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+The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Lady Of Blossholme, by H. Rider Haggard
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
+most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
+of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
+www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you
+will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before
+using this eBook.
+
+Title: The Lady Of Blossholme
+
+Author: H. Rider Haggard
+
+Release Date: September 21, 2001 [eBook #3813]
+[Most recently updated: October 15, 2021]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+Produced by: John Bickers, Dagny and David Widger
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LADY OF BLOSSHOLME ***
+
+
+
+
+THE LADY OF BLOSSHOLME
+
+By H. Rider Haggard
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+SIR JOHN FOTERELL
+
+
+Who that has ever seen them can forget the ruins of Blossholme Abbey,
+set upon their mount between the great waters of the tidal estuary to
+the north, the rich lands and grazing marshes that, backed with woods,
+border it east and south, and to the west by the rolling uplands,
+merging at last into purple moor, and, far away, the sombre eternal
+hills! Probably the scene has not changed very much since the days of
+Henry VIII, when those things happened of which we have to tell, for
+here no large town has arisen, nor have mines been dug or factories
+built to affront the earth and defile the air with their hideousness and
+smoke.
+
+The village of Blossholme we know has scarcely varied in its population,
+for the old records tell us this, and as there is no railway here its
+aspect must be much the same. Houses built of the local grey stone do
+not readily fall down. The folk of that generation walked in and out of
+the doorways of many of them, although the roofs for the most part are
+now covered with tiles or rough slates in place of reeds from the dike.
+The parish wells also, fitted with iron pumps that have superseded the
+old rollers and buckets, still serve the place with drinking-water
+as they have done since the days of the first Edward, and perhaps for
+centuries before.
+
+Although their use, if not their necessity, has passed away, not far
+from the Abbey gate the stocks and whipping-post, the latter arranged
+with three sets of iron loops fixed at different heights and of varying
+diameters to accommodate the wrists of man, woman, and child, may still
+be found in the middle of the Priests’ Green. These stand, it will be
+remembered, under a quaint old roof supported on rough, oaken pillars,
+and surmounted by a weathercock which the monkish fancy has fashioned
+to the shape of the archangel blowing the last trump. His clarion
+or coach-horn, or whatever instrument of music it was he blew, has
+vanished. The parish book records that in the time of George I a boy
+broke it off, melted it down, and was publicly flogged in consequence,
+the last time, apparently, that the whipping-post was used. But Gabriel
+still twists about as manfully as he did when old Peter, the famous
+smith, fashioned and set him up with his own hand in the last year of
+King Henry VIII, as it is said to commemorate the fact that on this spot
+stood the stakes to which Cicely Harflete, Lady of Blossholme, and her
+foster-mother, Emlyn, were chained to be burned as witches.
+
+So it is with everything at Blossholme, a place that Time has touched
+but lightly. The fields, or many of them, bear the same names and remain
+identical in their shape and outline. The old farmsteads and the few
+halls in which reside the gentry of the district, stand where they
+always stood. The glorious tower of the Abbey still points upwards to
+the sky, although bells and roof are gone, while half-a-mile away the
+parish church that was there before it--having been rebuilt indeed
+upon Saxon foundations in the days of William Rufus--yet lies among its
+ancient elms. Farther on, situate upon the slope of a vale down which
+runs a brook through meadows, is the stark ruin of the old Nunnery that
+was subservient to the proud Abbey on the hill, some of it now roofed in
+with galvanised iron sheets and used as cow-sheds.
+
+It is of this Abbey and this Nunnery and of those who dwelt around them
+in a day bygone, and especially of that fair and persecuted woman who
+came to be known as the Lady of Blossholme, that our story has to tell.
+
+
+
+It was dead winter in the year 1535--the 31st of December, indeed. Old
+Sir John Foterell, a white-bearded, red-faced man of about sixty years
+of age, was seated before the log fire in the dining-hall of his great
+house at Shefton, spelling through a letter which had just been brought
+to him from Blossholme Abbey. He mastered it at length, and when it was
+done any one who had been there to look might have seen a knight and
+gentleman of large estate in a rage remarkable even for the time of the
+eighth Henry. He dashed the document to the ground; he drank three cups
+of strong ale, of which he had already had enough, in quick succession;
+he swore a number of the best oaths of the period, and finally, in
+the most expressive language, he consigned the body of the Abbot of
+Blossholme to the gallows and his soul to hell.
+
+“He claims my lands, does he?” he exclaimed, shaking his fist in the
+direction of Blossholme. “What does the rogue say? That the abbot
+who went before him parted with them to my grandfather for no good
+consideration, but under fear and threats. Now, writes he, this
+Secretary Cromwell, whom they call Vicar-General, has declared that the
+said transfer was without the law, and that I must hand over the said
+lands to the Abbey of Blossholme on or before Candlemas! What was
+Cromwell paid to sign that order with no inquiry made, I wonder?”
+
+Sir John poured out and drank a fourth cup of ale, then set to walking
+up and down the hall. Presently he halted in front of the fire and
+addressed it as though it were his enemy.
+
+“You are a clever fellow, Clement Maldon; they tell me that all
+Spaniards are, and you were taught your craft at Rome and sent here for
+a purpose. You began as nothing, and now you are Abbot of Blossholme,
+and, if the King had not faced the Pope, would be more. But you forget
+yourself at times, for the Southern blood is hot, and when the wine is
+in, the truth is out. There were certain words you spoke not a year
+ago before me and other witnesses of which I will remind you presently.
+Perhaps when Secretary Cromwell learns them he will cancel his gift of
+my lands, and mayhap lift that plotting head of yours up higher. I’ll go
+remind you of them.”
+
+Sir John strode to the door and shouted; it would not be too much to say
+that he bellowed like a bull. It opened after a while, and a serving-man
+appeared, a bow-legged, sturdy-looking fellow with a shock of black
+hair.
+
+“Why are you not quicker, Jeffrey Stokes?” he asked. “Must I wait your
+pleasure from noon to night?”
+
+“I came as fast as I could, master. Why, then, do you rate me?”
+
+“Would you argue with me, fellow? Do it again and I will have you tied
+to a post and lashed.”
+
+“Lash yourself, master, and let out the choler and good ale, which you
+need to do,” replied Jeffrey in his gruff voice. “There be some men who
+never know when they are well served, and such are apt to come to ill
+and lonely ends. What is your pleasure? I’ll do it if I can, and if not,
+do it yourself.”
+
+Sir John lifted his hand as though to strike him, then let it fall
+again.
+
+“I like one who braves me to my teeth,” he said more gently, “and that
+was ever your nature. Take it not ill, man; I was angered, and have
+cause to be.”
+
+“The anger I see, but not the cause, though, as a monk came from the
+Abbey but now, perhaps I can hazard a guess.”
+
+“Aye, that’s it, that’s it, Jeffrey. Hark; I ride to yonder
+crows’-nest, and at once. Saddle me a horse.”
+
+“Good, master. I’ll saddle two horses.”
+
+“Two? I said one. Fool, can I ride a pair at once, like a mountebank?”
+
+“I know not, but you can ride one and I another. When the Abbot of
+Blossholme visits Sir John Foterell of Shefton he comes with hawk on
+wrist, with chaplains and pages, and ten stout men-at-arms, of whom he
+keeps more of late than a priest would seem to need about him. When Sir
+John Foterell visits the Abbot of Blossholme, at least he should have
+one serving-man at his back to hold his nag and bear him witness.”
+
+Sir John looked at him shrewdly.
+
+“I called you fool,” he said, “but you are none except in looks. Do as
+you will, Jeffrey, but be swift. Stop. Where is my daughter?”
+
+“The Lady Cicely sits in her parlour. I saw her sweet face at the window
+but now staring out at the snow as though she thought to see a ghost in
+it.”
+
+“Um,” grunted Sir John, “the ghost she thinks to see rides a grand grey
+mare, stands over six feet high, has a jolly face, and a pair of arms
+well made for sword and shield, or to clip a girl in. Yet that ghost
+must be laid, Jeffrey.”
+
+“Pity if so, master. Moreover, you may find it hard. Ghost-laying is a
+priest’s job, and when maids’ waists are willing, men’s arms reach far.”
+
+“Be off, sirrah,” roared Sir John, and Jeffrey went.
+
+Ten minutes later they were riding for the Abbey, three miles away,
+and within half-an-hour Sir John was knocking, not gently, at its gate,
+while the monks within ran to and fro like startled ants, for the times
+were rough, and they were not sure who threatened them. When they knew
+their visitor at last they set to work to unbar the great doors and let
+down the drawbridge, that had been hoist up at sunset.
+
+Presently Sir John stood in the Abbot’s chamber, warming himself at the
+great fire, and behind him stood his serving-man, Jeffrey, carrying his
+long cloak. It was a fine room, with a noble roof of carved chestnut
+wood and stone walls hung with costly tapestry, whereon were worked
+scenes from the Scriptures. The floor was hid with rich carpets made of
+coloured Eastern wools. The furniture also was rich and foreign-looking,
+being inlaid with ivory and silver, while on the table stood a golden
+crucifix, a miracle of art, and upon an easel, so that the light from a
+hanging silver lamp fell on it, a life-sized picture of the Magdalene
+by some great Italian painter, turning her beauteous eyes to heaven and
+beating her fair breast.
+
+Sir John looked about him and sniffed.
+
+“Now, Jeffrey, would you think that you were in a monk’s cell or in some
+great dame’s bower? Hunt under the table, man; sure, you will find her
+lute and needlework. Whose portrait is that, think you?” and he pointed
+to the Magdalene.
+
+“A sinner turning saint, I think, master. Good company for laymen when
+she was sinner, and good for priests now that she is saint. For the
+rest, I could snore well here after a cup of yon red wine,” and he
+jerked his thumb towards a long-necked bottle on a sideboard. “Also,
+the fire burns bright, which is not to be wondered at, seeing that it is
+made of dry oak from your Sticksley Wood.”
+
+“How know you that, Jeffrey?” asked Sir John.
+
+“By the grain of it, master--by the grain of it. I have hewn too many
+a timber there not to know. There’s that in the Sticksley clays which
+makes the rings grow wavy and darker at the heart. See there.”
+
+Sir John looked, and swore an angry oath.
+
+“You are right, man; and now I come to think of it, when I was a little
+lad my old grandsire bade me note this very thing about the Sticksley
+oaks. These cursed monks waste my woods beneath my nose. My forester is
+a rogue. They have scared or bribed him, and he shall hang for it.”
+
+“First prove the crime, master, which won’t be easy; then talk of
+hanging, which only kings and abbots, ‘with right of gallows,’ can do at
+will. Ah! you speak truth,” he added in a changed voice; “it is a lovely
+chamber, though not good enough for the holy man who dwells in it,
+since such a saint should have a silver shrine like him before the altar
+yonder, as doubtless he will do when ere long he is old bones,” and,
+as though by chance, he trod upon his lord’s foot, which was somewhat
+gouty.
+
+Round came Sir John like the Blossholme weathercock on a gusty day.
+
+“Clumsy toad!” he yelled, then paused, for there within the arras, that
+had been lifted silently, stood a tall, tonsured figure clothed in rich
+furs, and behind him two other figures, also tonsured, in simple black
+robes. It was the Abbot with his chaplains.
+
+“Benedicite!” said the Abbot in his soft, foreign voice, lifting the two
+fingers of his right hand in blessing.
+
+“Good-day,” answered Sir John, while his retainer bowed his head and
+crossed himself. “Why do you steal upon a man like a thief in the night,
+holy Father?” he added irritably.
+
+“That is how we are told judgment shall come, my son,” answered the
+Abbot, smiling; “and in truth there seems some need of it. We heard loud
+quarrelling and talk of hanging men. What is your argument?”
+
+“A hard one of oak,” answered old Sir John sullenly. “My servant here
+said those logs upon your fire came from my Sticksley Wood, and I
+answered him that if so they were stolen, and my reeve should hang for
+it.”
+
+“The worthy man is right, my son, and yet your forester deserves no
+punishment. I bought our scanty store of firing from him, and, to tell
+truth, the count has not yet been paid. The money that should have
+discharged it has gone to London, so I asked him to let it stand
+until the summer rents come in. Blame him not, Sir John, if, out of
+friendship, knowing it was naught to you, he has not bared the nakedness
+of our poor house.”
+
+“Is it the nakedness of your poor house”--and he glanced round the
+sumptuous chamber--“that caused you to send me this letter saying that
+you have Cromwell’s writ to seize my lands?” asked Sir John, rushing at
+his grievance like a bull, and casting down the document upon the table;
+“or do you also mean to make payment for them--when your summer rents
+come in?”
+
+“Nay, son. In that matter duty led me. For twenty years we have disputed
+of those estates which, as you know, your grandsire took from us in
+a time of trouble, thus cutting the Abbey lands in twain, against the
+protest of him who was Abbot in those days. Therefore, at last I laid
+the matter before the Vicar-General, who, I hear, has been pleased to
+decide the suit in favour of this Abbey.”
+
+“To decide a suit of which the defendant had no notice!” exclaimed Sir
+John. “My Lord Abbot, this is not justice; it is roguery that I will
+never bear. Did you decide aught else, pray you?”
+
+“Since you ask it--something, my son. To save costs I laid before him
+the sundry points at issue between us, and in sum this is the judgment:
+Your title to all your Blossholme lands and those contiguous, totalling
+eight thousand acres, is not voided, yet it is held to be tainted and
+doubtful.”
+
+“God’s blood! Why?” asked Sir John.
+
+“My son, I will tell you,” replied the Abbot gently. “Because within
+a hundred years they belonged to this Abbey by gift of the Crown, and
+there is no record that the Crown consented to their alienation.”
+
+“No record,” exclaimed Sir John, “when I have the indentured deed in my
+strong-box, signed by my great-grandfather and the Abbot Frank Ingham!
+No record, when my said forefather gave you other lands in place of them
+which you now hold? But go on, holy priest.”
+
+“My son, I obey you. Your title, though pronounced so doubtful, is not
+utterly voided; yet it is held that you have all these lands as tenant
+of this Abbey, to which, should you die without issue, they will
+relapse. Or should you die with issue under age, such issue will be ward
+to the Abbot of Blossholme for the time being, and failing him, that is,
+if there were no Abbot and no Abbey, of the Crown.”
+
+Sir John listened, then sank back into a chair, while his face went
+white as ashes.
+
+“Show me that judgment,” he said slowly.
+
+“It is not yet engrossed, my son. Within ten days or so I hope----But
+you seem faint. The warmth of this room after the cold outer air,
+perhaps. Drink a cup of our poor wine,” and at a motion of his hand
+one of the chaplains stepped to the sideboard, filled a goblet from the
+long-necked flask that stood there, and brought it to Sir John.
+
+He took it as one that knows not what he does, then suddenly threw the
+silver cup and its contents into the fire, whence a chaplain recovered
+it with the wood-tongs.
+
+“It seems that you priests are my heirs,” said Sir John in a new, quiet
+voice, “or so you say; and, if that is so, my life is likely to be
+short. I’ll not drink your wine, lest it should be poisoned. Hearken
+now, Sir Abbot. I believe little of this tale, though doubtless by
+bribes and other means you have done your best to harm me behind my back
+up yonder in London. Well, to-morrow at the dawn, come fair weather or
+come foul, I ride through the snows to London, where I too have friends,
+and we will see, we will see. You are a clever man, Abbot Maldon, and
+I know that you need money, or its worth, to pay your men-at-arms and
+satisfy the great costs at which you live--and there are our famous
+jewels--yes, yes, the old Crusader jewels. Therefore you have sought to
+rob me, whom you ever hated, and perchance Cromwell has listened to your
+tale. Perchance, fool priest,” he added slowly, “he had it in his mind
+to fat this Church goose of yours with my meal before he wrings its neck
+and cooks it.”
+
+At these words the Abbot started for the first time, and even the two
+impassive chaplains glanced at each other.
+
+“Ah! does that touch you?” asked Sir John Foterell. “Well, then, here is
+what shall make you smart. You think yourself in favour at the Court, do
+you not? because you took the oath of succession which braver men, like
+the brethren of the Charterhouse, refused, and died for it. But you
+forget the words you said to me when the wine you love had a hold of you
+in my hall----”
+
+“Silence! For your own sake, silence, Sir John Foterell!” broke in the
+Abbot. “You go too far.”
+
+“Not so far as you shall go, my Lord Abbot, ere I have done with you.
+Not so far as Tower Hill or Tyburn, thither to be hung and quartered as
+a traitor to his Grace. I tell you, you forget the words you spoke, but
+I will remind you of them. Did you not say to me when the guests had
+gone, that King Henry was a heretic, a tyrant, and an infidel whom the
+Pope would do well to excommunicate and depose? Did you not, when I led
+you on, ask me if I could not bring about a rising of the common people
+in these parts, among whom I have great power, and of those gentry who
+know and love me, to overthrow him, and in his place set up a certain
+Cardinal Pole, and for the deed promise me the pardon and absolution
+of the Pope, and much advancement in his name and that of the Spanish
+Emperor?”
+
+“Never,” answered the Abbot.
+
+“And did I not,” went on Sir John, taking no note of his denial, “did
+I not refuse to listen to you and tell you that your words were
+traitorous, and that had they been spoken otherwhere than in my house,
+I, as in duty bound by my office, would make report of them? Aye, and
+have you not from that hour striven to undo me, whom you fear?”
+
+“I deny it all,” said the Abbot again. “These be but empty lies bred of
+your malice, Sir John Foterell.”
+
+“Empty words, are they, my Lord Abbot! Well, I tell you that they are
+all written down and signed in due form. I tell you I had witnesses you
+knew naught of who heard them with their ears. Here stands one of them
+behind my chair. Is it not so, Jeffrey?”
+
+“Aye, master,” answered the serving-man. “I chanced to be in the little
+chamber beyond the wainscot with others waiting to escort the Abbot
+home, and heard them all, and afterward I and they put our marks upon
+the writing. As I am a Christian man that is so, though, master, this is
+not the place that I should have chosen to speak of it, however much I
+might be wronged.”
+
+“It will serve my turn,” said the enraged knight, “though it is true
+that I will speak of it louder elsewhere, namely, before the King’s
+Council. To-morrow, my Lord Abbot, this paper and I go to London, and
+then you shall learn how well it pays you to try to pluck a Foterell of
+his own.”
+
+Now it was the Abbot’s turn to be frightened. His smooth, olive-coloured
+cheeks sank in and went white, as though already he felt the cord about
+his throat. His jewelled hand shook, and he caught the arm of one of his
+chaplains and hung to it.
+
+“Man,” he hissed, “do you think that you can utter such false threats
+and go hence to ruin me, a consecrated abbot? I have dungeons here; I
+have power. It will be said that you attacked me, and that I did but
+strive to defend myself. Others can bring witness besides you, Sir
+John,” and he whispered some words in Latin or Spanish into the ear of
+one of his chaplains, whereon that priest turned to leave the room.
+
+“Now it seems that we are getting to business,” said Jeffrey Stokes, as,
+laying his hand upon the knife at his girdle, he slipped between the monk
+and the door.
+
+“That’s it, Jeffrey,” cried Sir John. “Stop the rat’s hole. Look you,
+Spaniard, I have a sword. Show me to your gate, or, by virtue of the
+King’s commission that I hold, I do instant justice on you as a traitor,
+and afterward answer for it if I win out.”
+
+The Abbot considered a moment, taking the measure of the fierce old
+knight before him. Then he said slowly--
+
+“Go as you came, in peace, O man of wrath and evil, but know that the
+curse of the Church shall follow you. I say that you stand near to ill.”
+
+Sir John looked at him. The anger went out of his face, and, instead,
+upon it appeared something strange--a breath of foresight, an
+inspiration, call it what you will.
+
+“By heaven and all its saints! I think you are right, Clement Maldon,”
+ he muttered. “Beneath that black dress of yours you are a man like the
+rest of us, are you not? You have a heart, you have members, you have
+a brain to think with; you are a fiddle for God to play on, and however
+much your superstitions mask and alter it, out of those strings now and
+again will come some squeak of truth. Well, I am another fiddle, of a
+more honest sort, mayhap, though I do not lift two fingers of my right
+hand and say, ‘Benedicite, my son,’ and ‘Your sins are forgiven you’;
+and just now the God of both of us plays His tune in me, and I will tell
+you what it is. I stand near to death, but you stand not far from the
+gallows. I’ll die an honest man; you will die like a dog, false to
+everything, and afterwards let your beads and your masses and your
+saints help you if they can. We’ll talk it over when we meet again
+elsewhere. And now, my Lord Abbot, lead me to your gate, remembering
+that I follow with my sword. Jeffrey, set those carrion crow in front of
+you, and watch them well. My Lord Abbot, I am your servant; march!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+THE MURDER BY THE MERE
+
+
+For a while Sir John and his retainer rode in silence. Then he laughed
+loudly.
+
+“Jeffrey,” he called, “that was a near touch. Sir Priest was minded to
+stick his Spanish pick-tooth between our ribs, and shrive us afterwards,
+as we lay dying, to salve his conscience.”
+
+“Yes, master; only, being reasonable, he remembered that English swords
+have a longer reach, and that his bullies are in the Ford ale-house
+seeing the Old Year out, and so put it off. Master, I have always told
+you that old October of yours is too strong to drink at noon. It should
+be saved till bed-time.”
+
+“What do you mean, man?”
+
+“I mean that ale spoke yonder, not wisdom. You have showed your hand and
+played the fool.”
+
+“Who are you to teach me?” asked Sir John angrily. “I meant that he
+should hear the truth for once, the slimy traitor.”
+
+“Perhaps, perhaps; but these be bad days for Truth and those who court
+her. Was it needful to tell him that to-morrow you journey to London
+upon a certain errand?”
+
+“Why not? I’ll be there before him.”
+
+“Will you ever be there, master? The road runs past the Abbey, and that
+priest has good ruffians in his pay who can hold their tongues.”
+
+“Do you mean that he will waylay me? I say he dare not. Still, to please
+you, we will take the longer path through the forest.”
+
+“A rough one, master; but who goes with you on this business? Most of
+us are away with the wains, and others make holiday. There are but three
+serving-men at the hall, and you cannot leave the Lady Cicely without a
+guard, or take her with you through this cold. Remember there’s
+wealth yonder which some may need more even than your lands,” he added
+meaningly. “Wait a while, then, till your people return or you can call
+up your tenants, and go to London as one of your quality should, with
+twenty good men at your back.”
+
+“And so give our friend the Abbot time to get Cromwell’s ear, and
+through him that of the King. No, no; I ride to-morrow at the dawn with
+you, or, if you are afraid, without you, as I have done before and taken
+no harm.”
+
+“None shall say that Jeffrey Stokes is afraid of man or priest or
+devil,” answered the old soldier, colouring. “Your road has been good
+enough for me this thirty years, and it is good enough now. If I warned
+you it was not for my own sake, who care little what comes, but for
+yours and that of your house.”
+
+“I know it,” said Sir John more kindly. “Take not my words ill, my
+temper is up to-day. Thank the saints! here is the hall at last. Why!
+whose horse has passed the gates before us?”
+
+Jeffrey glanced at the tracks which the moonlight showed very clearly in
+the new-fallen snow.
+
+“Sir Christopher Harflete’s grey mare,” he said. “I know the shoeing and
+the round shape of the hoof. Doubtless he is visiting Mistress Cicely.”
+
+“Whom I have forbidden to him,” grumbled Sir John, swinging himself from
+the saddle.
+
+“Forbid him not,” answered Jeffrey, as he took his horse. “Christopher
+Harflete may yet be a good friend to a maid in need, and I think that
+need is nigh.”
+
+“Mind your business, knave,” shouted Sir John. “Am I to be set at naught
+in my own house by a chit of a girl and a gallant who would mend his
+broken fortunes?”
+
+“If you ask me, I think so,” replied the imperturbable Jeffrey, as he
+led away the horses.
+
+Sir John strode into the house by the backway, which opened on to the
+stable-yard. Taking the lantern that stood by the door, he went along
+galleries and upstairs to the sitting-chamber above the hall, which,
+since her mother’s death, his daughter had used as her own, for here
+he guessed that he would find her. Setting down the lantern upon the
+passage table, he pushed open the door, which was not latched, and
+entered.
+
+The room was large, and, being lighted only by the great fire that
+burned upon the hearth and two candles, all this end of it was hid in
+shadow. Near to the deep window-place the shadow ceased, however, and
+here, seated in a high-backed oak chair, with the light of the blazing
+fire falling full upon her, was Cicely Foterell, Sir John’s only
+surviving child. She was a tall and graceful maiden, blue-eyed,
+brown-haired, fair-skinned, with a round and child-like face which
+most people thought beautiful to look upon. Just now this face, that
+generally was so arch and cheerful, seemed somewhat troubled. For this
+there might be a reason, since, seated upon a stool at her side, was a
+young man talking to her earnestly.
+
+He was a stalwart young man, very broad about the shoulders, clean-cut
+in feature, with a long, straight nose, black hair, and merry black
+eyes. Also, as such a gallant should do, he appeared to be making love
+with much vigour and directness, for his face was upturned pleading with
+the girl, who leaned back in her chair answering him nothing. At this
+moment, indeed, his copious flow of words came to an end, perhaps from
+exhaustion, perhaps for other reasons, and was succeeded by a more
+effective method of attack. Suddenly sinking from the stool to his
+knees, he took the unresisting hand of Cicely and kissed it several
+times; then, emboldened by his success, threw his long arms about her,
+and before Sir John, choked with indignation, could find words to stop
+him, drew her towards him and treated her red lips as he had treated her
+fingers. This rude proceeding seemed to break the spell that bound her,
+for she pushed back the chair and, escaping from his grasp, rose, saying
+in a broken voice----
+
+“Oh! Christopher, dear Christopher, this is most wrong.”
+
+“May be,” he answered. “So long as you love me I care not what it is.”
+
+“That you have known these two years, Christopher. I love you well,
+but, alas! my father will have none of you. Get you hence now, ere
+he returns, or we both shall pay for it, and I, perhaps, be sent to a
+nunnery where no man may come.”
+
+“Nay, sweet, I am here to ask his consent to my suit----”
+
+Then at last Sir John broke out.
+
+“To ask my consent to your suit, you dishonest knave!” he roared from
+the darkness; whereat Cicely sank back into her chair looking as though
+she would faint, and the strong Christopher staggered like a man pierced
+by an arrow. “First to take my girl and hug her before my very eyes, and
+then, when the mischief is done, to ask my consent to your suit!” and he
+rushed at them like a charging bull.
+
+Cicely rose to fly, then, seeing no escape, took refuge in her lover’s
+arms. Her infuriated father seized the first part of her that came to
+his hand, which chanced to be one of her long brown plaits of hair, and
+tugged at it till she cried out with pain, purposing to tear her away,
+at which sight and sound Christopher lost his temper also.
+
+“Leave go of the maid, sir,” he said in a low, fierce voice, “or, by
+God! I’ll make you.”
+
+“Leave go of the maid?” gasped Sir John. “Why, who holds her tightest,
+you or I? Do you leave go of her.”
+
+“Yes, yes, Christopher,” she whispered, “ere I am pulled in two.”
+
+Then he obeyed, lifting her into the chair, but her father still kept
+his hold of the brown tress.
+
+“Now, Sir Christopher,” he said, “I am minded to put my sword through
+you.”
+
+“And pierce your daughter’s heart as well as mine. Well, do it if you
+will, and when we are dead and you are childless, weep yourself and go
+to the grave.”
+
+“Oh! father, father,” broke in Cicely, who knew the old man’s temper,
+and feared the worst, “in justice and in pity, listen to me. All my
+heart is Christopher’s, and has been from a child. With him I shall have
+happiness, without him black despair; and that is his case too, or so
+he swears. Why, then, should you part us? Is he not a proper man and of
+good lineage, and name unstained? Until of late did you not ever favour
+him much and let us be together day by day? And now, when it is too
+late, you deny him. Oh! why, why?”
+
+“You know why well enough, girl. Because I have chosen another husband
+for you. The Lord Despard is taken with your baby face, and would marry
+you. But this morning I had it under his own hand.”
+
+“The Lord Despard?” gasped Cicely. “Why, he only buried his second
+wife last month! Father, he is as old as you are, and drunken, and has
+grandchildren of well-nigh my age. I would obey you in all things, but
+never will I go to him alive.”
+
+“And never shall he live to take you,” muttered Christopher.
+
+“What matter his years, daughter? He is a sound man, and has no son,
+and should one be born to him, his will be the greatest heritage within
+three shires. Moreover, I need his friendship, who have bitter enemies.
+But enough of this. Get you gone, Christopher, before worse befall you.”
+
+“So be it, sir, I will go; but first, as an honest man and my father’s
+friend, and, as I thought, my own, answer me one question. Why have you
+changed your tune to me of late? Am I not the same Christopher Harflete
+I was a year or two ago? And have I done aught to lower me in the
+world’s eye or in yours?”
+
+“No, lad,” answered the old knight bluntly; “but since you will have it,
+here it is. Within that year or two your uncle whose heir you were has
+married and bred a son, and now you are but a gentleman of good name,
+and little to float it on. That big house of yours must go to the
+hammer, Christopher. You’ll never stow a bride in it.”
+
+“Ah! I thought as much. Christopher Harflete with the promise of the
+Lesborough lands was one man; Christopher Harflete without them is
+another--in your eyes. Yet, sir, I hold you foolish. I love your
+daughter and she loves me, and those lands and more may come back, or
+I, who am no fool, will win others. Soon there will be plenty going up
+there at Court, where I am known. Further, I tell you this: I believe
+that I shall marry Cicely, and earlier than you think, and I would have
+had your blessing with her.”
+
+“What! Will you steal the girl away?” asked Sir John furiously.
+
+“By no means, sir. But this is a strange world of ours, in which from
+hour to hour top becomes bottom, and bottom top, and there--I think I
+shall marry her. At least I am sure that Despard the sot never will,
+for I’ll kill him first, if I hang for it. Sir, sir, surely you will not
+throw your pearl upon that muckheap. Better crush it beneath your heel
+at once. Look, and say you cannot do it,” and he pointed to the pathetic
+figure of Cicely, who stood by them with clasped hands, panting breast,
+and a face of agony.
+
+The old knight glanced at her out of the corners of his eyes, and saw
+something that moved him to pity, for at bottom his heart was honest,
+and though he treated her so roughly, as was the fashion of the times,
+he loved his daughter more than all the world.
+
+“Who are you, that would teach me my duty to my bone and blood?” he
+grumbled. Then he thought a while, and added, “Hear me, now, Christopher
+Harflete. To-morrow at the dawn I ride to London with Jeffrey Stokes on
+a somewhat risky business.”
+
+“What business, sir?”
+
+“If you would know--that of a quarrel with yonder Spanish rogue of an
+Abbot, who claims the best part of my lands, and has poisoned the ear
+of that upstart, the Vicar-General Cromwell. I go to take the deeds and
+prove him a liar and a traitor also, which Cromwell does not know. Now,
+is my nest safe from you while I am away? Give me your word, and I’ll
+believe you, for at least you are an honest gentleman, and if you have
+poached a kiss or two, that may be forgiven. Others have done the same
+before you were born. Give me your word, or I must drag the girl through
+the snows to London at my heels.”
+
+“You have it, sir,” answered Christopher. “If she needs my company she
+must come for it to Cranwell Towers, for I’ll not seek hers while you
+are away.”
+
+“Good. Then one gift for another. I’ll not answer my Lord of Despard’s
+letter till I get back again--not to please you, but because I hate
+writing. It is a labour to me, and I have no time to spare to-night.
+Now, have a cup of drink and be off with you. Love-making is thirsty
+work.”
+
+“Aye, gladly, sir, but hear me, hear me. Ride not to London with such
+slight attendance after a quarrel with Abbot Maldon. Let me wait on you.
+Although my fortunes be so low I can bring a man or two--six or eight,
+indeed--while yours are away with the wains.”
+
+“Never, Christopher. My own hand has guarded my head these sixty years,
+and can do so still. Also,” he added, with a flash of insight, “as you
+say, the journey is dangerous, and who knows? If aught went wrong, you
+might be wanted nearer home. Christopher, you shall never have my girl;
+she’s not for you. Yet, perhaps, if need were, you would strike a blow
+for her even if it made you excommunicate. Get hence, wench. Why do you
+stand there gaping on us, like an owl in sunlight? And remember, if
+I catch you at more such tricks, you’ll spend your days mumbling at
+prayers in a nunnery, and much good may they do you.”
+
+“At least I should find peace there, and gentle words,” answered Cicely
+with spirit, for she knew her father, and the worst of her fear had
+departed. “Only, sir, I did not know that you wished to swell the wealth
+of the Abbots of Blossholme.”
+
+“Swell their wealth!” roared her father. “Nay, I’ll stretch their necks.
+Get you to your chamber, and send up Jeffrey with the liquor.”
+
+Then, having no choice, Cicely curtseyed, first to her father and next
+to Christopher, to whom she sent a message with her eyes that she
+dared not utter with her lips, and so vanished into the shadows, where
+presently she was heard stumbling against some article of furniture.
+
+“Show the maid a light, Christopher,” said Sir John, who, lost in his
+own thoughts, was now gazing into the fire.
+
+Seizing one of the two candles, Christopher sprang after her like a
+hound after a hare, and presently the pair of them passed through the
+door and down the long passage beyond. At a turn in it they halted, and
+once more, without word spoken, she found her way into those long arms.
+
+“You will not forget me, even if we must part?” sobbed Cicely.
+
+“Nay, sweet,” he answered. “Moreover, keep a brave heart; we do not part
+for long, for God has given us to each other. Your father does not mean
+all he says, and his temper, which has been stirred to-day, will soften.
+If not, we must look to ourselves. I keep a swift horse or two, Cicely.
+Could you ride one if need were?”
+
+“I have ever loved riding,” she said meaningly.
+
+“Good. Then you shall never go to that fat hog’s sty, for I’ll stick him
+first. And I have friends both in Scotland and in France. Which like you
+best?”
+
+“They say the air of France is softer. Now, away from me, or one will
+come to seek us,” and they tore themselves apart.
+
+“Emlyn, your foster-mother, is to be trusted,” he said rapidly; “also
+she loves me well. If there be need, let me hear of you through her.”
+
+“Aye,” she answered, “without fail,” and glided from him like a ghost.
+
+“Have you been waiting to see the moon rise?” asked Sir John, glancing
+at Christopher from beneath his shaggy eyebrows as he returned.
+
+“Nay, sir, but the passages in this old house of yours are most wondrous
+long, and I took a wrong turn in threading them.”
+
+“Oh!” said Sir John. “Well, you have a talent for wrong turns, and
+such partings are hard. Now, do you understand that this is the last of
+them?”
+
+“I understand that you may say so, sir.”
+
+“And that I mean it, too, I hope. Listen, Christopher,” he added, with
+earnestness, but in a kindly voice. “Believe me, I like you well, and
+would not give you pain, or the maid yonder, if I could help it. Yet I
+have no choice. I am threatened on all sides by priest and king, and you
+have lost your heritage. She is the only jewel that I can pawn, and for
+your own safety’s sake and her children’s sake, must marry well. Yonder
+Despard will not live long, he drinks too hard; and then your day may
+come, if you still care for his leavings--perhaps in two years, perhaps
+in less, for she will soon see him out. Now, let us talk no more of
+the matter, but if aught befalls me, be a friend to her. Here comes the
+liquor--drink it up and be off. Though I seem rough with you, my hope is
+that you may quaff many another cup at Shefton.”
+
+
+
+It was seven o’clock of the next morning, and Sir John, having eaten
+his breakfast, was girding on his sword--for Jeffrey had already gone
+to fetch the horses--when the door opened and his daughter entered the
+great hall, candle in hand, wrapped in a fur cloak, over which her long
+hair fell. Glancing at her, Sir John noted that her eyes were wide and
+frightened.
+
+“What is it now, girl?” he asked. “You’ll take your death of cold among
+these draughts.”
+
+“Oh! father,” she said, kissing him, “I came to bid you farewell,
+and--and--to pray you not to start.”
+
+“Not to start? And why?”
+
+“Because, father, I have dreamed a bad dream. At first last night I
+could not sleep, and when at length I did I dreamed that dream thrice,”
+ and she paused.
+
+“Go on, Cicely; I am not afraid of dreams, which are but
+foolishness--coming from the stomach.”
+
+“Mayhap; yet, father, it was so plain and clear I can scarcely bear to
+tell it to you. I stood in a dark place amidst black things that I knew
+to be trees. Then the red dawn broke upon the snow, and I saw a little
+pool with brown rushes frozen in its ice. And there--there, at the edge
+of the pool, by a pollard willow with one white limb, you lay, your bare
+sword in your hand and an arrow in your neck, shot from behind, while in
+the trunk of the willow were other arrows, and lying near you two slain.
+Then cloaked men came as though to carry them away, and I awoke. I say I
+dreamed it thrice.”
+
+“A jolly good morrow indeed,” said Sir John, turning a shade paler. “And
+now, daughter, what do you make of this business?”
+
+“I? Oh! I make that you should stop at home and send some one else to do
+your business. Sir Christopher, for instance.”
+
+“Why, then I should baulk your dream, which is either true or false.
+If true, I have no choice, it must be fulfilled; if false, why should I
+heed it? Cicely, I am a plain man and take no note of such fancies. Yet
+I have enemies, and it may well chance that my day is done. If so, use
+your mother wit, girl; beware of Maldon, look to yourself, and as for
+your mother’s jewels, hide them,” and he turned to go.
+
+She clasped him by the arm.
+
+“In that sad case what should I do, father?” she asked eagerly.
+
+He stopped and stared at her up and down.
+
+“I see that you believe in your dream,” he said, “and therefore,
+although it shall not stay a Foterell, I begin to believe in it too. In
+that case you have a lover whom I have forbid to you. Yet he is a man
+after my own heart, who would deal well by you. If I die, my game is
+played. Set your own anew, sweet Cicely, and set it soon, ere that Abbot
+is at your heels. Rough as I may have been, remember me with kindness,
+and God’s blessing and mine be on you. Hark! Jeffrey calls, and if they
+stand, the horses will take cold. There, fare you well. Fear not for me,
+I wear a chain shirt beneath my cloak. Get back to bed and warm you,”
+ and he kissed her on the brow, thrust her from him and was gone.
+
+Thus did Cicely and her father part--for ever.
+
+
+
+All that day Sir John and Jeffrey, his serving-man, trotted forward
+through the snow--that is, when they were not obliged to walk because
+of the depth of the drifts. Their plan was to reach a certain farm in a
+glade of the woodland within two hours of sundown, and sleep there, for
+they had taken the forest path, leaving again for the Fens and Cambridge
+at the dawn. This, however, proved not possible because of the exceeding
+badness of the road. So it came about that when the darkness closed in
+on them a little before five o’clock, bringing with it a cold,
+moaning wind and a scurry of snow, they were obliged to shelter in a
+faggot-built woodman’s hut, waiting for the moon to appear among the
+clouds. Here they fed the horses with corn that they had brought with
+them, and themselves also from their store of dried meat and barley
+cakes, which Jeffrey carried on his shoulder in a bag. It was a poor
+meal eaten thus in the darkness, but served to stay their stomachs and
+pass away the time.
+
+At length a ray of light pierced the doorway of the hut.
+
+“She’s up,” said Sir John, “let us be going ere the nags grow stiff.”
+
+Making no answer, Jeffrey slipped the bits back into the horses’ mouths
+and led them out. Now the full moon had appeared like a great white eye
+between two black banks of cloud and turned the world to silver. It was
+a dreary scene on which she shone; a dazzling plain of snow, broken by
+patches of hawthorns, and here and there by the gaunt shape of a pollard
+oak, since this being the outskirt of the forest, folk came hither to
+lop the tops of the trees for firing. A hundred and fifty yards away
+or so, at the crest of a slope, was a round-shaped hill, made, not by
+Nature, but by man. None knew what that hill might be, but tradition
+said that once, hundreds or thousands of years before, a big battle
+had been fought around it in which a king was killed, and that his
+victorious army had raised this mound above his bones to be a memorial
+for ever.
+
+The story was indeed that, being a sea-king, they had built a boat or
+dragged it thither from the river shore and set him in it with all the
+slain for rowers; also that he might be seen at nights seated on his
+horse in armour, and staring about him, as when he directed the battle.
+At least it is true that the mount was called King’s Grave, and that
+people feared to pass it after sundown.
+
+As Jeffrey Stokes was holding his master’s stirrup for him to mount,
+he uttered an exclamation and pointed. Following the line of his
+outstretched hand, in the clear moonlight Sir John saw a man, who sat,
+still as any statue, upon a horse on the very point of King’s Grave.
+He appeared to be covered with a long cloak, but above it his helmet
+glittered like silver. Next moment a fringe of black cloud hid the face
+of the moon, and when it passed away the man and horse were gone.
+
+“What did that fellow there?” asked Sir John.
+
+“Fellow?” answered Jeffrey in a shaken voice, “I saw none. That was the
+Ghost of the Grave. My grandfather met him ere he came to his end in the
+forest, none know how, for the wolves, of which there were plenty in
+his day, picked his bones clean, and so have many others for hundreds of
+years; always just before their doom. He is an ill fowl, that Ghost
+of the Grave, and those who clap eyes on him do wisely to turn their
+horses’ heads homewards, as I would to-night if I had my way, master.”
+
+“What use, Jeffrey? If the sight of him means death, death will come.
+Moreover, I believe nothing of the tale. Your ghost was some forest
+reeve or herdsman.”
+
+“A forest reeve or herdsman who wanders about in a steel helm on a fine
+horse in snow-time when there are no trees to cut or cattle to mind!
+Well, have it as you will, master; only God save me from such reeves and
+herdmen, for I think they hail from hell.”
+
+“Then he was a spy watching whither we go,” answered Sir John angrily.
+
+“If so, who sent him? The Abbot of Blossholme? In that case I would
+sooner meet the devil, for this means mischief. I say that we had better
+ride back to Shefton.”
+
+“Then do so, Jeffrey, if you are scared, and I will go on alone, who,
+being on an honest business, fear not Satan or an abbot, either.”
+
+“Nay, master. Many a year ago, when we were younger, I stood by you on
+Flodden Field when Sir Edward, Christopher Harflete’s father, was killed
+at our side, and those red-bearded Scotch bare-breeks pressed us hard,
+yet I never itched to turn my back, even after that great fellow with an
+axe got you down, and we thought that all was lost. Then shall I do
+so now?--though it is true that I fear yon goblin more than all the
+Highlanders beyond the Tweed. Ride on; man can die but once, and for my
+part I care not when it comes, who have little to lose in an ill world.”
+
+So without more words they started forward, peering about them as they
+went. Soon the forest thickened, and the track they followed wound its
+way round great trunks of primeval oaks, or the edges of bog-holes, or
+through brakes of thorns. Hard enough it was to find it at times, since
+the snow made it one with the bordering ground, and the gloom of the
+oaks was great. But Jeffrey was a woodman born, and from his childhood
+had known the shape of every tree in that waste, so that they held
+safely to their road. Well would it have been for them if they had not!
+
+They came to a place where three other tracks crossed that which they
+rode upon, and here Jeffrey Stokes, who was ahead, held up his hand.
+
+“What is it?” asked Sir John.
+
+“It is the marks of ten or a dozen shod horses passed within two hours,
+since the last snow fell. And who be they, I wonder?”
+
+“Doubtless travellers like ourselves. Ride on, man; that farm is not a
+mile ahead.”
+
+Then Jeffrey broke out.
+
+“Master, I like it not,” he said. “Battle-horses have gone by here, not
+chapmen’s or farmers’ nags, and I think I know their breed. I say that
+we had best turn about if we would not walk into some snare.”
