“Loss to Arden,” she said; “loss and woe to Arden. The hangings of your house shall be given to the spider, and the mice shall eat your carved furnishings. Your gold shall be less and less, and your house go down and down till there is not a field that is yours about your house.”
Lord Arden shrugged his shoulders.
“Likely tales,” he said, “to frighten babes with. Tell me rather, if you would have me believe, what shall hap to-morrow.”
“To-morrow,” said the wise woman, “the French shall land in Lymchurch Bay.”
Lord Arden laughed.
“And I give you a sign—three signs,” said the woman faintly; for it is tiring work seeing into the future, even when you are enlightened with a kiss from some one who has been there. “You shall see the white Mouldiwarp, that is the badge of Arden, on your threshold as you enter.”
“That shall be one sign,” said the old man mockingly.
“And the second,” she said, “shall be again the badge of your house, in your own chair in your own parlour.”
“That seems likely,” said Lord Arden, sneering.
“And the third,” said she, “shall be the badge of your house in the arms of this child.”