“We have him safe!” cried Gaston, as he bounded on a few paces in advance; and as the words were spoken there broke from the lips of the old woodman a strange inarticulate cry.

He sprang forward with a swiftness and agility that seemed impossible in one so bent and bowed, and the next minute he had clasped his son in his arms, and was weeping those terrible tears of manhood over the emaciated form clasped to his breast.

Leaving the father and son for a few moments together, the brothers in rapid words told their tale to John, who heard it with great satisfaction.  But time was passing, and there was no longer any need for delay.  The journey before them was somewhat rough and tedious, and all were anxious to put many miles of forest road between themselves and Basildene ere the dawn should break.

John did not greatly fear pursuit.  He did not believe that the old man’s occult powers would enable him to track the fugitive; but he was not certain of this, and the rest were all of opinion that he both could and would follow, and that remorselessly, the moment he discovered the loss of his captive.

Certainly it could do no harm to put all possible distance betwixt the boy and his master, and the party got to horse with the smallest possible delay.  Once let the boy be placed within the precincts of the Sanctuary for which he was bound, in the keeping of the holy man of God whose power was known to be so great, and none feared for the result.  But if the boy should be seized upon the road with one of his fits of frenzy, no one could tell what the result might be, and so there was no dissentient voice raised when a quick start and a rapid pace was suggested by Gaston.

The woodman took his boy in front of him upon the strong animal he bestrode.  Roger was plainly unfit to sit a horse unsupported by a strong arm, and as they rode through the chill night air a dull lethargy seemed to fall upon him, and he slept in an uneasy, troubled fashion.  Every moment his father feared to hear him answer an unheard call, feared to feel him struggle wildly in his encircling arm; but neither of these things happened.  Mile after mile was traversed; the moonlight enabled the party to push rapidly onward.  Mile after mile slipped away; and just as the first dim rays of dawn appeared in the eastern sky, John, who was himself by this time looking white and jaded, pointed eagerly towards a spire rising up against the saffron of the sky to the south.

“That is the spire of St. Michael’s church,” he cried.  “The abode of the holy men of whom Father Paul is one is nigh at hand.  Ride on, good Gaston, and bid the holy man come forth in the name of the love of the Blessed Saviour.  If we may once put the child in his keeping, the powers of hell will not prevail to snatch him thence.”