+
+“Turn you, then,” grumbled Sir John indifferently. “I am cold and weary,
+and seek my rest.”
+
+“Pray God that you may not find it when you are colder,” muttered
+Jeffrey, spurring his horse.
+
+They went on through the dead winter silence, that was broken only by
+the hoots of a flitting owl hungry for the food that it could not find,
+and the swish of the feet of a galloping fox as it looped past them
+through the snow. Presently they came to an open place ringed in by
+forest, so wet that only marsh-trees would grow there. To their right
+lay a little ice-covered mere, with sere, brown reeds standing here and
+there upon its face, and at the end of it a group of stark pollarded
+willows, whereof the tops had been cut for poles by those who dwelt in
+the forest farm near by. Sir John looked at the place and shivered a
+little--perhaps because the frost bit him. Or was it that he remembered
+his daughter’s dream, which told of such a spot? At any rate, he set his
+teeth, and his right hand sought the hilt of his sword. His weary horse
+sniffed the air and neighed, and the neigh was answered from close at
+hand.
+
+“Thank the saints! we are nearer to that farm than I thought,” said Sir
+John.
+
+As he spoke the words a number of men appeared galloping down on them
+from out of the shelter of a thorn-brake, and the moonlight shone on the
+bared weapons in their hands.
+
+“Thieves!” shouted Sir John. “At them now, Jeffrey, and win through to
+the farm.”
+
+The man hesitated, for he saw that their foes were many and no common
+robbers, but his master drew his sword and spurred his beast, so he
+must do likewise. In twenty seconds they were among them, and some one
+commanded them to yield. Sir John rushed at the fellow, and, rising in
+his stirrups, cut him down. He fell all of a heap and lay still in the
+snow, which grew crimson about him. One came at Jeffrey, who turned his
+horse so that the blow missed, then took his weight upon the point of
+his sword, so that this man, too, fell down and lay in the snow, moving
+feebly.
+
+The rest, thinking this greeting too warm for them, swung round and
+vanished again among the thorns.
+
+“Now ride for it,” said Jeffrey.
+
+“I cannot,” answered Sir John. “One of those knaves has hurt my mare,”
+ and he pointed to blood that ran from a great gash in the beast’s
+foreleg, which it held up piteously.
+
+“Take mine,” said Jeffrey; “I’ll dodge them afoot.”
+
+“Never, man! To the willows; we will hold our own there;” and, springing
+from the wounded beast, which tried to hobble after them, but could not,
+for its sinews were cut, he ran to the shelter of the trees, followed by
+Jeffrey on his horse.
+
+“Who are these rogues?” he asked.
+
+“The Abbot’s men-at-arms,” answered Jeffrey. “I saw the face of him I
+spitted.”
+
+Now Sir John’s jaw dropped.
+
+“Then we are sped, friend, for they dare not let us go. Cicely dreams
+well.”
+
+As he spoke an arrow whistled by them.
+
+“Jeffrey,” he went on, “I have papers on me that should not be lost,
+for with them might go my girl’s heritage. Take them,” and he thrust
+a packet into his hand, “and this purse also. There’s plenty in it.
+Away--anywhere, and lie hid out of reach a while, or they’ll still your
+tongue. Then I charge you on your soul, come back with help and hang
+that knave Abbot--for your Lady’s sake, Jeffrey. She’ll reward you, and
+so will God above.”
+
+The man thrust away purse and deeds in some deep pocket.
+
+“How can I leave you to be butchered?” he muttered, grinding his teeth.
+
+As the words left his lips he heard his master utter a gurgling sound,
+and saw that an arrow, shot from behind, had pierced him through the
+throat; saw, too, he who was skilled in war, that the wound was mortal.
+Then he hesitated no longer.
+
+“Christ rest you!” he said. “I’ll do your bidding or die;” and, turning
+his horse, he drove the rowels into its sides, causing it to bound away
+like a deer.
+
+For a moment the stricken Sir John watched him go. Then he ran out of
+his cover, shaking his sword above his head--ran into the open moonlight
+to draw the arrows. They came fast enough, but ere ever he fell, for
+that steel shirt of his was strong, Jeffrey, lying low on his horse’s
+neck, was safe away, and though the murderers followed hard they never
+caught him.
+
+Nor, though they searched for days, could they find him at Shefton or
+elsewhere, for Jeffrey, who knew that all roads were blocked, and who
+dared not venture home, doubling like a hare across country, had won
+down to the water, where a ship lay foreign bound, and by dawn was on
+the sea.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+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. Then there were merry voices about the house
+where now was silence, and she alone, with naught but a spaniel dog for
+company. Also most of the men were away with the wains laden with the
+year’s clip of wool, which her father had held until the price had
+heightened, nor in this snow would they be back for another week, or
+perhaps longer.
+
+Oh! her heart was heavy as the winter clouds without, and young and fair
+as she might be, almost she wished that she had gone when her brothers
+went, and found her peace.
+
+To cheer her spirits she drank from a cup of spiced ale, that the
+manservant had placed beside her covered with a napkin, and was glad
+of its warmth and comfort. Just then the door opened, and her
+foster-mother, Mrs. Stower, entered. She was still a handsome woman in
+her prime, for her husband had been carried off by a fever when she was
+but nineteen, and her baby with him, whereon she had been brought to
+the Hall to nurse Cicely, whose mother was very ill after her birth.
+Moreover, she was tall and dark, with black and flashing eyes, for her
+father had been a Spaniard of gentle birth, and, it was said, gypsy
+blood ran in her mother’s veins.
+
+There were but two people in the world for whom Emlyn Stower
+cared--Cicely, her foster-child, and a certain playmate of hers, one
+Thomas Bolle, now a lay-brother at the Abbey who had charge of the
+cattle. The tale was that in their early youth he had courted her, not
+against her will, and that when, after her parents’ tragic deaths, as a
+ward of the former Abbot of Blossholme, she was married to her husband,
+not with her will, this Thomas put on the robe of a monk of the lowest
+degree, being but a yeoman of good stock though of little learning.
+
+Something in the woman’s manner attracted Cicely’s attention, and gave a
+hint of tragedy. She paused at the door, fumbling with its latch,
+which was not her way, then turned and stood upright against it, like a
+picture in its frame.
+
+“What is it, Nurse?” asked Cicely in a shaken voice. “From your look you
+bear tidings.”
+
+Emlyn Stower walked forward, rested one hand upon the oak table and
+answered--
+
+“Aye, evil tidings if they be true. Prepare your heart, my sweet.”
+
+“Quick with them, Emlyn,” gasped Cicely. “Who is dead? Christopher?”
+
+She shook her head, and Cicely sighed in relief, adding--
+
+“Who, then? Oh! was that dream true?”
+
+“Aye, dear; you are an orphan.”
+
+The girl’s head fell forward. Then she lifted it, and asked--
+
+“Who told you? Give me all the truth or I shall die.”
+
+“A friend of mine who has to do with the Abbey yonder; ask not his
+name.”
+
+“I know it, Emlyn; Thomas Bolle,” she whispered back.
+
+“A friend of mine,” repeated the tall, dark woman, “told me that Sir
+John Foterell, your sire, was murdered last night in the forest by a
+gang of armed men, of whom he slew two.”
+
+“From the Abbey?” queried Cicely in the same whisper.
+
+“Who knows? I think it. They say that the arrow in his throat was such
+as they make there. Jeffrey Stokes was hunted, but escaped on to some
+ship that had her anchor up.”
+
+“I’ll have his life for it, the coward!” exclaimed Cicely.
+
+“Blame him not yet. He met another friend of mine, and sent a message.
+It was that he did but obey his master’s last orders, and, as he had
+seen too much and to linger here was certain death, if he lived, he
+would return from over-seas with the papers when the times are safer. He
+prayed that you would not doubt him.”
+
+“The papers! What papers, Emlyn?”
+
+She shrugged her broad shoulders.
+
+“How should I know? Doubtless some that your father was taking to London
+and did not desire to lose. His iron chest stands open in his chamber.”
+
+Now poor Cicely remembered that her father had spoken of certain “deeds”
+ which he must take with him, and began to sob.
+
+“Weep not, darling,” said her foster-mother, smoothing Cicely’s brown
+hair with her strong hand. “These things are decreed of God, and done
+with. Now you must look to yourself. Your father is gone, but one
+remains.”
+
+Cicely lifted her tear-stained face.
+
+“Yes, I have you,” she said.
+
+“Me!” she answered, with a quick smile. “Nay, of what use am I? Your
+nursing days are over. What did you tell me your father said to you
+before he rode--about Sir Christopher? Hush! there’s no time to talk;
+you must away to Cranwell Towers.”
+
+“Why?” asked Cicely. “He cannot bring my father back to life, and it
+would be thought strange indeed that at such a time I should visit a man
+in his own house. Send and tell him the tidings. I bide here to bury my
+father, and,” she added proudly, “to avenge him.”
+
+“If so, sweet, you bide here to be buried yourself in yonder Nunnery.
+Hark, I have not told you all my news. The Abbot Maldon claims the
+Blossholme lands under some trick of law. It was as to them that your
+father quarrelled with him the other night; and with the land goes your
+wardship, as once mine went under this monk’s charter. Before sunset the
+Abbot rides here with his men-at-arms to take them, and to set you for
+safe-keeping in the Nunnery, where you will find a husband called Holy
+Church.”
+
+“Name of God! is it so?” said Cicely, springing up; “and the most of the
+men are away! I cannot hold the Hall against that foreign Abbot and his
+hirelings, and an orphaned heiress is but a chattel to be sold. Oh!
+now I understand what my father meant. Order horses. I’ll off to
+Christopher. Yet, stay, Nurse. What will he do with me? It may seem
+shameless, and will vex him.”
+
+“I think he will marry you. I think to-night you will be a wife. If not,
+I’ll know the reason why,” she added viciously.
+
+“A wife! To-night!” exclaimed the girl, turning crimson to her hair.
+“And my father but just dead! How can it be?”
+
+“We’ll talk of that with Harflete. Mayhap, like you, he’ll wish to wait
+and ask the banns, or to lay the case before a London lawyer. Meanwhile,
+I have ordered horses and sent a message to the Abbot to say you come
+to learn the meaning of these rumours, which will keep him still till
+nightfall; and another to Cranwell Towers, that we may find food and
+lodging there. Quick, now, and get your cloak and hood. I have the
+jewels in their case, for Maldon seeks them more even than your lands,
+and with them all the money I can find. Also I have bid the sewing-girl
+make a pack of some garments. Come now, come, for that Abbot is hungry
+and will be stirring. There is no time for talk.”
+
+
+
+Three hours later in the red glow of the sunset Christopher Harflete,
+watching at his door, saw two women riding towards him across the snow,
+and knew them while they were yet far off.
+
+“It is true, then,” he said to Father Roger Necton, the old clergyman of
+Cranwell, whom he had summoned from the vicarage. “I thought that fool
+of a messenger must be drunk. What can have chanced, Father?”
+
+“Death, I think, my son, for sure naught else would bring the Lady
+Cicely here unaccompanied save by a waiting-woman. The question is--what
+will happen now?” and he glanced sideways at him.
+
+“I know well if I can get my way,” answered Christopher, with a merry
+laugh. “Say now, Father, if it should so be that this lady were willing,
+could you marry us?”
+
+“Without a doubt, my son, with the consent of the parents;” and again he
+looked at him.
+
+“And if there were no parents?”
+
+“Then with the consent of the guardian, the bride being under age.”
+
+“And if no guardian had been declared or admitted?”
+
+“Then such a marriage duly solemnized, being a sacrament of the Church,
+would hold fast until the crack of doom unless the Pope annulled it,
+and, as you know, the Pope is out of favour in this realm on this very
+matter of marriage. Let me explain the law to you, ecclesiastic and
+civil----”
+
+But Christopher was already running towards the gate, so the old
+parson’s lecture remained undelivered.
+
+The two met in the snow, Emlyn Stower riding on ahead and leaving them
+together.
+
+“What is it, sweetest?” he asked. “What is it?”
+
+“Oh! Christopher,” she answered, weeping, “my poor father is
+dead--murdered, or so says Emlyn.”
+
+“Murdered! By whom?”
+
+“By the Abbot of Blossholme’s soldiers--so says Emlyn, yonder in the
+forest last eve. And the Abbot is coming to Shefton to declare me his
+ward and thrust me into the Nunnery--that was Emlyn’s tale. And so,
+although it is a strange thing to do, having none to protect me, I have
+fled to you--because Emlyn said I ought.”
+
+“She is a wise woman, Emlyn,” broke in Christopher; “I always thought
+well of her judgment. But did you only come to me because Emlyn told
+you?”
+
+“Not altogether, Christopher. I came because I am distraught, and you
+are a better friend than none at all, and--where else should I go? Also
+my poor father with his last words to me, although he was so angry with
+you, bade me seek your help if there were need--and--oh! Christopher, I
+came because you swore you loved me, and, therefore, it seemed right.
+If I had gone to the Nunnery, although the Prioress, Mother Matilda, is
+good, and my friend, who knows, she might not have let me out again, for
+the Abbot is her master, and _not_ my friend. It is our lands he loves,
+and the famous jewels--Emlyn has them with her.”
+
+By now they were across the moat and at the steps of the house, so,
+without answering, Christopher lifted her tenderly from the saddle,
+pressing her to his breast as he did so, for that seemed his best
+answer. A groom came to lead away the horses, touching his bonnet, and
+staring at them curiously; and, leaning on her lover’s shoulder, Cicely
+passed through the arched doorway of Cranwell Towers into the hall,
+where a great fire burned. Before this fire, warming his thin hands,
+stood Father Necton, engaged in eager conversation with Emlyn Stower. As
+the pair advanced this talk ceased, evidently because it was of them.
+
+“Mistress Cicely,” said the kindly-faced old man, speaking in a nervous
+fashion, “I fear that you visit us in sad case,” and he paused, not
+knowing what to add.
+
+“Yes, indeed,” she answered, “if all I hear is true. They say that
+my father is killed by cruel men--I know not for certain why or by
+whom--and that the Abbot of Blossholme comes to claim me as his ward and
+immure me in Blossholme Priory, whither I would not go. I have fled here
+to escape him, having no other refuge, though you may think ill of me
+for this deed.”
+
+“Not I, my child. I should not speak against yonder Abbot, for he is my
+superior in the Church, though, mind you, I owe him no allegiance, since
+this benefice is not in his gift, nor am I a Benedictine. Therefore I
+will tell you the truth. I hold the man not honest. All is provender
+that comes to his maw; moreover, he is no Englishman, but a Spaniard,
+one sent here to work against the welfare of this realm; to suck its
+wealth, stir up rebellion, and make report of all that passes in it, for
+the benefit of England’s enemies.”
+
+“Yet he has friends at Court, or so said my father.”
+
+“Aye, aye, such folks have ever friends--their money buys them; though
+mayhap an ill day is at hand for him and his likes. Well, your poor
+father is gone, God knows how, though I thought for long that would be
+his end, who ever spoke his mind, or more; and you with your wealth are
+the morsel that tempts Maldon’s appetite. And now what is to be done?
+This is a hard case. Would you refuge in some other Nunnery?”
+
+“Nay,” answered Cicely, glancing sideways at her lover.
+
+“Then what’s to be done?”
+
+“Oh! I know not,” she said, bursting into a fit of weeping. “How can
+I tell you, who am mazed with grief and doubt? I had but a single
+friend--my father, though at times he was a rough one. Yet he loved me
+in his way, and I have obeyed his last counsel;” and, all her courage
+gone, she sank into a chair and rocked herself to and fro, her head
+resting on her hands.
+
+“That is not true,” said Emlyn in her bold voice. “Am I who suckled you
+no friend, and is Father Necton here no friend, and is Sir Christopher
+no friend? Well, if you have lost your judgment, I have kept mine, and
+here it is. Yonder, not two bowshots away, stands a church, and before
+me I see a priest and a pair who would serve for bride and bridegroom.
+Also we can rake up witnesses and a cup of wine to drink your health;
+and after that let the Abbot of Blossholme do his worst. What say you,
+Sir Christopher?”
+
+“You know my mind, Nurse Emlyn; but what says Cicely? Oh! Cicely, what
+say _you_?” and he bent over her.
+
+She raised herself, still weeping, and, throwing her arms about his
+neck, laid her head upon his shoulder.
+
+“I think it is the will of God,” she whispered, “and why should I fight
+against it, who am His servant?--and yours, Chris.”
+
+“And now, Father, what say you?” asked Emlyn, pointing to the pair.
+
+“I do not think there is much to say,” answered the old clergyman,
+turning his head aside, “save that if it should please you to come to
+the church in ten minutes’ time you will find a candle on the altar, and
+a priest within the rails, and a clerk to hold the book. More we cannot
+do at such short notice.”
+
+Then he paused for a while, and, hearing no dissent, walked down the
+hall and out of the door.
+
+Emlyn took Cicely by the hand, led her to a room that was shown to them,
+and there made her ready for her bridal as best she might. She had no
+fine dress in which to clothe her, nor, indeed, would there have been
+time to don it. But she combed out her beautiful brown hair, and,
+opening that box of Eastern jewels which were the great pride of
+the Foterells--being the rarest and the most ancient in all the
+countryside--she decked her with them. On her broad brow she set a
+circlet from which hung sparkling diamonds that had been brought, the
+story said, by her mother’s ancestor, a Carfax, from the Holy Land,
+where once they were the peculiar treasure of a paynim queen, and upon
+her bosom a necklet of large pearls. Brooches and rings also she found
+for her breast and fingers, and for her waist a jewelled girdle with
+a golden clasp, while to her ears she hung the finest gems of all--two
+great pearls pink like the hawthorn-bloom when it begins to turn. Lastly
+she flung over her head a veil of lace most curiously wrought, and stood
+back with pride to look at her.
+
+Now Cicely, who all this while had been silent and unresisting, spoke
+for the first time, saying--
+
+“How came this here, Nurse?”
+
+“Your mother wore it at her bridal, and her mother too, so I have been
+told. Also once before I wrapped it about you--when you were christened,
+sweet.”
+
+“Mayhap; but how came it here?”
+
+“In the bosom of my robe. Not knowing when we should get home again, I
+brought it, thinking that perhaps one day you might marry, when it would
+be useful. And now, strangely enough, the marriage has come.”
+
+“Emlyn, Emlyn, I believe that you planned all this business, whereof God
+alone knows the end.”
+
+“That is why He makes a beginning, dear, that His end may be fulfilled
+in due season.”
+
+“Aye, but what is that end? Mayhap this is my shroud you wrap about me.
+In truth, I feel as though death were near.”
+
+“He is ever that,” replied Emlyn unconcernedly. “But so long as he
+doesn’t touch, what does it matter? Now hark you, sweetest, I’ve
+Spanish and gypsy blood in me with which go gifts, and so I’ll tell you
+something for your comfort. However oft he snatches, Death will not lay
+his bony hand on you for many a long year--not till you are well-nigh
+as thin with age as he is. Oh! you’ll have your troubles like all of us,
+worse than many, mayhap, but you are Luck’s own child, who lived when
+the rest were taken, and you’ll win through and take others on your
+back, as a whale does barnacles. So snap your fingers at death, as I
+do,” and she suited the action to the word, “and be happy while you may,
+and when you’re not happy, wait till your turn comes round again. Now
+follow me and, though your father is murdered, smile as you should in
+such an hour, for what man wants a sad-faced bride?”
+
+They walked down the broad oaken stairs into the hall where Christopher
+stood waiting for them. Glancing at him shyly, Cicely saw that he was
+clad in mail beneath his cloak, and that his sword was girded at his
+side, also that some men with him were armed. For a moment he stared at
+her glittering beauty confused, then said--
+
+“Fear not this hint of war in love’s own hour,” and he touched his
+shining armour. “Cicely, these nuptials are strange as they are happy,
+and some might try to break in upon them. Come now, my sweet lady;” and
+bowing before her he took her by the hand and led her from the house,
+Emlyn walking behind them and the men with torches going before and
+following after.
+
+Outside it was freezing sharply, so that the snow crunched beneath their
+feet. In the west the last red glow of sunset still lingered on the
+steely sky, and over against it the great moon rose above the round edge
+of the world. In the bushes of the garden, and the tall poplars that
+bordered the moat, blackbirds and fieldfares chattered their winter
+evening song, while about the grey tower of the neighbouring church the
+daws still wheeled.
+
+The picture of that scene whereof at the time she seemed to take no
+note, always remained fixed in the mind of Cicely: the cold expanse of
+snow, the inky trees, the hard sky, the lambent beams of the moon, the
+dull glow of the torches caught and reflected by her jewels and her
+lover’s mail, the midwinter sound of birds, the barking of a distant
+hound, the black porch of the church that drew nearer, the little oblong
+mounds which hid the bones of hundreds who in their day had passed it as
+infants, as bridegrooms and as brides, and at last as cold, white things
+that had been men and women.
+
+Now they were in the nave of the old fane where the cold struck them
+like a sword. The dim lights of the torches showed them that, short
+as had been the time, the news of this marvellous marriage had spread
+about, for at least a score of people were standing here and there in
+knots, or a few of them seated on the oak benches near the chancel. All
+these turned to stare at them eagerly as they walked towards the altar
+where stood the priest in his robes, and since his sight was dim, behind
+him the old clerk with a stable-lantern held on high to enable him to
+read from his book.
+
+They reached the carven rood-screen, and at a sign kneeled down. In a
+clear voice the clergyman began the service; presently, at another sign,
+the pair rose, advanced to the altar-rails and again knelt down. The
+moonlight, flowing through the eastern window, fell full on both of
+them, turning them to cold, white statues, such as those that knelt in
+marble upon the tomb at their side.
+
+All through the holy office Cicely watched these statues with fascinated
+eyes, and it seemed to her that they and the old crusaders, Harfletes
+of a long-past day who lay near by, were watching her with a wistful and
+kindly interest. She made certain answers, a ring that was somewhat too
+small was thrust upon her finger--all the rest of her life that ring
+hurt her at times, but she would never have it moved, and then some
+one was kissing her. At first she thought it must be her father, and
+remembering, nearly wept till she heard Christopher’s voice calling her
+wife, and knew that she was wed.
+
+Father Roger, the old clerk still holding the lantern behind him,
+writing something in a little vellum book, asking her the date of
+her birth and her full name, which, as he had been present at her
+christening, she thought strange. Then her husband signed the book,
+using the altar as a table, not very easily for he was no great scholar,
+and she signed also in her maiden name for the last time, and the priest
+signed, and at his bidding Emlyn Stower, who could write well, signed
+too. Next, as though by an afterthought, Father Roger called several of
+the congregation, who rather unwillingly made their marks as witnesses.
+While they did so he explained to them that, as the circumstances
+were uncommon, it was well that there should be evidence, and that
+he intended to send copies of this entry to sundry dignities, not
+forgetting the holy Father at Rome.
+
+On learning this they appeared to be sorry that they had anything to do
+with the matter, and one and all of them melted into the darkness of the
+nave and out of Cicely’s mind.
+
+So it was done at last.
+
+Father Necton blew on his little book till the ink was dry, then hid
+it away in his robe. The old clerk, having pocketed a handsome fee from
+Christopher, lit the pair down the nave to the porch, where he locked
+the oaken door behind them, extinguished his lantern and trudged off
+through the snow to the ale-house, there to discuss these nuptials and
+hot beer. Escorted by their torch-bearers Cicely and Christopher walked
+silently arm-in-arm back to the Towers, whither Emlyn, after embracing
+the bride, had already gone on ahead. So having added one more ceremony
+to its countless record, perhaps the strangest of them all, the ancient
+church behind them grew silent as the dead within its graves.
+
+The Towers reached, the new-wed pair, with Father Roger and Emlyn, sat
+down to the best meal that could be prepared for them at such short
+notice; a very curious wedding feast. Still, though the company was so
+small it did not lack for heartiness, since the old clergyman proposed
+their health in a speech full of Latin words which they did not
+understand, and every member of the household who had assembled to hear
+him drank to it in cups of wine. This done, the beautiful bride, now
+blushing and now pale, was led away to the best chamber, which had been
+hastily prepared for her. But Emlyn remained behind a while, for she had
+words to speak.
+
+“Sir Christopher,” she said, “you are fast wed to the sweetest lady that
+ever sun or moon shone on, and in that may hold yourself a lucky man.
+Yet such deep joys seldom come without their pain, and I think that this
+is near at hand. There are those who will envy you your fortune, Sir
+Christopher.”
+
+“Yet they cannot change it, Emlyn,” he answered anxiously. “The knot
+that was tied to-night may not be unloosed.”
+
+“Never,” broke in Father Roger. “Though the suddenness and the
+circumstances of it may be unusual, this marriage is a sacrament
+celebrated in the face of the world with the full consent of both
+parties and of the Holy Church. Moreover, before the dawn I’ll send the
+record of it to the bishop’s registry and elsewhere, that it may not be
+questioned in days to come, giving copies of the same to you and your
+lady’s foster-mother, who is her nearest friend at hand.”
+
+“It may not be loosed on earth or in heaven,” replied Emlyn solemnly,
+“yet perchance the sword can cut it. Sir Christopher, I think that we
+should all do well to travel as soon as may be.”
+
+“Not to-night, surely, Nurse!” he exclaimed.
+
+“No, not to-night,” she answered, with a faint smile. “Your wife has had
+a weary day, and could not. Moreover, preparation must be made which is
+impossible at this hour. But to-morrow, if the roads are open to you,
+I think we should start for London, where she may make complaint of her
+father’s slaying and claim her heritage and the protection of the law.”
+
+“That is good counsel,” said the vicar, and Christopher, with whom words
+seemed to be few, nodded his head.
+
+“Meanwhile,” went on Emlyn, “you have six men in this house and others
+round it. Send out a messenger and summon them all here at dawn, bidding
+them bring provision with them, and what bows and arms they have. Set
+a watch also, and after the Father and the messenger have gone, command
+that the drawbridge be triced.”
+
+“What do you fear?” he asked, waking from his dream.
+
+“I fear the Abbot of Blossholme and his hired ruffians, who reck little
+of the laws, as the soul of dead Sir John knows now, or can use them
+as a cover to evil deeds. He’ll not let such a prize slip between his
+fingers if he can help it, and the times are turbulent.”
+
+“Alas! alas! it is true,” said Father Roger, “and that Abbot is a
+relentless man who sticks at nothing, having much wealth and many
+friends both here and beyond the seas. Yet surely he would never
+dare----”
+
+“That we shall learn,” interrupted Emlyn. “Meanwhile, Sir Christopher,
+rouse yourself and give the orders.”
+
+So Christopher summoned his men and spoke words to them at which they
+looked very grave, but being true-hearted fellows who loved him, said
+they would do his bidding.
+
+A while later, having written out a copy of the marriage lines and
+witnessed it, Father Roger departed with the messenger. The drawbridge
+was hoisted above the moat, the doors were barred, and a man set to
+watch in the gateway tower, while Christopher, forgetful of all else,
+even of the danger in which they were, sought the company of her who
+waited for him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+THE ABBOT’S OATH
+
+
+On the following morning, shortly after it was light, Christopher was
+called from his chamber by Emlyn, who gave him a letter.
+
+“Whence came this?” he asked, turning it over suspiciously.
+
+“A messenger has brought it from Blossholme Abbey,” she answered.
+
+“Wife Cicely,” he called through the door, “come hither if you will.”
+
+Presently she appeared, looking quaint and lovely in her long fur cloak,
+and, having embraced her foster-mother, asked what was the matter.
+
+“This, my darling,” he answered, handing her the paper. “I never loved
+book-learnings over-much, and this morn I seem to hate them; read, you
+who are more scholarly.”
+
+“I mistrust me of that great seal; it bodes us no good, Chris,” she
+replied doubtfully, and paling a little.
+
+“The message within is no medlar to soften by keeping,” said Emlyn.
+“Give it me. I was schooled in a nunnery, and can read their scrawls.”
+
+So, nothing loth, Cicely handed her the paper, which she took in her
+strong fingers, broke the seal, snapped the silk, unfolded, and read. It
+ran thus--
+
+
+“To Sir Christopher Harflete, to Mistress Cicely Foterell, to Emlyn
+Stower, the waiting-woman, and to all others whom it may concern.
+
+“I, Clement Maldon, Abbot of Blossholme, having heard of the death of
+Sir John Foterell, Knt., at the cruel hands of the forest thieves
+and outlaws, sent last night to serve the declaration of my wardship,
+according to my prerogative established by law and custom, over the
+person and property of you, Cicely, his only child surviving. My
+messengers returned saying that you had fled from your home of Shefton
+Hall. They said further that it was rumoured that you had ridden with
+your foster-mother, Emlyn Stower, to Cranwell Towers, the house of Sir
+Christopher Harflete. If this be so, for the sake of your good name it
+is needful that you should remove from such company at once, as there
+is talk about you and the said Sir Christopher Harflete. I purpose,
+therefore, God permitting me, to ride this day to Cranwell Towers, and
+if you be there, as your lawful guardian and ghostly father, to command
+you, being an infant under age, to accompany me thence to the Nunnery
+of Blossholme. There I have determined, in the exercise of my authority,
+you shall abide until a fitting husband is found for you, unless,
+indeed, God should move your heart to remain within its walls as one of
+the brides of Christ.
+
+“Clement, Abbot.”
+
+
+Now when the reading of this letter was finished, the three of them
+stood a little while staring at each other, knowing well that it meant
+trouble for them all, till Cicely said--
+
+“Bring me ink and paper, Nurse. I will answer this Abbot.”
+
+So they were brought, and Cicely wrote in her round, girlish hand--
+
+
+“My Lord Abbot,
+
+“In answer to your letter, I would have you know that as my noble father
+(whose cruel death must be inquired of and avenged) bade me with his
+last words, I, fearing that a like fate would overtake me at the hands
+of his murderers, did, as you suppose, seek refuge at this house. Here,
+yesterday, I was married in the face of God and man in the church of
+Cranwell, as you may learn from the paper sent herewith. It is not,
+therefore, needful that you should seek a husband for me, since my dear
+lord, Sir Christopher Harflete, and I are one till death do part us. Nor
+do I admit that now, or at any time, you had or have right of wardship
+over my person or the lands and goods which I hold and inherit.
+
+“Your humble servant,
+
+“Cicely Harflete.”
+
+
+This letter Cicely copied out fair and sealed, and presently it was
+given to the Abbot’s messenger, who placed it in his pouch and rode off
+as fast as the snow would let him.
+
+They watched him go from a window.
+
+“Now,” said Christopher, turning to his wife, “I think, dear, we shall
+do well to ride also as soon as may be. Yonder Abbot is sharp-set, and I
+doubt whether letters will satisfy his appetite.”
+
+“I think so also,” said Emlyn. “Make ready and eat, both of you. I go to
+see that the horses are saddled.”
+
+An hour later everything was prepared. Three horses stood before the
+door, and with them an escort of four mounted men, who were all having
+arms and beasts to ride that Christopher could gather at such short
+notice, though others of his tenants and servants had already assembled
+at the Towers in answer to his summons, to the number of twelve, indeed.
+Without the snow was falling fast, and although she tried to look brave
+and happy, Cicely shivered a little as she saw it through the open door.
+
+“We go on a strange honeymoon, my sweet,” said Christopher uneasily.
+
+“What matter, so long as we go together?” she answered in a gay voice
+that yet seemed to ring untrue, “although,” she added, with a little
+choke of the throat, “I would that we could have stayed here until I had
+found and buried my father. It haunts me to think of him lying somewhere
+in the snows like a perished ox.”
+
+“It is his murderers that I wish to bury,” exclaimed Christopher; “and,
+by God’s name, I swear I’ll do it ere all is done. Think not, dear, that
+I forget your griefs because I do not speak much of them, but bridals
+and buryings are strange company. So while we may, let us take what
+joy we can, since the ill that goes before ofttimes follows after also.
+Come, let us mount and away to London to find friends and justice.”
+
+Then, having spoken a few words to his house-people, he lifted Cicely to
+her horse, and they rode out into the softly-falling snow, thinking that
+they had seen their last of the Towers for many a day. But this was not
+to be. For as they passed along the Blossholme highway, purposing to
+leave the Abbey on their left, when they were about three miles from
+Cranwell, suddenly a tall fellow, who wore a great sheepskin coat with
+a monk’s hood to it and carried a thick staff in his hand, burst through
+the fence and stood in front of them.
+
+“Who are you?” asked Christopher, laying his hand upon his sword.
+
+“You’d know me well enough if my hood were back,” he answered in a deep
+voice; “but if you want my name, it’s Thomas Bolle, cattle-reeve to the
+Abbey yonder.”
+
+“Your voice proves you,” said Christopher, laughing. “And now what is
+your business, lay-brother Bolle?”
+
+“To get up a bunch of yearling steers that have been running on the
+forest-edge, living, like the rest of us, on what they can find, as the
+weather is coming on hard enough to starve them. That’s my business, Sir
+Christopher. But as I see an old friend of mine there,” and he nodded
+towards Emlyn, who was watching him from her horse, “with your leave
+I’ll ask her if she has any confession to make, since she seems to be on
+a dangerous journey.”
+
+Now Christopher made as though he would push on, for he was in no mood
+to chat with cattle-reeves. But Emlyn, who had been eyeing the man,
+called out--
+
+“Come here, Thomas, and I will answer you myself, who always have a few
+sins to spare for a priest’s wallet, and need a blessing or two to warm
+me.”
+
+He strode forward, and, taking her horse by the bridle, led it a little
+way apart, and as soon as they were out of earshot fell into an eager
+conversation with its rider. A minute or so later Cicely, looking
+round--for they had ridden forward at a slow pace--saw Thomas Bolle
+leap through the other fence of the roadway and vanish at a run into the
+falling snow, while Emlyn spurred her horse after them.
+
+“Stop,” she said to Christopher; “I have tidings for you. The Abbot,
+with all his men-at-arms and servants, to the number of forty or more,
+waits for us under shelter of Blossholme Grove yonder, purposing to take
+the Lady Cicely by force. Some spy has told him of this journey.”
+
+“I see no one,” said Christopher, staring at the Grove, which lay below
+them about a quarter of a mile away, for they were on the top of a rise.
+“Still, the matter is not hard to prove,” and he called to the two best
+mounted of his men and bade them ride forward and make report if any
+lurked behind that wood.
+
+So the men went off, while they remained where they were, silent, but
+anxious enough. Ten minutes or so later, before they could see them, for
+the snow was now falling quickly, they heard the sound of many horses
+galloping. Then the two men appeared, calling out as they came--
+
+“The Abbot and all his folk are after us. Back to Cranwell, ere you be
+taken!”
+
+Christopher thought for a moment, then, remembering that with but four
+men and cumbered by two women it was not possible to cut his way through
+so great a force, and admonished by that sound of advancing hoofs, he
+gave a sudden order. They turned about, and not too soon, for as they
+did so, scarce two hundred yards away, the first of the Abbot’s horsemen
+appeared plunging towards them up the slope. Then the race began, and
+well for them was it that their horses were good and fresh, since before
+ever they came in sight of Cranwell Towers the pursuers were not ninety
+yards behind. But here on the flat their beasts, scenting home, answered
+nobly to whip and spur, and drew ahead a little. Moreover, those who
+watched within the house saw them, and ran to the drawbridge. When they
+were within fifty yards of the moat Cicely’s horse stumbled, slipped,
+and fell, throwing her into the snow, then recovered itself and galloped
+on alone. Christopher reined up alongside of her, and, as she rose,
+frightened but unharmed, put out his long arm, and, lifting her to the
+saddle in front of him, plunged forward, while those behind shouted
+“Yield!”
+
+Under this double burden his horse went but slowly. Still they reached
+the bridge before any could lay hands upon them, and thundered over it.
+
+“Wind up,” shouted Christopher, and all there, even the womenfolk, laid
+hands upon the cranks. The bridge began to rise, but now five or six of
+the Abbot’s folk, dismounting, sprang at it, catching the end of it with
+their hands when it was about six feet in the air, and holding on so
+that it could not be lifted, but remained, moving neither up nor down.
+
+“Leave go, you knaves,” shouted Christopher; but by way of answer one
+of them, with the help of his fellows, scrambled on to the end of the
+bridge, and stood there, hanging to the chains.
+
+Then Christopher snatched a bow from the hand of a serving-man, and the
+arrow being already on the string, again shouted--
+
+“Get off at your peril!”
+
+In answer the man called out something about the commands of the Lord
+Abbot.
+
+Christopher, looking past him, saw that others of the company had
+dismounted and were running towards the bridge. If they reached it he
+knew well that the game was played. So he hesitated no longer, but,
+aiming swiftly, drew and loosed the bow. At that distance he could
+not miss. The arrow struck the man where his steel cap joined the mail
+beneath, and pierced him through the throat, so that he fell back dead.
+The others, scared by his fate, loosed their hold, so that now the
+bridge, relieved of the weight upon it, instantly rose up beyond their
+reach, and presently came home and was made fast.
+
+As they afterwards discovered, this man, it may here be said, was a
+captain of the Abbot’s guard. Moreover, it was he who had shot the arrow
+that killed Sir John Foterell some forty hours before, striking him
+through the throat, as it was fated that he himself should be struck.
+Thus, then, one of that good knight’s murderers reaped his just reward.
+
+Now the men ran back out of range, for they feared more arrows, while
+Christopher watched them go in silence. Cicely, who stood by his side,
+her hands held before her face to shut out the sight of death, let them
+fall suddenly, and, turning to her husband, said, as she pointed to the
+corpse that lay upon the blood-stained snow of the roadway--
+
+“How many more will follow him, I wonder? I think that is but the first
+throw of a long game, husband.”
+
+“Nay, sweet,” he answered, “the second; the first was cast two nights
+gone by King’s Grave Mount in the forest yonder, and blood ever calls
+for blood.”
+
+“Aye,” she answered, “blood calls for blood.” Then, remembering that
+she was orphaned and what sort of a honeymoon hers was like to be, she
+turned and sought her chamber, weeping.
+
+Now, while Christopher still stood irresolute, for he was oppressed by
+the sense of this man-slaying, and knew not what he should do next, he
+saw three men separate from the knot of soldiers and ride towards
+the Towers, one of whom held a white cloth above his head in token
+of parley. Then Christopher went up into the little gateway turret,
+followed by Emlyn, who crouched down behind the brick battlement, so
+that she could see and hear without being seen. Having reached the
+further side of the moat, he who held the white cloth threw back the
+hood of his long cape, and they saw that it was the Abbot of Blossholme
+himself, also that his dark eyes flashed and that his olive-hued face
+was almost white with rage.
+
+“Why do you hunt me across my own park and come knocking so rudely at my
+doors, my Lord Abbot?” asked Christopher, leaning on the parapet of the
+gateway.
+
+“Why do you work murder on my servant, Christopher Harflete?” answered
+the Abbot, pointing to the dead man in the snow. “Know you not that
+whoso sheds blood, by man shall his blood be shed, and that under our
+ancient charters, here I have the right to execute justice on you, as,
+by God’s holy Name, I swear that I will do?” he added in a choked voice.
+
+“Aye,” repeated Christopher reflectively, “by man shall his blood be
+shed. Perhaps that is why this fellow died. Tell me, Abbot, was he not
+one of those who rode by moonlight round King’s Grave lately, and there
+chanced to meet Sir John Foterell?”
+
+The shot was a random one, yet it seemed that it went home; at least,
+the Abbot’s jaw dropped, and some words that were on his lips never
+passed them.
+
+“I know naught of the meaning of your talk,” he said presently in a
+quieter voice, “or of how my late friend and neighbour, Sir John--may
+God rest his soul--came to his end. Yet it is of him, or rather of his,
+that we must speak. It seems that you have stolen his daughter, a woman
+under age, and by pretence of a false marriage, as I fear, brought her
+to shame--a crime even fouler than this murder.”
+
+“Nay, by means of a true marriage I have brought her to such small
+honour as may be the share of Christopher Harflete’s lawful wife. If
+there be any virtue in the rites of Holy Church, then God’s own hand has
+bound us fast as man can be tied to woman, and death is the only pope
+who can loose that knot.”
+
+“Death!” repeated the Abbot in a slow voice, looking up at him very
+curiously. For a little while he was silent, then went on, “Well, his
+court is always open, and he has many shrewd and instant messengers,
+such as this,” and he pointed to the arrow in the neck of the slain
+soldier. “Yet I am a man of peace, and although you have murdered my
+servant, I would settle our cause more gently if I may. Listen now,
+Sir Christopher; here is my offer. Yield up to me the person of Cicely
+Foterell----”
+
+“Of Cicely Harflete,” interrupted Christopher.
+
+“Of Cicely Foterell, and I swear to you that no violence shall be
+done to her, nor shall she be given to a husband till the King or his
+Vicar-General, or whatever court he may appoint, has passed judgment in
+this matter and declared this mock marriage of yours null and void.”
+
+“What!” broke in Christopher scoffingly; “does the Abbot of Blossholme
+announce that the powers temporal of this realm have right of divorce?
+Ere now I have heard him argue differently, and so have others, when the
+case of Queen Catherine was in question.”
+
+The Abbot bit his lip, but continued, taking no heed--
+
+“Nor will I lay any complaint against you as to the death of my servant
+here, for which otherwise you should hang. That I will write down as
+an accident, and, further, compensate his family. Now you have my
+offer--answer.”
+
+“And what if I refuse this same generous offer to surrender her whom I
+hold dearer than a thousand lives?”
+
+“Then, by virtue of my rights and authority, I will take her by force,
+Christopher Harflete, and if harm should happen to come to you, now or
+hereafter, on your own head be it.”
+
+At this Christopher’s rage broke out.
+
+“Do you dare to threaten me, a loyal Englishman, you false priest and
+foreign traitor,” he shouted, “whom all men know to be in the pay of
+Spain, and using the cover of a monk’s dress to plot against the land on
+which you fatten like a horse-leech? Why was John Foterell murdered in
+the forest two nights gone? You won’t answer? Then I will. Because
+he rode to Court to prove the truth about you and your treachery, and
+therefore you butchered him. Why do you claim my wife as your ward?
+Because you wish to steal her lands and goods to feed your plots and
+luxury. You think you have bought friends at Court, and that for money’s
+sake those in power there will turn a blind eye to your crimes. So it
+may be for a while; but wait, wait. All eyes are not blind yonder, nor
+all ears deaf. That head of yours shall yet be lifted higher than you
+think--so high that it sticks upon the top of Blossholme Towers, a
+warning to all who would sell England to her enemies. John Foterell lies
+dead with your knave’s arrow in his throat, but Jeffrey Stokes is away
+with the writings. And now do your worst, Clement Maldon. If you want my
+wife, come take her.”
+
+The Abbot listened, listened intently, drinking in every ominous word.
+His swarthy face went white with fear, then turned black with rage. The
+veins upon his forehead gathered into knots; even from that distance
+Christopher could see them. He looked so evil that his countenance
+became twisted and ridiculous, and Christopher, noting it, burst into
+one of his hearty laughs.
+
+The Abbot, who was not accustomed to mockery, whispered something to the
+two men who were with him, whereon they lifted the crossbows which they
+carried and pulled trigger. One quarel went wide and hit the wall of the
+house behind, where it stuck fast in the joints of the stud-work. But
+the other, better aimed, smote Christopher above the heart, causing him
+to stagger, but being shot from below and turned by the mail he wore
+glanced upwards over his left shoulder. The men, seeing that he was
+unhurt, pulled their horses round and galloped off, but Christopher,
+setting another arrow to the string of the bow he carried, drew it to
+his ear, covering the Abbot.
+
+“Loose, and make an end of him,” muttered Emlyn from her shelter behind
+the parapet. But Christopher thought a moment, then cried--
+
+“Stay a while, Sir Abbot; I have more to say to you.”
