“I did all that a poor helpless man might do when his feudal lord was on the side of the enemy, and met every prayer and supplication either with mockery or blows.  I soon saw it all too well.  Sir Hugh was under the spell of the wicked old man.  What was my boy’s soul to him? what my agony?  Nothing —­ nothing.  The wizard had coveted the beautiful boy.  He had doubtless made it worth my master’s while to sell him to him; and what could I do?  I tried everything I knew; but who would listen to me?  Master Bernard de Brocas of Guildford, whom I met upon the road and begged to listen to my tale, promised he would see if something might not be done.  I waited and waited in anguish, and hope, and despair, and there came a day when his palfrey stopped at my door, and he came forward himself to speak with me.  He told me he had spoken to the Master of Basildene, and that he had promised to restore me my son if I was resolved to have him back; but he had told the good priest that he knew the boy would never be content to stay in a woodland cottage with an unlettered father, when he had learned what life elsewhere was like.  But I laughed this warning to scorn, and demanded my boy back.”

“And did he come?”

A strange look swept over the old man’s face.  His hands were tightly clinched.  His voice was very low, and full of suppressed awe and fury.

“Ay, he came back —­ he came back that same night —­ but so changed in those few months that I scarce knew him.  And ah, how he clung to me when he was set down at my door!  How he sobbed on my breast, entreating me to hold him fast —­ to save him —­ to protect him!  What fearful tales of unhallowed sights and sounds did his white lips pour into my ears!  How my own blood curdled at the tale, and how I vowed that never, never, never would I let him go from out my arms again!  I held him fast.  I took him within doors.  I fastened the door safely.  I fed him, comforted him, and laid him in mine own bed, lying wakeful beside him for fear even then that he should be taken from me; and thus the hours sped by.  But the rest —­ ah, how can I tell it?  It wrings my very heart.  O my child, my son —­ my own heart’s joy!”

The old man threw up his arms with a wild gesture of despair, and there was something in his face so terrible that the twins dared ask him no question; but after that one cry and gesture, the stony look returned upon his face, and he went on of his own accord.

“Midnight had come.  I knew it by the position of the moon in the heavens.  My boy had been sleeping like one dead beside me, never moving or stirring, scarce breathing; and I had at last grown soothed and drowsy likewise.  I had just fallen into a light sleep, when I was aroused by feeling Roger stir beside me, and hastily sit up in the bed.  His eyes were wide open, and in the moonlight they seemed to shine with unnatural brilliance.  It was as if he were listening —­ listening with every fibre