Chapter 15 CéCILE DE QUERNAIS

A low hall heavily raftered with black oak, and walls hung with tapestry and armour; a huge fire blazing on the open hearth, and two ladies seated near, in carved oaken seats, one busy with her embroidery, the other with the spinning-wheel.

An old-fashioned, stereotyped picture enough, yet that was what Morice Conyers saw as he stood, dripping a