+
+He took no heed who was also turning about.
+
+“Stay!” thundered Christopher, “or I will kill that fine nag of yours;”
+ then, as the Abbot still dragged upon the reins, he let the arrow fly.
+The aim was true enough. Right through the arch of the neck it sped,
+cutting the cord between the bones, so that the poor beast reared
+straight up and fell in a heap, tumbling its rider off into the snow.
+
+“Now, Clement Maldon,” cried Christopher, “will you listen, or will you
+bide with your horse and servant and hear no more till Judgment Day? If
+you do not guess it, learn that I have practised archery from my youth.
+Should you doubt, hold up your hand and I’ll send a shaft between your
+fingers.”
+
+The Abbot, who was shaken but unhurt, rose slowly and stood there, the
+dead horse on one side and the dead man on the other.
+
+“Speak,” he said in a muffled voice.
+
+“My Lord Abbot,” went on Christopher, “a minute ago you tried to murder
+me, and, had not my mail been good, would have succeeded. Now your life
+is in my hand, for, as you have seen, I do not miss. Those servants
+of yours are coming to your help. Call to them to halt, or----” and he
+lifted the bow.
+
+The Abbot obeyed, and the men, understanding, stayed where they were, at
+a distance, but within earshot.
+
+“You have a crucifix upon your breast,” continued Christopher. “Take it
+in your right hand now and swear an oath.”
+
+Again the Abbot obeyed.
+
+“Swear thus,” he said, Emlyn, who was crouched beneath the parapet,
+prompting him from time to time; “I, Clement Maldon, Abbot of
+Blossholme, in the presence of Almighty God in heaven, and of
+Christopher Harflete and others upon earth,” and he jerked his head
+backwards towards the windows of the house, where all therein were
+gathered, listening, “make oath upon the symbol of the Rood. I swear
+that I abandon all claim of wardship over the body of Cicely Harflete,
+born Cicely Foterell, the lawful wife of Christopher Harflete, and
+all claim to the lands and goods that she may possess, or that were
+possessed by her father, John Foterell, Knight, or by her mother, Dame
+Foterell, deceased. I swear that I will raise no suit in any court,
+spiritual or temporal, of this or other realms against the said Cicely
+Harflete or against the said Christopher Harflete, her husband, nor seek
+to work injury to their bodies or their souls, or to the bodies or the
+souls of any who cling to them, and that henceforth they may live and
+die in peace from me or any whom I control. Set your lips to the Rood
+and swear thus now, Clement Maldon.”
+
+The Abbot hearkened, and so great was his rage, for he had no meek
+heart, that he seemed to swell like an angry toad.
+
+“Who gave you authority to administer oaths to me?” he asked at length.
+“I’ll not swear,” and he cast the crucifix down upon the snow.
+
+“Then I’ll shoot,” answered Christopher. “Come, pick up that cross.”
+
+But Maldon stood silent, his arms folded on his breast. Christopher
+aimed and loosed, and so great was his skill--for there were few archers
+in England like to him--that the arrow pierced Maldon’s fur cap and
+carried it away without touching the shaven head beneath.
+
+“The next shall be two inches lower,” he said, as he set another on the
+string. “I waste no more good shafts.”
+
+Then, very slowly, to save his life, which he loved well enough, Maldon
+bent down, and, lifting the crucifix from the snow, held it to his lips
+and kissed it, muttering--
+
+“I swear.” But the oath he swore was very different to that which
+Christopher had repeated to him, for, like a hunted fox, he knew how to
+meet guile with guile.
+
+“Now that I, a consecrated abbot, deeming it right that I should live on
+to fulfil my work on earth, have done your bidding, have I leave to go
+about my business, Christopher Harflete?” he asked, with bitter irony.
+
+“Why not?” asked Christopher. “Only be pleased henceforth not to meddle
+with me and my business. To-morrow I wish to ride to London with my
+lady, and we do not seek your company on the road.”
+
+Then, having found his cap, the Abbot turned and walked back towards his
+own men, drawing the arrow from it as he went, and presently all of them
+rode away over the rise towards Blossholme.
+
+“Now that is well finished, and I have an oath that he will scarcely
+dare to break,” said Christopher presently. “What say you, Nurse?”
+
+“I say that you are even a bigger simpleton than I took you to be,”
+ answered Emlyn angrily, as she rose and stretched herself, for her limbs
+were cramped. “The oath, pshaw! By now he is absolved from it as given
+under fear. Did you not hear me whisper to you to put an arrow through
+his heart, instead of playing boy’s pranks with his cap?”
+
+“I did not wish to kill an abbot, Nurse.”
+
+“Foolish man, what is the difference in such a matter between him and
+one of his servants? Moreover, he will only say that you tried to slay
+him, and missed, and produce the cap and arrow in evidence against you.
+Well, my talk serves nothing to mend a bad matter, and soon you will
+hear it straighter from himself. Go now and make your house ready for
+attack, and never dare to set a foot without its doors, for death waits
+you there.”
+
+Emlyn was right. Within three hours an unarmed monk trudged up to
+Cranwell Towers through the falling snow and cast across the moat a
+letter that was tied to a stone. Then he nailed a writing to one of the
+oak posts of the outer gate, and, without a word, departed as he had
+come. In the presence of Christopher and Cicely, Emlyn opened and read
+this second letter, as she had read the first. It was short, and ran--
+
+
+“Take notice, Sir Christopher Harflete, and all others whom it may
+concern, that the oath which I, Clement Maldon, Abbot of Blossholme,
+swore to you this day, is utterly void and of none effect, having been
+wrung from me under the threat of instant death. Take notice, further,
+that a report of the murder which you have done has been forwarded to
+the King’s grace and to the Sheriff and other officers of this county,
+and that by virtue of my rights and authority, ecclesiastical and civil,
+I shall proceed to possess myself of the person of Cicely Foterell, my
+ward, and of the lands and other property held by her father, Sir John
+Foterell, deceased, upon the former of which I have already entered on
+her behalf, and by exercise of such force as may be needful to seize
+you, Christopher Harflete, and to hand you over to justice. Further, by
+means of notice sent herewith, I warn all that cling to you and abet
+you in your crimes that they will do so at the peril of their souls and
+bodies.
+
+“Clement Maldon, Abbot of Blossholme.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+WHAT PASSED AT CRANWELL
+
+
+A week had gone by. For the first three days of that time little of note
+had happened at Cranwell Towers; that is, no assault was delivered.
+Only Christopher and his dozen or so of house-servants and small tenants
+discovered that they were quite surrounded. Once or twice some of them
+rode out a little way, to be hunted back again by a much superior force,
+which emerged from the copses near by or from cottages in the village,
+and even from the porch of the church. With these men they never came
+to close quarters, so that no lives were lost. In a fashion this was
+a disadvantage to them, since they lacked the excitement of actual
+fighting, the dread of which was ever present, but not its joy.
+
+Meanwhile in other ways things went ill with them. Thus, first of all
+their beer gave out, and then such other cordials as they had, so that
+they were reduced to water to drink. Next their fuel became exhausted,
+for nearly all the stock of it was kept at the farmstead about a quarter
+of a mile away, and on the second day of the siege this stead was fired
+and burned with its contents, the cattle and horses being driven off,
+they knew not where.
+
+So it came about at length they could keep only one fire, in the
+kitchen, and that but small, which in the end they were obliged to feed
+with the doors of the outhouses, and even with the floorings torn out of
+the attics, in order that they might cook their food. Nor was there
+much of this; only a store of salt meat and some pickled pork and smoked
+bacon, together with a certain amount of oatmeal and flour, that they
+made into cakes and bread.
+
+On the fourth day, however, these gave out, so that they were reduced to
+a scanty diet of hung flesh, with a few apples by way of vegetables, and
+hot water to drink to warm them. At length, too, there was nothing more
+to burn, and therefore they must eat their meat raw, and grew sick on
+it. Moreover, a cold thaw set in, and the house grew icy, so that they
+moved about it with chattering teeth, and at night, ill-nurtured as they
+were, could scarce keep the life in them beneath all the coverings which
+they had.
+
+Ah! how long were those nights, with never a blaze upon the hearth or so
+much as a candle to light them. At four o’clock the darkness came down,
+which did not lessen, for the moon grew low and the mists were thick,
+until day broke about seven on the following morning. And all this time,
+fearing attack, they must keep watch and ward through the gloom, so that
+even sleep was denied them.
+
+For a while they bore up bravely, even the tenants, though news was
+shouted to these that their steads had been harried, and their wives and
+children hunted off to seek shelter where they might.
+
+Cicely and Emlyn never murmured. Indeed, this new-made wife kept her
+dreadful honeymoon with a cheerful face, trudging through the black
+hours around the circle of the moat at her husband’s side, or from
+window-place to window-place in the empty rooms, till at length they
+cast themselves down upon some bed to sleep a while, giving over the
+watch to others. Only Emlyn never seemed to sleep. But at length their
+companions did begin to murmur.
+
+One morning at the dawn, after a very bitter night, they waited upon
+Christopher and told him that they were willing to fight for his sake
+and his lady’s, but that, as there was no hope of help, they could no
+longer freeze and starve; in short, that they must either escape from
+the house or surrender. He listened to them patiently, knowing that
+what they said was true, and then consulted for a while with Cicely and
+Emlyn.
+
+“Our case is desperate, dear wife. Now what shall we do, who have no
+chance of succour, since none know of our plight? Yield, or strive to
+escape through the darkness?”
+
+“Not yield, I think,” answered Cicely, choking back a sob. “If we yield
+certainly they will separate us, and that merciless Abbot will bring you
+to your death and me to a nunnery.”
+
+“That may happen in any case,” muttered Christopher, turning his head
+aside. “But what say you, Nurse?”
+
+“I say fight for it,” answered Emlyn boldly. “It is certain that we
+cannot stay here, for, to be plain, Sir Christopher, there are some
+among us whom I do not trust. What wonder? Their stomachs are empty,
+their hands are blue, their wives and children are they know not where,
+and the heavy curse of the Church hangs over them, all of which things
+may be mended if they play you false. Let us take what horses remain and
+slip away at dead of night if we can; or if we cannot, then let us die,
+as many better folk have done before.”
+
+So they agreed to try their fortune, thinking that it was so bad it
+could not be worse, and spent the rest of that day in getting ready
+as best they could. The seven horses still stood in the stable, and
+although they were stiff from want of exercise, had been hay-fed and
+watered. On these they proposed to ride, but first they must tell the
+truth to those who had stood by them. So about three o’clock of the
+afternoon Christopher called all the men together beneath the gateway
+and sorrowfully set out his tale. Here, he showed them, they could bide
+no longer, and to surrender meant that his new-wed wife would soon be
+made a widow. Therefore they must fly, taking with them as many as there
+were horses for them to ride, if they cared to risk such a journey. If
+not, he and the two women would go alone.
+
+Now four of the stoutest-hearted of them, men who had served him and
+his father for many years, stepped forward, saying that, evil as these
+seemed to be, they would follow his fortunes to the last. He thanked
+them shortly, whereon one of the others asked what they were to do, and
+if he proposed to desert them after leading them into this plight.
+
+“God knows I would rather die,” he replied, with a swelling heart; “but,
+my friends, consider the case. If I bide here, what of my wife? Alas! it
+has come to this: that you must choose whether you will slip out with us
+and scatter in the woods, where I think you will not be followed, since
+yonder Abbot has no quarrel against you; or whether you will wait here,
+and to-morrow at the dawn, surrender. In either event you can say that
+I compelled you to stand by us, and that you have shed no man’s blood;
+also I will give you a writing.”
+
+So they talked together gloomily, and at last announced that when he and
+their lady went they would go also and get off as best they could. But
+there was a man among them, a small farmer named Jonathan Dicksey, who
+thought otherwise. This Jonathan, who held his land under Christopher,
+had been forced to this business of the defence of Cranwell Towers
+somewhat against his will, namely, by the pressure of Christopher’s
+largest tenant, to whose daughter he was affianced. He was a sly young
+man, and even during the siege, by means that need not be described, he
+had contrived to convey a message to the Abbot of Blossholme, telling
+him that had it been in his power he would gladly be in any other place.
+Therefore, as he knew well, whatever had happened to others, his farm
+remained unharried. Now he determined to be out of a bad business as
+soon as he might, for Jonathan was one of those who liked to stand upon
+the winning side.
+
+Therefore, although he said “Aye, aye,” more loudly than his comrades,
+as soon as the dusk had fallen, while the others were making ready the
+horses and mounting guard, Jonathan thrust a ladder across the moat at
+the back of the stable, and clambered along its rungs into the shelter
+of a cattle-shed in the meadow, and so away.
+
+Half-an-hour later he stood before the Abbot in the cottage where he had
+taken up his quarters, having contrived to blunder among his people and
+be captured. To him at first Jonathan would say nothing, but when at
+length they threatened to take him out and hang him, to save his life,
+as he said, he found his tongue and told all.
+
+“So, so,” said the Abbot when he had finished. “Now God is good to
+us. We have these birds in our net, and I shall keep St. Hilary’s at
+Blossholme after all. For your services, Master Dicksey, you shall be my
+reeve at Cranwell Towers when they are in my hands.”
+
+But here it may be said that in the end things went otherwise, since, so
+far from getting the stewardship of Cranwell, when the truth came to be
+known, Jonathan’s maiden would have no more to do with him, and the folk
+in those parts sacked his farm and hunted him out of the country, so
+that he was never heard of among them again.
+
+Meanwhile, all being ready, Christopher at the Towers was closeted with
+Cicely, taking his farewell of her in the dark, for no light was left to
+them.
+
+“This is a desperate venture,” he said to her, “nor can I tell how it
+will end, or if ever I shall see your sweet face again. Yet, dearest, we
+have been happy together for some few hours, and if I fall and you live
+on I am sure that you will always remember me till, as we are taught,
+we meet again where no enemy has the power to torment us, and cold and
+hunger and darkness are not. Cicely, if that should be so and any child
+should come to you, teach it to love the father whom it never saw.”
+
+Now she threw her arms about him and wept, and wept, and wept.
+
+“If you die,” she sobbed, “surely I will do so also, for although I am
+but young I find this world a very evil place, and now that my father is
+gone, without you, husband, it would be a hell.”
+
+“Nay, nay,” he answered; “live on while you may; for who knows? Often
+out of the worst comes the best. At least we have had our joy. Swear it
+now, sweet.”
+
+“Aye, if you will swear it also, for I may be taken and you left. In the
+dark swords do not choose. Let us promise that we will both endure our
+lives, together or separate, until God calls us.”
+
+So they swore there in the icy gloom, and sealed the oath with kisses.
+
+Now the time was come at last, and they crept their way to the courtyard
+hand in hand, taking some comfort because the night was very favourable
+to their project. The snow had melted, and a great gale blew from the
+sou’-west, boisterous but not cold, which caused the tall elms that
+stood about to screech and groan like things alive. In such a wind as
+this they were sure that they would not be heard, nor could they be seen
+beneath that murky, starless sky, while the rain which fell between the
+gusts would wash out the footprints of their horses.
+
+They mounted silently, and with the four men--for by now all the
+rest had gone--rode across the drawbridge, which had been lowered in
+preparation for their flight. Three hundred yards or so away their road
+ran through an ancient marl-pit worked out generations before, in which
+self-sown trees grew on either side of the path. As they drew near this
+place suddenly, in the silence of the night, a horse neighed ahead of
+them, and one of their beasts answered to the neigh.
+
+“Halt!” whispered Cicely, whose ears were made sharp by fear. “I hear
+men moving.”
+
+They pulled rein and listened. Yes; between the gusts of wind there was
+a faint sound as of the clanking of armour. They strained their eyes
+in the darkness, but could see nothing. Again the horse neighed and was
+answered. One of their servants cursed the beast beneath his breath and
+struck it savagely with the flat of his sword, whereon, being fresh,
+it took the bit between its teeth and bolted. Another minute and there
+arose a great clamour from the marl-pit in front of them--a noise of
+shoutings, of sword-strokes, and then a heavy groan as from the lips of
+a dying man.
+
+“An ambush!” exclaimed Christopher.
+
+“Can we get round?” asked Cicely, and there was terror in her voice.
+
+“Nay,” he answered, “the stream is in flood; we should be bogged. Hark!
+they charge us. Back to the Towers--there is no other way.”
+
+So they turned and fled, followed by shouts and the thunder of many
+horses galloping. In two minutes they were there and across the
+bridge--the women, Christopher, and the three men who were left.
+
+“Up with the bridge!” cried Christopher, and they leapt from their
+saddles and fumbled for the cranks; too late, for already the Abbot’s
+horsemen pressed it down.
+
+Then a fight began. The horses of the enemy shrank back from the
+trembling bridge, so their riders, dismounting, rushed forward, to be
+met by Christopher and his three remaining men, who in that narrow
+place were as good as a hundred. Wild, random blows were struck in the
+darkness, and, as it chanced, two of the Abbot’s people fell, whereon a
+deep voice cried--
+
+“Come back and wait for light.”
+
+When they had gone, dragging off their wounded with them, Christopher
+and his servants again strove to wind up the bridge, only to find that
+it would not stir.
+
+“Some traitor has fouled the chains,” he said in the quiet voice of
+despair. “Cicely and Emlyn, get you into the house. I, and any who will
+bide with me, stay here to see this business out. When I am down, yield
+yourself. Afterwards I think that the King will give you justice, if you
+can come to him.”
+
+“I’ll not go,” she wailed; “I’ll die with you.”
+
+“Nay, you shall go,” he said, stamping his foot, and, as he spoke,
+an arrow hissed between them. “Emlyn, drag her hence ere she is shot.
+Swift, I say, swift, or God’s curse and mine rest on you. Unclasp your
+arms, wife; how can I fight while you hang about my neck? What! Must I
+strike you? Then, there and there!”
+
+She loosed her grasp, and, groaning, fell back upon the breast of Emlyn,
+who half led, half carried her across the courtyard, where their scared
+horses galloped loose.
+
+“Whither go we?” sobbed Cicely.
+
+“To the central tower,” answered Emlyn; “it seems safest there.”
+
+To this tower, whence the place took its name, they groped their way.
+Unlike the rest of the house, which for the most part was of wood, it
+was built of stone, being part of an older fabric dating from the Norman
+days. Slowly they stumbled up the steps till at length they reached the
+roof, for some instinct prompted them to find a spot whence they
+could see, should the stars break out. Here, on this lofty perch, they
+crouched them down and waited the end, whatever it might be--waited in
+silence.
+
+A while passed--they never knew how long--till at length a sudden flame
+shot up above the roof of the kitchens at the rear, which the wind
+caught and blew on to the timbers of the main building, so that
+presently this began to blaze also. The house had been fired, by whom
+was never known, though it was said that the traitor, Jonathan Dicksey,
+had returned and done it, either for a bribe or that his own sin might
+be forgotten in this great catastrophe.
+
+“The house burns,” said Emlyn in her quiet voice. “Now, if you would
+save your life, follow me. Beneath this tower is a vault where no flame
+can touch us.”
+
+But Cicely would not stir, for by the fierce and ever-growing light she
+could see what passed beneath, and, as it chanced, the wind blew the
+smoke away from them. There, beyond the drawbridge, were gathered the
+Abbey guards, and there in the gateway stood Christopher and his three
+men with drawn swords, while in the courtyard the horses galloped madly,
+screaming in their fear. A soldier looked up and saw the two women
+standing on the top of the tower, then called out something to the
+Abbot, who sat on horseback near to him. He looked and saw also.
+
+“Yield, Sir Christopher,” he shouted; “the Lady Cicely burns. Yield,
+that we may save her.”
+
+Christopher turned and saw also. For a moment he hesitated, then wheeled
+round to run across the courtyard. Too late, for as he came the flames
+burst through the main roof of the house, and the timber front of it,
+blazing furiously, fell outwards, blocking the doorway, so that the
+place became a furnace into which none might enter and live.
+
+Now a madness seemed to take hold of him. For a moment he stared up at
+the figures of the two women standing high above the rolling smoke and
+wrapping flame. Then, with his three men, he charged with a roar into
+the crowd of soldiers who had followed him into the courtyard, striving,
+it would seem, to cut his way to the Abbot, who lurked behind. It was
+a dreadful sight, for he and those with him fought furiously, and many
+went down. Presently, of the four only Christopher was left upon his
+feet. Swords and spears smote upon his armour, but he did not fall;
+it was those in front of him who fell. A great fellow with an axe
+got behind him and struck with all his might upon his helm. The sword
+dropped from Harflete’s hand; slowly he turned about, looked upward,
+then stretched out his arms and fell heavily to earth.
+
+The Abbot leapt from his horse and ran to him, kneeling at his side.
+
+“Dead!” he cried, and began to shrive his passing soul, or so it seemed.
+
+“Dead,” repeated Emlyn, “and a gallant death!”
+
+“Dead!” wailed Cicely, in so terrible a voice that all below heard it.
+“Dead, dead!” and sank senseless on Emlyn’s breast.
+
+At that moment the rest of the roof fell in, hiding the tower in spouts
+and veils of flame. Here they might not stay if they would live. Lifting
+her mistress in her strong arms, as she was wont to do when she was
+little, Emlyn found the head of the stair, so that when the wind blew
+the smoke aside for an instant, those below saw that both had vanished,
+as they thought withered in the fire.
+
+“Now you can enter on the Shefton lands, Abbot,” cried a voice from the
+darkness of the gateway, though in the turmoil none knew who spoke; “but
+not for all England would I bear that innocent blood!”
+
+The Abbot’s face turned ghastly, and though it was hot enough in that
+courtyard his teeth chattered.
+
+“It is on the head of this woman-thief,” he exclaimed with an effort,
+looking down on Christopher, who lay at his feet. “Take him up, that
+inquest may be held on him, who died doing murder. Can none enter the
+house? His pocket full of gold to him who saves the Lady Cicely!”
+
+“Can any enter hell and live?” answered the same voice out of the
+smoke and gloom. “Seek her sweet soul in heaven, if you may come there,
+Abbot.”
+
+Then, with scared faces, they lifted up Christopher and the other dead
+and wounded and carried them away, leaving Cranwell Towers to burn
+itself to ashes, for so fierce was the heat that none could bide there
+longer.
+
+
+
+Two hours had gone by. The Abbot sat in the little room of a cottage
+at Cranwell that he had occupied during the siege of the Towers. It was
+near midnight, yet, weary as he was, he could not rest; indeed, had the
+night been less foul and dark he would have spent the time in riding
+back to Blossholme. His heart was ill at ease. Things had gone well with
+him, it is true. Sir John Foterell was dead--slain by “outlawed
+men;” Sir Christopher Harflete was dead--did not his body lie in the
+neat-house yonder? Cicely, daughter of the one and wife to the other,
+was dead also, burned in the fire at the Towers, so that doubtless the
+precious gems and the wide lands he coveted would fall into his lap
+without further trouble. For, Cromwell being bribed, who would try to
+snatch them from the powerful Abbot of Blossholme, and had he not a
+title to them--of a sort?
+
+And yet he was very ill at ease, for, as that voice had said--whose
+voice was it? he wondered, somehow it seemed familiar--the blood of
+these people lay on his head; and there came into his mind the text of
+Holy Writ which he had quoted to Christopher, that he who shed man’s
+blood by man should his blood be shed. Also, although he had paid the
+Vicar-General to back him, monks were in no great favour at the English
+Court, and if this story travelled there, as it might, for even the
+strengthless dead find friends, it was possible that questions would be
+asked, questions hard to answer. Before Heaven he could justify himself
+for all that he had done, but before King Henry, who would usurp the
+powers of the very Pope, if the truth should chance to reach the royal
+ear--ah! that was another matter.
+
+The room was cold after the heat of that great fire; his Southern blood,
+which had been warm enough, grew chill; loneliness and depression took
+hold of him; he began to wonder how far in the eyes of God above the end
+justifies the means. He opened the door of the place, and holding on
+to it lest the rough, wintry gale should tear it from its frail hinges,
+shouted aloud for Brother Martin, one of his chaplains.
+
+Presently Martin arrived, emerging from the cattleshed, a lantern in his
+hand--a tall, thin man, with perplexed and melancholy eyes, long nose,
+and a clever face--and, bowing, asked his superior’s pleasure.
+
+“My pleasure, Brother,” answered the Abbot, “is that you shut the door
+and keep out the wind, for this accursed climate is killing me. Yes,
+make up the fire if you can, but the wood is too wet to burn; also it
+smokes. There, what did I tell you? If this goes on we shall be hams
+by to-morrow morning. Let it be, for, after all, we have seen enough of
+fires to-night, and sit down to a cup of wine--nay, I forgot, you drink
+but water--well, then, to a bite of bread and meat.”
+
+“I thank you, my Lord Abbot,” answered Martin, “but I may not touch
+flesh; this is Friday.”
+
+“Friday or no we have touched flesh--the flesh of men--up at the Towers
+yonder this night,” answered the Abbot, with an uneasy laugh. “Still,
+obey your conscience, Brother, and eat bread. Soon it will be midnight,
+and the meat can follow.”
+
+The lean monk bowed, and, taking a hunch of bread, began to bite at it,
+for he was almost starving.
+
+“Have you come from watching by the body of that bloody and rebellious
+man who has worked us so much harm and loss?” asked the Abbot presently.
+
+The secretary nodded, then swallowing a crust, said--
+
+“Aye, I have been praying over him and the others. At least he was
+brave, and it must be hard to see one’s new-wed wife burn like a witch.
+Also, now that I come to study the matter, I know not what his sin was
+who did but fight bravely when he was attacked. For without doubt the
+marriage is good, and whether he should have waited to ask your leave
+to make it is a point that might be debated through every court in
+Christendom.”
+
+The Abbot frowned, not appreciating this open and judicial tone in
+matters that touched him so nearly.
+
+“You have honoured me of late by choosing me as one of your confessors,
+though I think you do not tell me everything, my Lord Abbot; therefore I
+bare my mind to you,” continued Brother Martin apologetically.
+
+“Speak on then, man. What do you mean?”
+
+“I mean that I do not like this business,” he answered slowly, in the
+intervals of munching at his bread. “You had a quarrel with Sir John
+Foterell about those lands which you say belong to the Abbey. God knows
+the right of it, for I understand no law; but he denied it, for did
+I not hear it yonder in your chamber at Blossholme? He denied it, and
+accused you of treason enough to hang all Blossholme, of which again
+God knows the truth. You threatened him in your anger, but he and his
+servant were armed and won out, and next day the two of them rode for
+London with certain papers. Well, that night Sir John Foterell was
+killed in the forest, though his servant Stokes escaped with the papers.
+Now, who killed him?”
+
+The Abbot looked at him, then seemed to take a sudden resolution.
+
+“Our people, those men-at-arms whom I have gathered for the defence of
+our House and the Church. My orders to them were to seize him living,
+but the old English bull would not yield, and fought so fiercely that it
+ended otherwise--to my sorrow.”
+
+The monk put down his bread, for which he seemed to have no further
+appetite.
+
+“A dreadful deed,” he said, “for which one day you must answer to God
+and man.”
+
+“For which we all must answer,” corrected the Abbot, “down to the last
+lay-brother and soldier--you as much as any of us, Brother, for were you
+not present at our quarrel?”
+
+“So be it, Abbot. Being innocent, I am ready. But that is not the end
+of it. The Lady Cicely, on hearing of this murder--nay, be not wrath,
+I know no other name for it--and learning that you claimed her as your
+ward, flies to her affianced lover, Sir Christopher Harflete, and that
+very day is married to him by the parish priest in yonder church.”
+
+“It was no marriage. Due notice had not been given. Moreover, how could
+my ward be wed without my leave?”
+
+“She had not been served with notice of your wardship, if such exists,
+or so she declared,” replied Martin in his quiet, obstinate voice.
+“I think that there is no court in Europe which would void this open
+marriage when it learned that the parties lived a while as man and wife,
+and were so received by those about them--no, not the Pope himself.”
+
+“He who says that he is no lawyer still sets out the law,” broke in
+Maldon sarcastically. “Well, what does it matter, seeing that death has
+voided it? Husband and wife, if such they were, are both dead; it is
+finished.”
+
+“No; for now they lay their appeal in the Court of Heaven, to which
+every one of us is summoned; and Heaven can stir up its ministers on
+earth. Oh! I like it not, I like it not; and I mourn for those two, so
+loving, brave, and young. Their blood and that of many more is on our
+hands--for what? A stretch of upland and of marsh which the King or
+others may seize to-morrow.”
+
+The Abbot seemed to cower beneath the weight of these sad, earnest
+words, and for a little while there was silence. Then he plucked up
+courage, and said--
+
+“I am glad that you remember that their blood is on your hands as well
+as mine, since now, perhaps, you will keep them hidden.”
+
+He rose and walked to the door and the window to see that none were
+without, then returned and exclaimed fiercely--
+
+“Fool, do you then think that these deeds were done to win a new
+estate? True it is that those lands are ours by right, and we need their
+revenues; but there is more behind. The whole Church of this realm is
+threatened by that accursed son of Belial who sits upon the throne. Why,
+what is it now, man?”
+
+“Only that I am an Englishman, and love not to hear England’s king
+called a son of Belial. His sins, I know, are many and black, like those
+of others--still, ‘son of Belial!’ Let his Highness hear it, and that
+name alone is enough to hang you!”
+
+“Well, then, angel of grace, if it suits you better. At the least we are
+threatened. Against the law of God and man our blessed Queen, Catherine
+of Spain, is thrust away in favour of the slut who fills her place.
+Even now I have tidings from Kimbolton that she lies dying there of slow
+poison; so they say and I believe. Also I have other tidings. Fisher and
+More being murdered, Parliament next month will be moved to strike at
+the lesser monasteries and steal their goods, and after them our turn
+will come. But we will not bear it tamely, for ere this new year is out
+all England shall be ablaze, and I, Clement Maldon, I--I will light the
+fire. Now you have the truth, Martin. Will you betray me, as that dead
+knight would have done?”
+
+“Nay, my Lord Abbot, your secrets are safe with me. Am I not your
+chaplain, and does not this wilful and rebellious King of ours work much
+mischief against God and His servants? Yet I tell you that I like it
+not, and cannot see the end. We English are a stiff-necked folk whom you
+of Spain do not understand and will never break, and Henry is strong and
+subtle; moreover, his people love him.”
+
+“I knew that I could trust you, Martin, and the proof of it is that I
+have spoken to you so openly,” went on Maldon in a gentler voice. “Well,
+you shall hear all. The great Emperor of Germany and Spain is on our
+side, as, seeing his blood and faith, he must be. He will avenge the
+wrongs of the Church and of his royal aunt. I, who know him, am his
+agent here, and what I do is done at his bidding. But I must have more
+money than he finds me, and that is why I stirred in this matter of the
+Shefton lands. Also the Lady Cicely had jewels of vast price, though I
+fear greatly lest they should have been lost in the fire this night.”
+
+“Filthy lucre--the root of all evil,” muttered Brother Martin.
+
+“Aye, and of all good. Money, money--I must have more money to bribe
+men and buy arms, to defend that stronghold of Heaven, the Church. What
+matters it if lives are lost so that the immortal Church holds her own?
+Let them go. My friend, you are fearful; these deaths weigh upon your
+soul--aye, and on mine. I loved that girl, whom as a babe I held in
+my arms, and even her rough father, I loved him for his honest heart,
+although he always mistrusted me, the Spaniard--and rightly. The knight
+Harflete, too, who lies yonder, he was of a brave breed, but not one
+who would have served our turn. Well, they are gone, and for these
+blood-sheddings we must find absolution.”
+
+“If we can.”
+
+“Oh! we can, we can. Already I have it in my pouch, under a seal you
+know. And for our bodies, fear not. There is such a gale rising in
+England as will blow out this petty breeze. A question of rights,
+some arrows shot, a fire and lives lost--what of that when it agitates
+betwixt powers temporal and spiritual, and which of them shall hold the
+sceptre in this mighty Britain? Martin, I have a mission for you that
+may lead you to a bishopric ere all is done, for that’s your mind and
+aim, and if you would put off your doubts and moodiness you’ve got the
+brain to rule. That ship, the _Great Yarmouth_, which sailed for Spain
+some days ago, has been beat back into the river, and should weigh
+anchor again to-morrow morning. I have letters for the Spanish Court,
+and you shall take them with my verbal explanations, which I will
+give you presently, for they would hang us, and may not be trusted
+to writing. She is bound for Seville, but you will follow the Emperor
+wherever he may be. You will go, won’t you?” and he glanced at him
+sideways.
+
+“I obey orders,” answered Martin, “though I know little of Spaniards or
+of Spanish.”
+
+“In every town the Benedictines have a monastery, and in every monastery
+interpreters, and you shall be accredited to them all who are of that
+great Brotherhood. Well, ‘tis settled. Go, make ready as best you can;
+I must write. Stay; the sooner this Harflete is under ground the better.
+Bid that sturdy fellow, Bolle, find the sexton of the church and help
+dig his grave, for we will bury him at dawn. Now go, go, I tell you I
+must write. Come back in an hour, and I will give you money for your
+faring, also my secret messages.”
+
+Brother Martin bowed and went.
+
+“A dangerous man,” muttered the Abbot, as the door closed on him; “too
+honest for our game, and too much an Englishman. That native spirit
+peeps beneath his cowl; a monk should have no country and no kin. Well,
+he will learn a trick or two in Spain, and I’ll make sure they keep him
+there a while. Now for my letters,” and he sat down at the rude table
+and began to write.
+
+Half-an-hour later the door opened and Martin entered.
+
+“What is it now?” asked the Abbot testily. “I said, ‘Come back in an
+hour.’”
+
+“Aye, you said that, but I have good news for you that I thought you
+might like to hear.”
+
+“Out with it, then, man. It’s scarce now-a-days. Have they found those
+jewels? No, how could they? the place still flares,” and he glanced
+through the window-place. “What’s the news?”
+
+“Better than jewels. Christopher Harflete is not dead. While I was
+praying over him he turned his head and muttered. I think he is only
+stunned. You are skilled in medicine; come, look at him.”
+
+A minute later and the Abbot knelt over the senseless form of
+Christopher where it lay on the filthy floor of the neat-house. By the
+light of the lanterns with deft fingers he felt his wounded head, from
+which the shattered casque had been removed, and afterwards his heart
+and pulse.
+
+“The skull is cut, but not broken,” he said. “My judgment is that though
+he may lie unsensed for days, if fed and tended this man will live,
+being so young and strong. But if left alone in this cold place he will
+be dead by morning, and perhaps he is better dead,” and he looked at
+Martin.
+
+“That would be murder indeed,” answered the secretary. “Come, let us
+bear him to the fire and pour milk down his throat. We may save him yet.
+Lift you his feet and I will take his head.”
+
+The Abbot did so, not very willingly, as it seemed to Martin, but rather
+as one who has no choice.
+
+Half-an-hour later, when the hurts of Christopher had been dressed
+with ointment and bound up, and milk poured down his throat, which he
+swallowed although he was so senseless, the Abbot, looking at him, said
+to Martin--
+
+“You gave orders for this Harflete’s burial, did you not?”
+
+The monk nodded.
+
+“Then have you told any that he needs no grave at present?”
+
+“No one except yourself.”
+
+The Abbot thought a while, rubbing his shaven chin.
+
+“I think the funeral should go forward,” he said presently. “Look not
+so frightened; I do not purpose to inter him living. But there is a dead
+man lying in that shed, Andrew Woods, my servant, the Scotch soldier
+whom Harflete slew. He has no friends here to claim him, and these two
+were of much the same height and breadth. Shrouded in a blanket, none
+would know one body from the other, and it will be thought that Andrew
+was buried with the rest. Let him be promoted in his death, and fill a
+knight’s grave.”
+
+“To what purpose would you play so unholy a trick, which must, moreover,
+be discovered in a day, seeing that Sir Christopher lives?” asked
+Martin, staring at him.
+
+“For a very good purpose, my friend. It is well that Sir Christopher
+Harflete should seem to die, who, if he is known to be alive, has
+powerful kin in the south who will bring much trouble on us.”
+
+“Do you mean----? If so, before God I will have no hand in it.”
+
+“I said--seem to die. Where are your wits to-night?” answered the Abbot,
+with irritation. “Sir Christopher travels with you to Spain as our
+sick Brother Luiz, who, like myself, is of that country, and desires to
+return there, as we know, but is too ill to do so. You will nurse him,
+and on the ship he will die or recover, as God wills. If he recovers our
+Brotherhood will show him hospitality at Seville, notwithstanding his
+crimes, and by the time that he reaches England again, which may not
+be for a long while, men will have forgotten all this fray in a greater
+that draws on. Nor will he be harmed, seeing that the lady whom he
+pretends to have married is dead beyond a doubt, as you can tell him
+should he find his understanding.”
+
+“A strange game,” muttered Martin.
+
+“Strange or no, it is my game which I must play. Therefore question not,
+but be obedient, and silent also, on your oath,” replied the Abbot in
+a cold, hard voice. “That covered litter which was brought here for the
+wounded is in the next chamber. Wrap this man in blankets and a monk’s
+robe, and we will place him in it. Then let him be borne to Blossholme
+as one of the dead by brethren who will ask no questions, and ere dawn
+on to the ship _Great Yarmouth_, if he still lives. It lies near the
+quay not half-a-mile from the Abbey gate. Be swift now, and help me. I
+will overtake you with the letters, and see that you are furnished with
+all things needful from our store. Also I must speak with the captain
+ere he weighs anchor. Waste no more time in talking, but obey and be
+secret.”
+
+“I obey, and I will be secret, as is my duty,” answered Brother Martin,
+bowing his head humbly. “But what will be the end of all this business,
+God and His angels know alone. I say that I like it not.”
+
+“A _very_ dangerous man,” muttered the Abbot, as he watched Martin go.
+“He also must bide a while in Spain; a long while. I’ll see to it!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+EMLYN’S CURSE
+
+
+Just before the wild dawn broke on the morrow of the burning of the
+Towers, a corpse, roughly shrouded, was borne from the village into the
+churchyard of Cranwell, where a shallow grave had been dug for its last
+home.
+
+“Whom do we bury in such haste?” asked the tall Thomas Bolle, who had
+delved the grave alone in the dark, for his orders were urgent, and the
+sexton was fled away from these tumults.
+
+“That man of blood, Sir Christopher Harflete, who has caused us so much
+loss,” said the old monk who had been bidden to perform the office, as
+the clergyman, Father Necton, had gone also, fearing the vengeance of
+the Abbot for his part in the marriage of Cicely. “A sad story, a very
+sad story. Wedded by night, and now buried by night, both of them,
+one in the flame and one in the earth. Truly, O God, Thy judgments
+are wonderful, and woe to those who lift hands against Thine anointed
+ministers!”
+
+“Very wonderful,” answered Bolle, as, standing in the grave, he took
+the head of the body and laid it down between his straddled feet; “so
+wonderful that a plain man wonders what will be the wondrous end of
+them, also why this noble young knight has grown so wondrously lighter
+than he used to be. Trouble and hunger in those burnt Towers, I suppose.
+Why did they not set him in the vault with his ancestors? It would have
+saved me a lonely job among the ghosts that haunt this place. What do
+you say, Father? Because the stone is cemented down and the entrance
+bricked up, and there is no mason to be found? Then why not have waited
+till one could be fetched? Oh, it is wonderful, all wonderful. But who
+am I that I should dare to ask questions? When the Lord Abbot orders,
+the lay-brother obeys, for he also is wonderful--a wonderful abbot.
+
+“There, he is tidy now--straight on his back and his feet pointing to
+the east, at least I hope so, for I could take no good bearings in the
+dark; and the whole wonderful story comes to its wonderful end. So give
+me your hand out of this hole, Father, and say your prayers over the
+sinful body of this wicked fellow who dared to marry the maid he loved,
+and to let out the souls of certain holy monks, or rather of their hired
+rufflers, for monks don’t fight, because they wished to separate those
+whom God--I mean the devil--had joined together, and to add their
+temporalities to the estate of Mother Church.”
+
+Then the old priest, who was shivering with cold, and understood little
+of this dark talk, began to mumble his ritual, skipping those parts
+of it which he could not remember. So another grain was planted in the
+cornfields of death and immortality, though when and where it should
+grow and what it should bear he neither knew nor cared, who wished to
+escape from fears and fightings back to his accustomed cell.
+
+It was done, and he and the bearers departed, beating their way against
+the rough, raw wind, and leaving Thomas Bolle to fill in the grave,
+which, so long as they were in sight, or rather hearing, he did with
+much vigour. When they were gone, however, he descended into the hole
+under pretence of trampling the loose soil, and there, to be out of the
+wind, sat himself down upon the feet of the corpse and waited, full of
+reflections.
+
+“Sir Christopher dead,” he muttered to himself. “I knew his grandfather
+when I was a lad, and my grandfather told me that he knew his
+grandfather’s great-grandfather--say three hundred years of them--and
+now I sit on the cold toes of the last of the lot, butchered like a mad
+ox in his own yard by a Spanish priest and his hirelings, to win his
+wife’s goods. Oh! yes, it is wonderful, all very wonderful; and the Lady
+Cicely dead, burnt like a common witch. And Emlyn dead--Emlyn, whom I
+have hugged many a time in this very churchyard, before they whipped her
+into marrying that fat old grieve and made a monk of me.
+
+“Well, I had her first kiss, and, by the saints! how she cursed old
+Stower all the way down yonder path. I stood behind that tree and heard
+her. She said he would die soon, and he did, and his brat with him. She
+said she would dance on his grave, and she did; I saw her do it in the
+moonlight the night after he was buried; dressed in white she danced on
+his grave! She always kept her promises, did Emlyn. That’s her blood.
+If her mother had not been a gypsy witch, she wouldn’t have married a
+Spaniard when every man in the place was after her for her beautiful
+eyes. Emlyn is a witch too, or was, for they say she is dead; but I
+can’t think it, she isn’t the sort that dies. Still, she must be dead,
+and that’s good for my soul. Oh! miserable man, what are you thinking?
+Get behind me, Satan, if you can find room. A grave is no place for you,
+Satan, but I wish you were in it with me, Emlyn. You _must_ have been a
+witch, since, after you, I could never fancy any other woman, which is
+against nature, for all’s fish that comes to a man’s net. Evidently a
+witch of the worst sort, but, my darling, witch or no I wish you weren’t
+dead, and I’ll break that Abbot’s neck for you yet, if it costs me my
+soul. Oh! Emlyn, my darling, my darling, do you remember how we kissed
+in the copse by the river? Never was there a woman who could love like
+you.”
+
+So he moaned on, rocking himself to and fro on the legs of the corpse,
+till at length a wild ray from the red, risen sun crept into the
+darksome hole, lighting first of all upon a mouldering skull which Bolle
+had thrown back among the soil. He rose up and pitched it out with a
+word that should not have passed the lips of a lay-brother, even as such
+thoughts should not have passed his mind. Then he set himself to a task
+which he had planned in the intervals of his amorous meditations--a
+somewhat grizzly task.
+
+Drawing his knife from its sheath, he cut the rough stitching of the
+grave-clothes, and, with numb hands, dragged them away from the body’s
+head.
+
+The light went out behind a cloud, but, not to waste time, he began to
+feel the face.
+
+“Sir Christopher’s nose wasn’t broken,” he muttered to himself, “unless
+it were in that last fray, and then the bone would be loose, and this is
+stiff. No, no, he had a very pretty nose.”
+
+The light came again, and Thomas peered down at the dead face beneath
+him; then suddenly burst into a hoarse laugh.
+
+“By all the saints! here’s another of our Spaniard’s tricks. It is
+drunken Andrew the Scotchman, turned into a dead English knight.
+Christopher killed him, and now he is Christopher. But where’s
+Christopher?”
