Once, doubtless, it had been a beautiful house, more highly decorated than was usual at the period.  The heavy beams, dark with age, let into the brickwork were many of them richly carved, and the twisted chimneys and quaint windows showed traces of considerable ingenuity in the builder’s art.  Plainly, too, there had been a time when the ground around the house had been cared for and kept trim and garden-like.

Now it was but a waste and wilderness, everything growing wild and tangled around it; whilst the very edifice itself seemed crumbling to decay, and wore the grim look of a place of evil repute.  It was hard to believe that any person lived within those walls.  It was scarce possible to approach within the precincts of that lonely house without a shudder of chill horror.

Gaston crossed himself as he stood looking on the house, which, by what men said, was polluted by many foul deeds, and tenanted by evil spirits to boot; but upon Raymond’s face was a different look.  His heart went suddenly out to the lonely old house.  He felt that he could love it well if it were ever given to him to win it back.  As he stood there in the moonlight gazing and gazing, he registered anew in his heart the vow that the day should come when he would fulfil his mother’s dying behest, and stand within those halls as the recognized lord of Basildene.

But the present moment was one for action, not for vague dreamings.  The brothers had come with a definite purpose, and they did not intend to quit the spot until that purpose was accomplished.  The Sanghursts —­ father and son —­ were far away.  The gloomy house —­ unless guarded by malevolent spirits, which did not appear unlikely —­ was almost tenantless.  Within its walls was the miserable victim of cruel tyranny whom they had come to release.  The boys, who had both confessed and received the Blessed Sacrament from the hands of the priest who had interested himself before in the woodman’s son, felt strong in the righteousness of their cause.  If they experienced some fear, as was not unlikely, they would not own it even to themselves.  Gaston was filled with the soldier spirit of the day, that scorned to turn back upon danger however great.  Raymond was supported by a deep underlying sense of the sacredness of the cause in which he was embarked.  It was not alone that he was going to deal a blow at the foes of his house; it was much more to him than that.  Vengeance might play a part in the crusade, but to him it was a secondary idea.  What he thought of was the higher chivalry of which he and John had spoken so much together —­ the rescue of a soul from the clutches of spiritual tyranny; a blow struck in the defence of one helpless and oppressed; risk run for the sake of those who would never be able to repay; the deed done for its own sake, not in the hope of any praise or reward.  Surely this thing might be the first step in a career of true knightliness, albeit such humble deeds might never win the golden spurs of which men thought so much.