learned many lessons since we left our peaceful
home, and one of these is that men love not unsuccess. It is the
prosperous, the favoured of fortune, upon whom the smiles of the great
are bent. Perchance it was because he succeeded not well that by his own
brothers our father was passed by. Raymond, I have seen likewise this --
if our kinsmen are kind, they are also proud. They have won kingly
favour, kingly rewards; all men speak well of them; they are placed high
in the land. Doubtless they could help us if they would; but are we to
come suing humbly to them for favours, when they would scarce listen to
our father when he lived? Shall we run into the peril of having their
smiles turned to frowns by striving to claim kinship with them, when
perchance they would spurn us from their doors? And if in days to come
we rise to fame and fortune, as by good hap we may, shall we put it in
their power to say that it is to their favour we owe it all? No -- a
thousand times no! I will carve out mine own fortune with mine own good
sword and mine own strong arm. I will be beholden to none for that which
some day I will call mine own. The King himself has said that I shall
make a valiant knight. I have fought by the Prince's side once; I trow
that in days to come I shall do the like again. When my knighthood's
spurs are won, then perchance I will to mine uncle and say to him,
'Sire, I am thy brother Arnald's son -- thine own nephew;' but not till
then will I divulge the secret. Sir John de Brocas -- no, nor Master
Bernard either -- shall never say that they have made Sir Gaston's
fortune for him!"

The lad's eyes flashed fire; the haughty look upon his face was not
unlike the one sometimes to be seen upon that of the King's Master of
the Horse.

Raymond listened with a smile to these bold words, and then said quietly:

"Perhaps thou art right, Gaston; but I trust thou bearest no ill will
towards our two uncles?"

Gaston's face cleared, and he smiled frankly enough.

"Nay, Brother, none in the world. It is only as I think sometimes of the
story of our parents' wrongs that my hot blood seems to rise against
them. They have been kind to us. I trow we need not fear to take such
kindness as may be offered to us as strangers; but to come as suppliant
kinsmen, humble and unknown, I neither can nor will. Let us keep our
secret; let us carve out our own fortunes. A day shall come when we may
stand forth before all the world as of the ol