"There shall come a stranger hither!" pursued Jennifer, solemnly. "I saw him yestereven in the bars of the grate." "What favoured he?" asked Avery. "'Twas a fair man, with a full purse," she replied. "Then he is welcome, an' he come to give us the purse," was the answer. "It shall be an other post, I cast little doubt; for he shall be a stranger, and maybe shall have full saddlebags." "You shall see, Mr Avery!" said Jennifer, pursing her lips. "So I shall, Mrs Jennifer," responded he. "But in how long time shall he be here?" "That I cannot tell," said she. "Then the first fair man that cometh, whom you know not, shall serve?" answered he. "'Tis mighty easy witchery that. I could fall to prophesying mine own self at that rate. It shall rain, Mrs Jennifer, and thunder likewise; yea, and we shall have snow. And great men shall die, and there shall be changes in this kingdom, and some mighty ill statutes shall be passed. And you and I shall grow old, Mrs Jennifer (if we die not aforetime), and we shall suffer pain, and likewise shall enjoy pleasure. See you not what a wizard I am?" Tremayne laughed merrily as he rose to depart. "I shall look to hear if Mrs Trevor be right in her prophecy," said he. "We will give you to know that in a month's time," answered John Avery rather drily. In less than a month the news had to be sent, for a stranger arrived. It was Mr Monke. Jennifer was delighted, except for one item. She had announced that the stranger would be fair, and Mr Monke was dark. In this emergency she took refuge, as human nature is apt to do, in exaggerating the point in respect to which she had proved right, and overlooking or slighting that whereon she had proved wrong. "I might readily blunder in his fairness," she observed in a self-justifying tone, "seeing it did but lie in the brightness of the flame." "Not a doubt thereof," responded John Avery in a tone which did not tranquillise Jennifer. When there happened to be no one in the hall but himself and Isoult, Mr Monke came and stood by her as she sat at work. "Wish me happiness, Mrs Avery," he said in a low but very satisfied voice. Isoult Avery was a poor guesser of riddles. She looked up with an air of perplexed simplicity. "Why, Mr Monke, I do that most heartily at all times," she answered. "But what mean you?" "That God hath given me the richest jewel He had for me," he said, in the same tone as before. Then Isoult knew what he meant. "Is it Frances?" she asked, speaking as softly as he had done. "It is that fair and shining diamond," he pursued, "known among men as the Lady Frances Basset." For a moment Isoult was silent, and if Mr Monke could have read the thoughts hidden behind that quiet face, perhaps he would not have felt flattered. For Isoult was wondering in her own mind whether she ought to be glad or sorry. But the next moment her delicate instinct had told her what to answer.