A WEDDING About noon of the day after that upon which Sir John had come to his death, Cicely Foterell sat at her meal in Shefton Hall.

Not much of the rough midwinter fare passed her lips, for she was ill at ease.

The man she loved had been dismissed from her because his fortunes were on the wane, and her father had gone upon a journey which she felt, rather than knew, to be very dangerous.

The great old hall was lonesome, also, for a young girl who had no comrades near.

Sitting there in the big room, she bethought her how different it had been in her childhood, before some foul sickness, of which she knew not the name or nature, had swept away her mother, her two brothers, and her sister all in a single week, leaving her untouched.