brought it, thinking that perhaps one day you might marry, when it would
be useful. And now, strangely enough, the marriage has come."

"Emlyn, Emlyn, I believe that you planned all this business, whereof God
alone knows the end."

"That is why He makes a beginning, dear, that His end may be fulfilled
in due season."

"Aye, but what is that end? Mayhap this is my shroud you wrap about me.
In truth, I feel as though death were near."

"He is ever that," replied Emlyn unconcernedly. "But so long as he
doesn't touch, what does it matter? Now hark you, sweetest, I've
Spanish and gypsy blood in me with which go gifts, and so I'll tell you
something for your comfort. However oft he snatches, Death will not lay
his bony hand on you for many a long year--not till you are well-nigh
as thin with age as he is. Oh! you'll have your troubles like all of us,
worse than many, mayhap, but you are Luck's own child, who lived when
the rest were taken, and you'll win through and take others on your
back, as a whale does barnacles. So snap your fingers at death, as I
do," and she suited the action to the word, "and be happy while you may,
and when you're not happy, wait till your turn comes round again. Now
follow me and, though your father is murdered, smile as you should in
such an hour, for what man wants a sad-faced bride?"

They walked down the broad oaken stairs into the hall where Christopher
stood waiting for them. Glancing at him shyly, Cicely saw that he was
clad in mail beneath his cloak, and that his sword was girded at his
side, also that some men with him were armed. For a moment he stared at