"I don't believe it," he said almost passionately, I believe that they
are living for ever and ever, perhaps as you and I, perhaps
elsewhere."

"I wish I could," she answered, smiling, "for then my dream might have
been true, and you might have been that knight whose brass is lost,"
and she pointed to an empty matrix alongside that of the great
Plantagenet lady.

Godfrey glanced at the inscription which was left when the
Cromwellians tore up the brass.

"He was her husband," he said, translating, "who died on the field of
Crecy in 1346."

"Oh!" exclaimed Isobel, and was silent.

Meanwhile Godfrey, quite undisturbed, was spelling out the inscription
beneath the figure of the knight's wife, and remarked presently:

"She seems to have died a year before him. Yes, just after marriage,
the monkish Latin says, and--what is it? Oh! I see, '/in sanguine/,'
that is, in blood, whatever that may mean. Perhaps she was murdered. I
say, Isobel, I wish you would copy someone else's dress for your
party."

"Nonsense," she answered. "I think its awfully interesting. I wonder
what happened to her."

"I don't know. I can't remember anything in the old history, and it