colour faded, and her shape was spoiled. She grew thin and yellow, only
a scant covering of the fair hair was left her, and her eyes were big and
sunken. Her marriage having displeased her family, and Sir Jeoffry
having a distaste for the ceremonies of visiting and entertainment, save
where his own cronies were concerned, she had no friends, and grew
lonelier and lonelier as the sad years went by. She being so without
hope and her life so dreary, her children were neither strong nor
beautiful, and died quickly, each one bringing her only the anguish of
birth and death. This wintry morning her ninth lay slumbering by her
side; the noise of baying dogs and boisterous men had died away with the
last sound of the horses' hoofs; the little light which came into the
room through the ivied window was a faint yellowish red; she was cold,
because the fire in the chimney was but a scant, failing one; she was
alone--and she knew that the time had come for her death. This she knew
full well.

She was alone, because, being so disrespected and deserted by her lord,
and being of a timid and gentle nature, she could not command her
insufficient retinue of servants, and none served her as was their duty.
The old woman Sir Jeoffry had dubbed Mother Posset had been her sole
attendant at such times as these for the past five years, because she
would come to her for a less fee than a better woman, and Sir Jeoffry had
sworn he would not pay for wenches being brought into the world. She was
a slovenly, guzzling old crone, who drank caudle from morning till night,
and demanded good living as a support during the performance of her
trying duties; but these last she contrived to make wondrous light,
knowing that there was none to reprove her.

"A fine night I have had," she had grumbled when she brought back Sir
Jeoffry's answer to her lady's message. "My old bones are like to break,