“That has been our uncle’s work these last two years,” answered Joan, who was watching the changes passing over her husband’s face, and seemed to read the unspoken thought of his heart.  “He and I together have planned it all, and the treasure has helped to carry all out.  The hidden hoard has brought a blessing at last, methinks, Raymond; for the chapel has likewise been restored, and holy mass and psalm now ascend daily from it.  The wretched hovels around the gates, where miserable peasants herded like swine in their sties, have been cleared away, and places fit for human habitation have been erected in their stead.  That fearful quagmire, in which so many wretched travellers have lost their lives, has been drained, and a causeway built across it.  Basildene is becoming a blessing to all around it; and so long as thou art lord here, my Raymond, it will remain a blessing to all who come within shelter of its walls.”

He looked at her with his dreamy smile.  His mind was going back in review over all these long years since first the idea had formed itself in his brain that they two —­ Gaston and himself —­ would win back Basildene.  How long those years seemed in retrospect, and yet how short!  How many changes they had seen! how many strange events in the checkered career of the twin brothers!

“I would that Gaston were with me now; I would that he might see it.”

“And so he shall, come next summer,” answered Joan.  “Is it not a promise that he comes hither with his bride to see thy home and mine, Raymond, and that we pass one of England’s inclement winters in the softer air of sunny France?  You are such travellers, you brethren, that the journey is but child’s play to you; and I too have known something of travel, and it hath no terrors for me.  There shall be no sundering of the bond betwixt the twin brothers of Basildene.  Years shall only bind that bond faster, for to their faithful love and devotion one to the other Basildene owes its present weal, and we our present happiness.”

“The twin brothers of Basildene,” repeated Raymond dreamily, gazing round him with smiling eyes, as he held Joan’s hand fast in his.  “My mother, I wonder if thou canst see us now —­ Gaston at Saut and Raymond here at Basildene?  Methinks if thou canst thou wilt rejoice in our happiness.  We have done what thou biddedst us.  We have fought and we have overcome.  Thine own loved home has been won back by thine own sons, and Raymond de Brocas is Lord of Basildene.”

The end.

i If any reader has taken the trouble to follow this story closely, he may observe that the expedition of the Black Prince has been slightly antedated.  In order not to interrupt the continuity of the fictitious narrative, the time spent in long-drawn and fruitless negotiation at the conclusion of the truce has been omitted.