+
+He thought a little while, then, jumping out of the grave, began to fill
+it in with all his might.
+
+“You’re Christopher,” he said; “well, stop Christopher until I can prove
+you’re Andrew. Good-bye, Sir Andrew Christopher; I am off to seek your
+betters. If you are dead, who may not be alive? Emlyn herself, perhaps,
+after this. Oh, the devil is playing a merry game round old Cranwell
+Towers to-night, and Thomas Bolle will take a hand in it.”
+
+He was right. The devil was playing a merry game. At least, so thought
+others beside Thomas. For instance, that misguided but honest bigot,
+Martin, as he contemplated the still senseless form of Christopher, who,
+re-christened Brother Luiz, had been safely conveyed aboard the _Great
+Yarmouth_, and now, whether dead or living, which he was not sure, lay
+in the little cabin that had been allotted to the two of them. Almost
+did Martin, as he looked at him and shook his bald head, seem to smell
+brimstone in that close place, which, as he knew well, was the fiend’s
+favourite scent.
+
+The captain also, a sour-faced mariner with a squint, known in Dunwich,
+whence he hailed, as Miser Goody, because of his earnestness in pursuing
+wealth and his skill in hoarding it, seemed to feel the unhallowed
+influence of his Satanic Majesty. So far everything had gone wrong upon
+this voyage, which already had been delayed six weeks, that is, till the
+very worst period of the year, while he waited for certain mysterious
+letters and cargo which his owners said he must carry to Seville. Then
+he had sailed out of the river with a fair wind, only to be beaten back
+by fearful weather that nearly sank the ship.
+
+Item: six of his best men had deserted because they feared a trip to
+Spain at that season, and he had been obliged to take others at hazard.
+Among them was a broad-shouldered, black-bearded fellow clad in a
+leather jerkin, with spurs upon his heels--bloody spurs--that he seemed
+to have found no time to take off. This hard rider came aboard in
+a skiff after the anchor was up, and, having cast the skiff adrift,
+offered good money for a passage to Spain or any other foreign port, and
+paid it down upon the nail. He, Goody, had taken the money, though with
+a doubtful heart, and given a receipt to the name of Charles Smith,
+asking no questions, since for this gold he need not account to the
+owners. Afterwards also the man, having put off his spurs and soldier’s
+jerkin, set himself to work among the crew, some of whom seemed to know
+him, and in the storm that followed showed that he was stout-hearted and
+useful, though not a skilled sailor.
+
+Still, he mistrusted him of Charles Smith, and his bloody spurs, and
+had he not been so short-handed and taken the knave’s broad pieces would
+have liked to set him ashore again when they were driven back into the
+river, especially as he heard that there had been man-slaying about
+Blossholme, and that Sir John Foterell lay slaughtered in the forest.
+Perhaps this Charles Smith had murdered him. Well, if so, it was no
+affair of his, and he could not spare a hand.
+
+Now, when at length the weather had moderated, just as he was hauling
+up his anchor, comes the Abbot of Blossholme, on whose will he had been
+bidden to wait, with a lean-faced monk and another passenger, said to be
+a sick religious, wrapped up in blankets and to all appearance dead.
+
+Why, wondered that astute mariner Goody, should a sick monk wear
+harness, for he felt it through the blankets as he helped him up the
+ladder, although monk’s shoes were stuck upon his feet. And why, as he
+saw when the covering slipped aside for a moment, was his crown bound up
+with bloody cloths?
+
+Indeed, he ventured to question the Abbot as to this mysterious matter
+while his Lordship was paying the passage money in his cabin, only to
+get a very sharp answer.
+
+“Were you not commanded to obey me in all things, Captain Goody, and
+does obedience lie in prying out my business? Another word and I will
+report you to those in Spain who know how to deal with mischief-makers.
+If you would see Dunwich again, hold your peace.”
+
+“Your pardon, my Lord Abbot,” said Goody; “but things go so upon this
+ship that I grow afraid. That is an ill voyage upon which one lifts
+anchor twice in the same port.”
+
+“You will not make them go better, captain, by seeking to nose out my
+affairs and those of the Church. Do you desire that I should lay its
+curse upon you?”
+
+“Nay, your Reverence, I desire that you should take the curse off,”
+ answered Goody, who was very superstitious. “Do that and I’ll carry
+a dozen sick priests to Spain, even though they choose to wear chain
+shirts--for penance.”
+
+The Abbot smiled, then, lifting his hand, pronounced some words
+in Latin, which, as he did not understand them, Goody found very
+comforting. As they passed his lips the _Great Yarmouth_ began to move,
+for the sailors were hoisting up her anchor.
+
+“As I do not accompany you on this voyage, fare you well,” he said. “The
+saints go with you, as shall my prayers. Since you will not pass the
+Gibraltar Straits, where I hear many infidel pirates lurk, given good
+weather your voyage should be safe and easy. Again farewell. I commend
+Brother Martin and our sick friend to your keeping, and shall ask
+account of them when we meet again.”
+
+I pray it may not be this side of hell, for I do not like that Spanish
+Abbot and his passengers, dead or living, thought Goody to himself, as
+he bowed him from the cabin.
+
+A minute later the Abbot, after a few earnest, hurried words with
+Martin, began to descend the ladder to the boat, that, manned by his own
+people, was already being drawn slowly through the water. As he did so
+he glanced back, and, in the clinging mist of dawn, which was almost as
+dense as wool, caught sight of the face of a man who had been ordered to
+hold the ladder, and knew it for that of Jeffrey Stokes, who had escaped
+from the slaying of Sir John--escaped with the damning papers that had
+cost his master’s life. Yes, Jeffrey Stokes, no other. His lips shaped
+themselves to call out something, but before ever a syllable had passed
+them an accident happened.
+
+To the Abbot it seemed as though the whole ship had struck him violently
+behind--so violently that he was propelled headfirst among the rowers in
+the boat, and lay there hurt and breathless.
+
+“What is it?” called the captain, who heard the noise.
+
+“The Abbot slipped, or the ladder slipped, I know not which,” answered
+Jeffrey gruffly, staring at the toe of his sea-boot. “At least he is
+safe enough in the boat now,” and, turning, he vanished aft into the
+mist, muttering to himself--
+
+“A very good kick, though a little high. Yet I wish it had been off
+another kind of ladder. That murdering rogue would look well with a rope
+round his neck. Still I dared do no more and it served to stop his lying
+mouth before he betrayed me. Oh, my poor master, my poor old master!”
+
+
+
+Bruised and sore as he was--and he was very sore--within little over
+an hour Abbot Maldon was back at the ruin of Cranwell Towers. It seemed
+strange that he should go there, but in truth his uneasy heart would
+not let him rest. His plans had succeeded only far too well. Sir John
+Foterell was dead--a crime, no doubt, but necessary, for had the knight
+lived to reach London with that evidence in his pocket, his own life and
+those of many others might have paid the price of it, since who knows
+what truths may be twisted from a victim on the rack? Maldon had always
+feared the rack; it was a nightmare that haunted his sleep, although the
+ambitious cunning of his nature and the cause he served with heart and
+soul prompted him to put himself in continual danger of that fate.
+
+In an unguarded moment, when his tongue was loosed with wine, he had
+placed himself in the power of Sir John Foterell, hoping to win him to
+the side of Spain, and afterwards, forgetting it, made of him a dreadful
+enemy. Therefore this enemy must die, for had he lived, not only
+might he himself have died in place of him, but all his plans for the
+rebellion of the Church against the Crown must have come to nothing.
+Yes, yes, that deed was lawful, and pardon for it assured should the
+truth become known. Till this morning he had hoped that it never would
+be known, but now Jeffrey Stokes had escaped upon the ship _Great
+Yarmouth_.
+
+Oh, if only he had seen him a minute earlier; if only something--could
+it have been that impious knave, Jeffrey? he wondered--had not struck
+him so violently in the back and hurled him to the boat, where he lay
+almost senseless till the vessel had glided from them down the river!
+Well, she was gone, and Jeffrey in her. He was but a common serving-man,
+after all, who, if he knew anything, would never have the wit to use
+his knowledge, although it was true he had been wise enough to fly from
+England.
+
+No papers had been discovered upon Sir John’s body, and no money.
+Without doubt the old knight had found time to pass them on to Jeffrey,
+who now fled the kingdom disguised as a sailor. Oh! what ill chance had
+put him on board the same vessel with Sir Christopher Harflete?
+
+Well, Sir Christopher would probably die; were Brother Martin a little
+less of a fool he would certainly die, but the fact remained that this
+monk, though able, in such matters _was_ a fool, with a conscience that
+would not suit itself to circumstances. If Christopher could be saved,
+Martin would save him, as he had already saved him in the shed, even if
+he handed him over to the Inquisition afterwards. Still, he might slip
+through his fingers or the vessel might be lost, as was devoutly to be
+prayed, and seemed not unlikely at this season of the year. Also, the
+first opportunity must be taken to send certain messages to Spain that
+might result in hampering the activities of Brother Martin, and of Sir
+Christopher Harflete, if he lived to reach that land.
+
+Meanwhile, reflected Maldon, other things had gone wrong. He had wished
+to proclaim his wardship over Cicely and to immure her in a nunnery
+because of her great possessions, which he needed for the cause, but he
+had not wished her death. Indeed, he was fond of the girl, whom he had
+known from a child, and her innocent blood was a weight that he ill
+could bear, he who at heart always shrank from the shedding of blood.
+Still, Heaven had killed her, not he, and the matter could not now be
+mended. Also, as she was dead, her inheritance would, he thought, fall
+into his hands without further trouble, for he--a mitred Abbot with a
+seat among the Lords of the realm--had friends in London, who, for a
+fee, could stifle inquiry into all this far-off business.
+
+No, no, he must not be faint-hearted, who, after all, had much for which
+to be thankful. Meanwhile the cause went on--that great cause of the
+threatened Church to which he had devoted his life. Henry the heretic
+would fall; the Spanish Emperor, whose spy he was and who loved him
+well, would invade and take England. He would yet live to see the Holy
+Inquisition at work at Westminster, and himself--yes, himself; had it
+not been hinted to him?--enthroned at Canterbury, the Cardinal’s red hat
+he coveted upon his head, and--oh, glorious thought!--perhaps afterwards
+wearing the triple crown at Rome.
+
+
+
+Rain was falling heavily when the Abbot, with his escort of two monks
+and half-a-dozen men-at-arms, rode up to Cranwell. The house was now but
+a smoking heap of ashes, mingled with charred beams and burnt clay, in
+the midst of which, scarcely visible through the clouds of steam
+caused by the falling rain, rose the grim old Norman tower, for on its
+stonework the flames had beat vainly.
+
+“Why have we come here?” asked one of the monks, surveying the dismal
+scene with a shudder.
+
+“To seek the bodies of the Lady Cicely and her woman, and give them
+Christian burial,” answered the Abbot.
+
+“After bringing them to a most unchristian death,” muttered the monk to
+himself, then added aloud, “You were ever charitable, my Lord Abbot, and
+though she defied you, such is that noble lady’s due. As for the nurse
+Emlyn, she was a witch, and did but come to the end that she deserved,
+if she be really dead.”
+
+“What mean you?” asked the Abbot sharply.
+
+“I mean that, being a witch, the fire may have turned from her.”
+
+“Pray God, then, that it turned from her mistress also! But it cannot
+be. Only a fiend could have lived in the heat of that furnace; look,
+even the tower is gutted.”
+
+“No, it cannot be,” answered the monk; “so, since we shall never find
+them, let us chant the Burial Office over this great grave of theirs and
+begone--the sooner the better, for yon place has a haunted look.”
+
+“Not till we have searched out their bones, which must be beneath the
+tower yonder, whereon we saw them last,” replied the Abbot, adding in
+a low voice, “Remember, Brother, the Lady Cicely had jewels of great
+price, which, if they were wrapped in leather, the fire may have spared,
+and these are among our heritage. At Shefton they cannot be found;
+therefore they must be here, and the seeking of them is no task for
+common folk. That is why I hurried hither so fast. Do you understand?”
+
+The monk nodded his head. Having dismounted, they gave their horses to
+the serving-men and began to make an examination of the ruin, the Abbot
+leaning on his inferior’s arm, for he was in great pain from the blow
+in the back that Jeffrey had administered with his sea-boot, and the
+bruises which he had received in falling to the boat.
+
+First they passed under the gatehouse, which still stood, only to find
+that the courtyard beyond was so choked with smouldering rubbish that
+they could make no entry--for it will be remembered that the house had
+fallen outwards. Here, however, lying by the carcass of a horse, they
+found the body of one of the men whom Christopher had killed in his last
+stand, and caused it to be borne out. Then, followed by their people,
+leaving the dead man in the gateway, they walked round the ruin, keeping
+on the inner side of the moat, till they came to the little pleasaunce
+garden at its back.
+
+“Look,” said the monk in a frightened voice, pointing to some scorched
+bushes that had been a bower.
+
+The Abbot did so, but for a while could see nothing because of the
+wreaths of steam. Presently a puff of wind blew these aside, and there,
+standing hand in hand, he beheld the figures of two women. His men
+beheld them also, and called aloud that these were the ghosts of Cicely
+and Emlyn. As they spoke the figures, still hand in hand, began to walk
+towards them, and they saw that they were Cicely and Emlyn indeed, but
+in the flesh, quite unharmed.
+
+For a moment there was deep silence; then the Abbot asked--
+
+“Whence come you, Mistress Cicely?”
+
+“Out of the fire,” she answered in a small, cold voice.
+
+“Out of the fire! How did you live through the fire?”
+
+“God sent His angel to save us,” she answered, again in that small
+voice.
+
+“A miracle,” muttered the monk; “a true miracle!”
+
+“Or mayhap Emlyn Stower’s witchcraft,” exclaimed one of the men behind;
+and Maldon started at his words.
+
+“Lead me to my husband, my Lord Abbot, lest, thinking me dead, his heart
+should break,” said Cicely.
+
+Now again there was silence so deep that they could hear the patter of
+every drop of falling rain. Twice the Abbot strove to speak, but could
+not, but at the third effort his words came.
+
+“The man you call your husband, but who was not your husband, but your
+ravisher, was slain in the fray last night, Cicely Foterell.”
+
+She stood quite quiet for a while, as though considering his words, then
+said, in the same unnatural voice--
+
+“You lie, my Lord Abbot. You were ever a liar, like your father the
+devil, for the angel told me so in the midst of the fire. Also he told
+me that, though I seemed to see him fall, Christopher is alive upon the
+earth--yes, and other things, many other things;” and she passed her
+hand before her eyes and held it there, as though to shut out the sight
+of her enemy’s face.
+
+Now the Abbot trembled in his terror, he who knew that he lied, though
+at that time none else there knew it. It was as though suddenly he had
+been haled before the Judgment-seat where all secrets must be bared.
+
+“Some evil spirit has entered into you,” he said huskily.
+
+She dropped her hand, pointing at him.
+
+“Nay, nay; I never knew but one evil spirit, and he stands before me.”
+
+“Cicely,” he went on, “cease your blaspheming. Alas! that I must tell it
+you. Sir Christopher Harflete is dead and buried in yonder churchyard.”
+
+“What! So soon, and all uncoffined, he who was a noble knight? Then
+you buried him living, and, living, in a day to come he shall rise up
+against you. Hear my words, all. Christopher Harflete shall rise up
+living and give testimony against this devil in a monk’s robe, and
+afterwards--afterwards--” and she laughed shrilly, then suddenly fell
+down and lay still.
+
+Now Emlyn, the dark and handsome, as became her Spanish, or perhaps
+gypsy blood, who all this while had stood silent, her arms folded upon
+her high bosom, leaned down and looked at her. Then she straightened
+herself, and her face was like the face of a beautiful fiend.
+
+“She is dead!” she screamed. “My dove is dead. She whom these breasts
+nursed, the greatest lady of all the wolds and all the vales, the Lady
+of Blossholme, of Cranwell and of Shefton, in whose veins ran the blood
+of mighty nobles, aye, and of old kings, is dead, murdered by a beggarly
+foreign monk, who not ten days gone butchered her father also yonder by
+King’s Grave--yonder by the mere. Oh! the arrow in his throat! the arrow
+in his throat! I cursed the hand that shot it, and to-day that hand is
+blue beneath the mould. So, too, I curse you, Maldonado, evil-gifted
+one, Abbot consecrated by Satan, you and all your herd of butchers!” and
+she broke into the stream of Spanish imprecations whereof the Abbot knew
+the meaning well.
+
+Presently Emlyn paused and looked behind her at the smouldering ruins.
+
+“This house is burned,” she cried; “well, mark Emlyn’s words: even so
+shall your house burn, while your monks run squeaking like rats from a
+flaming rick. You have stolen the lands; they shall be taken from you,
+and yours also, every acre of them. Not enough shall be left to bury you
+in, for, priest, you’ll need no burial. The fowls of the air shall bury
+you, and that’s the nearest you will ever get to heaven--in their filthy
+crops. Murderer, if Christopher Harflete is dead, yet he shall live, as
+his lady swore, for his seed shall rise up against you. Oh! I forgot;
+how can it, how can it, seeing that she is dead with him, and their
+bridal coverlet has become a pall woven by the black monks? Yet it
+shall, it shall. Christopher Harflete’s seed shall sit where the Abbots
+of Blossholme sat, and from father to son tell the tale of the last
+of them--the Spaniard who plotted against England’s king and overshot
+himself.”
+
+Her rage veered like a hurricane wind. Forgetting the Abbot, she turned
+upon the monk at his side and cursed him. Then she cursed the hired
+men-at-arms, those present and those absent, many by name, and
+lastly--greatest crime of all--she cursed the Pope and the King of
+Spain, and called to God in heaven and Henry of England upon earth to
+avenge her Lady Cicely’s wrongings, and the murder of Sir John Foterell,
+and the murder of Christopher Harflete, on each and all of them,
+individually and separately.
+
+So fierce and fearful was her onslaught that all who heard her were
+reduced to utter silence. The Abbot and the monk leaned against each
+other, the soldiers crossed themselves and muttered prayers, while one
+of them, running up, fell upon his knees and assured her that he had
+had nothing to do with all this business, having only returned from a
+journey last night, and been called thither that morning.
+
+Emlyn, who had paused from lack of breath, listened to him, and said--
+
+“Then I take the curse off you and yours, John Athey. Now lift up
+my lady and bear her to the church, for there we will lay her out as
+becomes her rank; though not with her jewels, her great and priceless
+jewels, for which she was hunted like a doe. She must lie without her
+jewels; her pearls and coronet, and rings, her stomacher and necklets
+of bright gems, that were worth so much more than those beggarly
+acres--those that once a Sultan’s woman wore. They are lost, though
+perhaps yonder Abbot has found them. Sir John Foterell bore them to
+London for safe keeping, and good Sir John is dead; footpads set on him
+in the forest, and an arrow shot from behind pierced his throat. Those
+who killed him have the jewels, and the dead bride must lie without
+them, adorned in the naked beauty that God gave to her. Lift her, John
+Athey, and you monks, set up your funeral chant; we’ll to the church.
+The bride who knelt before the altar shall lie there before the
+altar--Clement Maldonado’s last offering to God. First the father, then
+the husband, and now the wife--the sweet, new-made wife!”
+
+So she raved on, while they stood before her dumb-founded, and the man
+lifted up Cicely. Then suddenly this same Cicely, whom all thought dead,
+opened her eyes and struggled from his arms to her feet.
+
+“See,” screamed Emlyn; “did I not tell you that Harflete’s seed should
+live to be avenged upon all your tribe, and she stands there who will
+bear it? Now where shall we shelter till England hears this tale?
+Cranwell is down, though it shall rise again, and Shefton is stolen.
+Where shall we shelter?”
+
+“Thrust away that woman,” said the Abbot in a hoarse voice, “for her
+witchcrafts poison the air. Set the Lady Cicely on a horse and bear her
+to our Nunnery of Blossholme, where she shall be tended.”
+
+The men advanced to do his bidding, though very doubtfully. But Emlyn,
+hearing his words, ran to the Abbot and whispered something in his ear
+in a foreign tongue that caused him to cross himself and stagger back
+from her.
+
+“I have changed my mind,” he said to the servants. “Mistress
+Emlyn reminds me that between her and her lady there is the tie of
+foster-motherhood. They may not be separated as yet. Take them both
+to the Nunnery, where they shall dwell, and as for this woman’s words,
+forget them, for she was mad with fear and grief, and knew not what she
+said. May God and His saints forgive her, as I do.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+THE ABBOT’S OFFER
+
+
+The Nunnery at Blossholme was a peaceful place, a long, grey-gabled
+house set under the shelter of a hill and surrounded by a high wall.
+Within this wall lay also the great garden--neglected enough--and the
+chapel, a building that still was beautiful in its decay.
+
+Once, indeed, Blossholme Priory, which was older than the Abbey, had
+been rich and famous. Its foundress in the time of the first Edward,
+a certain Lady Matilda, one of the Plantagenets, who retired from the
+world after her husband had been killed in the Crusade, being childless,
+endowed it with all her lands. Other noble ladies who accompanied her
+there, or sought its refuge in after days, had done likewise, so that
+it grew in power and in wealth, till at its most prosperous time over
+twenty nuns told their beads within its walls. Then the proud Abbey rose
+upon the opposing hill, and obtained some royal charter that the Pope
+confirmed, under which the Priory of Blossholme was affiliated to the
+Abbey of Blossholme, and the Abbot of Blossholme became the spiritual
+lord of its religious. From that day forward its fortunes began to
+decline, since under this pretext and that the abbots filched away its
+lands to swell their own estates.
+
+So it came about that at the date of our history the total revenue of
+this Nunnery was but £130 a year of the money of the day, and even of
+this sum the Abbot took tithe and toll. Now in all the great house, that
+once had been so full, there dwelt but six nuns, one of whom was, in
+fact, a servant, while an aged monk from the Abbey celebrated Mass in
+the fair chapel where lay the bones of so many who had gone before. Also
+on certain feasts the Abbot himself attended, confessed the nuns, and
+granted them absolution and his holy blessing. On these days, too, he
+would examine their accounts, and if there were money in hand take a
+share of it to serve his necessities, for which reason the Prioress
+looked forward to his coming with little joy.
+
+It was to this ancient home of peace that the distraught Cicely and
+her servant Emlyn were conveyed upon the morrow of the great burning.
+Indeed, Cicely knew it well enough already, since as a child during
+three years or more she had gone there daily to be taught by the
+Prioress Matilda, for every head of the Priory took this name in turn to
+the honour of their foundress and in accordance with the provisions
+of her will. Happy years they were, as these old nuns loved her in her
+youth and innocence, and she, too, loved them every one. Now, by the
+workings of fate, she was borne back to the same quiet room where she
+had played and studied--a new-made wife, a new-made widow.
+
+But of all this poor Cicely knew nothing till three weeks or more had
+gone by, when at length her wandering brain cleared and she opened her
+eyes to the world again. At the moment she was alone, and lay looking
+about her. The place was familiar. She recognized the deep windows,
+the faded tapestries of Abraham cutting Isaac’s throat with a butcher’s
+knife, and Jonah being shot into the very gateway of a castle where his
+family awaited him, from the mouth of a gigantic carp with goggle eyes,
+for the simple artist had found his whale’s model in a stewpond. Well
+she remembered those delightful pictures, and how often she had wondered
+whether Isaac could escape bleeding to death, or Jonah’s wife, with the
+outspread arms, withstand the sudden shock of her husband’s unexpected
+arrival out of the interior of the whale. There also was the splendid
+fireplace of wrought stone, and above it, cunningly carved in gilded
+oak, gleamed many coats-of-arms without crests, for they were those of
+sundry noble prioresses.
+
+Yes, this was certainly the great guest-chamber of the Blossholme
+Priory, which, since the nuns had now few guests and many places
+in which to put them, had been given up to her, Sir John Foterell’s
+heiress, as her schoolroom. There she lay, thinking that she was a child
+again, a happy, careless child, or that she dreamed, till presently the
+door opened and Mother Matilda appeared, followed by Emlyn, who bore a
+tray, on which stood a silver bowl that smoked. There was no mistaking
+Mother Matilda in her black Benedictine robe and her white wimple,
+wearing the great silver crucifix which was her badge of office, and the
+golden ring with an emerald bezel whereon was cut St. Catherine being
+broken on the wheel--the ancient ring which every Prioress of Blossholme
+had worn from the beginning. Moreover, who that had ever seen it could
+forget her sweet, old, high-bred face, with the fine lips, the arched
+nose, and the quick, kind grey eyes!
+
+Cicely strove to rise and to do her reverence, as had been her custom
+during those childish years, only to find that she could not, for lo!
+she fell back heavily upon her pillow. Thereon Emlyn, setting down the
+tray with a clatter upon a table, ran to her, and putting her arms about
+her, began to scold, as was her fashion, but in a very gentle voice;
+and Mother Matilda, kneeling by her bed, gave thanks to Jesus and His
+blessed saints--though why she thanked Him at first Cicely did not
+understand.
+
+“Am I ill, reverend Mother?” she asked.
+
+“Not now, daughter, but you were very ill,” answered the Prioress in her
+sweet, low voice. “Now we think that God has healed you.”
+
+“How long have I been here?” she asked.
+
+The Mother began to reckon, counting her beads, one for every day--for
+in such places time slips by--but long before she had finished Emlyn
+replied quickly--
+
+“Cranwell Towers was burned three weeks yesternight.”
+
+Then Cicely remembered, and with a bitter groan turned her face to the
+wall, while the Mother reproached Emlyn, saying she had killed her.
+
+“I think not,” answered the nurse in a low voice. “I think she has that
+which will not let her die”--a saying that puzzled the Prioress at this
+time.
+
+Emlyn was right. Cicely did not die. On the contrary, she grew strong
+and well in her body, though it was long before her mind recovered.
+Indeed, she glided about the place like a ghost in her black mourning
+robe, for now she no longer doubted that Christopher was dead, and she,
+the wife of a week, widowed as well as orphaned.
+
+Then in her utter desolation came comfort; a light broke on the darkness
+of her soul like the moon above a tortured midnight sea. She was no
+longer quite alone; the murdered Christopher had left his image with
+her. If she lived a child would be born to him, and therefore she would
+surely live. One evening, on her knees, she whispered her secret to the
+Prioress Matilda, whereat the old nun blushed like a girl, yet, after a
+moment’s silent prayer, laid a thin hand upon her head in blessing.
+
+“The Lord Abbot declares that your marriage was no true marriage, my
+daughter, though why I do not understand, since the man was he whom your
+heart chose, and you were wed to him by an ordained priest before God’s
+altar and in presence of the congregation.”
+
+“I care not what he says,” answered Cicely in a stubborn voice. “If I am
+not a true wife, then no woman ever was.”
+
+“Dear daughter,” answered Mother Matilda, “it is not for us unlearned
+women to question the wisdom of a holy Abbot who doubtless is inspired
+from on high.”
+
+“If he is inspired it is not from on high, Mother. Would God or His
+saints teach him to murder my father and my husband, to seize my
+heritage, or to hold my person in this gentle prison? Such inspirations
+do not come from above, Mother.”
+
+“Hush! hush!” said the Prioress, glancing round her nervously; “your
+woes have crazed you. Besides, you have no proof. In this world there
+are so many things that we cannot understand. Being an abbot, how could
+he do wrong, although to us his acts seem wrong? But let us not talk
+of these matters, of which, indeed, I only know from that rough-tongued
+Emlyn of yours, who, I am told, was not afraid to curse him terribly.
+I was about to say that whatever may be the law of it, I hold your
+marriage good and true, and its issue, should such come to you, pure
+and holy, and night by night I will pray that it shall be crowned with
+Heaven’s richest blessings.”
+
+“I thank you, dear Mother,” answered Cicely, as she rose and left her.
+
+When she had gone the Prioress rose also, and, with a troubled face,
+began to walk up and down the refectory, for it was here that they had
+spoken together. Truly she could not understand, for unless all these
+tales were false--and how could they be false?--this Abbot, whom her
+high-bred English nature had always mistrusted, this dark, able Spanish
+monk was no saint, but a wicked villain. There must be some explanation.
+It was only that _she_ did not understand.
+
+Soon the news spread throughout the Nunnery, and if the sisters had
+loved Cicely before, now they loved her twice as well. Of the doubts as
+to the validity to her marriage, like their Prioress, they took no heed,
+for had it not been celebrated in a church? But that a child was to
+be born among them--ah! that was a joyful thing, a thing that had not
+happened for quite two hundred years, when, alas!--so said tradition and
+their records--there had been a dreadful scandal which to this day
+was spoken of with bated breath. For be it known at once this Nunnery,
+whatever may or may not have been the case with some others, was one of
+which no evil could be said.
+
+Beneath their black robes, however, these old nuns were still as much
+women as the mothers who bore them, and this news of a child stirred
+them to the marrow. Among themselves in their hours of recreation they
+talked of little else, and even their prayers were largely occupied with
+this same matter. Indeed, poor, weak-witted, old Sister Bridget, who
+hitherto had been secretly looked down upon because she was the only one
+of the seven who was not of gentle birth, now became very popular. For
+Sister Bridget in her youth had been married and borne two children,
+both of whom had been carried off by the smallpox after she was widowed,
+whereon, as her face was seamed by this same disease, so that she had
+no hope of another husband, as her neighbours said, or because her heart
+was broken, as she said, she entered into religion.
+
+Now she constituted herself Cicely’s chief attendant, and although that
+lady was quite well and strong, persecuted her with advice and with
+noxious mixtures which she brewed, till Emlyn, descending on her like
+a storm, hunted her from the room and cast her medicines through the
+window.
+
+That these sisters should be thus interested in so small a matter was
+not, indeed, wonderful, seeing that if their lives had been secluded
+before, since the Lady Cicely came amongst them they were ten times more
+so. Soon they discovered that she and her servant, Emlyn Stower, were,
+in fact, prisoners, which meant that they, her hostesses, were prisoners
+also. None were allowed to enter the Nunnery save the silent old monk
+who confessed them and celebrated the Mass, nor, by an order of the
+Abbot, were they suffered to go abroad upon any business whatsoever.
+
+For the rest, as their only means of communication with those who dwelt
+beyond was the surly gardener, who was deaf and set there to spy on
+them, little news ever reached them. They were almost dead to the world,
+which, had they known it, was busy enough just then with matters that
+concerned them and all other religious houses.
+
+At length one day, when Cicely and Emlyn were seated in the garden
+beneath a flowering hawthorn-tree--for now June had come and with it
+warm weather--of a sudden Sister Bridget hurried up saying that the
+Abbot of Blossholme desired their presence. At this tidings Cicely
+turned faint, and Emlyn rated Bridget, asking if her few wits had left
+her, or if she thought that name was so pleasant to her mistress that
+she should suddenly bawl it in her ear.
+
+Thereon the poor old soul, who was not too strong-brained and much
+afraid of Emlyn since she had thrown her medicines out of the window,
+began to weep, protesting that she had meant no harm, till Cicely,
+recovering, soothed her and sent her back to say that she would wait
+upon his lordship.
+
+“Are you afraid of him, Mistress?” asked Emlyn, as they prepared to
+follow.
+
+“A little, Nurse. He has shown himself a man to be afraid of, has he
+not? My father and my husband are in his net, and will he spare the last
+fish in the pool--a very narrow pool?” and she glanced at the high walls
+about her. “I fear lest he should take you from me, and wonder why he
+has not done so already.”
+
+“Because my father was a Spaniard, and through him I know that which
+would ruin him with his friends, the Pope and the Emperor. Also, he
+believes that I have the evil eye, and dreads my curse. Still, one day
+he may try to murder me; who knows? Only then the secret of the jewels
+will go with me, for that is mine alone; not yours even, for if you had
+it they would squeeze it out of you. Meanwhile he will try to profess
+you a nun, but push him off with soft words. Say that you will think of
+it after your child is born. Till then he can do nothing, and, if Mother
+Matilda’s fresh tidings are true, by that time perchance there will be
+no more nuns in England.”
+
+Now very quietly and by the side door they were entering the old
+reception-hall, that was only used for the entertainment of visitors and
+on other great occasions, and close to them saw the Abbot seated in his
+chair, while the Prioress stood before him, rendering her accounts.
+
+“Whether you can spare it or no,” they heard him say sharply, “I must
+have the half-year’s rent. The times are evil; we servants of the Lord
+are threatened by that adulterous king and his proud ministers, who
+swear they will strip us to the shirt and turn us out to starve. I’m
+but just from London, and, although our enemy Anne Boleyn has lost her
+wanton head, I tell you the danger is great. Money must be had to stir
+up rebellion, for who can arm without it, and but little comes from
+Spain. I am in treaty to sell the Foterell lands for what they will
+fetch, but as yet can give no title. Either that stiff-necked girl must
+sign a release, or she must profess, for otherwise, while she lives,
+some lawyer or relative might upset the sale. Is she yet prepared to
+take her first vows? If not, I shall hold you much to blame.”
+
+“Nay,” answered the Prioress; “there are reasons. You have been away,
+and have not heard”--she hesitated and looked about her nervously,
+to see Cicely and Emlyn standing behind them. “What do you there,
+daughter?” she asked, with as much asperity as she ever showed.
+
+“In truth I know not, Mother,” answered Cicely. “Sister Bridget told us
+that the Lord Abbot desired our presence.”
+
+“I bid her say that you were to wait him in my chamber,” said the
+Prioress in a vexed voice.
+
+“Well,” broke in the Abbot, “it would seem that you have a fool for a
+messenger; if it is that pockmarked hag, her brain has been gone for
+years. Ward Cicely, I greet you, though after the sorrows that have
+fallen on you, whereof by your leave we will not speak, since there is
+no use in stirring up such memories, I grieve to see you in that worldly
+garb, who thought you would have changed it for a better. But ere you
+entered the holy Mother here spoke of some obstacle that stood between
+you and God. What is it? Perchance my counsel may be of service. Not
+this woman, as I trust,” and he frowned at Emlyn, who at once answered,
+in her steady voice--
+
+“Nay, my Lord Abbot, I stand not between her and God and His holiness,
+but between her and man and his iniquity. Still I can tell you of that
+obstacle--which comes from God--if you so need.”
+
+Now the old Prioress, blushing to her white hair, bent forward and
+whispered in the Abbot’s ear words at which he sprang up as though a
+wasp had stung him.
+
+“Pest on it! it cannot be,” he said. “Well, well, there it is, and must
+be swallowed with the rest. Pity, though,” he added, with a sneer on his
+dark face, “since many a year has gone by since these walls have seen a
+bastard, and, as things are, that may pull them down about your ears.”
+
+“I know such brats are dangerous,” interrupted Emlyn, looking Maldon
+full in the eyes; “my father told me of a young monk in Spain--I forget
+his name--who brought certain ladies to the torture in some such matter.
+But who talks of bastards in the case of Dame Cicely Harflete, widow of
+Sir Christopher Harflete, slain by the Abbot of Blossholme?”
+
+“Silence, woman. Where there is no lawful marriage there can be no
+lawful child----”
+
+“To take that lawful inheritance that it lawfully inherits. Say, my Lord
+Abbot, did Sir Christopher make you his heir also?”
+
+Then, before he could answer, Cicely, who had been silent all this
+while, broke in--
+
+“Heap what insults you will on me, my Lord Abbot, and having robbed me
+of my father, my husband, and my heart, rob me of my goods also, if
+you can. In my case it matters little. But slander not my child, if one
+should be born to me, nor dare to touch its rights. Think not that you
+can break the mother as you broke the girl, for there you will find that
+you have a she-wolf by the ear.”
+
+He looked at her, they all looked at her, for in her eyes was something
+that compelled theirs. Clement Maldon, who knew the world and how a
+she-wolf can fight for its cub, read in them a warning which caused him
+to change his tone.
+
+“Tut, tut, daughter,” he said; “what is the good of vapouring of a child
+that is not and may never be? When it comes I will christen it, and we
+will talk.”
+
+“When it comes you will not lay a finger on it. I’d rather that it went
+unbaptized to its grave than marked with your cross of blood.”
+
+He waved his hand.
+
+“There is another matter, or rather two, of which I must speak to you,
+my daughter. When do you take your first vows?”
+
+“We will talk of it after my child is born. ‘Tis a child of sin, you
+say, and I am unrepentant, a wicked woman not fit to take a holy vow, to
+which, moreover, you cannot force me,” she replied, with bitter sarcasm.
+
+Again he waved his hand, for the she-wolf showed her teeth.
+
+“The second matter is,” he went on, “that I need your signature to a
+writing. It is nothing but a form, and one I fear you cannot read,
+nor in faith can I,” and with a somewhat doubtful smile he drew out a
+crabbed indenture and spread it before her on the table.
+
+“What?” she laughed, brushing aside the parchment. “Have you remembered
+that yesterday I came of age, and am, therefore, no more your ward, if
+such I ever was? You should have sold my inheritance more swiftly, for
+now the title you can give is rotten as last year’s apples, and I’ll
+sign nothing. Bear witness, Mother Matilda, and you, Emlyn Stower,
+that I have signed and will sign nothing. Clement Maldon, Abbot of
+Blossholme, I am a free woman of full age, even though, as you say, I am
+a wanton. Where is your right to chain up a wanton who is no religious?
+Unlock these gates and let me go.”
+
+Now he felt the wolf’s fangs, and they were sharp.
+
+“Whither would you go?” he asked.
+
+“Whither but to the King, to lay my cause before him, as my father would
+have done last Christmas-time.”
+
+It was a bold speech, but foolish. The she-wolf had loosed her hold to
+growl--to growl at a hunter with a bloody sword.
+
+“I think your father never reached his Grace with his sack of
+falsehoods; nor might you, Cicely Foterell. The times are rough,
+rebellion is in the air, and many wild men hunt the woods and roads. No,
+no; for your own sake you bide here in safety till----”
+
+“Till you murder me. Oh! it is in your mind. Do you remember the angel
+who spoke with me in the fire and told me my husband was not dead?”
+
+“A lying spirit, then; no angel.”
+
+“I am not so sure,” and again she passed her hand across her eyes, as
+she had done in that dreadful dawn at Cranwell. “Well, I prayed to God
+to help me, and last night that angel came again and spoke in my sleep.
+He told me to fear you not at all, my Lord Abbot; however sore my case
+and however near my death might seem, since God had shaped a stone to
+drop upon your head. He showed it me; it was like an axe.”
+
+Now the old Prioress held up her hands and gasped in horror, but the
+Abbot leapt from his seat in rage--or was it fear?
+
+“Wanton, you named yourself,” he exclaimed; “but I name you witch also,
+who, if you had your deserts, should die the death of a witch by fire.
+Mother Matilda, I command you, on your oath, keep this witch fast and
+make report to me of all her sorceries. It is not fitting that such a
+one should walk abroad to bring evil on the innocent. Witch and wanton,
+begone to your chamber!”
+
+Cicely listened, then, without another word, broke into a little
+scornful laugh, and, turning, left the room, followed by the Prioress.
+
+But Emlyn did not go; she stayed behind, a smile on her dark, handsome
+face.
+
+“You’ve lost the throw, though all your dice were loaded,” she said
+boldly.
+
+The Abbot turned on her and reviled her.
+
+“Woman,” he said, “if she is a witch, you’re the familiar, and certainly
+you shall burn even though she escape. It is you who taught her how to
+call up the devil.”
+
+“Then you had best keep me living, my Lord Abbot, that I may teach her
+how to lay him. Nay, threaten not. Why, the rack might make me speak,
+and the birds of the air carry the matter!”
+
+His face paled; then suddenly he asked--
+
+“Where are those jewels? I need them. Give me the jewels and you shall
+go free, and perchance your accursed mistress with you.”
+
+“I told you,” she answered. “Sir John took them to London, and if they
+were not found upon his body, then either he threw them away or Jeffrey
+Stokes carried them to wherever he has gone. Drag the mere, search the
+forest, find Jeffrey and ask him.”
+
+“You lie, woman. When you and your mistress fled from Shefton a servant
+there saw you with the box that held those jewels in your hand.”
+
+“True, my Lord Abbot, but it no longer held them; only my mistress’s
+love-letters, which she would not leave behind.”
+
+“Then where is the box, and where are those letters?”
+
+“We grew short of fuel in the siege, and burned both. When a woman has
+her man she doesn’t want his letters. Surely, Maldonado,” she added,
+with meaning, “you should know that it is not always wise to keep old
+letters. What, I wonder, would you give for some that I have seen and
+that are _not_ burned?”
+
+“Accursed spawn of Satan,” hissed the Abbot, “how dare you flaunt me
+thus? When Cicely was wed to Christopher she wore those very gems;
+I have it from those who saw her decked in them--the necklace on her
+bosom, the priceless rosebud pearls hanging from her ears.”
+
+“Oho! oho!” said Emlyn; “so you own that she was wed, the pure soul whom
+but now you called a wanton. Look you, Sir Abbot, we will fence no
+more. She wore the jewels. Jeffrey took nothing hence save your
+death-warrant.”
+
+“Then where are they?” he asked, striking his fist upon the table.
+
+“Where? Why, where you’ll never follow them--gone up to heaven in the
+fire. Thinking we might be robbed, I hid them behind a secret panel in
+her chamber, purposing to return for them later. Go, rake out the ashes;
+you might find a cracked diamond or two, but not the pearls; they fly in
+fire. There, that’s the truth at last, and much good may it do to you.”
+
+The Abbot groaned. Like most Spaniards he was emotional, and could not
+help it; his bitterness burst from his heart.
+
+Emlyn laughed at him.
+
+“See how the wise and mighty of this world overshoot themselves,” she
+said. “Clement Maldonado, I have known you for some twenty years, and
+when I was called the Beauty of Blossholme, and the Abbot who went
+before you made me the Church’s ward, though I ever hated you, who
+hunted down my father, you had softer words for me than those you name
+me by to-day. Well, I have watched you rise and I shall watch you fall,
+and I know your heart and its desires. Money is what you lust for and
+must have, for otherwise how will you gain your end? It was the
+jewels that you needed, not the Shefton lands, which are worth little
+now-a-days, and will soon be worth less. Why, one of those pink pearls
+placed among the Jews would buy three parishes, with their halls thrown
+in. For the sake of those jewels you have brought death on some and
+misery on some, and on your own soul damnation without end, though had
+you but been wise and consulted me--why, they, or some of them, might
+have been yours. Sir John was no fool; he would have parted with a pearl
+or two, of which he did not know the value, to end a feud against
+the Church and safeguard his title and his daughter. And now, in your
+madness, you’ve burnt them--burnt a king’s ransom, or what might have
+pulled down a king. Oh! had you but guessed it, you’d have hacked off
+the hand that put a torch to Cranwell Towers, for now the gold you need
+is lacking to you, and therefore all your grand schemes will fail, and
+you’ll be buried in their ruin, as you thought we were in Cranwell.”
+
+The Abbot, who had listened to this long and bitter speech in patience,
+groaned again.
+
+“You are a clever woman,” he said; “we understand each other, coming
+from the same blood. You know the case; what is your counsel to me now?”
+
+“That which you will not take, being foredoomed for your sins. Still
+I’ll give it honestly. Set the Lady Cicely free, restore her lands,
+confess your evil doings. Fly the kingdom before Cromwell turns on
+you and Henry finds you out, taking with you all the gold that you can
+gather, and bribe the Emperor Charles to give you a bishopric in Granada
+or elsewhere--not near Seville, for reasons that you know. So shall you
+live honoured, and one day, after you have been dead a long while and
+many things are forgotten, perchance be beatified as Saint Clement of
+Blossholme.”
+
+The Abbot looked at her reflectively.
+
+“If I sought safety only and old age comforts your counsel might be
+good, but I play for higher stakes.”
