant mercy at our hands.  He has black crimes upon his soul.  Seneschal, lead on.  Take us to him ye once owned as sovereign lord.  I trow ye will none of you lament the day ye transferred your allegiance from yon miscreant to Gaston de Brocas!”

Another cheer, heartier than the last, broke from the lips of all the men.  They had been joined now by their comrades within the Castle, and in the sense of freedom from the hateful tyranny of their old master all were rejoicing and filled with enthusiasm.

For once they were free from all fear of treachery.  Gaston’s own picked band of stalwart veterans was guarantee enough that might as well as right was on the side of the De Brocas.  The sight of those well-equipped men-at-arms, all loyal and full of affectionate enthusiasm for their youthful lord, showed these rude retainers how greatly to their advantage would be this change of masters; and before Gaston had dismounted and walked across the courtyard towards the portal of the Castle, he felt, with a swelling of the heart that Raymond well understood, that Saut was indeed his own.

“This is the way to the Sieur de Navailles,” said the old seneschal, as they passed beneath the frowning doorway into a vaulted stone hall.  “He spends whole days and nights pacing up and down like a wild beast in a cage.  He scarce leaves the hall, save when he wanders forth into the forest, and that has not happened since the cold winds have blown hard.  You will find him within those doors, good gentlemen.  Shall I make known your presence to him?”

It was plain that the old man had no small fear of his master, and would gladly be spared this office.  Gaston looked round to see that some of his own followers were close behind and on the alert, and then taking Constanza’s hand in his, and laying his right hand upon the hilt of his sword, he signed to the seneschal to throw open the massive oaken doors, and walked fearlessly in with Raymond at his side.