e and see."

"I will. If I were sound and whole tomorrow, I should forth into the
forest whence we came, and I should seek and find that aged woodman, who
seemed so sorely bowed down with sorrow, and I should bid him unfold his
tale to me, and see if in any wise I might help him. He is poor,
helpless, wretched, and by the words he spoke, I knew that he had
suffered heavy sorrow. Perchance that sorrow might be alleviated could
one but know the story of it. His face has haunted my fevered dreams. To
me it seems as though perchance this were an errand of mercy sent to me
to do. Deeds of knightly prowess I trow will never now be mine. It must
be enough for me to show my chivalry by acts of love and care for the
helpless, the sorrowful, the oppressed."

Raymond's eyes suddenly glowed. Something of the underlying poetry of
the thought struck an answering chord in his heart, though the words
themselves had been plain and bald enough.

"I will perform that task for thee, good John," he said. "I well
remember the place, ay, and the old man and his sorrowful mien. I will
thither tomorrow, and will bring thee word again. If he may be helped by
any act of mine, be assured that act shall not be lacking."

John pressed his comrade's hand and thanked him; but Raymond little knew
to what this quest, of apparently so little moment, was to lead, nor
what a link it was to form with the story of the lost inheritance of
Basildene.

CHAPTER VIII. THE VISIT TO THE WOODMAN.

"Raymond, I am glad of this chance to speak alone together, for since
thou hast turned into a man of books and letters I have scarce seen
thee. I am glad of this errand into these dark woods. It seems like
times of old come back again -- and yet not that either. I would not
return to those days of slothful idleness, not for all the gold of the
King's treasury. But I have wanted words with thee alone, Brother.
Knowest thou that we are scarce ten miles (as they measure distance here
in England) from Basildene?"

Raymond turned an eager face upon his brother.

"Hast seen it, Gaston?"

"Nay. It has not been my hap to go that way; but I have heard enough and
to spare about it. I fear me that our inheritance is but a sorry one,
Raymond, and that it will be scarce worth the coil that would be set
afoot were we to try to make good our claim."

"Tell me, what hast thou heard?" asked Raymond eagerly.

"Why, that it is but an ancient Manor, of no great value or