+
+“You set your head against them,” broke in Emlyn.
+
+“Not so, woman, for in any case that head must win. If it stays upon my
+shoulders it will wear an archbishop’s mitre, or a cardinal’s hat, or
+perhaps something nobler yet; and if it parts from them, why, then a
+heavenly crown of glory.”
+
+“Your head? _Your_ head?” exclaimed Emlyn, with a contemptuous laugh.
+
+“Why not?” he answered gravely. “You chance to know of some errors of
+my youth, but they are long ago repented of, and for such there is
+plentiful forgiveness,” and he crossed himself. “Were it not so, who
+would escape?”
+
+Emlyn, who had been standing all this while, sat herself down, set her
+elbows on the table and rested her chin upon her clenched hands.
+
+“True,” she said, looking him in the eyes; “none of us would escape.
+But, Clement Maldon, how about the unrepented errors of your age? Sir
+John Foterell, for instance; Sir Christopher Harflete, for instance;
+my Lady Cicely, for instance; to say nothing of black treason and a few
+other matters?”
+
+“Even were all these charges true, which I deny, they are no sins,
+seeing that they would have been done, every one of them, not for my own
+sake, but for that of the Church, to overset her enemies, to rebuild her
+tottering walls, to secure her eternally in this realm.”
+
+“And to lift you, Clement Maldon, to the topmost pinnacle of her temple,
+whence Satan shows you all the kingdoms of the world, swearing that they
+shall be yours.”
+
+Apparently the Abbot did not resent this bold speech; indeed, Emlyn’s
+apt illustration seemed to please him. Only he corrected her gently,
+saying--
+
+“Not Satan, but Satan’s Lord.” Then he paused a while, looked round the
+chamber to see that the doors were shut and make sure that they were
+alone, and went on, “Emlyn Stower, you have great wits and courage--more
+than any woman that I know. Also you have knowledge both of the world
+and of what lies beyond it, being what superstitious fools call a witch,
+but I, a prophetess or a seer. These things come to you with your blood,
+I suppose, seeing that your mother was of a gypsy tribe and your
+father a high-bred Spanish gentleman, very learned and clever, though a
+pestilent heretic, for which cause he fled for his life from Spain.”
+
+“To find his dark death in England. The Holy Inquisition is patent and
+has a long arm. If I remember right, also it was this business of the
+heresy of my father that first brought you to Blossholme, where, after
+his vanishing and the public burning of that book of his, you so greatly
+prospered.”
+
+“You are always right, Emlyn, and therefore I need not tell you further
+that we had been old enemies in Spain, which is why I was chosen to hunt
+him down and how you come to know certain things.”
+
+She nodded, and he went on--
+
+“So much for the heretic father--now for the gypsy mother. She died, by
+her own hand it is said, to escape the punishment of the law.”
+
+“No need to beat about the bush, Abbot; let’s have truth between old
+friends. You mean, to escape being burnt by you as a witch, because she
+had the letters which were not burned and threatened to use them--as I
+do.”
+
+“Why rake up such tales, Emlyn?” he interposed blandly. “At least she
+died, but not until she had taught you all she knew. The rest of the
+history is short. You fell in love with old yeoman Bolle’s son, or said
+you did--that same great, silly Thomas who is now a lay-brother at the
+Abbey----”
+
+“Or said I did,” she repeated. “At least he fell in love with me, and
+perhaps I wished an honest man to protect me, who in those days was
+young and fair. Moreover, he was not silly then. That came upon him
+after he fell into _your_ hands. Oh! have done with it,” she went on,
+in a voice of suppressed passion. “The witch’s fair daughter was the
+Church’s ward, and you ruled the Abbot of that time, and he forced me
+into marriage with old Peter Stower, as his third wife. I cursed him,
+and he died, as I warned him that he would, and I bore a child, and
+it died. Then with what was left to me I took refuge with Sir John
+Foterell, who ever was my friend, and became foster-mother to his
+daughter, the only creature, save one, that I have loved in this wide,
+wicked world. That’s all the story; and now what more do you want of me,
+Clement Maldonado--evil-gifted one?”
+
+“Emlyn, I want what I always wanted and you always refused--your help,
+your partnership. I mean the partnership of that brain of yours--the
+help of the knowledge that you have--no more. At Cranwell Towers you
+called down evil on me. Take off that ban, for I’ll speak truth, it
+weighs heavy on my mind. Let us bury the past; let us clasp hands and be
+friends. You have the true vision. Do you remember that when you thought
+Cicely dead, you said that her seed should rise up against me, and now
+it seems that it will be so.”
+
+“What would you give me?” asked Emlyn curiously.
+
+“I will give you wealth; I will give you what you love more--power, and
+rank too, if you wish it. The whole Church shall listen to you. What you
+desire shall be done in this realm--yes, and across the world. I speak
+no lie; I pledge my soul on it, and the honour of those I serve, which
+I have authority to do. In return all I ask of you is your wisdom--that
+you should read the future for me, that you should show me which way to
+walk.”
+
+“Nothing more?”
+
+“Yes, two things--that you should find me those burned jewels and with
+them the old letters that were not burned, and that this child of the
+Lady Cicely shall not chance to live to take what you promised to it.
+Her life I give you, for a nun more or less can matter little.”
+
+“A noble offer, and in this case I am sure you will pay what _you_
+promise--should you live. But what if I refuse?”
+
+“Then,” answered the Abbot, dropping his fist upon the table, “then
+death for both of you--the witch’s death, for I dare not let you go to
+work my ruin. Remember, I am master here, you are my prisoners. Few know
+that you live in this place, except a handful of weak-brained women who
+will fear to speak--puppets that must dance when I pull the string--and
+I’ll see that no soul shall come near these walls. Choose, then, between
+death and all its terrors or life and all its hopes.”
+
+On the table there stood a wooden bowl filled with roses. Emlyn drew it
+to her, and taking the roses into her hands, threw them to the floor.
+Then she waited for the water to steady, saying--
+
+“The riddle is hard; perhaps, if in truth I have such power, I shall
+find its answer here.” Presently, as he gazed at her, fascinated, she
+breathed upon the water and stared into it for a long while. At length
+she looked up, and said--
+
+“Death or Life; that was the choice you gave me. Well, Clement
+Maldonado, on behalf of myself and the Lady Cicely, and her husband Sir
+Christopher, and the child that shall be born, and of God who directs
+all these things, I choose--death.”
+
+There was a solemn silence. Then the Abbot rose, and said--
+
+“Good! On your own head be it.”
+
+Again there was a silence, and, as she made no answer, he turned and
+walked towards the door, leaving her still staring into the bowl.
+
+“Good!” she repeated, as he laid his hand upon the latch. “I have told
+you that I choose death, but I have not told you whose death it is I
+choose. Play your game, my Lord Abbot, and I’ll play mine, remembering
+that God holds the stakes. Meanwhile I confirm the words I spoke in my
+rage at Cranwell. Expect evil, for I see now that it shall fall on you
+and all with which you have to do.”
+
+Then with a sudden movement she upset the bowl upon the table and
+watched him go.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+EMLYN CALLS HER MAN
+
+
+One by one the weeks passed over the heads of Cicely and Emlyn in their
+prison, and brought them neither hope nor tidings. Indeed, although they
+could not see its cords, they felt that the evil net which held them was
+drawing ever tighter. There were fear and pity as well as love in the
+eyes of Mother Matilda when she looked at Cicely, which she did only if
+she thought that no one observed her. The nuns also were afraid, though
+it was clear that they knew not of what. One evening Emlyn, finding the
+Prioress alone, sprang questions on her, asking what was in the wind,
+and why her lady, a free woman of full age, was detained there against
+her will.
+
+The old nun’s face grew secret. She answered that she did not know of
+anything unusual, and that, as regarded the detention, she must obey the
+commands of her spiritual superior.
+
+“Then,” burst out Emlyn, “I tell you that you do so at your peril. I
+tell you that whether my lady lives or dies, there are those who will
+call you to a strict account, aye, and those who will listen to the
+prayer of the helpless. Mother Matilda, England is not the land it was
+when as a girl they buried you in these mouldy walls. Where does God say
+that you have the right to hold free women like felons in a jail? Tell
+me.”
+
+“I cannot,” moaned Mother Matilda, wringing her thin hands. “The right
+is very hard to find, this place is strictly guarded, and whatever I may
+think, I must do what I am bid, lest my soul should suffer.”
+
+“Your soul! You cloistered women think always of your miserable souls,
+but of those of other folk, aye, and of their bodies too, nothing. Then
+you’ll not help me?”
+
+“I cannot, I cannot, who am myself in bonds,” she replied again.
+
+“So be it, Mother; then I’ll help myself, and when I do, God help _you_
+all,” and with a contemptuous shrug of her broad shoulders she walked
+away, leaving the poor old Prioress almost in tears.
+
+Emlyn’s threats were bold as her own heart, but how could she execute
+even a tenth of them? The right was on their side, indeed, but, as
+many a captive has found in those and other days, right is no Joshua’s
+trumpet to cause high walls to fall. Moreover, Cicely would not aid her.
+Now that her husband was dead she took interest in one thing only--his
+child who was to be.
+
+For the rest she seemed to care nothing. Since she had no friends with
+whom she could communicate, and her wealth, as she understood, had been
+taken from her, what better place, she asked, could there be for that
+child to see the light than in this quiet Nunnery? When it was born and
+she was well again she would consider other matters. Meanwhile she was
+languid, and why was Emlyn always prating to her of freedom? If she were
+free, what should she do and whither should she go? The nuns were very
+kind to her; they loved her as she did them.
+
+So she talked on, and Emlyn, listening, did not dare to tell her the
+truth: that here she feared for the life of her child, dreading lest
+that news might bring about the death of both of them. So she let her
+be, and fell back on her own wits.
+
+First she thought of escape, only to abandon the idea, for her mistress
+was in no state to face its perils. Moreover, whither should they go?
+Then rescue came into her mind, but, alas! who would rescue them? The
+great men in London, perhaps, as a matter of policy, but great men are
+hard to come at, even for the free. If she were free she might find
+means to make them listen, but she was not, nor could she leave her lady
+at such a time. What remained, then? So to contrive that they should be
+set free.
+
+Perhaps it might be done at a price--that of Cicely’s jewels, of which
+she alone knew the hiding-place, and with them a deed of indemnity
+against her persecutors. Emlyn was not minded to give either. Moreover,
+she guessed that it might be in vain. Once outside those walls, they
+knew too much to be allowed to live. And yet within those walls Cicely’s
+child would not be allowed to live--the child that was heir to all.
+What, then, could loose them and make them safe?
+
+Terror, perhaps--such terror as that through which the Israelites
+escaped from bondage. Oh! if she could but find a Moses to call down the
+plagues of Egypt upon this Pharaoh of an Abbot--those plagues with which
+she had threatened him--but although she believed that they would fall
+(why did she believe it? she wondered), she was as yet impotent to
+fulfil.
+
+Now Thomas Bolle! If only she could have words with that faithful Thomas
+Bolle, the fierce and cunning man whom they thought foolish!
+
+This idea of Thomas Bolle took possession of Emlyn’s mind--Thomas Bolle,
+who had loved her all his life, who would die to serve her. She strove
+in vain to get in touch with him. The old gardener was so deaf that he
+could not, or would not, understand. The silly Bridget gave the letter
+that she wrote to him to the Prioress by mistake, who burnt it before
+her eyes and said nothing. The monks who brought provisions to the
+Nunnery were always received by three of the sisters, set to spy on each
+other and on them, so that she could not come near to them alone. The
+priest who celebrated Mass was an old enemy of hers; with him she could
+do nothing, and no one else was allowed to approach the place except
+once or twice the Abbot, who was closeted for hours with the Prioress,
+but spoke to her no more.
+
+Why, wondered Emlyn, should less than half-a-mile of space be such a
+barrier between her and Thomas Bolle? If he stood within twenty yards of
+her she could make him understand; why not, then, when he stood within
+five hundred? This idea possessed her; these limitations of nature made
+her mad. She refused to accept them. Night by night, lying brooding
+in her bed, while Cicely slept in peace at her side, she threw out her
+strong soul towards the soul of her old lover, Thomas Bolle, commanding
+him to listen, to obey, to come.
+
+At first nothing happened. Afterwards she had a vague sense of being
+answered; although she could not see or hear him, she felt his presence.
+Then one afternoon, looking from an upper dormer window, she saw a
+scuffle going on outside the gateway, and heard angry voices. Thomas
+Bolle was trying to force his way in at the door, whence he was repelled
+by the Abbot’s men who always watched there.
+
+In the evening she gathered the truth from the nuns, who did not know
+that she was listening to what they said. It seemed that Thomas, whom
+they spoke of as a madman or as drunk, had tried to break into the
+Nunnery. When he was asked what he wanted, he answered that he did not
+know, but he must speak with Emlyn Stower. At this tidings she smiled to
+herself, for now she knew that he had heard her, and that in this way or
+in that he would obey her summons and come.
+
+Two days later Thomas came--thus.
+
+The September evening was fading into night, and Emlyn, leaving Cicely
+resting on her bed, which now she often did for a while before the
+supper-hour, had gone into the garden to enjoy the pleasant air. There
+she walked until she wearied of its sameness, then entered the old
+chapel by a side door and sat herself down to think in the chancel, not
+far from a life-sized statue of the Virgin, in painted oak, which stood
+here because of its peculiarities, for the back half of it seemed to be
+built into the masonry. Also the eye-sockets were empty, which suggested
+to the observant Emlyn either that they had once held jewels or that
+this was no likeness of the holy Mother, but rather one of the blind St.
+Lucy.
+
+While Emlyn mused there quite alone--for at this hour none entered the
+place, nor would until the next morning--she thought that she
+heard strange noises, as of some one stirring, which came from the
+neighbourhood of the statue. Now many would have been scared and
+departed; but not so Emlyn, who only sat still and listened. Presently,
+without moving her head, she looked also. As it happened, the light of
+the setting sun, pouring through the west window, fell almost full upon
+the figure, and by it she saw, or thought she saw, that the eye-sockets
+were no longer empty; there were eyes in them which moved and flashed.
+
+Now for a moment even Emlyn was frightened. Then she reasoned with
+herself, reflecting that a priest or one of the nuns was watching her
+from behind the statue, which they might do for as long as they pleased.
+Or perhaps this was a miracle, such as she had heard so much of but
+never seen. Well, why should she fear spies or miracles? She would
+sit where she was and see what happened. Nor had she long to wait, for
+presently a voice, a hoarse, manly voice, whispered--
+
+“Emlyn! Emlyn Stower!”
+
+“Yes,” she answered, also in a whisper. “Who speaks?”
+
+“Who do you think?” asked the voice, with a chuckle. “A devil, perhaps.”
+
+“Well, if it be a friendly devil I don’t know that I mind, who need
+company in this lone place. So appear, man or devil,” answered Emlyn
+stoutly. But in secret she crossed herself beneath her cape, for
+in those days folk believed in the appearance of devils for no good
+purposes.
+
+The statue began to creak, then opened like a door, though very
+unwillingly, as though its hinges had been fixed for a long, long time
+and rusted in the damp, which was indeed the case. Inside of it, like a
+corpse in an upright coffin, appeared a figure, a square, strong figure,
+clad in a tattered monk’s robe, surmounted by a large head with fiery
+red hair and beetling brows, beneath which shone two wild grey eyes.
+Emlyn, whose heart had stood still--for, after all, Satan is awkward
+company for a mortal woman--waited till it gave a jump in her breast and
+went on again as usual. Then she said quietly--
+
+“What are you doing here, Thomas Bolle?”
+
+“That is what I want to know, Emlyn. Night and day for weeks you have
+been calling me, and so I came.”
+
+“Yes, I have been calling you; but how did you come?”
+
+“By the old monk’s road. They have forgotten it long ago, but my
+grandfather told me of it when I was a boy, and at last a fox showed me
+where it ran. It’s a dark road, and when first I tried it I thought I
+should be poisoned, but now the air is none so bad. It ran to the Abbey
+once, and may still, but my door and Mrs. Fox’s is in the copse by the
+park wall, where none would ever look for it. If you would like a cub to
+play with, I will bring you one. Or perhaps you want something more than
+cubs,” he added, with his cunning laugh.
+
+“Aye, Thomas, I want much more. Man,” she said fiercely, “will you do
+what I tell you?”
+
+“That depends, Mistress Emlyn. Have I not done what you told me all my
+life, and for no reward?”
+
+She moved across the chancel and sat herself down against him, pushing
+the image door almost to and speaking to him through the crack.
+
+“If you have had no reward, Thomas,” she said in a gentle voice, “whose
+fault was it? Not mine, I think. I loved you once when we were young,
+did I not? I would have given myself to you, body and soul, would I not?
+Well, who came between us and spoiled our lives?”
+
+“The monks,” groaned Thomas; “the accursed monks, who married you to
+Stower because he paid them.”
+
+“Yes, the accursed monks. And now our youth has gone, and love--of that
+sort--is behind us. I have been another man’s wife, Thomas, who might
+have been yours. Think of it--your loving wife, the mother of your
+children. And you--they have tamed you and made you their servant, their
+cattle-herd, the strong fellow to fetch and carry, the half-wit, as they
+call you, who can still be trusted to run an errand and hold his tongue,
+the Abbey mule that does not dare to kick, the grieve of your own stolen
+lands--you, whose father was almost a gentleman. That’s what they have
+done for you, Thomas; and for me, the Church’s ward--well, I will not
+speak of it. Now, if you had your will, what would you do for them?”
+
+“Do for them? Do for them?” gasped Thomas, worked up to fury by this
+recital of his wrongs. “Why, if I dared I’d cut their throats, every
+one, and grallock them like deer,” and he ground his strong white teeth.
+“But I am afraid. They have my soul, and month by month I must confess.
+You remember, Emlyn, I warned you when you and the lady would have
+ridden to London before the siege. Well, afterward--I must confess
+it--the Abbot heard it himself, and oh! sore, sore was my penance.
+Before I had done with it my ribs showed through my skin and my back
+was like a red osier basket. There’s only one thing I didn’t tell them,
+because, after all, it is no sin to grub the earth off the face of a
+corpse.”
+
+“Ah!” said Emlyn, looking at him. “You’re not to be trusted. Well, I
+thought as much. Good-bye, Thomas Bolle, you coward. I’ll find me a man
+for a friend, not a whimpering, priest-ridden hound who sets a Latin
+blessing which he does not understand above his honour. God in heaven!
+to think I should ever have loved such a thing. Oh! I am shamed, I am
+shamed. I’ll go wash my hands. Shut your trap and get you gone down your
+rat-run, Thomas Bolle, and, living or dead, never dare to speak to
+me again. Also forget not to tell your monks how I called you to my
+side--for that’s witchcraft, you know, and I shall burn for it, and your
+soul gain benefit. God in heaven! to think that once you were Thomas
+Bolle,” and she made as though to go away.
+
+He stretched out his great arm and caught her by the robe, exclaiming--
+
+“What would you have me do, Emlyn? I can’t bear your scorn. Take it off
+me or I go kill myself.”
+
+“That’s what you had best do. You’ll find the devil a better master than
+a foreign abbot. Farewell for ever.”
+
+“Nay, nay; what’s your will? Soul or no soul, I’ll work it.”
+
+“Will you? Will you indeed? If so, stay a moment,” and she ran down the
+chapel, bolting the doors; then returned to him, saying--
+
+“Now come forth, Thomas, and since you are once more a man, kiss me as
+you used to do twenty years ago and more. You’ll not confess to that,
+will you? There. Now, kneel before the altar here and swear an oath.
+Nay, listen to it before you swear, for it is wide.”
+
+Emlyn said the oath to him. It was a great and terrible oath. Under it
+he bound himself to be her slave and join himself with her in working
+woe to the monks of Blossholme, and especially to their Abbot, Clement
+Maldon, in payment of the wrongs that these had done to them both; in
+payment for the murder of Sir John Foterell and of Christopher Harflete,
+and of the imprisonment and robbery of Cicely Harflete, the daughter of
+the one and the wife of the other. He bound himself to do those things
+which she should tell him. He bound himself neither in the confessional
+nor, should it come to that, on the bed of torture or the scaffold to
+breathe a word of all their counsel. He prayed that if he did so his
+soul might pay the price in everlasting torment, and of all these things
+he took Heaven to be his witness.
+
+“Now,” said Emlyn, when she had finished setting out this fearful vow,
+“will you be a man and swear and thereby avenge the dead and save the
+innocent from death; or will you who have my secret be a crawling monk
+and go back to Blossholme Abbey and betray me?”
+
+He thought a moment, rubbing his red head, for the thing frightened him,
+as well it might. The scales of the balance of his mind hung evenly, and
+Emlyn knew not which way they would turn. She saw, and put out all her
+woman’s strength. Resting her hand upon his shoulder, she leaned forward
+and whispered into his ear.
+
+“Do you remember, Thomas, how first we told our young love that spring
+day down in the copse by the water, and how sweet the daffodils bloomed
+about our feet--the daffodils and the wood-lilies? Do you remember how
+we swore ourselves each to each for all our lives, aye, and all the
+lives that were to come, and how for us two the earth was turned to
+heaven? And then--do you remember how that monk walked by--it was this
+Clement Maldon--and froze us with his cruel eyes, and said, ‘What do you
+with the witch’s daughter? She is not for you.’ And--oh! Thomas, I
+can no more of it,” and she broke down and sobbed, then added, “Swear
+nothing; get you gone and betray me, if you will. I’ll bear you no
+malice, even when I die for it, for after more than twenty years of
+monkcraft, how could I hope that you would still remain a man? Come,
+get you gone swiftly, ere they take us together, and your fair fame is
+besmirched. Quick, now, and leave me and my lady and her unborn child
+to the doom Maldon brews for us. Alas! for the copse by the river; alas!
+for the withered lilies!”
+
+Thomas heard; the big blue veins stood out upon his forehead, his great
+breast heaved, his utterance choked. At length the words came in a thick
+torrent.
+
+“I’ll not go, dearie; I’ll swear what you will, by your eyes and by your
+lips, by the flowers on which we trod, by all the empty years of aching
+woe and shame, by God upon His throne in heaven, and by the devil in
+his fires in hell. Come, come,” and he ran to the altar and clasped the
+crucifix that stood there. “Say the words again, or any others that you
+will, and I’ll repeat them and take the oath, and may fiery worms eat me
+living for ever and ever if I break a letter of it.”
+
+With a little smile of triumph in her dark eyes Emlyn bent over the
+kneeling man and whispered--whispered through the gathering bloom, while
+he whispered after her, and kissed the Rood in token.
+
+It was done, and they drew away from the altar back to the painted
+saint.
+
+“So you are a man after all,” she said, laughing aloud. “Now, man--my
+man--who, if we live through this, shall be my husband if you will--yes,
+my husband, for I’ll pay, and be proud of it--listen to my commands. See
+you, I am Moses, and yonder in the Abbey sits Pharaoh with a hardened
+heart, and you are the angel--the destroying angel with the sword of the
+plagues of Egypt. To-night there will be fire in the Abbey--such fire as
+fell on Cranwell Towers. Nay, nay, I know; the church will not burn, nor
+all the great stone halls. But the dormitories, and the storehouses,
+and the hayricks, and the cattle-byres, they’ll flame bravely after this
+time of drought, and if the wains are ashes, how will they draw in their
+harvest? Will you do it, my man?”
+
+“Surely. Have I not sworn?”
+
+“Then away to the work, and afterwards--to-morrow or next day--come back
+and make report. Just now I am much moved to solitary prayer, so
+wait till you see me here alone upon my knees. Stay! Wrap yourself in
+grave-clothes, for then if you are seen they will think you are a ghost,
+such as they say haunt this place. Fear not, by then I will have more
+work for you. Have you mastered it?”
+
+He nodded his head. “All. All, especially your promise. Oh! I’ll not die
+now; I’ll live to claim it.”
+
+“Good. There’s on account,” and again she kissed him. “Go.”
+
+He reeled in the intoxication of his joy; then said--
+
+“One word; my head swims; I forgot. Sir Christopher is not dead, or
+wasn’t----”
+
+“What do you mean?” she almost hissed at him. “In Christ’s name be
+quick; I hear voices without.”
+
+“They buried another man for Christopher. I scraped him up and saw.
+Christopher was sent foreign, sore wounded, on the ship--pest! I have
+forgotten its name--the same ship that took Jeffrey Stokes.”
+
+“Blessings on your head for that tidings,” exclaimed Emlyn, in a
+strange, low voice. “Away; they are coming to the door!”
+
+The wooden figure creaked to and stared at her blandly, as it had stared
+for generations. For a moment Emlyn stood still, her hand upon her
+heart. Then she walked swiftly down the chapel, unlocked the door, and
+in the porch, just entering it, met the Prioress Matilda, another nun,
+and old Bridget, who was chattering.
+
+“Oh! it is you, Mistress Stower,” said Mother Matilda, with evident
+relief. “Sister Bridget here swore that she heard a man talking in the
+chapel when she came to shut the outer window at sunset.”
+
+“Did she?” answered Emlyn indifferently. “Then her luck’s better than
+my own, who long for the sound of a man’s voice in this home of babbling
+women. Nay, be not shocked, good Mother; I am no nun, and God did not
+create the world all female, or we should none of us be here. But, now
+you speak of it, I think there’s something strange about that chapel.
+It is a place where some might fear to be alone, for twice when I knelt
+there at my prayers I have heard odd sounds, and once, when there was no
+sun, a cold shadow fell upon me. Some ghost of the dead, I suppose, of
+whom so many lie about. Well, ghosts I never feared; and now I must away
+to fetch my lady’s supper, for she eats in her room to-night.”
+
+When she had gone the Prioress shook her head and remarked in her gentle
+fashion--
+
+“A strange woman and a rough, but, my sisters, we must not judge her
+harshly, for she is of a different world to ours, and I fear has met
+with sorrows there, such as we are protected from by our holy office.”
+
+“Yes,” answered the sister, “but I think also that she has met with the
+ghost that haunts the chapel, of which there are many records, and that
+once I saw myself when I was a novice. The Prioress Matilda--I mean
+the fourth of that name, she who was mixed up with Edward the Lame, the
+monk, and died suddenly after the----”
+
+“Peace, sister; let us have no scandal about that departed--woman, who
+left the earth two hundred years ago. Also, if her unquiet spirit still
+haunts the place, as many say, I know not why it should speak with the
+voice of a man.”
+
+“Perhaps it was the monk Edward’s voice that Bridget heard,” replied the
+sister, “for no doubt he still hangs about her skirts as he did in life,
+if all tales are true. Well, Mistress Emlyn says that she does not mind
+ghosts, and I can well believe it, for she is a witch’s daughter, and
+has a strange look in her eyes. Did you ever see such bold eyes, Mother?
+However it may be, I hate ghosts, and rather would I pass a month on
+bread and water than be alone in that chapel at or after sundown. My
+back creeps to think of it, for they say that the unhallowed babe
+walks too, and gibbers round the font seeking baptism--ugh!” and she
+shuddered.
+
+“Peace, sister, peace to your goblin talk,” said Mother Matilda again.
+“Let us think of holier things lest the foul fiend draw near to us.”
+
+
+
+That night, about one in the morning, the foul fiend drew very near to
+Blossholme, and he came in the shape of fire. Suddenly the nuns were
+aroused from their beds by the sound of bells tolling wildly. Running to
+the window-places, they saw great sheets of flame leaping from the Abbey
+roofs. They threw open the casements and stared out terrified. Sister
+Bridget was sent even to wake the deaf gardener and his wife, who lived
+in the gateway, and command them to go forth and learn what passed, and
+the meaning of the shouts they heard, for they feared that Blossholme
+was attacked by some army.
+
+A long while went by, and Bridget returned with a confused tale, which,
+as it had been gathered by an imbecile from a deaf gardener, was not
+easy to understand. Meanwhile the shoutings went on and the fire at the
+Abbey burnt ever more fiercely, so that the nuns thought that their last
+hour had come, and knelt down to pray at the casement.
+
+Just then Cicely and Emlyn appeared among them, and stared at the great
+fire.
+
+Suddenly Cicely turned round, and, fixing her large blue eyes on Emlyn,
+said, in the hearing of them all--
+
+“The Abbey burns. Why, Nurse, they told me that you said it would be so,
+yonder amid the ashes of Cranwell Towers. Surely you are foresighted.”
+
+“Fire calls for fire,” answered Emlyn grimly, and the nuns around looked
+at her with doubtful eyes.
+
+It was a very fierce fire, which appeared to have begun in the
+dormitories, whence, even at that distance, they saw half-clad monks
+escaping through the windows, some by means of bed-coverings tied
+together and some by jumping, notwithstanding the height. Presently
+the roof of the building fell in, sending up showers of glowing embers,
+which lit upon the thatch of the farm byres and sheds, and upon the
+ricks built and building in the stackyard, so that all these caught
+also, and before dawn were utterly consumed.
+
+One by one the watchers in the Nunnery wearied of the lamentable sight,
+and muttering prayers, departed terrified to their beds. But Emlyn
+sat on at the open casement till the rim of the splendid September sun
+showed above the hills. There she sat, her head resting on her hand, her
+strong face set like that of a statue. Only her dark eyes, in which the
+flames were reflected, seemed to smile hardly.
+
+“Thomas is a great tool,” she muttered to herself at length, “and the
+first cut has bitten to the bone. Well, there shall be worse to come.
+You will live to beg Emlyn’s mercy yet, Clement Maldonado.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+THE BLOSSHOLME WITCHINGS
+
+
+On the afternoon of that day the Abbot came again to visit the Nunnery,
+and sent for Cicely and Emlyn. They found him alone in the guest-hall,
+walking up and down its length with a troubled face.
+
+“Cicely Foterell,” he said, without any form of greeting, “when last
+we met you refused to sign the deed which I brought with me. Well, it
+matters nothing, for that purchaser has gone back upon his bargain.”
+
+“Saying that he liked not the title?” suggested Cicely.
+
+“Aye; though who taught you of titles and the ins and outs of law? But
+what need to ask----?” and he glowered at Emlyn. “Well, let it pass, for
+now I have a paper with me that you _must_ sign. Read it if you will. It
+is harmless--only an instruction to the tenants of the lands your
+father held to pay their rents to me this Michaelmas, as warden of that
+property.”
+
+“Do they refuse, then, seeing that you hold it all, my Lord Abbot?”
+
+“Aye, some one has been at work among them, and the stubborn churls will
+not without instruction under your hand and seal. The farms your father
+worked himself I have reaped, but last night every grain of corn and
+every fleece of wool were burned in the fire.”
+
+“Then I pray you keep account of them, my Lord, that you may pay me
+their value when we come to settle our score, seeing that I never gave
+you leave to shear my sheep and harvest my corn.”
+
+“You are pleased to be saucy, girl,” he replied, biting his lip. “I have
+no time to bandy words--sign, and do you witness, Emlyn Stower.”
+
+Cicely took the document, glanced at it, then slowly tore it into four
+pieces and threw it to the floor.
+
+“Rob me and my unborn child if you can and will, at least I’ll be no
+thief’s partner,” she said quietly. “Now, if you want my name, go forge
+it, for I sign nothing.”
+
+The Abbot’s face grew very evil.
+
+“Do you remember, woman,” he asked, “that here you are in my power? Do
+you not know that rebellious sinners such as you are can be shut in a
+dark dungeon and fed on the bread and water of affliction and beaten
+with the rods of penance? Will you do my bidding, or shall these things
+fall on you?”
+
+Cicely’s beautiful face flushed up, and for a moment her blue eyes
+filled with the tears of shame and terror. Then they cleared again, and
+she looked at him boldly and answered--
+
+“I know that a murderer can be a torturer also. Why should not he who
+butchered the father scourge the daughter too? But I know also that
+there is a God who protects the innocent, though sometimes He is slow
+to lift His hand, and to Him I appeal, my Lord Abbot. I know, moreover,
+that I am Foterell and Carfax, and that no man or woman of my blood has
+ever yet yielded to fear or pain. I sign nothing,” and, turning, she
+left the room.
+
+Now the Abbot and Emlyn were alone. Suddenly, before she could speak,
+for her tongue was tied with rage, he began to rate and curse her and
+to threaten horrible things against her and her mistress, such things as
+only a cruel Spaniard could imagine. At length he paused for breath, and
+she broke in--
+
+“Peace, wicked man, lest the roof fall on you, for I am sure that every
+cruel word you speak shall become a snake to strike you. Will you not
+take warning by what befell you last night, or must there be more such
+lessons?”
+
+“Oho!” he answered; “so you know of that, do you? As I thought, your
+witchcraft was at work there.”
+
+“How can I help knowing what the whole sky blazoned? The fat monks of
+Blossholme must draw their girdles tight this winter. Those stolen lands
+bring no luck, it seems, and John Foterell’s blood has turned to fire.
+Be warned, I say, be warned. Nay, I’ll hear no more of your foul tongue.
+Lay a finger on that poor lady if you dare, and pay the price,” and she
+too turned and went.
+
+Ere he left the Nunnery the Abbot had an interview with Mother Matilda.
+
+Cicely must be disciplined, he said; gently at first, afterwards with
+roughness, even to scourging, if need were--for her soul’s sake. Also
+her servant Emlyn must be kept away from her--for her soul’s sake, since
+without doubt she was a dangerous witch. Also, when the time of the
+birth of the child came on, he would send a wise woman to wait upon her,
+one who was accustomed to such cases--for her body’s sake and that of
+her child. In the midst of the great trouble that had fallen upon them
+through the terrible fire at the Abbey, which had cost them such fearful
+loss, to say nothing of the lives of two of the servants and others
+burned and maimed, he had not much time to talk of such small things;
+but did she understand?
+
+Then it was that Mother Matilda, the meek and gentle, brought pain and
+astonishment to the heart of the Lord Abbot, her spiritual superior.
+
+She did not understand in the least. Such discipline as he suggested,
+whatever might be her faults and frailty, was, she declared with vigour,
+entirely unsuited to the case of the Lady Cicely, who, in her opinion,
+had suffered much for a small cause, and who, moreover, was about to
+become a mother, and therefore should be treated with every gentleness.
+For her part, she washed her hands of the whole business, and rather
+than enforce such commands would lay the case before the Vicar-General
+in London, who, she understood, was ready to look into such matters.
+Or at least she would set the Lady Harflete and her servant outside the
+gates and call upon the charitable to assist them. Of course, however,
+if his Lordship chose to send a skilled woman to wait upon her in her
+trouble, she could have no objection, provided that this woman were a
+person of good repute. But in the circumstances it was idle to talk to
+her of bread and water and dark cells and scourgings. Such things
+should never happen while she was Prioress. Before they did, she and
+her sisters would walk out of the Nunnery and leave the King’s Courts to
+judge of the matter.
+
+Now the state of the Abbot was very like to that of a terrier dog which,
+being accustomed to worry and torment a certain ewe-sheep, comes upon
+the same after it has lambed and finds a new creature--one that, instead
+of running in affright, turns upon it and, with head and hood and all
+its weight of mutton, butts, and leaps, and tramples. Then what chance
+has that dog against the terrible and unsuspected fury of the sheep,
+born, as it thought, for it to tear? Then what can it do but run,
+panting and discomfited, to its kennel? So it was with the Abbot at the
+onslaught of Mother Matilda in the defence of her lamb--Cicely. With
+Emlyn he had been prepared to exchange bite for bite--but Mother
+Matilda! his own pet quarry. It was too much. He could only go away,
+cursing all women and their infinite variety, on which no man might
+build. Who would have thought it of Mother Matilda, of all people on the
+earth!
+
+So it came to pass that at the Nunnery, notwithstanding these terrible
+threats, things went on much as they had done before, since the times
+were such that even an all-powerful and remote Lord Abbot, with “right
+of gallows,” could not drive matters to an extremity. Cicely was not
+shut into the dungeon and fed on bread and water, much less was she
+scourged. Nor was she separated from her nurse Emlyn, although it is
+true that the Prioress reproved her for her resistance to established
+authority, and when she had finished her lecture, kissed and blessed
+her, and called her “her sweet child, her dove and joy.”
+
+But if there was sameness at the Nunnery, at the Abbey there was
+constant change and excitement. Only three days after the fire the great
+flock of eight hundred lambs rushed one night over the Red Cliff on the
+fell, where, as all shepherds in that country know, there is a sheer
+drop of forty feet. Never was lamb’s flesh so cheap in Blossholme and
+the country round as on the morrow of that night, while every hind
+within ten miles could have a winter coat for the skinning. Moreover,
+it was said and sworn to by the shepherds that the devil himself, with
+horns and hoofs, and mounted on a jackass, had been seen driving the
+same lambs.
+
+Next the ghost of Sir John Foterell appeared, clad in armour, sometimes
+mounted and sometimes afoot, but always at night-time. First this
+dreadful spirit was perceived walking in the gardens of Shefton Hall,
+where it met the Abbot’s caretaker--for the place was now shut up--as he
+went to set a springe for hares. He was a man advanced in years, yet few
+horses ever covered the distance between Shefton and Blossholme Abbey
+more quickly than he did that night.
+
+Nor would he or any other return to his charge, so that henceforth
+Shefton was left as a dwelling for the ghost, which, as all might see
+from time to time, shone in the window-places like a candle. Moreover,
+the said ghost travelled far and wide, for on dark, windy nights it
+knocked upon the doors of those that in its lifetime had been its
+tenants, and in a hollow voice declared that it had been murdered by
+the Abbot of Blossholme and his underlings, who held its daughter in
+durance, and, under threats of unearthly vengeance, commanded all men to
+bring him to justice, and to pay him neither fees nor homage.
+
+So much terror did this ghost cause that Thomas Bolle, the swift of
+foot, was set to watch for it, and returned announcing that he had seen
+it and that it called him by his name, whereon he, being a bold fellow
+and believing that it was but a man, sent an arrow straight through it,
+at which it laughed and forthwith vanished away. More; in proof of these
+things he led the Abbot and his monks to the very place, and showed them
+where he had stood and where the ghost stood--yes, and the arrow, of
+which all the feathers had been mysteriously burnt off and the wood
+seared as though by fire, sunk deep into a tree beyond. Then, as
+this thing had become a scandal and a dread, the Abbot, in his robes,
+solemnly laid the ghost, Thomas Bolle showing him exactly where it had
+passed.
+
+This spirit being well and truly laid (like a foundation-stone), the
+Abbot and his monks returned homeward through the wood, but as they went
+a dreadful voice, which all recognized as that of Sir John Foterell,
+called these words from the shadows of an impenetrable thicket--for now
+the night was falling--
+
+“Clement Maldonado, Abbot of Blossholme, I, whom thou didst murder,
+summon thee to meet me within a year before the throne of God.”
+
+Thereon all fled; yes, even the Abbot fled, or rather, as he said, his
+horse did, Thomas Bolle, who had lagged behind, outrunning them every
+one and getting home the first, saying _Aves_ as he went.
+
+After this, although the whole countryside hunted for it, Sir John’s
+ghost was seen no more. Doubtless its work was done; but the Abbot
+explained matters differently. Other and worse things were seen,
+however.
+
+One moonlight night a disturbance was heard among the cows, that
+bellowed and rushed about the field into which they had been turned
+after milking. Thinking that dogs had got amongst them, the herd and
+a watchman--for now no man would stir alone after sunset at
+Blossholme--went to see what was happening, and presently fell down half
+dead with fright. For there, leaning over the gate and laughing at them,
+was the foul fiend himself--the fiend with horns and tail, and in his
+hand an instrument like a pitchfork.
+
+How the pair got home again, they never knew, but this is certain, that
+after that night no one could milk those cows; moreover, some of them
+slipped their calves, and became so wild that they must be slaughtered.
+
+Next came rumours that even the Nunnery itself was haunted, especially
+the chapel. Here voices were heard talking, and Emlyn Stower, who was
+praying there, came out vowing that she had seen a ball of fire which
+rolled up and down the aisle, and in the centre of it a man’s head, that
+seemed to try to talk to her, but could not.
+
+Into this matter inquiry was held by the Abbot himself, who asked Emlyn
+if she knew the face that was in the ball of fire. She answered that she
+thought so. It seemed very like to one of his own guards, named Andrew
+Woods, or more commonly Drunken Andrew, a Scotchman whom Sir Christopher
+Harflete was said to have killed on the night of the great burning. At
+least his Lordship would remember that this Andrew had a broken nose,
+and so had the head in the fire, but, as it appeared to have changed a
+great deal since death, she could not be quite certain. All she was sure
+of was that it seemed to be trying to give her some message.
+
+Now, recalling the trick that had been played with the said Andrew’s
+body, the Abbot was silent. Only he asked shrewdly, if Emlyn had seen so
+terrible a thing there, how it came about that she was not afraid to
+be alone in the chapel, which he was informed she frequented much. She
+answered, with a laugh, that it was men she dreaded, not spirits, good
+or ill.
+
+“No,” he exclaimed, with a burst of rage, “you do not dread them, woman,
+because you are a witch, and summon them; nor shall we be free from
+these wizardries until the fire has you and your company.”
+
+“If so,” replied Emlyn coolly, “I will ask dead Andrew for his message
+to you next time we meet, unless he chooses to deliver it to you
+himself.”
+
+So they parted, but that very night there happened the worst thing of
+all. It was about one in the morning when the Abbot, whose window was
+set open, was wakened by a voice that spoke with a Scotch accent and
+repeatedly called him by his name, summoning him to look out and see.
+He and others rose and looked, but could see nothing, for the night was
+very dark and rain fell. When the dawn came, however, their search
+was rewarded, for there, set upon a pinnacle of the Abbey church, and
+staring straight into the window of his Lordship’s sleeping-room, from
+which it was but a few yards distant, was the dreadful head of Andrew
+Woods!
+
+Furiously the Abbot asked who had done this horrible thing, but the
+monks, who were sure that it was the same being that had bewitched the
+cows, only shrugged their shoulders, and suggested that the grave of
+Andrew should be opened to see if he had lost his head. This was done at
+length, although, for his own reasons, the Abbot forbade it, talking of
+the violation of the dead.
+
+Well, the grave was opened when Maldon was away on one of his mysterious
+journeys, and lo! no Andrew was there, but only a beam of oakwood
+stuffed out with straw to the shape of a man and sewn up in a blanket.
+For the real Andrew, or rather what was left of him, lay, it may be
+remembered, in another grave that was supposed to be filled by Sir
+Christopher Harflete.
+
+From this day forward the whole countryside for fifty miles round rang
+with the tales of what were known as the Blossholme witchings, of which
+a proof was still to be seen by all men in the withered head of Andrew
+perched upon its pinnacle, whence none could be found to remove it
+for love or money. Only it was noted that the Abbot changed his
+sleeping-chamber, after which, except for a sickness which struck the
+monks--it was thought from the drinking of sour beer--these bedevilments
+were abated.
+
+Indeed, at that time men had other things to think of, since the air was
+thick with rumours of impending change. The King threatened the Church,
+and the Church prepared to resist the King. There was talk of the
+suppression of the monasteries--some, in fact, had already been
+suppressed--and more talk of a rising of the faithful in the shires of
+York and Lincoln; high matters which called Abbot Maldon much away from
+home.
+
+One day he returned weary, but satisfied, from a long journey, and
+amongst the news that awaited him found a message from the Prioress,
+over which he pondered while he ate his food. Also there was a letter
+from Spain, which he studied eagerly.
+
+Some nine months had passed since the ship _Great Yarmouth_ sailed, and
+during this time all that had been heard of her was that she had never
+reached Seville, so that, like every one else, the Abbot believed she
+had foundered in the deep seas. This was a sad event which he had
+borne with resignation, seeing that, although it meant the loss of his
+letters, which were of importance, she had aboard of her several persons
+whom he wished to see no more, especially Sir Christopher Harflete and
+Sir John Foterell’s serving-man, Jeffrey Stokes, who was said to
+carry with him certain inconvenient documents. Even his secretary
+and chaplain, Brother Martin, could be spared, being, Maldon felt, a
+character better suited to heaven than to an earth where the best of men
+must be prepared sometimes to compromise with conscience.
