Gone, every one of them and quite forgotten, though some were great folk in their time.

Gone utterly and for always, nothing left, except perhaps descendants in a labourer's cottage here and there who never even heard of them." "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.