There are many people who profess to know their neighbours' business better than they do themselves. According to this sort of people--and there are many in the village to this day--John Archer's marriage with Claribel Falkland was a thing already settled. The day had been fixed upon, and all was in order--in fact the kindly neighbours had made everything as easy as possible for the young couple, whereas John had never yet opened his lips in the way of love to the idol of his heart, being, as I have before mentioned, of a shy and reserved temperament. Yet so sure were the neighbours of John's private affairs, that one of his friends said jocularly that when their banns should be published in church that he would stand up and forbid them, as in marrying Claribel he would be committing bigamy, seeing that she could make herself two persons at once. Would that the neighbours had been in the right as to the future of this pair, for a couple better suited for each other could not have been found; but, alas, who is master of his fate? Who can pry into the secret ways of Providence? It little boots to speculate on what the future of these two amiable and ingenuous natures would have been if everything had gone well, for a dire fate was in store for them. But let me not anticipate. It was a winter morning, but remarkably fine for that time of the year, when Claribel and I went out together for a ramble in an adjacent wood. We had been laughing and chatting by the way, when suddenly I observed the features of my friend to become overcast. When I inquired the reason of her sadness, she replied, "I know not how it is, Molly, but somehow or other I feel as if some danger were threatening John." Now, I had long ceased to laugh at her for what I used to look upon as mere nervous fancies, so many of them having proved well founded, but I merely suggested to her that perhaps she did not feel well, and that we had better return home. "Yes, yes, Molly," she said; "for Heaven's sake let us return at once, as I feel more and more sure that poor John is in some danger. You remember my presentiment about Richard de Chevron, which you laughed at. Was that well founded or not? Well, as I felt certain then that some harm was in store for John, so do I now. Come, let us hasten our steps." "God forbid," said I, "that poor John should fall a victim a second time to treachery or witchcraft," and we hurried home, never halting until we reached my father's house. On entering the parlour Claribel gave a hasty glance at the glazed cupboard where she had placed the waxen image intended as a likeness of John Archer, and which she had not looked at for ever so long. It was wanting. "Molly!" she cried, in great anxiety, "where is the waxen image? What can have become of it? Just ask your father if he has removed it."