+
+In short, the vanishing of the _Great Yarmouth_ was the wise decree of
+a far-seeing Providence, that had removed certain stumbling-blocks
+from his feet, which of late had been forced to travel over a rough and
+thorny road. For the dead tell no tales, although it was true that the
+ghost of Sir John Foterell and the grinning head of Drunken Andrew
+on his pinnacle seemed to be instances to the contrary. Christopher
+Harflete and Jeffrey Stokes at the bottom of the Bay of Biscay could
+bring no awkward charges, and left him none to deal with save an
+imprisoned and forgotten girl and an unborn child.
+
+Now things were changed again, however, for the Spanish letter in his
+hand told him that the _Great Yarmouth_ had not sunk, since two members
+of her crew who escaped--how, it was not said--declared that she had
+been captured by Turkish or other infidel pirates and taken away through
+the Straits of Gibraltar to some place unknown. Therefore, if he had
+survived the voyage, Christopher Harflete might still be living, and so
+might Jeffrey Stokes and Brother Martin. Yet this was not likely,
+for probably they would have perished in the fight, being hot-headed
+Englishmen, all three of them, or at the best have been committed to the
+Turkish galleys, whence not one man in a thousand ever returned.
+
+On the whole, then, he had little cause to fear them, who were dead,
+or as good as dead, especially in the midst of so many more pressing
+dangers. All he had to fear, all that stood between him, or rather the
+Church, and a very rich inheritance was the girl in the Nunnery and an
+unborn child, and--yes, Emlyn Stower. Well, he was sure that the child
+would not live, and probably the mother would not live. As for Emlyn, as
+she deserved, she would be burned for a witch, ere long too, now that
+he had time to see to it, and, if she survived her sickness, although he
+grieved for her, Cicely, her accomplice, should justly accompany her to
+the stake. Meanwhile, as Mother Matilda’s message told him, this matter
+of the child was urgent.
+
+The Abbot called a monk who was waiting on him and bade him send word
+to a woman known as Goody Megges, bidding her come at once. Within ten
+minutes she entered, having, as she explained, been warned to be close
+at hand.
+
+This Goody Megges, who had some local repute as a “wise woman,” was a
+person of about fifty years of age, remarkable for her enormous size, a
+flat face with small oblong eyes and a little, twisted mouth, which had
+caused her to be nicknamed “the Flounder.” She greeted the Abbot with
+much reverence, curtseying till he thought she would fall backwards, and
+having received his fatherly blessing, sank into a chair, that seemed to
+vanish beneath her bulk.
+
+“You will wonder why I summon you here, friend, since this is no place
+for the services of those of your trade,” began the Abbot, with a smile.
+
+“Oh, no, my Lord,” answered the woman; “I’ve heard it is to wait upon
+Sir Christopher Harflete’s wife in her trouble.”
+
+“I wish that I could call her by the honoured name of wife,” said the
+Abbot, with a sigh. “But a mock-marriage does not make a wife, Mistress
+Megges, and, alas! the poor babe, if ever it should be born, will be but
+a bastard, marked from its birth with the brand of shame.”
+
+Now, the Flounder, who was no fool, began to take her cue.
+
+“It is sad, very sad, your Holiness--no, that’s wrong; but never mind,
+it will be right before all’s done, and a good omen, I say, coming so
+sudden and chancy--your Lordship, I mean--not but what there’s lots
+of the sort about here, as is generally the case round a--I mean
+everywhere. Moreover, they generally grow up bad and ungrateful, as I
+know well from my own three--not but what, of course, I was married
+fast enough. Well, what I was going to say was, that when things is so,
+sometimes it is a true blessing if the little innocents should go off at
+the first, and so be spared the finger of shame and the sniff of scorn,”
+ and she paused.
+
+“Yes, Mistress Megges, or at least in such a case it is not for us to
+rail at the decree of Heaven--provided, of course, that the infant has
+lived long enough to be baptized,” he added hastily.
+
+“No, your Eminence, no. That’s just what I said to that Smith girl last
+spring, when, being a heavy sleeper, I happened to overlie her brat and
+woke up to find it flat and blue. When she saw it she took on, bellowing
+like a heifer that has lost its first calf, and I said to her, ‘Mary,
+this isn’t me; it’s Heaven. Mary, you should be very thankful, since my
+burden has rid you of your burden, and you can bury such a tiny one for
+next to nothing. Mary, cry a little if you like, for that’s natural with
+the first, but don’t come here flying in the face of Heaven with your
+railings, and gates, and posts--especially the rails, for Heaven hates
+‘em.’”
+
+“Ah!” asked the Abbot, with mild interest, “and pray what did Mary do
+then?”
+
+“Do, the graceless wench? Why, she said, ‘Is it rails you’re talking of,
+you pig-smothering old sow? Then here’s a rail for you,’ and she pulled
+the top bar off my own fence--for we were talking by the door--oak it
+was, and three by two--and knocked me flat--here’s the scar of it on my
+head--singing out, ‘Is that enough, or will you have the gate and the
+posts too?’ Oh! If there’s one thing I hate, it is railing, ‘specially
+if made of hard oak and held edgeways.”
+
+So the wicked old hag babbled on, after her hideous fashion, while the
+Abbot stared at the ceiling.
+
+“Enough of these sad stories of vice and violence. Such mischances will
+happen, and of course you were not to blame. Now, good Mistress Megges,
+will you undertake this case, which cannot be left to ignorant nuns?
+Though times are hard here, since of late many losses have fallen on our
+house, your skill shall be well paid.”
+
+The woman shuffled her big feet and stared at the floor, then looked up
+suddenly with a glance that seemed to bore to his heart like a bradawl,
+and asked--
+
+“And if perchance the blessed babe should fly to heaven through my
+fingers, as in my time I have known dozens of them do, should I still
+get that pay?”
+
+“Then,” the Abbot answered, with a smile--a somewhat sickly smile--“then
+I think, mistress, you should have double pay, to console you for your
+sorrow and for any doubts that might be thrown upon your skill.”
+
+“Now that’s noble trading,” she replied, with an evil leer, “such as
+one might hope for from an Abbot. But, my Lord, they say the Nunnery is
+haunted, and I can’t face ghosts. Man or woman, with rails or without
+‘em, Mother Flounder doesn’t mind, but ghosts--no! Also Mistress Stower
+is a witch, and might lay a curse on me; and those nuns are full of
+crinks and cranks, and can pray an honest soul to death.”
+
+“Come, come, my time is short. What is it you want, woman? Out with it.”
+
+“The inn there at the ford--your Lordship, will need a tenant next
+month. It’s a good paying house for those who know how to keep their
+mouths shut and to look the other way, and through vile scandal and evil
+slanderers, such as the Smith girl, my business isn’t what it was. Now
+if I could have it without rent for the first two years, till I had time
+to work up the trade----”
+
+The Abbot, who could bear no more of the creature, rose from his chair
+and said sharply--
+
+“I will remember. Yes, I will promise. Go now; the reverend Mother
+is advised of your coming. And report to me night and morning of the
+progress of the case. Why, woman, what are you doing?” for she had
+suddenly slid to her knees and grasped his robes with her thick, filthy
+hands.
+
+“Absolution, holy Lordship; I ask absolution and blessing--_pax
+Meggiscum_, and the rest of it.”
+
+“Absolution? There is nothing to absolve.”
+
+“Oh! yes, my Lord, there is plenty, though I am wondering who will
+absolve _you_ for your half. Also there are rows of little angels that
+sometimes won’t let me sleep, and that’s why I can’t stomach ghosts. I’d
+rather sup in winter on cold small ale and half-cooked pork than face
+even a still-born ghost.”
+
+“Begone!” said the Abbot, in such a voice that she scrambled to her feet
+and went, unblessed and unabsolved.
+
+When the door had closed behind her he went to the window and flung it
+wide, although the night was foul.
+
+“By all the saints!” he muttered, “that beastly murderess poisons the
+air. Why, I wonder, does God allow such filthy things to live? Cannot
+she ply her hell-trade less grossly? Oh! Clement Maldonado, how low are
+you sunk that you must use tools like these, and on such a business. And
+yet there is no other way. Not for myself, but for the Church, O Lord!
+The great plot thickens, and all men clamour to me, its head and spring,
+for money. Give me money, and within six months Yorkshire and the North
+will be up, and within a year Henry the Anti-Christ will be dead and
+the Princess Mary fast upon the throne, with the Emperor and the Pope
+for watchdogs. That stiff-necked Cicely must die and her babe must die,
+and then I’ll twist the secret of the jewels out of the witch, Emlyn--on
+the rack, if need be. Those jewels--I’ve seen them so often; why, they
+would feed an army; but while Cicely or her brat lives where is my claim
+to them? So, alas! they must die, but oh! the hag is right. Who shall
+give me absolution for a deed I hate? Not for me, not for me, O my
+Patron, but for the Church!” and flinging himself to the floor before
+the holy image of his chosen Saint, he rested his head upon its feet and
+wept.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+MOTHER MEGGES AND THE GHOST
+
+
+Flounder Megges, with all the paraphernalia of her trade, was
+established as nurse to Cicely at the Nunnery. This establishment, it is
+true, had not been easy since Emlyn, who knew something of the woman’s
+repute, and suspected more, resisted it with all her strength, but here
+the Prioress intervened in her gentle way. She herself, she explained,
+did not like this person, who looked so odd, drank so much beer and
+talked so fast. Yet she had made inquiries and found that she was
+extraordinarily skilled in matters of that nature. Indeed, it was said
+that she had succeeded in cases that were wonderfully difficult which
+the leech had abandoned as hopeless, though of course there had been
+other cases where she had not succeeded. But these, she was informed,
+were generally those of poor people who did not pay her well. Now in
+this instance her pay would be ample, for she, Mother Matilda, had
+promised her a splendid fee out of her private store, and for the rest,
+since no man doctor might enter there, who else was competent? Not she
+or the other nuns, for none of them had been married save old Bridget,
+who was silly and had long ago forgotten all such things. Not Emlyn
+even, who was but a girl when her own child was born, and since then had
+been otherwise employed. Therefore there was no choice.
+
+To this reasoning Emlyn agreed perforce, though she mistrusted her of
+the fat wretch, whose appearance poor Cicely also disliked. Still, for
+very fear Emlyn was humble and civil to her, for if she were not,
+who could know if she would put out all her skill upon behalf of her
+mistress? Therefore she did her bidding like a slave, and spiced her
+beer and made her bed and even listened to her foul jests and talk
+unmurmuringly.
+
+
+
+The business was over at length, and the child, a noble boy, born into
+the world. Had not the Flounder produced it in triumph laid upon a
+little basket covered with a lamb-skin, and had not Emlyn and Mother
+Matilda and all the nuns kissed and blessed it? Had it not also, for
+fear of accident (such was the fatherly forethought of the Abbot), been
+baptized at once by a priest who was waiting, under the names of John
+Christopher Foterell, John after its grandfather and Christopher after
+its father, with Foterell for a surname, since the Abbot would not allow
+that it should be called Harflete, being, as he averred, base-born?
+
+So this child was born, and Mother Megges swore that of all the two
+hundred and three that she had issued into the world it was the finest,
+nine and a half pounds in weight at the very least. Also, as its voice
+and movements testified, it was lusty and like to live, for did not the
+Flounder, in sight of all the wondering nuns, hold it up hanging by its
+hands to her two fat forefingers, and afterwards drink a whole quart of
+spiced ale to its health and long life?
+
+But if the babe was like to live, Cicely was like to die. Indeed, she
+was very, very ill, and perhaps would have passed away had it not been
+for a device of Emlyn’s. For when she was at her worst and the Flounder,
+shaking her head and saying that she could do no more, had departed to
+her eternal ale and a nap, Emlyn crept up and took her mistress’s cold
+hand.
+
+“Darling,” she said, “hear me,” but Cicely did not stir. “Darling,” she
+repeated, “hear me, I have news for you of your husband.”
+
+Cicely’s white face turned a little on the pillow and her blue eyes
+opened.
+
+“Of my husband?” she whispered. “Why, he is gone, as I soon shall be.
+What news of him?”
+
+“That he is not gone, that he lives, or so I believe, though heretofore
+I have hid it from you.”
+
+The head was lifted for a moment, and the eyes stared at her with
+wondering joy.
+
+“Do you trick me, Nurse? Nay, you would never do that. Give me the milk,
+I want it now. I’ll listen. I promise you I’ll not die till you have
+told me. If Christopher lives why should I die who only hoped to find
+him?”
+
+So Emlyn whispered all she knew. It was not much, only that Christopher
+had not been buried in the grave where he was said to be buried, and
+that he had been taken wounded aboard the ship _Great Yarmouth_, of the
+fate of which ship fortunately she had heard nothing. Still, slight as
+they might be, to Cicely these tidings were a magic medicine, for did
+they not mean the rebirth of hope, hope that for nine long months had
+been dead and buried with Christopher? From that moment she began to
+mend.
+
+When the Flounder, having slept off her drink, returned to the sick-bed,
+she stared at her amazed and muttered something about witchcraft, she
+who had been sure that she would die, as in those days so many women did
+who fell into hands like hers. Indeed, she was bitterly disappointed,
+knowing that this death was desired by her employer, who now after all
+might let the Ford Inn to another. Moreover, the child was no waster,
+but one who was set for life. Well, that at least she could mend, and if
+it were done quickly the shock might kill the mother. Yet the thing
+was not so easy as it looked, for there were many loving eyes upon that
+babe.
+
+When she wished to take it to her bed at night Emlyn forbade her
+fiercely, and on being appealed to, the Prioress, who knew the
+creature’s drunken habits and had heard rumours of the fate of the Smith
+infant and others, gave orders that it was not to be. So, since the
+mother was too weak to have it with her, the boy was laid in a little
+cot at her side. And always day and night one or more of the sweet-faced
+nuns stood at the head of that cot watching as might a guardian angel.
+Also it took only Nature’s food since from the first Cicely would nurse
+it, so that she could not mix any drug with its milk that would cause it
+to sleep itself away.
+
+So the days went on, bringing black wrath, despair almost, to the heart
+of Mother Megges, till at length there came the chance she sought. One
+fine evening, when the nuns were gathered at vespers, but as it happened
+not in the chapel, because since the tale of the hauntings they shunned
+the place after high noon, Cicely, whose strength was returning to her,
+asked Emlyn to change her garments and remake her bed. Meanwhile, the
+babe was given to Sister Bridget, who doted on it, with instructions to
+take it to walk in the garden for a time, since the rain had passed off
+and the afternoon was now very soft and pleasant. So she went, and there
+presently was met by the Flounder, who was supposed to be asleep, but
+had followed her, a person of whom the half-witted Bridget was much
+afraid.
+
+“What are you doing with my babe, old fool?” she screeched at her,
+thrusting her fat face to within an inch of the nun’s. “You’ll let it
+fall and I shall be blamed. Give me the angel or I will twist your nose
+for you. Give it me, I say, and get you gone.”
+
+In her fear and flurry old Bridget obeyed and departed at a run. Then,
+recovering herself a little, or drawn by some instinct, she returned,
+hid herself in a clump of lilac bushes and watched.
+
+Presently she saw the Flounder, after glancing about to make sure that
+she was alone, enter the chapel, carrying the child, and heard her
+bolt the door after her. Now Bridget, as she said afterwards, grew very
+frightened, she knew not why, and, acting on impulse, ran to the chancel
+window and, climbing on to a wheelbarrow that stood there, looked
+through it. This is what she saw.
+
+Mother Megges was kneeling in the chancel, as she thought at first,
+to say her prayers, till she perceived, for a ray from the setting sun
+showed it all, that on the paving before her lay the infant and that
+this she-devil was thrusting her thick forefinger down its throat, for
+already it grew black in the face, and as she thrust muttering savagely.
+So horror-struck was Bridget that she could neither move nor cry.
+
+Then, while she stood petrified, suddenly there appeared the figure of
+a man in rusty armour. The Flounder looked up, saw him and, withdrawing
+her finger from the mouth of the child, let out yell after yell. The
+man, who said nothing, drew a sword and lifted it, whereon the murderess
+screamed--
+
+“The ghost! The ghost! Spare me, Sir John, I am poor and he paid me.
+Spare me for Christ’s sake!” and so saying, she rolled on to the floor
+in a fit, and there turned and twisted until she lay still.
+
+Then the man, or the ghost of a man, having looked at her, sheathed
+his sword and lifting up the babe, which now drew its breath again and
+cried, marched with it down the aisle. The next thing of which Bridget
+became aware was that he stood before her, the infant in his arms,
+holding it out to her. His face she could not see, for the vizor was
+down, but he spoke in a hollow voice, saying--
+
+“This gift from Heaven to the Lady Harflete. Bid her fear nothing, for
+one devil I have garnered and the others are ripe for reaping.”
+
+Bridget took the child and sank down on to the ground, and at that
+moment the nuns, alarmed by the awful yells, rushed through the side
+door, headed by Mother Matilda. They too saw the figure, and knew the
+Foterell cognizance upon its helm and shield. But it waited not to speak
+to them, only passed behind some trees and vanished.
+
+Their first care was for the infant, which they thought the man was
+stealing; then, after they were sure that it had taken no real hurt,
+they questioned old Bridget, but could get nothing from her, for all she
+did was to gibber and point first to the barrow and next to the chancel
+window. At length Mother Matilda understood and, climbing on to the
+barrow, looked through the window as Bridget had done. She looked, she
+saw, and fell back fainting.
+
+
+
+An hour had gone by. The child, unhurt save for a little bruising of
+its tender mouth, was asleep upon its mother’s breast. Bridget, having
+recovered, at length had told all her tale to every one of them save
+Cicely, who as yet knew nothing, for she and Emlyn did not hear the
+screams, their rooms being on the other side of the building. The Abbot
+had been sent for, and, accompanied by monks, arrived in the midst of
+a thunder-storm and pouring rain. He, too, had heard the tale, heard it
+with a pale face while his monks crossed themselves. At length he asked
+of the woman Megges. They replied that living or dead she was, as they
+supposed, still in the chapel, which none of them had dared to enter.
+
+“Come, let us see,” said the Abbot, and they went there to find the door
+locked as Bridget had said.
+
+Smiths were sent for and broke it in while all stood in the pouring
+rain and watched. It was open at last, and they entered with torches
+and tapers, for now the darkness was dense, the Abbot leading them. They
+came to the chancel, where something lay upon the floor, and held down
+the torches to look. Then they saw that which caused them all to turn
+and fly, calling on the saints to protect them. In her life Mother
+Megges had not been lovely, but in the death that had overtaken her----!
+
+
+
+It was morning. The Lord Abbot and his monks were assembled in the
+guest-chamber, and opposite to them were the Lady Prioress and her nuns,
+and with them Emlyn.
+
+“Witchcraft!” shouted the Abbot, smiting his fist upon the table, “black
+witchcraft! Satan himself and his foulest demons walk the countryside
+and have their home in this Nunnery. Last night they manifested
+themselves----”
+
+“By saving a babe from a cruel death and bringing a hateful murderess to
+doom,” broke in Emlyn.
+
+“Silence, Sorceress,” shouted the Abbot. “Get thee behind me, Satan. I
+know you and your familiars,” and he glared at the Prioress.
+
+“What may you mean, my Lord Abbot?” asked Mother Matilda, bridling up.
+“My sisters and I do not understand. Emlyn Stower is right. Do you
+call that witchcraft which works so good an end? The ghost of Sir John
+Foterell appeared here--we admit it who saw that ghost. But what did
+the spirit do? It slew the hellish woman whom you sent among us and it
+rescued the blessed babe when her finger was down its throat to choke
+out its pure life. If that be witchcraft I stand by it. Tell us what did
+the wretch mean when she cried out to the spirit to spare her because
+she was poor and had been bribed for her iniquity? Who bribed her, my
+Lord Abbot? None in this house, I’ll swear. And who changed Sir John
+Foterell from flesh to spirit? Why is he a ghost to-day?”
+
+“Am I here to answer riddles, woman, and who are you that you dare put
+such questions to me? I depose you, I set your house under ban. The
+judgment of the Church shall be pronounced against you all. Dare not to
+leave your doors until the Court is composed to try you. Think not you
+shall escape. Your English land is sick and heresy stalks abroad; but,”
+ he added slowly, “fire can still bite and there is store of faggots in
+the woods. Prepare your souls for judgment. Now I go.”
+
+“Do as it pleases you,” answered the enraged Mother Matilda. “When you
+set out your case we will answer it; but, meanwhile, we pray that you
+take what is left of your dead hireling with you, for we find her ill
+company and here she shall have no burial. My Lord Abbot, the charter of
+this Nunnery is from the monarch of England, whatever authority you and
+those that went before you have usurped. It was granted by the first
+Edward, and the appointment of every prioress since his day has been
+signed by the sovereign and no other. I hold mine under the manual of
+the eighth Henry. You cannot depose me, for I appeal from the Abbot to
+the King. Fare you well, my Lord,” and, followed by her little train of
+aged nuns, she swept from the room like an offended queen.
+
+After the terrible death of the child-murderess and the restoration of
+her babe to her unharmed, Cicely’s recovery was swift. Within a week
+she was up and walking, and within ten days as strong, or stronger, than
+ever she had been. Nothing more had been heard of the Abbot, and though
+all knew that danger threatened them from this quarter they were content
+to enjoy the present hour of peace and wait till it was at hand.
+
+But in Cicely’s awakened mind there arose a keen desire to learn more
+of what her nurse had hinted to her when she lay upon the very edge of
+death. Day by day she plied Emlyn with questions till at length she
+knew all; namely, that the tidings came from Thomas Bolle, and that he,
+dressed in her father’s armour, was the ghost who had saved her boy from
+death. Now nothing would serve her but that she must see Thomas herself,
+as she said, to thank him, though truly, as Emlyn knew well, to draw
+from his own lips every detail and circumstance that she could gather
+concerning Christopher.
+
+For a while Emlyn held out against her, for she knew the dangers of such
+a meeting; but in the end, being able to refuse her lady nothing, she
+gave way.
+
+At length at the appointed hour of sunset Emlyn and Cicely stood in
+the chapel, whither the latter told the nuns she wished to go to return
+thanks for her deliverance from many dangers. They knelt before the
+altar, and while they made pretence to pray there heard knocks, which
+were the signal of the presence of Thomas Bolle. Emlyn answered them
+with other knocks, which told that all was safe, whereon the wooden
+image turned and Thomas appeared, dressed as before in Sir John
+Foterell’s armour. So like did he seem to her dead father in this
+familiar mail that for a moment Cicely thought it must be he, and her
+knees trembled until he knelt before her, kissing her hand, asking after
+her health and that of the infant and whether she were satisfied with
+his service.
+
+“Indeed and indeed yes,” she answered; “and oh, friend! all that I have
+henceforth is yours should I ever have anything again, who am but a
+prisoned beggar. Meanwhile, my blessing and that of Heaven rest upon
+you, you gallant man.”
+
+“Thank me not, Lady,” answered the honest Thomas. “To speak truth it was
+Emlyn whom I served, for though monks parted us we have been friends for
+many a year. As for the matter of the child and that spawn of hell, the
+Flounder, be grateful to God, not to me, for it was by mere chance that
+I came here that evening, which I had not intended to do. I was going
+about my business with the cattle when something seemed to tell me to
+arm and come. It was as though a hand pushed me, and the rest you know,
+and so I think by now does Mother Megges,” he added grimly.
+
+“Yes, yes, Thomas; and in truth I do thank God, Whose finger I see in
+all this business, as I thank you, His instrument. But there are
+other things whereof Emlyn has spoken to me. She said--ah! she said my
+husband, whom I thought slain and buried, in truth was only wounded and
+not buried, but shipped over-sea. Tell me that story, friend, omitting
+nothing, but swiftly for our time is short. I thirst to hear it from
+your own lips.”
+
+So in his slow, wandering way he told her, word by word, all that he
+had seen, all that he had learned, and the sum of it was that Sir
+Christopher had been shipped abroad upon the _Great Yarmouth_, sorely
+wounded but not dead, and that with him had sailed Jeffrey Stokes and
+the monk Martin.
+
+“That’s ten months gone,” said Cicely. “Has naught been heard of this
+ship? By now she should be home again.”
+
+Thomas hesitated, then answered--
+
+“No tidings came of her from Spain. Then, although I said nothing of it
+even to Emlyn, she was reported lost with all hands at sea. Then came
+another story----”
+
+“Ah! that other story?”
+
+“Lady, two of her crew reached the Wash. I did not see them, and they
+have shipped again for Marseilles in France. But I spoke with a shepherd
+who is half-brother to one of them, and he told me that from him he
+learned that the _Great Yarmouth_ was set upon by two Turkish pirates
+and captured after a brave fight in which the captain Goody and others
+were killed. This man and his comrade escaped in a boat and drifted
+to and fro till they were picked up by a homeward-bound caravel which
+landed them at Hull. That’s all I know--save one thing.”
+
+“One thing! Oh, what thing, Thomas? That my husband is dead?”
+
+“Nay, nay, the very opposite, that he is alive, or was, for these men
+saw him and Jeffrey Stokes and Martin the priest, no craven as I know,
+fighting like devils till the Turks overwhelmed them by numbers, and,
+having bound their hands, carried them all three unwounded on board one
+of their ships, wishing doubtless to make slaves of such brave fellows.”
+
+Now, although Emlyn would have stopped her, still Cicely plied him with
+questions, which he answered as best he could, till suddenly a sound
+caught his ear.
+
+“Look at the window!” he exclaimed.
+
+They looked, and saw a sight that froze their blood, for there staring
+at them through the glass was the dark face of the Abbot, and with it
+other faces.
+
+“Betray me not, or I shall burn,” he whispered. “Say only that I came
+to haunt you,” and silently as a shadow he glided to his niche and was
+gone.
+
+“What now, Emlyn?”
+
+“One thing only--Thomas must be saved. A bold face and stand to it. Is
+it our fault if your father’s ghost should haunt this chapel? Remember,
+your father’s ghost, no other. Ah! here they come.”
+
+As she spoke the door was thrown wide, and through it came the Abbot
+and his rout of attendants. Within two paces of the women they halted,
+hanging together like bees, for they were afraid, while a voice cried,
+“Seize the witches!”
+
+Cicely’s terror passed from her and she faced them boldly.
+
+“What would you with us, my Lord Abbot?” she asked.
+
+“We would know, Sorceress, what shape was that which spoke with you but
+now, and whither has it gone?”
+
+“The same that saved my child and called the Sword of God down upon the
+murderess. It wore my father’s armour, but its face I did not see. It
+has gone whence it came, but where that is I know not. Discover if you
+can.”
+
+“Woman, you trifle with us. What said the Thing?”
+
+“It spoke of the slaughter of Sir John Foterell by King’s Grave Mount
+and of those who wrought it,” and she looked at him steadily until his
+eyes fell before hers.
+
+“What else?”
+
+“It told me that my husband is not dead. Neither did you bury him as you
+put about, but shipped him hence to Spain, whence it prophesied he will
+return again to be revenged upon you. It told me that he was captured by
+the infidel Moors, and with him Jeffrey Stokes, my father’s servant, and
+the priest Martin, your secretary. Then it looked up and vanished, or
+seemed to vanish, though perhaps it is among us now.”
+
+“Aye,” answered the Abbot, “Satan, with whom you hold converse, is
+always among us. Cicely Foterell and Emlyn Stower, you are foul witches,
+self-confessed. The world has borne your sorceries too long, and you
+shall answer for them before God and man, as I, the Lord Abbot of
+Blossholme, have right and authority to make you do. Seize these witches
+and let them be kept fast in their chamber till I constitute the Court
+Ecclesiastic for their trial.”
+
+So they took hold of Cicely and Emlyn and led them to the Nunnery. As
+they crossed the garden they were met by Mother Matilda and the nuns,
+who, for a second time within a month, ran out to see what was the
+tumult in the chapel.
+
+“What is it now, Cicely?” asked the Prioress.
+
+“Now we are witches, Mother,” she answered, with a sad smile.
+
+“Aye,” broke in Emlyn, “and the charge is that the ghost of the murdered
+Sir John Foterell was seen speaking to us.”
+
+“Why, why?” exclaimed the Prioress. “If the spirit of a woman’s father
+appears to her is she therefore to be declared a witch? Then is poor
+Sister Bridget a witch also, for this same spirit brought the child to
+her?”
+
+“Aye,” said the Abbot, “I had forgotten her. She is another of the crew,
+let her be seized and shut up also. Greatly do I hope, when it comes to
+the hour of trial, that there may not be found to be more of them,” and
+he glanced at the poor nuns with menace in his eye.
+
+So Cicely and Emlyn were shut within their room and strictly guarded
+by monks, but otherwise not ill-treated. Indeed, save for their
+confinement, there was little change in their condition. The child was
+allowed to be with Cicely, the nuns were allowed to visit her.
+
+Only over both of them hung the shadow of great trouble. They were
+aware, and it seemed to them purposely suffered to be aware, that
+they were about to be tried for their lives upon monstrous and obscene
+charges; namely, that they had consorted with a dim and awful creature
+called the Enemy of Mankind, whom, it was supposed, human beings had
+power to call to their counsel and assistance. To them who knew well
+that this being was Thomas Bolle, the thing seemed absurd. Yet it could
+not be denied that the said Thomas at Emlyn’s instigation had worked
+much evil on the monks of Blossholme, paying them, or rather their
+Abbot, back in his own coin.
+
+Yet what was to be done? To tell the facts would be to condemn Thomas
+to some fearful fate which even then they would be called upon to share,
+although possibly they might be cleared of the charge of witchcraft.
+
+Emlyn set the matter before Cicely, urging neither one side nor the
+other, and waited her judgment. It was swift and decisive.
+
+“This is a coil that we cannot untangle,” said Cicely. “Let us betray
+no one, but put our trust in God. I am sure,” she added, “that God will
+help us as He did when Mother Megges would have murdered my boy. I shall
+not attempt to defend myself by wronging others. I leave everything to
+Him.”
+
+“Strange things have happened to many who trusted in God; to that the
+whole evil world bears witness,” said Emlyn doubtfully.
+
+“May be,” answered Cicely in her quiet fashion, “perhaps because they
+did not trust enough or rightly. At least there lies my path and I will
+walk in it--to the fire if need be.”
+
+“There is some seed of greatness in you; to what will it grow, I
+wonder?” replied Emlyn, with a shrug of her shoulders.
+
+On the morrow this faith of Cicely’s was put to a sharp test. The Abbot
+came and spoke with Emlyn apart. This was the burden of his song--
+
+“Give me those jewels and all may yet be well with you and your
+mistress, vile witches though you are. If not, you burn.”
+
+As before she denied all knowledge of them.
+
+“Find me the jewels or you burn,” he answered. “Would you pay your lives
+for a few miserable gems?”
+
+Now Emlyn weakened, not for her own sake, and said she would speak with
+her mistress.
+
+He bade her do so.
+
+“I thought that those jewels were burned, Emlyn, do you then know where
+they are?” asked Cicely.
+
+“Aye, I have said nothing of it to you, but I know. Speak the word and I
+give them up to save you.”
+
+Cicely thought a while and kissed her child, which she held in her arms,
+then laughed aloud and answered--
+
+“Not so. That Abbot shall never be richer for any gem of mine. I have
+told you in what I trust, and it is not jewels. Whether I burn or
+whether I am saved, he shall not have them.”
+
+“Good,” said Emlyn, “that is my mind also, I only spoke for your sake,”
+ and she went out and told the Abbot.
+
+He came into Cicely’s chamber and raged at them. He said that they
+should be excommunicated, then tortured and then burned; but Cicely,
+whom he had thought to frighten, never winced.
+
+“If so, so let it be,” she replied, “and I will bear all as best I can.
+I know nothing of these jewels, but if they still exist they are mine,
+not yours, and I am innocent of any witchcraft. Do your work, for I am
+sure that the end shall be far other than you think.”
+
+“What!” said the Abbot, “has the foul fiend been with you again that you
+talk thus certainly? Well, Sorceress, soon you will sing another tune,”
+ and he went to the door and summoned the Prioress.
+
+“Put these women upon bread and water,” he said, “and prepare them for
+the rack, that they may discover their accomplices.”
+
+Mother Matilda set her gentle face, and answered--
+
+“It shall not be done in this Nunnery, my Lord Abbot. I know the law,
+and you have no such power. Moreover, if you move them hence, who are my
+guests, I appeal to the King, and meanwhile raise the country on you.”
+
+“Said I not that they had accomplices?” sneered the Abbot, and went his
+way.
+
+But of the torture no more was heard, for that appeal to the King had an
+ill sound in his ears.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+DOOMED
+
+
+It was the day of trial. From dawn Cicely and Emlyn had seen people
+hurrying in and out of the gates of the Nunnery, and heard workmen
+making preparation in the guest-hall below their chamber. About eight
+one of the nuns brought them their breakfast. Her face was scared and
+white; she only spoke in whispers, looking behind her continually as
+though she knew she was being watched.
+
+Emlyn asked who their judges were, and she answered--
+
+“The Abbot, a strange, black-faced Prior, and the Old Bishop. Oh! God
+help you, my sisters; God help us all!” and she fled away.
+
+Now for a moment Emlyn’s heart failed her, since before such a tribunal
+what chance had they? The Abbot was their bitter enemy and accuser;
+the strange Prior, no doubt, one of his friends and kindred; while the
+ecclesiastic spoken of as the “Old Bishop” was well known as perhaps the
+cruelest man in England, a scourge of heretics--that is, before
+heresy became the fashion--a hunter-out of witches and wizards, and a
+time-server to boot. But to Cicely she said nothing, for what was the
+use, seeing that soon she would learn all?
+
+They ate their food, knowing both of them that they would need strength.
+Then Cicely nursed her child, and, placing it in Emlyn’s arms, knelt
+down to pray. While she was still praying the door opened and a
+procession appeared. First came two monks, then six armed men of the
+Abbot’s guard, then the Prioress and three of her nuns. At the sight of
+the beautiful young woman kneeling at her prayers the guards, rough men
+though they were, stopped, as if unwilling to disturb her, but one of
+the monks cried brutally--
+
+“Seize the accursed hypocrite, and if she will not come, drag her with
+you,” at the same time stretching out his hand as though to grasp her
+arm.
+
+But Cicely rose and faced him, saying--
+
+“Do not touch me; I follow. Emlyn, give me the child, and let us go.”
+
+So they went in the midst of the armed men, the monks preceding, the
+nuns, with bowed heads, following after. Presently they entered the
+large hall, but on its threshold were ordered to pause while way was
+made for them. Cicely never forgot the sight of it as it appeared that
+day. The lofty, arched roof of rich chestnut-wood, set there hundreds of
+years before by hands that spared neither work nor timber, amongst the
+beams of which the bright light of morning played so clearly that she
+could see the spiders’ webs, and in one of them a sleepy autumn
+wasp caught fast. The mob of people gathered to watch her public
+trial--faces, many of them, that she had known from childhood.
+
+How they stared at her as she stood there by the head of the steps, her
+sleeping child held in her arms! They were a packed audience and had
+been prepared to condemn her--that she could see and hear, for did not
+some of them point and frown, and set up a cry of “Witch!” as they had
+been told to do? But it died away. The sight of her, the daughter of one
+of their great men and the widow of another, standing in her innocent
+beauty, the slumbering babe upon her breast, seemed to quell them, till
+the hardest faces grew pitiful--full of resentment, too, some of them,
+but not against her.
+
+Then the three judges on the bench behind the table, at which sat the
+monkish secretaries; the hard-faced, hook-nosed “Old Bishop” in his
+gorgeous robes and mitre, his crozier resting against the panelling
+behind him, peering about him with beady eyes. The sullen, heavy-jawed
+Prior, from some distant county, on his left, clad in a simple black
+gown with a girdle about his waist. And on the right Clement Maldon,
+Abbot of Blossholme and enemy of her house, suave, olive-faced,
+foreign-looking, his black, uneasy eyes observing all, his keen ears
+catching every word and murmur as he whispered something to the Bishop
+that caused him to smile grimly. Lastly, placed already in the roped
+space and guarded by a soldier, poor old Bridget, the half-witted, who
+was gabbling words to which no one paid any heed.
+
+The path was clear now, and they were ordered to walk on. Half-way
+up the hall something red attracted Cicely’s attention, and, glancing
+round, she saw that it was the beard of Thomas Bolle. Their eyes met,
+and his were full of fear. In an instant she understood that he dreaded
+lest he should be betrayed and given over to some awful doom.
+
+“Fear nothing,” she whispered as she passed, and he heard her, or
+perhaps Emlyn’s glance told him that he was safe. At least, a sign of
+relief broke from him.
+
+Now they had entered the roped space, and stood there.
+
+“Your name?” asked one of the secretaries, pointing to Cicely with the
+feather of his quill.
+
+“All know it, it is Cicely Harflete,” she answered gently, whereon the
+clerk said roughly that she lied, and the old wrangle began again as to
+the validity of her marriage, the Abbot maintaining that she was still
+Cicely Foterell, the mother of a base-born child.
+
+Into this argument the Bishop entered with some zest, asking many
+questions, and seeming more or less to take her side, since, where
+matters of religion were not concerned, he was a keen lawyer, and just
+enough. At length, however, he swept the thing away, remarking brutally
+that if half he had heard were true, soon the name by which she had last
+been called in life would not concern her, and bade the clerks write her
+down as Cicely Harflete or Foterell.
+
+Then Emlyn gave her name, and Sister Bridget’s was written without
+question. Next the charge against them was read. It was long and
+technical, mixed up with Latin words and phrases, and all that Cicely
+made out of it was that they were accused of many horrible crimes, and
+of having called up the devil and consorted with him in the shape of
+a monster with horns and hoofs, and of her father’s ghost. When it
+was finished they were commanded to answer, and pleaded Not Guilty, or
+rather Cicely and Emlyn did, for Bridget broke into a long tale that
+could not be followed. She was ordered to be silent, after which no one
+took any more heed of what she said.
+
+Now the Bishop asked whether these women had been put to the question,
+and when he was told No, said that it seemed a pity, as evidently they
+were stubborn witches, and some discipline of the sort might have
+saved trouble. Again he asked if the witch’s marks had been found on
+them--that is, the spot where the devil had sealed their bodies,
+on which, as was well known, his chosen could feel no pain. He even
+suggested that the trial should be adjourned until they had been pricked
+all over with a nail to find this spot, but ultimately gave up the point
+to save time.
+
+A last question was raised by the beetle-browed Prior, who submitted
+that the infant ought also to be accused, since he, too, was said to
+have consorted with the devil, having, according to the story, been
+rescued from death by him and afterwards been carried in his arms and
+given to the nun Bridget, which was the only evidence against the said
+Bridget. If she was guilty, why, then, was the infant innocent? Ought
+not they to burn together, since a babe that had been nursed by the Evil
+One was obviously damned?
+
+The legal-minded Bishop found this argument interesting, but ultimately
+decided that it was safer to overrule it on account of the tender age of
+the criminal. He added that it did not matter, since doubtless the foul
+fiend would claim his own ere long.
+
+Lastly, before the witnesses were called, Emlyn asked for an advocate to
+defend them, but the Bishop replied, with a chuckle, that it was quite
+unnecessary, since already they had the best of all advocates--Satan
+himself.
+
+“True, my Lord,” said Cicely, looking up, “we have the best of all
+advocates, only you have mis-named him. The God of the innocent is our
+advocate, and in Him I trust.”
+
+“Blaspheme not, Sorceress,” shouted the old man; and the evidence
+commenced.
+
+To follow it in detail is not necessary, and, indeed, would be long, for
+it took many hours. First of all Emlyn’s early life was set out, much
+being made of the fact that her mother was a gypsy who had committed
+suicide and that her father had fallen under the ban of the Inquisition,
+an heretical work of his having been publicly burned. Then the Abbot
+himself gave evidence, since, where the charge was sorcery, no one
+seemed to think it strange that the same man should both act as judge
+and be the principal witness for the prosecution. He told of Cicely’s
+wild words after the burning of Cranwell Towers, from which burning she
+and her familiar, Emlyn, had evidently escaped by magic, without the
+aid of which it was plain they could not have lived. He told of Emlyn’s
+threats to him after she had looked into the bowl of water; of all the
+dreadful things that had been seen and done at Blossholme, which no
+doubt these witches had brought about--here he was right--though how
+he knew not. He told of the death of the midwife and of the appearance
+which she presented afterwards--a tale that caused his audience to
+shudder; and, lastly, he told of the vision of the ghost of Sir John
+Foterell holding converse with the two accused in the chapel of the
+Nunnery, and its vanishing away.
+
+When at length he had finished Emlyn asked leave to cross-examine him,
+but this was refused on the ground that persons accused of such crimes
+had no right to cross-examine.
+
+Then the Court adjourned for a while to eat, some food being brought for
+the prisoners, who were forced to take it where they stood. Worse
+still, Cicely was driven to nurse her child in the presence of all that
+audience, who stared and gibed at her rudely, and were angry because
+Emlyn and some of the nuns stood round her to form a living screen.
+
+When the judges returned the evidence went on. Though most of it was
+entirely irrelevant, its volume was so great that at length the Old
+Bishop grew weary, and said he would hear no more. Then the judges
+went on to put, first to Cicely and afterwards to Emlyn, a series of
+questions of a nature so abominable that after denying the first of them
+indignantly, they stood silent, refusing to answer--proof positive of
+their guilt, as the black-browed Prior remarked in triumph. Lastly,
+these hideous queries being exhausted, Cicely was asked if she had
+anything to say.
+
+“Somewhat,” she answered; “but I am weary, and must be brief. I am no
+witch; I do not know what it means. The Abbot of Blossholme, who sits
+as my judge, is my grievous enemy. He claimed my father’s lands--which
+lands I believe he now holds--and cruelly murdered my said father by
+King’s Grave Mount in the forest as he was riding to London to make
+complaint of him and reveal his treachery to his Grace the King and his
+Council----”
+
+“It is a lie, witch,” broke in the Abbot, but, taking no heed, Cicely
+went on--
+
+“Afterwards he and his hired soldiers attacked the house of my husband,
+Sir Christopher Harflete, and burnt it, slaying, or striving to
+slay--I know not which--my said husband, who has vanished away. Then he
+imprisoned me and my servant, Emlyn Stower, in this Nunnery, and strove
+to force me to sign papers conveying all my own and my child’s property
+to him. This I refused to do, and therefore it is that he puts me on my
+trial, because, as I am told, those who are found guilty of witchcraft
+are stripped of all their possessions, which those take who are strong
+enough to keep them. Lastly, I deny the authority of this Court, and
+appeal to the King, who soon or late will hear my cry and avenge my
+wrongs, and maybe my murder, upon those who wrought them. Good people
+all, hear my words. I appeal to the King, and to him under God above I
+entrust my cause, and, should I die, the guardianship of my orphan son,
+whom the Abbot sent his creature to murder--his vile creature, upon
+whose head fell the Almighty’s justice, as it will fall on yours, you
+slaughterers of the innocent.”
+
+So spoke Cicely, and, having spoken, worn out with fatigue and misery,
+sank to the floor--for all these hours there had been no stool for her
+to sit on--and crouched there, still holding her child in her arms--a
+piteous sight indeed, which touched even the superstitious hearts of the
+crowd who watched her.
