It will be the more easily understood from these foregoing remarks how skilfully Diane de Coray had woven the web of her plot around her unfortunate victim, who remained in total ignorance of her danger, the retainers of the château having been before instructed by the wily Jeanne to breathe no word of their suspicions into the ears of those likely to warn her. Therefore it was with no presentiment of coming ill that Gwennola de Mereac stole forth to her lover’s trysting-place once more, full of happy thoughts and a heart the lighter by very contrast with its weary heaviness of so many weeks past. Little did she or her attendants guess what sharp eyes had been watching their movements, or what stealthy feet had already crept after them through the forest shade. It was the maid Jeanne Dubois who had been the first to discover the identity of the wandering minstrel whose advent had been hailed with so much joy by the young Sieur de Mereac. Hiding in the shadow of the heavy tapestries, she had heard what had passed between Marie Alloadec and her would-be lover, and had hastily carried the news to her mistress. The clue thus given had been carefully followed up, but it was Pierre the fool whose cunning had discovered the fatal rendezvous and pierced the disguise of the cowled figure. So the threads of the web were gathered more surely around the weavers’ fingers, and now the time drew near to prove their strength. A cold wind whistled through the bare trees overhead, but so close grew the undergrowth of the thickets around the ruined chapel as to shelter any watchers not only from the keen blast but from curious or inquiring eyes. But Gwennola’s eyes and thoughts were far from suspicion of treachery or evil. She was thinking, as she hurried on her way, of Father Ambrose’s kind and tender counsel. He had promised, the good old man, to use his influence to the utmost with Yvon to persuade him either to allow his sister to wed the man she loved, or at least to leave her unmolested by unwelcome suggestions of betrothal till it could more clearly be seen how matters fell out between the two contending countries. If Yvon were still obdurate—well, it might be that Father Ambrose would be willing to risk the anger of his lord for the sake of the little maid he loved so tenderly; but she must be patient—very patient—whilst he prayed that his way might be made clear before his eyes.