“Her last wishes?” said Eustace.  “They shall be fulfilled to the utmost as long as I have life or breath!  Oh! had I but come in time to hear them from herself, and give her my own pledge.”

“Grieve not that her trust was not brought down to aught of earth,” said Father Cyril.  “She trusted in Heaven, and died in the sure belief that her child would be guarded; and lo, his protector is come, if, as I well believe, my son Eustace, you are not changed from the boy who bade us farewell three years ago.”

“If I am changed, it is not in my love for home, and for all who dwell there,” said Eustace, “or rather, I love them better than before.  Little did I dream what a meeting awaited me!” Again there was a long pause, which Eustace at length broke by saying, “What is the need you spoke of?  What danger do you fear?”

“This is no scene for dwelling on the evil deeds of wicked men otherwise than to pray for them,” said the Priest; “but return with me to the hall, and you shall hear.”

Eustace lingered a few moments longer, before, heaving a deep sigh he returned to the hall, where he found Gaston and Ingram, just come in from attending to the horses, and Ralph hurrying the servants in setting out an ample meal for the travellers.

“My good old friend,” said Eustace, holding out his hand as he entered, “I have not greeted you aright.  You must throw the blame on the tidings that took from me all other thought, Ralph; for never was there face which I was more rejoiced to see.

“It was the blame of our own reception of you, Sir Eustace,” said old Penrose.  “I could tear my hair to think that you should have met with no better welcome than barred gates and owlet shrieks; but did you but know how wildly your bugle-blast rose upon our ear, while we sat over the fire well-nigh distraught with sorrow, you would not marvel that we deemed that the spirit of our good Knight might be borne upon the moaning wind.”

“Yet,” said Arthur, “I knew the note, and would have gone to the turret window, but that Mistress Cicely held me fast; and when they sent Jocelyn to look, the cowardly knave brought back the tale which you broke short.”

“Boast not, Master Arthur,” said Gaston; “you believed in our ghostship as fully as any of them.”

“But met us manfully,” said Eustace.  “But why all these precautions?  Why the drawbridge raised?  That could scarce be against a ghost.”

“Alas!  Sir Eustace, there are bodily foes abroad!” said Ralph.  “By your leave, Master d’Aubricour,” as Gaston was about to assist his Knight in unfastening his armour, “none shall lay a hand near Sir Eustace but myself on this first night of his return; thanks be to St. Dunstan that he has come!” Eustace stood patiently for several minutes while the old man fumbled with his armour, and presently came the exclamation, “A plague on these new-fangled clasps which a man cannot undo for his life!  ’Twas this low corselet that was the death of good Sir Reginald.  I always said that no good would come of these fashions!”