+
+Now this appeal of hers to the King seemed to scare the fierce Old
+Bishop, who turned and began to argue with the Abbot. Cicely, listening,
+caught some of his words, such as--
+
+“On your head be it, then. I judge only of the cause ecclesiastic, and
+shall direct it to be so entered upon the records. Of the execution of
+the sentence or the disposal of the property I wash my hands. See you to
+it.”
+
+“So spoke Pilate,” broke in Cicely, lifting her head and looking him in
+the eyes. Then she let it fall again, and was silent.
+
+Now Emlyn opened her lips, and from them burst a fierce torrent of
+words.
+
+“Do you know,” she began, “who and what is this Spanish priest who sits
+to judge us of witchcraft? Well, I will tell you. Years ago he fled from
+Spain because of hideous crimes that he had committed there. Ask him of
+Isabella the nun, who was my father’s cousin, and her end and that of
+her companions. Ask him of----”
+
+At this point a monk, to whom the Abbot had whispered something, slipped
+behind Emlyn and threw a cloth over her face. She tore it away with her
+strong hands, and screamed out--
+
+“He is a murderer, he is a traitor. He plots to kill the King. I can
+prove it, and that’s why Foterell died--because he knew----”
+
+The Abbot shouted something, and again the monk, a stout fellow named
+Ambrose, got the cloth over her mouth. Once more she wrenched herself
+loose, and, turning towards the people, called--
+
+“Have I never a friend, who have befriended so many? Is there no man in
+Blossholme who will avenge me of this brute Ambrose? Aye, I see some.”
+
+Then this Ambrose, and others aiding him, fell upon her, striking her
+on the head and choking her, till at length she sank, half stunned and
+gasping, to the ground.
+
+Now, after a hurried word or two with his colleagues, the Bishop
+sprang up, and as darkness gathered in the hall--for the sun had
+set--pronounced the sentence of the Court.
+
+First he declared the prisoners guilty of the foulest witchcraft. Next
+he excommunicated them with much ceremony, delivering their souls to
+their master, Satan. Then, incidentally, he condemned their bodies to
+be burnt, without specifying when, how, or by whom. Out of the gloom a
+clear voice spoke, saying--
+
+“You exceed your powers, Priest, and usurp those of the King. Beware!”
+
+A tumult followed, in which some cried “Aye” and some “Nay,” and when at
+length it died down the Bishop, or it may have been the Abbot--for none
+could see who spoke--exclaimed--
+
+“The Church guards her own rights; let the King see to his.”
+
+“He will, he will,” answered the same voice. “The Pope is in his bag.
+Monks, your day is done.”
+
+Again there was tumult, a very great tumult. In truth the scene, or
+rather the sounds, were strange. The Bishop shrieking with rage upon
+the bench, like a hen that has been caught upon her perch at night,
+the black-browed Prior bellowing like a bull, the populace surging and
+shouting this and that, the secretary calling for candles, and when
+at length one was brought, making a little star of light in that huge
+gloom, putting his hand to his mouth and roaring--
+
+“What of this Bridget? Does she go free?”
+
+The Bishop made no answer; it seemed as though he were frightened at the
+forces which he had let loose; but the Abbot hallooed back--
+
+“Burn the hag with the others,” and the secretary wrote it down upon his
+brief.
+
+Then the guards seized the three of them to lead them away, and the
+frightened babe set up a thin, piercing wail, while the Bishop and his
+companions, preceded by one of the monks bearing the candle--it was that
+Ambrose who had choked Emlyn--marched in procession down the hall to
+gain the great door.
+
+Ere ever they reached it the candle was dashed from the hand of Ambrose,
+and a fearful tumult arose in the dense darkness, for now all light
+had vanished. There were screams, and sounds of fighting, and cries for
+help. These died away; the hall emptied by degrees, for it seemed that
+none wished to stay there. Torches were lit, and showed a strange scene.
+
+The Bishop, the Abbot, and the foreign Prior lay here and there,
+buffeted, bleeding, their robes torn off them, so that they were almost
+naked, while by the Bishop was his crozier, broken in two, apparently
+across his own head. Worst of all, the monk Ambrose leaned against a
+pillar; his feet seemed to go forward but his face looked backward, for
+his neck was twisted like that of a Michaelmas goose.
+
+The Bishop looked about him and felt his hurts; then he called to his
+people--
+
+“Bring me my cloak and a horse, for I have had enough of Blossholme and
+its wizardries. Settle your own matters henceforth, Abbot Maldon, for in
+them I find no luck,” and he glanced at his broken staff.
+
+Thus ended the great trial of the Blossholme witches.
+
+
+
+Cicely had sunk to sleep at last, and Emlyn watched her, for, since
+there was nowhere else to put them, they were back in their own room,
+but guarded by armed men, lest they should escape. Of this, as Emlyn
+knew well, there was little chance, for even if they were once outside
+the Priory walls, how could they get away without friends to help, or
+food to eat, or horses to carry them? They would be run down within a
+mile. Moreover, there was the child, which Cicely would never leave,
+and, after all she had undergone, she herself was not fit to travel.
+Therefore it was that Emlyn sat sleepless, full of bitter wrath and
+fear, for she could see no hope. All was black as the night about them.
+
+The door opened, and was shut and locked again. Then, from behind the
+curtain, appeared the tall figure of the Prioress, carrying a candle
+that made a star of light upon the shadows. As she stood there holding
+it up and looking about her, something came into Emlyn’s mind. Perhaps
+she would help, she who loved Cicely. Did she not look like a figure of
+hope, with her sweet face and her taper in the gloom? Emlyn advanced to
+meet her, her finger on her lips.
+
+“She sleeps; wake her not,” she said. “Have you come to tell us that we
+burn to-morrow?”
+
+“Nay, Emlyn; the Old Bishop has commanded that it shall not be for a
+week. He would have time to get across England first. Indeed, had it not
+been for the beating of him in the dark and the twisting of the neck of
+Brother Ambrose, I believe that he would not have suffered it at all,
+for fear of trouble afterwards. But now he is full of rage, and swears
+that he was set upon by evil spirits in the hall, and that those who
+loosed them shall not live. Emlyn, _who_ killed Father Ambrose? Was it
+men or----?”
+
+“Men, I think, Mother. The devil does not twist necks except in monkish
+dreams. Is it wonderful that my lady--the greatest lady of all these
+parts and the most foully treated--should have friends left to her? Why,
+if they were not curs, ere now her people would have pulled that Abbey
+stone from stone and cut the throat of every man within its walls.”
+
+“Emlyn,” said the Prioress again, “in the name of Jesus and on your
+soul, tell me true, is there witchcraft in all this business? And if
+not, what is its meaning?”
+
+“As much witchcraft as dwells in your gentle heart; no more. A man did
+these things; I’ll not give you his name, lest it should be wrung from
+you. A man wore Foterell’s armour, and came here by a secret hole to
+take counsel with us in the chapel. A man burnt the Abbey dormers and
+the stacks, and harried the beasts with a goatskin on his head, and
+dragged the skull of drunken Andrew from his grave. Doubtless it was his
+hand also that twisted Ambrose’s neck because he struck me.”
+
+The two women looked each other in the eyes.
+
+“Ah!” said the Prioress. “I think I can guess now; but, Emlyn, you
+choose rough tools. Well, fear not; your secret is safe with me.” She
+paused a moment; then went on, “Oh! I am glad, who feared lest the
+Fiend’s finger was in it all, as, in truth, they believe. Now I see my
+path clear, and will follow it to the death. Yes, yes; I will save you
+all or die.”
+
+“What path, Mother?”
+
+“Emlyn, you have heard no tidings for these many months, but I have.
+Listen; there is much afoot. The King, or the Lord Cromwell, or both,
+make war upon the lesser Houses, dissolving them, seizing their goods,
+turning the religious out of them upon the world to starve. His Grace
+sends Royal Commissioners to visit them, and be judge and jury both.
+They were coming here, but I have friends and some fortune of my own,
+who was not born meanly or ill-dowered, and I found a way to buy them
+off. One of these Commissioners, Thomas Legh, as I heard only to-day,
+makes inquisition at the monastery of Bayfleet, in Yorkshire, some
+eighty miles away, of which my cousin, Alfred Stukley, whose letter
+reached me this morning, is the Prior. Emlyn, I’ll go to this rough
+man--for rough he is, they say. Old and feeble as I am, I’ll seek
+him out and offer up the ancient House I rule to save your life and
+Cicely’s--yes, and Bridget’s also.”
+
+“You will go, Mother! Oh! God’s blessing be on you. But how will you go?
+They will never suffer it.”
+
+The old nun drew herself up, and answered--
+
+“Who has the right to say to the Prioress of Blossholme that she shall
+not travel whither she will? No Spanish Abbot, I think. Why, but now
+that proud priest’s servants would have forbidden me to enter your
+chamber in my own House, but I read them a lesson they will not forget.
+Also I have horses at my command, but it is true I need an escort, who
+am not too strong and little versed in the ways of the outside world,
+where I have scarcely strayed for many years. Now I have bethought me
+of that red-haired lay-brother, Thomas Bolle. I am told that though
+foolish, he is a valiant man whom few care to face; moreover, that he
+understands horses and knows all roads. Do you think, Emlyn Stower, that
+Thomas Bolle will be my companion on this journey, with leave from the
+Abbot, or without it?” and again she looked her in the eyes.
+
+“He might, he might; he is a venturous man, or so I remember him in
+my youth,” answered Emlyn. “Moreover, his forefathers have served
+the Harfletes and the Foterells for generations in peace and war, and
+doubtless, therefore, he loves my lady yonder. But the trouble is to get
+at him.”
+
+“No trouble at all, Emlyn; he is one of the watch outside the gate. But,
+woman, what token?”
+
+Emlyn thought for a moment, then drew a ring off her finger in which was
+set a cornelian heart.
+
+“Give him this,” she said, “and say that the wearer bade him follow the
+bearer to the death, for the sake of that wearer’s life and another’s.
+He is a simple soul, and if the Abbot does not catch him first I believe
+that he will go.”
+
+Mother Matilda took the ring and set it on her own finger. Then she
+walked to where Cicely lay sleeping, looked at her and the boy upon her
+breast. Stretching out her thin hands, she called down the blessing and
+protection of Almighty God upon them both, then turned to depart.
+
+Emlyn caught her by the robe.
+
+“Stay,” she said. “You think I do not understand; but I do. You are
+giving up everything for us. Even if you live through it, this House,
+which has been your charge for many years, will be dissolved; your sheep
+will be scattered to starve in their toothless age; the fold that has
+sheltered them for four hundred years will become a home of wolves. I
+understand full well, and she”--pointing to the sleeping Cicely--“will
+understand also.”
+
+“Say nothing to her,” murmured Mother Matilda; “I may fail.”
+
+“You may fail, or you may succeed. If you fail and we burn, God shall
+reward you. If you succeed and we are saved, on her behalf I swear that
+you shall not suffer. There is wealth hidden away--wealth worth
+many priories; you and yours shall have your share of it, and that
+Commissioner shall not go lacking. Tell him that there is some small
+store to pay him for his trouble, and that the Abbot of Blossholme would
+rob him of it. Now, my Lady Margaret--for that, I think, used to be your
+name, and will be again when you have done with priests and nuns--bless
+me also and begone, and know that, living or dead, I hold you great and
+holy.”
+
+So the Prioress blessed her ere she glided thence in her stately
+fashion, and the oaken door opened and shut behind her.
+
+
+
+Three days later the Abbot visited them alone.
+
+“Foul and accursed witches,” he said, “I come to tell you that next
+Monday at noon you burn upon the green in front of the Abbey gate, who,
+were it not for the mercy of the Church, should have been tortured also
+till you discovered your accomplices, of whom I think that you have
+many.”
+
+“Show me the King’s warrant for this slaughter,” said Cicely.
+
+“I will show you nothing save the stake, witch. Repent, repent, ere it
+be too late. Hell and its eternal fires yawn for you.”
+
+“Do they yawn for my child also, my Lord Abbot?”
+
+“Your brat will be taken from you ere you enter the flames and laid upon
+the ground, since it is baptized and too young to burn. If any have pity
+on it, good; if not, where it lies, there it will be buried.”
+
+“So be it,” answered Cicely. “God gave it; God save it. In God I put my
+trust. Murderer, leave me to make my peace with Him,” and she turned and
+walked away.
+
+Now the Abbot and Emlyn were face to face.
+
+“Do we really burn on Monday?” she asked.
+
+“Without doubt, unless faggots will not take fire. Yet,” he added
+slowly, “if certain jewels should chance to be found and handed over,
+the case might be remitted to another Court.”
+
+“And the torment prolonged. My Lord Abbot, I fear that those jewels will
+never be found.”
+
+“Well, then you burn--slowly, perhaps, for much rain has fallen of late
+and the wood is green. They say the death is dreadful.”
+
+“Doubtless one day you will find it so, Clement Maldonado, here or
+hereafter. But of that we will talk together when all is done--of that
+and many other things. I mean before the Judgment-seat of God. Nay, nay,
+I do not threaten after your fashion--it shall be so. Meanwhile I ask
+the boon of a dying woman. There are two whom I would see--the Prioress
+Matilda, in whose charge I desire to leave a certain secret, and Thomas
+Bolle, a lay-brother in your Abbey, a man who once engaged himself to me
+in marriage. For your own sake, deny me not these favours.”
+
+“They should be granted readily enough were it in my power, but it is
+not,” answered the Abbot, looking at her curiously, for he thought that
+to them she might tell what she had refused to him--the hiding-place of
+the jewels, which afterwards he could wring out.
+
+“Why not, my Lord Abbot?”
+
+“Because the Prioress has gone hence, secretly, upon some journey of her
+own, and Thomas Bolle has vanished away I know not where. If they, or
+either of them, return ere Monday you shall see them.”
+
+“And if they do not return I shall see them afterwards,” replied Emlyn,
+with a shrug of her shoulders. “What does it matter? Fare you well till
+we meet at the fire, my Lord Abbot.”
+
+
+
+On the Sunday--that is, the day before the burning--the Abbot came
+again.
+
+“Three days ago,” he said, addressing them both, “I offered you a chance
+of life upon certain conditions, but, obstinate witches that you are,
+you refused to listen. Now I offer you the last boon in my power--not
+life, indeed; it is too late for that--but a merciful death. If you will
+give me what I seek, the executioner shall dispatch you both before the
+fire bites--never mind how. If not--well, as I have told you, there has
+been much rain, and they say the faggots are somewhat green.”
+
+Cicely paled a little--who would not, even in those cruel days?--then
+asked--
+
+“And what is it that you seek, or that we can give? A confession of our
+guilt, to cover up your crime in the eyes of the world? If so, you shall
+never have it, though we burn by inches.”
+
+“Yes, I seek that, but for your own sakes, not for mine, since those who
+confess and repent may receive absolution. Also I seek more--the rich
+jewels which you have in hiding, that they may be used for the purposes
+of the Church.”
+
+Then it was that Cicely showed the courage of her blood.
+
+“Never, never!” she cried, turning on him with eyes ablaze. “Torture
+and slay me if you will, but my wealth you shall not thieve. I know not
+where these jewels are, but wherever they may be, there let them lie
+till my heirs find them, or they rot.”
+
+The Abbot’s face grew very evil.
+
+“Is that your last word, Cicely Foterell?” he asked.
+
+She bowed her head, and he repeated the question to Emlyn, who
+answered--
+
+“What my mistress says, I say.”
+
+“So be it!” he exclaimed. “Doubtless you sorceresses put your trust in
+the devil. Well, we shall see if he will help you to-morrow.”
+
+“God will help us,” replied Cicely in a quiet voice. “Remember my words
+when the time comes.”
+
+Then he went.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+THE STAKE
+
+
+It was an awful night. Let those who have followed this history think of
+the state of these two women, one of them still but a girl, who on the
+morrow, amidst the jeers and curses of superstitious men, were to suffer
+the cruelest of deaths for no crime at all, unless the traffickings of
+Emlyn with Thomas Bolle, in which Cicely had small share, could be held
+a crime. Well, thousands quite as blameless were called on to undergo
+that, and even worse fates in the days which some name good and old,
+the days of chivalry and gallant knights, when even little children were
+tormented and burned by holy and learned folk who feared a visible or at
+least a tangible devil and his works.
+
+Doubtless their cruelty was that of terror. Doubtless, although he
+had other ends to gain which to him were sacred, the Abbot Maldon did
+believe that Cicely and Emlyn had practised horrible witchcraft; that
+they had conversed with Satan in order to revenge themselves upon him,
+and therefore were too foul to live. The “Old Bishop” believed it also,
+and so did the black-browed Prior and the most of the ignorant people
+who lived around and knew of the terrible things which had happened in
+Blossholme. Had not some of them actually seen the fiend with horns
+and hoofs and tail driving the Abbey cattle, and had not others met
+the ghost of Sir John Foterell, which doubtless was but that fiend in
+another shape? Oh, these women were guilty, without doubt they were
+guilty and deserved the stake! What did it matter if the husband and
+father of one of them had been murdered and the other had suffered
+grievous but forgotten wrongs? Compared to witchcraft murder was but a
+light and homely crime, one that would happen when men’s passions and
+needs were involved, quite a familiar thing.
+
+It was an awful night. Sometimes Cicely slept a little, but the most
+of it she spent in prayer. The fierce Emlyn neither slept nor prayed,
+except once or twice that vengeance might fall upon the Abbot’s head,
+for her whole soul was up in arms and it galled her to think that she
+and her beloved mistress must die shamefully while their enemy lived on
+triumphant and in honour. Even the infant seemed nervous and disturbed,
+as though some instinct warned it of terror at hand, for although it was
+well enough, against its custom it woke continually and wailed.
+
+“Emlyn,” said Cicely towards morning, but before the light had come,
+after at length she had soothed it to rest, “do you think that Mother
+Matilda will be able to help us?”
+
+“No, no; put it from your mind, dearie. She is weak and old, the road
+is rough and long, and mayhap she has never reached the place. It was a
+great venture for her to try such a journey, and if she came there, why,
+perhaps the Commissioner man had gone, or perhaps he will not listen,
+or perhaps he cannot come. What would he care about the burning of two
+witches a hundred miles away, this leech who is sucking himself full
+upon the carcass of some fat monastery? No, no, never count on her.”
+
+“At least she is brave and true, Emlyn, and has done her best, for which
+may Heaven’s blessing rest upon her always. Now, what of Thomas Bolle?”
+
+“Nothing, except that he is a red-headed jackass that can bray but
+daren’t kick,” answered Emlyn viciously. “Never speak to me of Thomas
+Bolle. Had he been a man long ago he’d have broken the neck of that
+rogue Abbot instead of dressing himself up like a he-goat and hunting
+his cows.”
+
+“If what they say is true he did break the neck of Father Ambrose,”
+ replied Cicely, with a faint smile. “Perhaps he made a mistake in the
+dark.”
+
+“If so it is like Thomas Bolle, who ever wished the right thing and did
+the wrong. Talk no more of him, since I would not meet my end in a bad
+spirit. Thomas Bolle, who lets us die for his elfish pranks! A pest on
+the half-witted cur, say I. And after I had kissed him too!”
+
+Cicely wondered vaguely to what she referred, then, thinking it well not
+to inquire, said--
+
+“Not so, a blessing on him, say I, who saved my child from that hateful
+hag.”
+
+Then there was silence for a while, the matter of poor Thomas Bolle and
+his conduct being exhausted between them, who indeed were in no mood for
+argument about people whom they would never see again. At last Cicely
+spoke once more through the darkness--
+
+“Emlyn, I will try to be brave; but once, do you remember, I burnt my
+hand as a child when I stole the sweetmeats from the cooling pot, and
+ah! it hurt me. I will try to die as those who went before me would
+have died, but if I should break down think not the less of me, for the
+spirit is willing though the flesh be weak.”
+
+Emlyn ground her teeth in silence, and Cicely went on--
+
+“But that is not the worst of it, Emlyn. A few minutes and it will
+be over and I shall sleep, as I think, to awake elsewhere. Only if
+Christopher should really live, how he will mourn when he learns----”
+
+“I pray that he does,” broke in Emlyn, “for then ere long there will be
+a Spanish priest the less on earth and one the more in hell.”
+
+“And the child, Emlyn, the child!” she went on in a trembling voice, not
+heeding the interruption. “What will become of my son, the heir to so
+much if he had his rights, and yet so friendless? They’ll murder
+him also, Emlyn, or let him die, which is the same thing, since how
+otherwise will they get title to his lands and goods?”
+
+“If so, his troubles will be done and he will be better with you in
+heaven,” Emlyn answered, with a dry sob. “The boy and you in heaven
+midst the blessed saints, and the Abbot and I in hell settling our score
+there with the devil for company, that’s all I ask. There, there, I
+blaspheme, for injustice makes me mad; it clogs my heart and I throw it
+up in bitter words, for your sake, dear, and his, not my own. Child, you
+are good and gentle, to such as you the Ear of God is open. Call to him;
+ask for light, He will not refuse. Do you remember in the fire at the
+Towers, when we crouched in that vault and the walls crumbled overhead,
+you said you saw His angel bending over us and heard his speech. Call to
+Him, Cicely, and if He will not listen, hear me. I have a means of
+death about me. Ask not what it is, but if at the end I turn on you and
+strike, blame me not here or hereafter, for it will be love’s blow, my
+last service.”
+
+It seemed as though Cicely did not understand those heavy words, at the
+least she took no heed of them.
+
+“I’ll pray again,” she whispered, “though I fear that heaven’s doors are
+closed to me; no light comes through,” and she knelt down.
+
+For long, long she prayed, till at length weariness overcame her, and
+Emlyn heard her breathing softly like one asleep.
+
+“Let her sleep,” she murmured to herself. “Oh! if I were sure--she
+should never wake again to see the dawn. I have half a mind to do it,
+but there it is, I am not sure. If there is a God He will never suffer
+such a thing. I’d have paid the jewels, but what’s the use? They would
+have killed her all the same, for else where’s their title? No, my heart
+bids me wait.”
+
+
+
+Cicely awoke.
+
+“Emlyn,” she said in a low, thrilling voice, “do you hear me, Emlyn?
+That angel has been with me again. He spoke to me,” and she paused.
+
+“Well, well, what did he say?”
+
+“I don’t know, Emlyn,” she answered, confused; “it has gone from me.
+But, Emlyn, have no fear, all is well with us, and not only with us but
+with Christopher and the babe also. Oh, yes, with Christopher and the
+babe also,” and she let her fair head fall upon the couch and burst into
+a flood of happy tears. Then, rising, she took up the child and kissed
+it, laid herself down and slept sweetly.
+
+Just then the dawn broke, a glorious dawn, and Emlyn held out her arms
+to it in an ecstasy of gratitude. For with that light her terror passed
+away as the darkness passed. She believed that God had spoken to Cicely
+and for a while her heart was at peace.
+
+
+
+When about eight o’clock that morning the door was opened to allow a
+nun to bring them their food, she saw a sight which filled her with
+amazement. Her own eyes, poor woman, were red with tears, for, like all
+in the Priory, she loved Cicely, whom as a child she had nursed on her
+knee, and with the other sisters had spent a sleepless night in prayer
+for her, for Emlyn, and for Bridget, who was to be burned with them. She
+had expected to find the victims prostrate and perhaps senseless with
+fear, but behold! there they sat together in the window-place, dressed
+in their best garments and talking quietly. Indeed, as she entered one
+of them--it was Cicely--laughed a little at something that the other had
+said.
+
+“Good-morning to you, Sister Mary,” said Cicely. “Tell me now, has the
+Prioress returned?”
+
+“Nay, nay, we know not where she is; no word has come from her. Well, at
+least she will be spared a dreadful sight. Have you any message for her
+ear? If so, give it swiftly ere the guard call me.”
+
+“I thank you,” said Cicely; “but I think that I shall be the bearer of
+my own messages.”
+
+“What? Do you, then, mean that our Mother is dead? Must we suffer woe
+upon woe? Oh! who could have told you these sorrowful tidings?”
+
+“No, sister, I think that she is alive and that I, yet living, shall
+talk with her again.”
+
+Sister Mary looked bewildered, for how, she wondered, could close
+prisoners know these things? Staring round to see that she was not
+observed, she thrust two little packets into Cicely’s hand.
+
+“Wear these at the last, both of you,” she whispered. “Whatever they say
+we believe you innocent, and for your sake we have done a great crime.
+Yes, we have opened the reliquary and taken from it our most precious
+treasure, a fragment of the cord that bound St. Catherine to the wheel,
+and divided it into three, one strand for each of you. Perhaps, if you
+are really guiltless, it will work a miracle. Perhaps the fire will not
+burn or the rain will extinguish it, or the Abbot may relent.”
+
+“That last would be the greatest miracle of all,” broke in Emlyn, with
+grim humour. “Still we thank you from our hearts and will wear the
+relics if they do not take them from us. Hark! they are calling you.
+Farewell, and all blessings be on your gentle heads.”
+
+Again the loud voices of the guards called, and Sister Mary turned and
+fled, wondering if these women were not witches, how it came about that
+they could be so brave, so different from poor Bridget, who wailed and
+moaned in her cell below.
+
+Cicely and Emlyn ate their food with good appetite, knowing that they
+would need support that day, and when it was done sat themselves again
+by the window-place, through which they could see hundreds of people,
+mounted and on foot, passing up the slope that led to the green in front
+of the Abbey, though this green they could not see because of a belt of
+trees.
+
+“Listen,” said Emlyn presently. “It is hard to say, but it may be that
+your vision of the night was but a merciful dream, and, if so, within a
+few hours we shall be dead. Now I have the secret of the hiding-place of
+those jewels, which, without me, none can ever find; shall I pass it on,
+if I get the chance, to one whom I can trust? Some good soul--the nuns,
+perhaps--will surely shelter your boy, and he might need them in days to
+come.”
+
+Cicely thought a while, then answered--
+
+“Not so, Emlyn. I believe that God has spoken to me by His angel, as He
+spoke to Peter in the prison. To do this would be to tempt God, showing
+that we have no trust in Him. Let that secret lie where it is, in your
+breast.”
+
+“Great is your faith,” said Emlyn, looking at her with admiration.
+“Well, I will stand or fall by it, for I think there is enough for two.”
+
+The Convent bell chimed ten, and they heard a sound of feet and voices
+below.
+
+“They come for us,” said Emlyn; “the burning is set for eleven, that
+after the sight folk may get away in comfort to their dinners. Now
+summon that great Faith of yours and hold him fast for both our sakes,
+since mine grows faint.”
+
+The door opened and through it came monks followed by guards, the
+officer of whom bade them rise and follow. They obeyed without speaking,
+Cicely throwing her cloak about her shoulders.
+
+“You’ll be warm enough without that, Witch,” said the man, with a
+hideous chuckle.
+
+“Sir,” she answered, “I shall need it to wrap my child in when we are
+parted. Give me the babe, Emlyn. There, now we are ready; nay, no need
+to lead us, we cannot escape and shall not vex you.”
+
+“God’s truth, the girl has spirit!” muttered the officer to his
+companions, but one of the priests shook his head and answered--
+
+“Witchcraft! Satan will leave them presently.”
+
+A few more minutes and, for the first time during all those weary
+months, they passed the gate of the Priory. Here the third victim was
+waiting to join them, poor, old, half-witted Bridget, clad in a kind of
+sheet, for her habit had been stripped off. She was wild-eyed and her
+grey locks hung loose about her shoulders, as she shook her ancient head
+and screamed prayers for mercy. Cicely shivered at the sight of her,
+which indeed was dreadful.
+
+“Peace, good Bridget,” she said as they passed, “being innocent, what
+have you to fear?”
+
+“The fire, the fire!” cried the poor creature. “I dread the fire.”
+
+Then they were led to their place in the procession and saw no more of
+Bridget for a while, although they could not escape the sound of her
+lamentations behind them.
+
+It was a great procession. First went the monks and choristers, singing
+a melancholy Latin dirge. Then came the victims in the midst of a guard
+of twelve armed men, and after these the nuns who were forced to be
+present, while behind and about were all the folk for twenty miles
+round, a crowd without number. They crossed the footbridge, where
+stood the Ford Inn for which the Flounder had bargained as the price of
+murder. They walked up the rise by the right of way, muddy now with the
+autumn rains, and through the belt of trees where Thomas Bolle’s secret
+passage had its exit, and so came at last to the green in front of the
+towering Abbey portal.
+
+Here a dreadful sight awaited them, for on this green were planted three
+fourteen-inch posts of new-felled oak six feet or more in height, such
+as no fire would easily burn through, and around each of them a kind
+of bower of faggots open to the front. Moreover, to the posts hung
+new wagon chains, and near by stood the village blacksmith and his
+apprentice, who carried a hand anvil and a sledge hammer for the cold
+welding of those chains.
+
+At a distance from these stakes the procession was halted. Then out from
+the gate of the Abbey came the Abbot in his robes and mitre, preceded by
+acolytes and followed by more monks. He advanced to where the condemned
+women stood and halted, while a friar stepped forward and read their
+sentence to them, of which, being in Latin or in crabbed, legal words,
+they understood nothing at all. Then in sonorous tones he adjured them
+for the sake of their sinful souls to make full confession of their
+guilt, that they might receive pardon before they suffered in the flesh
+for their hideous crime of sorcery.
+
+To this invitation Cicely and Emlyn shook their heads, saying that being
+innocent of any sorceries they had nothing to confess. But old Bridget
+gave another answer. She declared in a high, screaming voice that she
+was a witch, as her mother and grandmother had been before her. She
+described, while the crowd listened with intense interest, how Emlyn
+Stower had introduced her to the devil, who was clad in red hose and
+looked like a black boy with a hump on his back and a tuft of red hair
+hanging from his nose, also many unedifying details of her interviews
+with this same fiend.
+
+Asked what he said to her, she answered that he told her to bewitch the
+Abbot of Blossholme because he was such a holy man that God had need
+of him and he did too much good upon the earth. Also he prevented Emlyn
+Stower and Cicely Foterell from working his, the devil’s, will, and
+enabled them to keep alive the baby who would be a great wizard. He told
+her moreover that midwife Megges was an angel (here the crowd laughed)
+sent to kill the said infant, who really was his own child, as might be
+seen by its black eyebrows and cleft tongue, also its webbed feet, and
+that he would appear in the shape of the ghost of Sir John Foterell
+to save it and give it to her, which he did, saying the Lord’s Prayer
+backwards, and that she must bring it up “in the faith of the Pentagon.”
+
+Thus the poor crazed thing raved on, while sentence by sentence a scribe
+wrote down her gibberish, causing her at last to make her mark to it,
+all of which took a very long time. At the end she begged that she might
+be pardoned and not burnt, but this, she was informed, was impossible.
+Thereon she became enraged and asked why then had she been led to tell
+so many lies if after all she must burn, a question at which the crowd
+roared with laughter. On hearing this the priest, who was about to
+absolve her, changed his mind and ordered her to be fastened to her
+stake, which was done by the blacksmith with the help of his apprentice
+and his portable anvil.
+
+Still, her “confession” was solemnly read over to Cicely and Emlyn, who
+were asked whether, after hearing it, they still persisted in a denial
+of their guilt. By way of answer Cicely lifted the hood from her boy’s
+face and showed that his eyebrows were not black, but light-coloured.
+Also she bared his feet, passing her little finger between his toes, and
+asking them if they were webbed. Some of them answered, “No,” but a monk
+roared, “What of that? Cannot Satan web and unweb?” Then he snatched the
+infant from Cicely’s arms and laid it down upon the stump of an oak that
+had been placed there to receive it, crying out--
+
+“Let this child live or die as God pleases.”
+
+Some brute who stood by aimed a blow at it with a stick, yelling, “Death
+to the witch’s brat!” but a big man, whom Emlyn recognized as one of old
+Sir John’s tenants, caught the falling stick from his hand and dealt him
+such a clout with it that he fell like a stone, and went for the rest
+of his life with but one eye and the nose flattened on the side of his
+face. Thenceforward no one tried to harm the babe, who, as all know,
+because of what befell him on this day, went in after life by the
+nickname of Christopher Oak-stump.
+
+The Abbot’s men stepped forward to tie Cicely to her stake, but ere they
+laid hands on her she took off her wool-lined cloak and threw it to the
+yeoman who had struck down the fellow with his own stick, saying--
+
+“Friend, wrap my boy in this and guard him till I ask him from you
+again.”
+
+“Aye, Lady,” answered the great man, bending his knee; “I have served
+the grandsire and the sire, and so I’ll serve the son,” and throwing
+aside the stick he drew a sword and set himself in front of the oak boll
+where the infant lay. Nor did any venture to meddle with him, for they
+saw other men of a like sort ranging themselves about him.
+
+Now slowly enough the smith began to rivet the chain round Cicely.
+
+“Man,” she said to him, “I have seen you shoe many of my father’s nags.
+Who could have thought that you would live to use your honest skill upon
+his daughter!”
+
+On hearing these words the fellow burst into tears, cast down his tools
+and fled away, cursing the Abbot. His apprentice would have followed,
+but him they caught and forced to complete the task. Then Emlyn was
+chained up also, so that at length all was ready for the last terrible
+act of the drama.
+
+Now the head executioner--he was the Abbey cook--placed some pine
+splinters to light in a brazier that stood near by, and while waiting
+for the word of command, remarked audibly to his mate that there was a
+good wind and that the witches would burn briskly.
+
+The spectators were ordered back out of earshot, and went at last, some
+of them muttering sullenly to each other. For here the company could
+not be picked as it had been at the trial, and the Abbot noted anxiously
+that among them the victims had many friends. It was time the deed was
+done ere their smouldering love and pity flowed out into bloody tumult,
+he thought to himself. So, advancing quickly, he stood in front of Emlyn
+and asked her in a low voice if she still refused to give up the secret
+of the jewels, seeing that there was yet time for him to command that
+they should die mercifully and not by the fire.
+
+“Let the mistress judge, not the maid,” answered Emlyn in a steady
+voice.
+
+He turned and repeated the question to Cicely, who replied--
+
+“Have I not told you--never. Get you behind me, O evil man, and go,
+repent your sins ere it be too late.”
+
+The Abbot stared at her, feeling that such constancy and courage were
+almost superhuman. He had an acute, imaginative mind which could fancy
+himself in like case and what his state would be. Though he was in such
+haste a great curiosity entered into him to know whence she drew her
+strength, which even then he tried to satisfy.
+
+“Are you mad or drugged, Cicely Foterell?” he asked. “Do you not know
+how fire will feel when it eats up that delicate flesh of yours?”
+
+“I do not know and I shall never know,” she answered quietly.
+
+“Do you mean that you will die before it touches you, building on some
+promise of your master, Satan?”
+
+“Yes, I shall die before the fire touches me; but not here and now, and
+I build upon a promise from the Master of us all in heaven.”
+
+He laughed, a shrill, nervous laugh, and called out loud to the people
+around--
+
+“This witch says that she will not burn, for Heaven has promised it to
+her. Do you not, Witch?”
+
+“Yes, I say so; bear witness to my words, good people all,” replied
+Cicely in clear and ringing tones.
+
+“Well, we’ll see,” shouted the Abbot. “Man, bring flame, and let
+Heaven--or hell--help her if it can!”
+
+The cook-executioner blew at his brands, but he was nervous, or clumsy,
+and a minute or more went by before they flamed. At length one was fit
+for the task, and unwillingly enough he stooped to lift it up.
+
+Then it was that in the midst of the intense silence, for of all that
+multitude none seemed even to breathe, and old Bridget, who had fainted,
+cried no more, a bull’s voice was heard beyond the brow of the hill,
+roaring--
+
+“_In the King’s name, stay! In the King’s name, stay!_”
+
+All turned to look, and there between the trees appeared a white horse,
+its sides streaked with blood, that staggered rather than galloped
+towards them, and on the horse a huge, red-bearded man, clad in mail and
+holding in his hand a woodman’s axe.
+
+“Fire the faggots!” shouted the Abbot, but the cook, who was not by
+nature brave, had already let fall his torch, which went out on the damp
+ground.
+
+By now the horse was rushing through them, treading them under foot.
+With great, convulsive bounds it reached the ring and, as the rider
+leapt from its back, rolled over and lay there panting, for its strength
+was done.
+
+“It is Thomas Bolle!” exclaimed a voice, while the Abbot cried again--
+
+“Fire the faggots! Fire the faggots!” and a soldier ran to fetch another
+brand.
+
+But Thomas was before him. Snatching up the brazier by its legs he
+smote downwards with it so that the burning charcoal fell all about the
+soldier and the iron cage remained fixed upon his head, shouting as he
+smote--
+
+“You sought fire--take it!”
+
+The man rolled upon the ground screaming in pain and terror till some
+one dragged the cage off his head, leaving his face barred like a
+grilled herring. None took further heed of what became of him, for now
+Thomas Bolle stood in front of the stakes waving his great axe, and
+repeating, “In the King’s name, stay! In the King’s name, stay!”
+
+“What mean you, knave?” exclaimed the furious Abbot.
+
+“What I say, Priest. One step nearer and I’ll split your crown.”
+
+The Abbot fell back and Thomas went on--
+
+“A Foterell! A Foterell! A Harflete! A Harflete! O ye who have eaten
+their bread, come, scatter these faggots and save their flesh. Who’ll
+stand with me against Maldon and his butchers?”
+
+“I,” answered voices, “and I, and I, and I!”
+
+“And I too,” hallooed the yeoman by the oak stump, “only I watch
+the child. Nay, by God I’ll bring it with me!” and, snatching up the
+screaming babe under his left arm, he ran to him.
+
+On came the others also, hurling the faggots this way and that.
+
+“Break the chains,” roared Bolle again, and somehow those strong hands
+did it; indeed, the only hurt that Cicely took that day was from their
+hacking at these chains. They were loose. Cicely snatched the child from
+the yeoman, who was glad enough to be rid of it, having other work to
+do, for now the Abbot’s men-at-arms were coming on.
+
+“Ring the women round,” roared Bolle, “and strike home for Foterell,
+strike home for Harflete! Ah, priest’s dog, in the King’s name--this!”
+ and the axe sank up to the haft into the breast of the captain who had
+told Cicely that she would be warm enough that day without her cloak.
+
+Then there began a great fight. The party of Foterell, of whom there
+may have been a score, captained by Bolle, made a circle round the three
+green oak stakes, within which stood Cicely and Emlyn and old Bridget,
+still tied to her post, for no one had thought or found time to cut her
+loose. These were attacked by the Abbot’s guard, thirty or more of
+them, urged on by Maldon himself, who was maddened by the rescue of his
+victims and full of fear lest Cicely’s words should be fulfilled and
+she herself set down henceforth, not as a witch, but as a prophetess
+favoured by God.
+
+On came the soldiers and were beaten back. Thrice they came on and
+thrice they were beaten back with loss, for Bolle’s axe was terrible to
+face and, now that they had found a leader and their courage, the yeoman
+lads who stood with him were sturdy fighters. Also tumult broke out
+among the hundreds who watched, some of them taking one side and some
+the other, so that they fell upon each other with sticks and stones
+and fists, even the women joining in the fray, biting and tearing like
+bagged cats. The scene was hideous and the sounds those of a sacked
+city, for many were hurt and all gave tongue, while shrill and clear
+above this hateful music rose the yells of Bridget, who had awakened
+from her faint and imagined all was over and that she fathomed hell.
+
+Thrice the attackers were rolled back, but of those who defended a third
+were down, and now the Abbot took another counsel.
+
+“Bring bows,” he cried, “and shoot them, for they have none!” and men
+ran off to do his bidding.
+
+Then it was that Emlyn’s wit came to their aid, for when Bolle shook his
+red head and gasped out that he feared they were lost, since how could
+they fight against arrows, she answered--
+
+“If so, why stand here to be spitted, fool? Come, let us cut our way
+through ere the shafts begin to fly, and take refuge among the trees or
+in the Nunnery.”
+
+“Women’s counsel is good sometimes,” said Bolle. “Form up, Foterells,
+and march.”
+
+“Nay,” broke in Cicely, “loose Bridget first, lest they should burn her
+after all; I’ll not stir else.”
+
+So Bridget was hacked free, and together with the wounded men, of whom
+there were several, dragged and supported thence. Then began a running
+fight, but one in which they still held their own. Yet they would have
+been overwhelmed at last, for the women and the wounded hampered them,
+had not help come. For as they hewed their path towards the belt of
+trees with the Abbot’s fierce fellows, some of whom were French or
+Spanish, hanging on their flanks, suddenly, in the gap where the roadway
+ran, appeared a horse galloping and on it a woman, who clung to its mane
+with both hands, and after her many armed men.
+
+“Look, Emlyn, look!” exclaimed Cicely. “Who is that?” for she could not
+believe her eyes.
+
+“Who but Mother Matilda,” answered Emlyn; “and by the saints, she is a
+strange sight!”
+
+A strange sight she was indeed, for her hood was gone, her hair, that
+was ever so neat, flew loose, her robe was ruckled up about her knees,
+the rosary and crucifix she wore streamed on the air behind her and beat
+against her back, and her garb had burst open at the front; in short,
+never was holy, aged Prioress seen in such a state before. Down she
+came on them like a whirlwind, for her frightened horse scented its
+Blossholme stable, clinging grimly to her unaccustomed seat, and crying
+as she sped--
+
+“For God’s love, stop this mad beast!”
+
+Bolle caught it by the bridle and threw it to its haunches so that,
+its rider speeding on, flew over its head on to the broad breast of the
+yeoman who had watched the child, and there rested thankfully. For, as
+Mother Matilda said afterwards with her gentle smile, never before did
+she know what comfort there was to be found in man.
+
+When at length she loosed her arms from about his neck the yeoman stood
+her on her feet, saying that this was worse than the baby, and her
+wandering eyes fell upon Cicely.
+
+“So I am in time! Oh! never more will I revile that horse,” she
+exclaimed, and sinking to her knees then and there she gasped out some
+prayer of thankfulness. Meanwhile, those who followed her had reined
+up in front, and the Abbot’s soldiers with the accompanying crowd had
+halted behind, not knowing what to make of these strangers, so that
+Bolle and his party with the women were now between the two.
+
+From among the new-comers rode out a fat, coarse man, with a pompous
+air as of one who is accustomed to be obeyed, who inquired in a laboured
+voice, for he was breathless from hard riding, what all this turmoil
+meant.
+
+“Ask the Abbot of Blossholme,” said some one, “for it is his work.”
+
+“Abbot of Blossholme? That’s the man I want,” puffed the fat stranger.
+“Appear, Abbot of Blossholme, and give account of these doings. And you
+fellows,” he added to his escort, “range up and be ready, lest this said
+priest should prove contumacious.”
+
+Now the Abbot stepped forward with some of his monks and, looking the
+horseman up and down, said--
+
+“Who may it be that demands account so roughly of a consecrated Abbot?”
+
+“A consecrated Abbot? A consecrated peacock, a tumultuous, turbulent,
+traitorous priest, a Spanish rogue ruffler who, I am told, keeps about
+him a band of bloody mercenaries to break the King’s peace and slay
+loyal English folk. Well, consecrated Abbot, I’ll tell you who I am. I
+am Thomas Legh, his Grace’s Visitor and Royal Commissioner to inspect
+the Houses called religious, and I am come hither upon complaint made by
+yonder Prioress of Blossholme Nunnery, as to your dealings with
+certain of his Highness’s subjects whom, she says, you have accused of
+witchcraft for purposes of revenge and unlawful gain. That is who I am,
+my fine fowl of an Abbot.”
+
+Now when he heard this pompous speech the rage in Maldon’s face was
+replaced by fear, for he knew of this Doctor Legh and his mission, and
+understood what Thomas Bolle had meant by his cry of, “In the King’s
+name!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+THE MESSENGER
+
+
+“Who makes all this tumult?” shouted the Commissioner. “Why do I see
+blood and wounds and dead men? And how were you about to handle these
+women, one of whom by her mien is of no low degree?” and he stared at
+Cicely.
+
+“The tumult,” answered the Abbot, “was caused by yonder fool, Thomas
+Bolle, a lay-brother of my monastery, who rushed among us armed and
+shouting ‘In the King’s name, stay.’”
+
+“Then why did you not stay, Sir Abbot? Is the King’s name one to be
+mocked at? Know that I sent on the man.”
+
+“He had no warrant, Sir Commissioner, unless his bull’s voice and great
+axe are a warrant, and I did not stay because we were doing justice upon
+the three foulest witches in the realm.”
+
+“Doing justice? Whose justice and what justice? Say, had you a warrant
+for your justice? If so, show it me.”
+
+“These witches have been condemned by a Court Ecclesiastic, the judges
+being a bishop, a prior and myself, and in pursuance of that judgment
+were about to suffer for their sins by fire,” replied Maldon.
+
+“A Court Ecclesiastic!” roared Dr. Legh. “Can Courts Ecclesiastic, then,
+toast free English folk to death? If you would not stand your trial for
+attempted murder, show me your warrant signed by his Grace the King,
+or by his Justices of Assize. What! You do not answer. Have you none? I
+thought as much. Oho, Clement Maldon, you hang-faced Spanish dog, learn
+that eyes have been on you for long, and now it seems that you would
+usurp the King’s prerogative besides----” and he checked himself, then
+went on, “Seize that priest, and keep him fast while I make inquiry of
+this business.”
+
+Now some of the Commissioner’s guard surrounded Maldon, nor did his own
+men venture to interfere with them, for they had enough of fighting and
+were frightened by this talk about the King’s warrant.
+
+Then the Commissioner turned to Cicely, and said--
+
+“You are Sir John Foterell’s only child, are you not, who allege
+yourself to be wife to Sir Christopher Harflete, or so says yonder
+Prioress? Now, what was about to happen to you, and why?”
+
+“Sir,” answered Cicely, “I and my waiting-woman and the old sister,
+Bridget, were condemned to die by fire at those stakes upon a charge
+of sorcery. Although it is true,” she added, “that I knew we should not
+perish thus.”
+
+“How did you know that, Lady? By all tokens your bodies and hot flame
+were near enough together,” and he glanced towards the stakes and the
+scattered faggots.
+
+“Sir, I knew it because of a vision that God sent to me in my sleep last
+night.”
+
+“Aye, she swore that at the stake,” exclaimed a voice, “and we thought
+her mad.”
+
+“Now can you deny that she is a witch?” broke in Maldon. “If she were
+not one of Satan’s own, how could she see visions and prophesy her own
+deliverance?”
+
+“If visions and prophecies are proof of witchcraft, then, Priest, all
+Holy Writ is but a seething pot of sorcery,” answered Legh. “Then the
+Blessed Virgin and St. Elizabeth were witches, and Paul and John should
+have been burnt as wizards. Continue, Lady, leaving out your dreams
+until a more convenient time.”
+
+“Sir,” went on Cicely, “we have worked no sorcery, and my crime is that
+I will not name my child a bastard and sign away my lands and goods to
+yonder Abbot, the murderer of my father and perhaps of my husband. Oh!
+listen, listen, you and all folk here, and briefly as I may I will tell
+my tale. Have I your leave to speak?”
+
+The Commissioner nodded, and she set out her story from the beginning,
+so sweetly, so simply and with such truth and earnestness, that the
+concourse of people packed close about her, hung upon her every word,
+and even Dr. Legh’s coarse face softened as he heard. For the half of an
+hour or more she spoke, telling of her father’s death, of her flight and
+marriage, of the burning of Cranwell Towers, and her widowing, if such
+it were; of her imprisonment in the Priory and the Abbot’s dealings with
+her and Emlyn; of the birth of her child and its attempted murder by
+the midwife, his creature; of their trial and condemnation, they being
+innocent, and of all they had endured that day.
+
+“If you are innocent,” shouted a priest as she paused for breath, “what
+was that Thing dressed in the livery of Satan which worked evil at
+Blossholme? Did we not see it with our eyes?”
+
+Just then some one uttered an exclamation and pointed to the shadow of
+the trees where a strange form was moving. Another moment and it came
+out into the light. One more and all that multitude scattered like
+frightened sheep, rushing this way and that; yes, even the horses took
+the bits between their teeth and bolted. For there, visible to all,
+Satan himself strolled towards them. On his head were horns, behind his
+back hung down a tail, his body was shaggy like a beast’s, and his face
+hideous and of many colours, while in his hand he held a pronged fork
+with a long handle. This way and that rushed the throng, only the
+Commissioner, who had dismounted, stood still, perhaps because he
+was too afraid to stir, and with him the women and some of the nuns,
+including the Prioress, who fell upon their knees and began to utter
+prayers.
+
+On came the dreadful thing till it reached the King’s Visitor, bowing
+to him and bellowing like a bull, then very deliberately untied some
+strings and let its horrid garb fall off, revealing the person of Thomas
+Bolle!
+
+“What means this mummery, knave?” gasped Dr. Legh.
+
+“Mummery do you call it, sir?” answered Thomas with a grin. “Well, if
+so, ‘tis on the faith of such mummery that priests burn women in merry
+England. Come, good people, come,” he roared in his great voice, “come,
+see Satan in the flesh. Here are his horns,” and he held them up, “once
+they grew upon the head of Widow Johnson’s billy-goat. Here’s his tail,
+many a fly has it flicked off the belly of an Abbey cow. Here’s his ugly
+mug, begotten of parchment and the paint-box. Here’s his dreadful fork
+that drives the damned to some hotter corner; it has been death to whole
+stones of eels down in the marsh-fleet yonder. I have some hell-fire too
+among the bag of tricks; you’ll make the best of brimstone and a little
+oil dried out upon the hearth. Come, see the devil all complete and
+naught to pay.”
+
+Back trooped the crowd a little fearfully, taking the properties which
+he held, and handling them, till first one and then all of them began to
+laugh.
+
+“Laugh not,” shouted Bolle. “Is it a matter of laughter that noble
+ladies and others whose lives are as dear to some,” and he glanced at
+Emlyn, “should grill like herrings because a poor fool walks about clad
+in skins to keep out the cold and frighten villains? Hark you, I played
+this trick. I am Beelzebub, also the ghost of Sir John Foterell. I
+entered the Priory chapel by a passage that I know, and saved yonder
+babe from murder and scared the murderess down to hell; yes, from the
+sham devil to the true. Why did I do it? Well, to protect the innocent
+and scourge the wicked in his pride. But the wicked seized the innocent
+and the innocent said nothing, fearing lest I should suffer with them,
+and----O God, you know the rest!
+
+“It was a near thing, a very near thing, but I’m not the half-wit I’ve
+feigned to be for years. Moreover, I had a good horse and a heavy axe,
+and there are still true hearts round Blossholme; the dead men that lie
+yonder show it. Heaven has still its angels on the earth, though they
+wear strange shapes. There stands one of them, and there another,”
+ and he pointed first to the fat and pompous Visitor, and next to the
+dishevelled Prioress, adding: “And now, Sir Commissioner, for all that
+I have done in the cause of justice I ask pardon of you who wear the
+King’s grace and majesty as I wore old Nick’s horns and hoofs, since
+otherwise the Abbot and his hired butchers, who hold themselves masters
+of King and people, will murder me for this as they have done by better
+men. Therefore pardon, your Mightiness, pardon,” and he kneeled down
+before him.
+
+“You have it, Bolle; in the King’s name you have it,” replied Legh, who
+was more flattered by the titles and attributes poured upon him by the
+cunning Thomas than a closer consideration might have warranted. “For
+all that you have done, or left undone, I, the Commissioner of his
+Grace, declare that you shall go scot free and that no action criminal
+or civil shall lie against you, and this my secretary shall give to you
+in writing. Now, good fellow, rise, but steal Satan’s plumes no more
+lest you should feel his claws and beak, for he is an ill fowl to mock.
+Bring hither that Spaniard Maldon. I have somewhat to say to him.”
+
+Now they looked this way and that, but no Abbot could they see. The
+guards swore that they had never taken eye off him, even when they all
+ran before the devil, yet certainly he was gone.
+
+“The knave has given us the slip,” bellowed the Commissioner, who was
+purple with rage. “Search for him! Seize him, for which my command shall
+be your warrant. Draw the wood. I’ll to the Abbey, where perchance the
+fox has gone to earth. Five golden crowns to the man who nets the slimy
+traitor.”
+
+Now every one, burning with zeal to show their loyalty and to win the
+crowns, scattered on the search, so that presently the three “witches,”
+ Thomas Bolle, Mother Matilda, and the nuns, were left standing almost
+alone and staring at each other and the dead and wounded men who lay
+about.
+
+“Let us to the Priory,” said Mother Matilda, “for by the sun I judge
+that it is time for evening prayer, and there seem to be none to hinder
+us.”
+
+Thomas went to her horse, which grazed close at hand, and led it up.
+
+“Nay, good friend,” she exclaimed, with energy, “while I live no more of
+that evil beast for me. Henceforth I’ll walk till I am carried. Keep it,
+Thomas, as a gift; it is bought and paid for. Sister, your arm.”
+
+“Have I done well, Emlyn?” Bolle asked, as he tightened the girths.
+
+“I don’t know,” she answered, looking at him sideways. “You played the
+cur at first, leaving us to burn for your sins, but afterwards, well,
+you found the wits you say you never lost. Also your manners mended, and
+yonder captain knave learned that you can handle an axe, so we’ll say
+no more about it, lad, for doubtless that Abbot and his spies were sore
+task-masters and broke your spirit with their penances and talk of hell
+to come. Here, lift my lady on to this horse, for she is spent, and
+let me lean upon your shoulder, Thomas. It’s weary work standing at a
+stake.”
+
+
+
+Cicely’s recollections of the remainder of that day were always shadowy
+and tangled. She remembered a prayer of thanksgiving in which she took
+small part with her lips, she whose heart was one great thanksgiving.
+She remembered the good sister who had given them the relics of St.
+Catherine assuring her, as she received them back with care, that
+these and these alone had worked the miracle and saved their lives. She
+remembered eating food and straining her boy to her breast, and then she
+remembered no more till she woke to see the morning sun streaming into
+that same room whence on the previous day they had been led out to
+suffer the most horrible of deaths.
+
+Yes, she woke, and see, near by was Emlyn making ready her garments, as
+she had done these many years, and at her side lay the boy crowing in
+the sunlight and waving his little arms, the blessed boy who knew not
+the terrors he had passed. At first she thought that she had dreamed a
+very evil dream, till by degrees all the truth came back to her, and
+she shivered at its memory, yes, even as the weight of it rolled off her
+heart she shivered and whitened like an aspen in the wind. Then she rose
+and thanked God for His mercies, which were great.
+
+Oh, if the strength of that horse of Thomas Bolle’s had failed one short
+five minutes sooner, she, in whom the red blood still ran so healthily,
+would have been but a handful of charred bones. Or if her faith had left
+her so that she had yielded to the Abbot and shortened all his talk at
+the place of burning, then Bolle would have come too late. But it proved
+sufficient to her need, and for this also truly she should be thankful
+to its Giver.
+
+After they had eaten, a message came to them from the Prioress, who
+desired to see them in her chamber. Thither they went, rejoiced to find
+that they were no longer prisoners but had liberty to come and go, and
+found her seated in a tall chair, for she was too stiff to walk. Cicely
+ran to her, knelt down and kissed her, and she laid her left hand upon
+her head in blessing, for the right was cut with the chafing of the
+reins.
+
+“Surely, Cicely,” she said, smiling, “it is I who should kneel to you,
+were I in any state to do so. For now I have heard all the tale, and it
+seems that we have a prophetess among us, one favoured with visions from
+on high, which visions have been most marvellously fulfilled.”
+
+“That is so, Mother,” she answered briefly, for this was a matter of
+which she would never talk at length, either then or thereafter, “but
+the fulfilment came through you.”
+
+“My daughter, I was but the minister, you were the chosen seer, still
+let the holy business lie a while. Perhaps you will tell me of it
+afterwards, and meantime the world and its affairs press us hard. Your
+deliverance has been bought at no small cost, my daughter, for know that
+yonder coarse and ungodly man, the King’s Visitor, told me as we rode
+that this Nunnery must be dissolved, its house and revenues seized, and
+I and my sisters turned out to starve in our old age. Indeed, to bring
+him here at all I was forced to petition that it might be so in a
+writing that I signed. See, then, how great is my love for you, dear
+Cicely.”
+
+“Mother,” she answered, “it cannot be, it shall not be.”
+
+“Alas! child, how will you prevent it? These Visitors, and those who
+commission them, are hungry folk. I hear they take the lands and goods
+of poor religious such as we are, and if these are fortunate, give one
+or two of them a little pittance to get bread. Once I had moneys of my
+own, but I spent them to buy back the Valley Farm which the Abbot had
+seized, and of late to satisfy his extortions,” and she wept a little.
+
+“Mother, listen. I have wealth hidden away, I know not where exactly,
+but Emlyn knows. It is my very own, the Carfax jewels that came to me
+from my mother. It was because of these that we were brought to the
+stake, since the Abbot offered us life in return for them, and when it
+was too late to save us, a more merciful death than that by fire. But I
+forbade Emlyn to yield the secret; something in my heart told me to do
+so, now I know why. Mother, the price of those gems shall buy back your
+lands, and mayhap buy also permission from his Grace the King for the
+continuance of your house, where you and yours shall worship as those
+who went before you have done for many generations. I swear it in my own
+name and in that of my child and of my husband also--if he lives.”
+
+“Your husband if he lives might need this wealth, sweet Cicely.”
+
+“Then, Mother, except to save his life, or liberty or honour, I tell you
+I will refuse it to him, who, when he learns what you have done for me
+and our son, would give it you and all else he has besides--nay, would
+pay it as an honourable debt.”
+
+“Well, Cicely, in God’s name and my own I thank you, and we’ll see,
+we’ll see! Only be advised, lest Dr. Legh should learn of this treasure.
+But where is it, Emlyn? Fear not to tell me who can be secret, for it
+is well that more than one should know, and I think that your danger is
+past.”
+
+“Yes, speak, Emlyn,” said Cicely, “for though I never asked before,
+fearing my own weakness, I am curious. None can hear us here.”
+
+“Then, Mistress, I will tell you. You remember that on the day of the
+burning of Cranwell we sought refuge on the central tower, whence I
+carried you senseless to the vault. Now in that vault we lay all night,
+and while you swooned I searched with my fingers till I found a stone
+that time and damp had loosened, behind which was a hollow. In that
+hollow I hid the jewels that I carried wrapt in silk in the bosom of my
+robe. Then I filled up the hole with dust scraped from the floor, and
+replaced the stone, wedging it tight with bits of mortar. It is the
+third stone counting from the eastern angle in the second course above
+the floor line. There I set them, and there doubtless they lie to this
+day, for unless the tower is pulled down to its foundations none will
+ever find them in that masonry.”
+
+At this moment there came a knocking on the door. When it was opened by
+Emlyn a nun entered, saying that the King’s Visitor demanded to speak
+with the Prioress.
+
+“Show him here since I cannot come to him,” said Mother Matilda, “and
+you, Cicely and Emlyn, bide with me, for in such company it is well to
+have witnesses.”
+
+A minute later Dr. Legh appeared accompanied by his secretaries,
+gorgeously attired and puffing from the stairs.
+
+“To business, to business,” he said, scarcely stopping to acknowledge
+the greetings of the Prioress. “Your convent is sequestrated upon
+your own petition, Madam, therefore I need not stop to make the usual
+inquiries, and indeed I will admit that from all I hear it has a good
+repute, for none allege scandal against you, perhaps because you are all
+too old for such follies. Produce now your deeds, your terrier of lands
+and your rent-rolls, that I may take them over in due form and dissolve
+the sisterhood.”
+
+“I will send for them, Sir,” answered the Prioress humbly; “but,
+meanwhile, tell us what we poor religious are to do? I am turned sixty
+years of age, and have dwelt in this house for forty of them; none of my
+sisters are young, and some of them are older than myself. Whither shall
+we go?”
+
+“Into the world, Madam, which you will find a fine, large place. Cease
+snuffling prayers and from all vulgar superstitions--by the way, forget
+not to hand over any reliquaries of value, or any papistical emblems
+in precious metals that you may possess, including images, of which my
+secretaries will take account--and go out into the world. Marry there
+if you can find husbands, follow useful trades there. Do what you will
+there, and thank the King who frees you from the incumbrance of silly
+vows and from the circle of a convent’s walls.”
+
+“To give us liberty to starve outside of them. Sir, do you understand
+your work? For hundreds of years we have sat at Blossholme, and during
+all those generations have prayed to God for the souls of men and
+ministered to their bodies. We have done no harm to any creature, and
+what wealth came to us from the earth or from the benefactions of
+the pious we have dispensed with a liberal hand, taking nothing for
+ourselves. The poor by multitudes have fed at our gates, their sick we
+have nursed, their children we have taught; often we have gone hungry
+that they might be full. Now you drive us forth in our age to perish.
+If that is the will of God, so be it, but what must chance to England’s
+poor?”
+
+“That is England’s business, Madam, and the poor’s. Meanwhile I have
+told you that I have no time to waste, since I must away to London to
+make report concerning this Abbot of yours, a veritable rogue, of
+whose villainous plots I have discovered many things. I pray you send a
+messenger to bid them hurry with the deeds.”
+
+Just then a nun entered bearing a tray, on which were cakes and wine.
+Emlyn took it from her, and pouring the wine into cups offered them to
+the Visitor and his secretaries.
+
+“Good wine,” he said, after he had drunk, “a very generous wine. You
+nuns know the best in liquor; be careful, I pray you, to include it in
+your inventory. Why, woman, are you not one of those whom that Abbot
+would have burnt? Yes, and there is your mistress, Dame Foterell, or
+Dame Harflete, with whom I desire a word.”
+
+“I am at your service, Sir,” said Cicely.
+
+“Well, Madam, you and your servant have escaped the stake to which, as
+near as I can judge, you were sentenced upon no evidence at all. Still,
+you were condemned by a competent ecclesiastical Court, and under that
+condemnation you must therefore remain until or unless the King pardons
+you. My judgment is, then, that you stay here awaiting his command.”
+
+“But, Sir,” said Cicely, “if the good nuns who have befriended me are to
+be driven forth, how can I dwell on in their house alone? Yet you say
+I must not leave it, and indeed if I could, whither should I go? My
+husband’s hall is burnt, my own the Abbot holds. Moreover, if I bide
+here, in this way or in that he will have my life.”
+
+“The knave has fled away,” said Dr. Legh, rubbing his fat chin.
+
+“Aye, but he will come back again, or his people will, and, Sir, you
+know these Spaniards are good haters, and I have defied him long. Oh,
+Sir, I crave the protection of the King for my child’s sake and my own,
+and for Emlyn Stower also.”
+
+The Commissioner went on rubbing his chin.
+
+“You can give much evidence against this Maldon, can you not?” he asked
+at length.
+
+“Aye,” broke in Emlyn, “enough to hang him ten times over, and so can
+I.”
+
+“And you have large estates which he has seized, have you not?”
+
+“I have, Sir, who am of no mean birth and station.”
+
+“Lady,” he said, with more deference in his voice, “step aside with me,
+I would speak with you privately,” and he walked to the window, where
+she followed him. “Now tell me, what was the value of these properties
+of yours?”
+
+“I know not rightly, Sir, but I have heard my father say about £300 a
+year.”
+
+His manner became more deferential still, since for those days such
+wealth was great.
+
+“Indeed, my Lady. A large sum, a very comfortable fortune if you can get
+it back. Now I will be frank with you. The King’s Commissioners are not
+well paid and their costs are great. If I so arrange your matters
+that you come to your own again and that the judgment of witchcraft
+pronounced against you and your servant is annulled, will you promise to
+pay me one year’s rent of these estates to meet the various expenses I
+must incur on your behalf?”
+
+Now it was Cicely’s turn to think.
+
+“Surely,” she answered at length, “if you will add a condition--that
+these good sisters shall be left undisturbed in their Nunnery.”
+
+He shook his fat head.
+
+“It is not possible now. The thing is too public. Why, the Lord Cromwell
+would say I had been bribed, and I might lose my office.”
+
+“Well, then,” went on Cicely, “if you will promise that one year of
+grace shall be given to them to make arrangements for their future.”
+
+“That I can do,” he answered, nodding, “on the ground that they are of
+blameless life, and have protected you from the King’s enemy. But this
+is an uncertain world; I must ask you to sign an indenture, and its form
+will be that you acknowledge to have received from me a loan of £300 to
+be repaid with interest when you recover your estates.”
+
+“Draw it up and I will sign, Sir.”
+
+“Good, Madam; and now that we may get this business through, you will
+accompany me to London, where you will be safe from harm. We’ll not ride
+to-day, but to-morrow morning at the light.”
+
+“Then my servant Emlyn must come also, Sir, to help me with the babe,
+and Thomas Bolle too, for he can prove that the witchcraft upon which we
+were condemned was but his trickery.”
+
+“Yes, yes; but the costs of travel for so many will be great. Have you,
+perchance, any money?”
+
+“Yes, Sir, about £50 in gold that is sewn up in one of Emlyn’s robes.”
+
+“Ah! A sufficient sum. Too much indeed to be risked upon your persons in
+these rough times. You will let me take charge of half of it for you?”
+
+“With pleasure, Sir, trusting you as I do. Keep to your bargain and I
+will keep to mine.”
+
+“Good. When Thomas Legh is fairly dealt with, Thomas Legh deals fairly,
+no man can say otherwise. This afternoon I will bring the deed, and
+you’ll give me that £25 in charge.”
+
+Then, followed by Cicely, he returned to where the Prioress sat, and
+said--
+
+“Mother Matilda, for so I understand you are called in religion, the
+Lady Harflete has been pleading with me for you, and because you have
+dealt so well by her I have promised in the King’s name that you and
+your nuns shall live on here undisturbed for one year from this day,
+after which you must yield up peaceable possession to his Majesty, whom
+I will beg that you shall be pensioned.”
+
+“I thank you, Sir,” the Prioress answered. “When one is old a year of
+grace is much, and in a year many things may happen--for instance, my
+death.”
+
+“Thank me not--a plain man who but follows after justice and duty. The
+documents for your signature shall be ready this afternoon, and by the
+way, the Lady Harflete and her servant, also that stout, shrewd fellow,
+Thomas Bolle, ride with me to London to-morrow. She will explain all. At
+three of the clock I wait upon you.”
+
+The Visitor and his secretaries bustled out of the room as pompously
+as they had entered, and when they had gone Cicely explained to Mother
+Matilda and Emlyn what had passed.
+
+“I think that you have done wisely,” said the Prioress, when she had
+listened. “That man is a shark, but better give him your little finger
+than your whole body. Certainly, you have bargained well for us, for
+what may not happen in a year? Also, dear Cicely, you will be safer in
+London than at Blossholme, since with the great sum of £300 to gain
+that Commissioner will watch you like the apple of his eye and push your
+cause.”
+
+“Unless some one promises him the greater sum of £1000 to scotch it,”
+ interrupted Emlyn. “Well, there was but one road to take, and paper
+promises are little, though I grudge the good £25 in gold. Meanwhile,
+Mother, we have much to make ready. I pray you send some one to find
+Thomas Bolle, who will not be far away, for since we are no longer
+prisoners I wish to go out walking with him on an errand of my own that
+perchance you can guess. Wealth may be useful in London town for all our
+sakes. Also horses and a packbeast must be got, and other things.”
+
+
+
+In due course Thomas Bolle was found fast asleep in a neighbour’s house,
+for after his adventures and triumph he had drunk hard and rested
+long. When she discovered the truth Emlyn rated him well, calling him
+a beer-tub and not a man, and many other hard names, till at last she
+provoked him to answer, that had it not been for the said beer-tub she
+would be but ash-dust this day. Thereon she turned the talk and told
+them their needs, and that he must ride with them to London. To this
+he replied that good horses should be saddled by the dawn, for he knew
+where to lay hands on them, since some were left in the Abbot’s stables
+that wanted exercise; further, that he would be glad to leave Blossholme
+for a while, where he had made enemies on the yesterday, whose friends
+yet lay wounded or unburied. After this Emlyn whispered something in his
+ear, to which he nodded assent, saying that he would bustle round and be
+ready.
+
+That afternoon Emlyn went out riding with Thomas Bolle, who was fully
+armed, as she said, to try two of the horses that should carry them on
+the morrow, and it was late when she returned out of the dark night.
+
+“Have you got them?” asked Cicely, when they were together in their
+room.
+
+“Aye,” she answered, “every one; but some stones have fallen, and it
+was hard to win an entrance to that vault. Indeed, had it not been for
+Thomas Bolle, who has the strength of a bull, I could never have done
+it. Moreover, the Abbot has been there before us and dug over every inch
+of the floor. But the fool never thought of the wall, so all’s well.
+I’ll sew half of them into my petticoat and half into yours, to share
+the risk. In case of thieves, the money that hungry Visitor has left to
+us, for I paid him over half when you signed the deeds, we will carry
+openly in pouches upon our girdles. They’ll not search further. Oh, I
+forgot, I’ve something more besides the jewels, here it is,” and she
+produced a packet from her bosom and laid it on the table.
+
+“What’s this?” asked Cicely, looking suspiciously at the worn sail-cloth
+in which it was wrapped.
+
+“How can I tell? Cut it and see. All I know is that when I stood at the
+Nunnery door as Thomas led away the horses, a man crept on me out of the
+rain swathed in a great cloak and asked if I were not Emlyn Stower. I
+said Yea, whereon he thrust this into my hand, bidding me not fail to
+give it to the Lady Harflete, and was gone.”
+
+“It has an over-seas look about it,” murmured Cicely, as with eager,
+trembling fingers she cut the stitches. At length they were undone and a
+sealed inner wrapping also, revealing, amongst other documents, a little
+packet of parchments covered with crabbed, unreadable writing, on the
+back of which, however, they could decipher the names of Shefton and
+Blossholme by reason of the larger letters in which they were engrossed.
+Also there was a writing in the scrawling hand of Sir John Foterell, and
+at the foot of it his name and, amongst others, those of Father Necton
+and of Jeffrey Stokes. Cicely stared at the deeds, then said--
+
+“Emlyn, I know these parchments. They are those that my father took with
+him when he rode for London to disprove the Abbot’s claim, and with them
+the evidence of the traitorous words he spoke last year at Shefton. Yes,
+this inner wrapping is my own; I took it from the store of worn linen in
+the passage-cupboard. But how come they here?”
+
+Emlyn made no answer, only lifted the wrappings and shook them, whereon
+a strip of paper that they had not seen fell to the table.
+
+“This may tell us,” she said. “Read, if you can; it has words on its
+inner side.”
+
+Cicely snatched at it, and as the writing was clear and clerkly, read
+with ease save for the chokings of her throat. It ran--
+
+
+“My Lady Harflete,
+
+“These are the papers that Jeffrey Stokes saved when your father fell.
+They were given for safekeeping to the writer of these words, far away
+across the sea, and he hands them on unopened. Your husband lives and is
+well again, also Jeffrey Stokes, and though they have been hindered on
+their journey, doubtless he will find his way back to England, whither,
+believing you to be dead, as I did, he has not hurried. There are
+reasons why I, his friend and yours, cannot see you or write more, since
+my duty calls me hence. When it is finished I will seek you out if I
+still live. If not, wait in peace until your joy finds you, as I think
+it will.
+
+“One who loves your lord well, and for his sake you also.”
+
+
+Cicely laid down the paper and burst into a flood of weeping.
+
+“Oh, cruel, cruel!” she sobbed, “to tell so much and yet so little. Nay,
+what an ungrateful wretch am I, since Christopher truly lives, and I
+also live to learn it, I, whom he deems dead.”
+
+“By my soul,” said Emlyn, when she had calmed her, “that cloaked man is
+a prince of messengers. Oh, had I but known what he bore I’d have had
+all the story, if I must cling to him like Potiphar’s wife to Joseph.
+Well, well, Joseph got away and half a herring is better than no fish,
+also this is good herring. Moreover, you have got the deeds when you
+most wanted them and what is better, a written testimony that will bring
+the traitor Maldon to the scaffold.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+JACOB AND THE JEWELS
+
+
+Cicely’s journey to London was strange enough to her, who never before
+had travelled farther than fifty miles from her home, and but once as a
+child spent a month in a town when visiting an aunt at Lincoln. She went
+in ease, it is true, for Commissioner Legh did not love hard travelling,
+and for this reason they started late and halted early, either at some
+good inn, if in those days any such places could be called good, or
+perhaps in a monastery where he claimed of the best that the frightened
+monks had to offer. Indeed, as she observed, his treatment of these poor
+folk was cruel, for he blustered and threatened and inquired, accusing
+them of crimes that they had not committed, and finally, although he had
+no mission to them at the time, extracted great gifts, saying that if
+these were not forthcoming he would make a note and return later. Also
+he got hold of tale-bearers, and wrote down all their scandalous and
+lying stories told against those whose bread they ate.
+
+Thus, long before they saw Charing Cross, Cicely came to hate this
+proud, avaricious and overbearing man, who hid a savage nature under a
+cloak of virtue, and whilst serving his own ends, mouthed great words
+about God and the King. Still, she who was schooled in adversity,
+learned to hide her heart, fearing to make an enemy of one who could
+ruin her, and forced Emlyn, much against her will, to do the same.
+Moreover, there were worse things than that since, being beautiful, some
+of his companions talked to her in a way she could not misunderstand,
+till at length Thomas Bolle, coming on one of them, thrashed him as he
+had never been thrashed before, after which there was trouble that was
+only appeased by a gift.
+
+Yet on the whole things went well. No one molested the King’s Visitor
+or those with him, the autumn weather held fine, the baby boy kept his
+health, and the country through which they passed was new to her and
+full of interest.
+
+At last one evening they rode from Barnet into the great city, which she
+thought a most marvellous place, who had never seen such a multitude of
+houses or of men running to and fro about their business up and down the
+narrow streets that at night were lit with lamps. Now there had been a
+great discussion where they were to lodge, Dr. Legh saying that he knew
+of a house suitable to them. But Emlyn would not hear of this place,
+where she was sure they would be robbed, for the wealth that they
+carried secretly in jewels bore heavily on her mind. Remembering a
+cousin of her mother’s of the name of Smith, a goldsmith, who till
+within a year or two before was alive and dwelling in Cheapside, she
+said that they would seek him out.
+
+Thither then they rode, guided by one of the Visitor’s clerks, not he
+whom Bolle had beaten, but another, and at last, after some search,
+found a dingy house in a court and over it a sign on which were painted
+three balls and the name of Jacob Smith. Emlyn dismounted and, the door
+being open, entered, to be greeted by an old, white-bearded man with
+horn spectacles thrust up over his forehead and dark eyes like her own,
+since the same gypsy blood ran strong in both of them.
+
+What passed between them Cicely did not hear, but presently the old man
+came out with Emlyn, and looked her and Bolle up and down sharply for a
+long while as though to take their measures. At length he said that he
+understood from his cousin, whom he now saw for the first time for
+over thirty years, that the two of them and their man desired lodgings,
+which, as he had empty rooms, he would be pleased to give them if they
+would pay the price.
+
+Cicely asked how much this might be, and on his naming a sum, ten silver
+shillings a week for the three of them and their horses, that would
+be stabled close by, told Emlyn to pay him a pound on account. This he
+took, biting the gold to see that it was good, but bidding them in to
+inspect the rooms before he pouched it. They did so, and finding them
+clean and commodious if somewhat dark, closed the bargain with him,
+after which they dismissed the clerk to take their address to Dr. Legh,
+who had promised to advise them so soon as he could put their business
+forward.
+
+When he was gone and Thomas Bolle, conducted by Smith’s apprentice,
+had led off the three horses and the packbeast, the old man changed his
+manner, and conducting them into a parlour at the back of his shop, sent
+his housekeeper, a middle-aged woman with a pleasant face, to make ready
+food for them while he produced cordials from squat Dutch bottles which
+he made them drink. Indeed he was all kindness to them, being, as he
+explained, rejoiced to see one of his own blood, for he had no relations
+living, his wife and their two children having died in one of the London
+sicknesses. Also he was Blossholme born, though he had left that place
+fifty years before, and had known Cicely’s grandfather and played with
+her father when he was a boy. So he plied them with question after
+question, some of which they thought it wise not to answer, for he was a
+merry and talkative old man.
+
+“Aha!” he said, “you would prove me before you trust me, and who can
+blame you in this naughty world? But perhaps I know more about you all
+than you think, since in this trade my business is to learn many things.
+For instance, I have heard that there was a great trying of witches down
+at Blossholme lately, whereat a certain Abbot came off worst, also that
+the famous Carfax jewels had been lost, which vexed the said holy Abbot.
+They were jewels indeed, or so I have heard, for among them were two
+pink pearls worth a king’s ransom--or so I have heard. Great pity that
+they should be lost, since my Lady there would own them otherwise, and
+much should I have liked, who am a little man in that trade, to set my
+old eyes upon them. Well, well, perhaps I shall, perhaps I shall yet,
+for that which is lost is sometimes found again. Now here comes your
+dinner; eat, eat, we’ll talk afterwards.”
+
+This was the first of many pleasant meals which they shared with their
+host, Jacob Smith. Soon Emlyn found from inquiries that she made among
+his neighbours without seeming to do so, that this cousin of hers bore
+an excellent name and was trusted by all.
+
+“Then why should we not trust him also?” asked Cicely, “who must find
+friends and put faith in some one.”
+
+“Even with the jewels, Mistress?”
+
+“Even with the jewels, for such things are his business, and they would
+be safer in his strong chest than tacked into our garments, where the
+thought of them haunts me night and day.”
+
+“Let us wait a while,” said Emlyn, “for once they were in that box how
+do we know if we should get them out again?”
+
+On the morrow of this talk the Visitor Legh came to see them, and had no
+cheerful tale to tell. According to him the Lord Cromwell declared
+that as the Abbot of Blossholme claimed these Shefton estates, the
+King stood, or would soon stand, in the shoes of the said Abbot of
+Blossholme, and therefore the King claimed them and could not surrender
+them. Moreover, money was so wanted at Court just then, and here
+Legh looked hard at them, “that there could be no talk of parting with
+anything of value except in return for a consideration,” and he looked
+at them harder still.
+
+“And how can my Lady give that,” broke in Emlyn sharply, for she feared
+lest Cicely should commit herself. “To-day she is but a homeless pauper,
+save for a few pounds in gold, and even if she should come to her
+own again, as your Worship knows, her first year’s profits are all
+promised.”
+
+“Ah!” said the Doctor sadly, “doubtless the case is hard. Only,” he
+added, with cunning emphasis, “a tale has just reached me that the
+Lady Harflete has wealth hidden away which came to her from her mother;
+trinkets of value and such things.”
+
+Now Cicely coloured, for the man’s little eyes pierced her like
+gimlets, and her powers of deceit were very small. But this was not so
+with Emlyn, who, as she said, could play thief to catch a thief.
+
+“Listen, Sir,” she said, with a secret air, “you have heard true. There
+were some things of value--why should we hide it from you, our good
+friend? But, alas! that greedy rogue, the Abbot of Blossholme, has them.
+He has stripped my poor Lady as bare as a fowl for roasting. Get them
+back from him, Sir, and on her behalf I say she’ll give you half of
+them, will you not, my Lady?”
+
+“Surely,” said Cicely. “The Doctor, to whom we owe so much, will be most
+welcome to the half of any movables of mine that he can recover from
+the Abbot Maldon,” and she paused, for the fib stuck in her throat.
+Moreover, she knew herself to be the colour of a peony.
+
+Happily the Commissioner did not notice her blushes, or if he did, he
+put them down to grief and anger.
+
+“The Abbot Maldon,” he grumbled, “always the Abbot Maldon. Oh! what a
+wicked thief must be that high-stomached Spaniard who does not scruple
+first to make orphans and then to rob them? A black-hearted traitor,
+too. Do you know that at this moment he stirs up rebellion in the north?
+Well, I’ll see him on the rack before I have done. Have you a list of
+those movables, Madam?”
+
+Cicely said no, and Emlyn added that one should be made from memory.
+
+“Good; I’ll see you again to-morrow or the next day, and meanwhile fear
+not, I’ll be as active in your business as a cat after a sparrow. Oh, my
+rat of a Spanish Abbot, you wait till I get my claws into your fat back.
+Farewell, my Lady Harflete, farewell. Mistress Stower, I must away
+to deal with other priests almost as wicked,” and he departed, still
+muttering objurgations on the Abbot.
+
+“Now, I think the time has come to trust Jacob Smith,” said Emlyn, when
+the door closed behind him, “for he may be honest, whereas this Doctor
+is certainly a villain; also, the man has heard something and suspects
+us. Ah! there you are, Cousin Smith, come in, if you please, since we
+desire to talk with you for a minute. Come in, and be so good as to lock
+the door behind you.”
+
+Five minutes later all the jewels, whereof not one was wanting, lay on
+the table before old Jacob, who stared at them with round eyes.
+
+“The Carfax gems,” he muttered, “the Carfax gems of which I have so
+often heard; those that the old Crusader brought from the East, having
+sacked them from a Sultan; from the East, where they talk of them still.
+A sultan’s wealth, unless, indeed, they came straight from the New
+Jerusalem and were an angel’s gauds. And do you say that you two women
+have carried these priceless things tacked in your cloaks, which, as
+I have seen, you throw down here and there and leave behind you? Oh,
+fools, fools, even among women incomparable fools! Fellow-travellers
+with Dr. Legh also, who would rob a baby of its bauble.”
+
+“Fools or no,” exclaimed Emlyn tartly, “we have got them safe enough
+after they have run some risks, as I pray that you may keep them, Cousin
+Smith.”
+
+Old Jacob threw a cloth over the gems, and slowly transferred them to
+his pocket.
+
+“This is an upper floor,” he explained, “and the door is locked, yet
+some one might put a ladder up to the window. Were I in the street I
+should know by the glitter in the light that there were precious things
+here. Stay, they are not safe in my pocket even for an hour,” and going
+to the wall he did something to a panel in the wainscot causing it to
+open and reveal a space behind it where lay sundry wrapped-up parcels,
+among which he placed, not all, but a portion of the gems. Then he went
+to other panels that opened likewise, showing more parcels, and in the
+holes behind these he distributed the rest of the treasure.
+
+“There, foolish women,” he said, “since you have trusted me, I will
+trust you. You have seen my big strong-boxes in my office, and doubtless
+thought I keep all my little wares there. Well, so does every thief
+in London, for they have searched them twice and gained some store of
+pewter; I remember that some of it was discovered again in the King’s
+household. But behind these panels all is safe, though no woman would
+ever have thought of a device so simple and so sure.”
+
+For a moment Emlyn could find no answer, perhaps because of her
+indignation, but Cicely asked sweetly--
+
+“Do you ever have fires in London, Master Smith? It seems to me that I
+have heard of such things, and then--in a hurry, you know----”
+
+Smith thrust up his horned spectacles and looked at her in mild
+astonishment.
+
+“To think,” he said, “that I should live to learn wisdom out of the
+mouth of babes and sucklers----”
+
+“Sucklings,” suggested Cicely.
+
+“Sucklers or sucklings, it means the same thing--women,” he replied
+testily; then added, with a chuckle, “Well, well, my Lady, you are
+right. You have caught out Jacob at his own game. I never thought of
+fire, though it is true we had one next door last year, when I ran out
+with my bed and forgot all about the gold and stones. I’ll have new
+hiding-places made in the masonry of the cellar, where no fire would
+hurt. Ah! you women would never have thought of that, who carry treasure
+sewn up in a nightshift.”
+
+Now Emlyn could bear it no longer.
+
+“And how would you have us carry it, Cousin Smith?” she asked
+indignantly. “Tied about our necks, or hanging from our heels? Well do
+I remember my mother telling me that you were always a simple youth, and
+that your saint must have been a very strong one who brought you safe to
+London and showed you how to earn a living there, or else that you had
+married a woman of excellent intelligence--though it is plain now she
+has long been dead. Well, well,” she added, with a laugh, “cling to your
+man’s vanities, you son of a woman, and since you are so clever, give
+us of your wisdom, for we need it. But first let me tell you that I have
+rescued those very jewels from a fire, and by hiding them in masonry in
+a vault.”
+
+“It is the fashion of the female to wrangle when she has the worst of
+the case,” said Jacob, with a twinkle in his eye. “So, daughter of man,
+set out your trouble. Perchance the wisdom that I have inherited from
+my mothers straight back to Eve may help that which your mothers lacked.
+Now, have you done with jests. I listen, if it pleases you to tell me.”
+
+So, having first invoked the curse of Heaven on him if ever he should
+breathe a word, Emlyn, with the help of Cicely, repeated the whole
+matter from the beginning, and the candles were lighted ere ever her
+tale was done. All this while Jacob Smith sat opposite to them, saying
+little, save now and again to ask a shrewd question. At length, when
+they had finished, he exclaimed--
+
+“Truly women are fools!”
+
+“We have heard that before, Master Smith,” replied Cicely; “but this
+time--why?”
+
+“Not to have unbosomed to me before, which would have saved you a week
+of time, although, as it happens, I knew more of your story than you
+chose to tell, and therefore the days have not been altogether wasted.
+Well, to be brief, this Dr. Legh is a ravenous rogue.”
+
+“O Solomon, to have discovered that!” exclaimed Emlyn.
+
+“One whose only aim is to line his nest with your feathers, some of
+which you have promised him, as, indeed, you were right to do. Now he
+has got wind of these jewels, which is not wonderful, seeing that
+such things cannot be hid. If you buried them in a coffin, six foot
+underground, still they would shine through the solid earth and declare
+themselves. This is his plan--to strip you of everything ere his master,
+Cromwell, gets a hold of you; and if you go to him empty-handed, what
+chance has your suit with Vicar-General Cromwell, the hungriest shark of
+all--save one?”
+
+“We understand,” said Emlyn; “but what is your plan, Cousin Smith?”
+
+“Mine? I don’t know that I have one. Still, here is that which might do.
+Though I seem so small and humble, I am remembered at Court--when money
+is wanted, and just now much money is wanted, for soon they will be in
+arms in Yorkshire--and therefore I am much remembered. Now, if you care
+to give Dr. Legh the go-by and leave your cause to me, perhaps I might
+serve you as cheaply as another.”
+
+“At what charge?” blurted out Emlyn.
+
+The old man turned on her indignantly, asking--
+
+“Cousin, how have I defrauded you or your mistress, that you should
+insult me to my face? Go to! you do not trust me. Go to, with your
+jewels, and seek some other helper!” and he went to the panelling as
+though to collect them again.
+
+“Nay, nay, Master Smith,” said Cicely, catching him by the arm; “be
+not angry with Emlyn. Remember that of late we have learned in a hard
+school, with Abbot Maldon and Dr. Legh for masters. At least I trust
+you, so forsake me not, who have no other to whom to turn in all my
+troubles, which are many,” and as she spoke the great tears that had
+gathered in her blue eyes fell upon the child’s face, and woke him, so
+that she must turn aside to quiet him, which she was glad to do.
+
+“Grieve not,” said the kind-hearted old man, in distress; “’tis I should
+grieve, whose brutal words have made you weep. Moreover, Emlyn is right;
+even foolish women should not trust the first Jack with whom they take
+a lodging. Still, since you swear that you do in your kindness, I’ll try
+to show myself not all unworthy, my Lady Harflete. Now, what is it you
+want from the King? Justice on the Abbot? That you’ll get for nothing,
+if his Grace can give it, for this same Abbot stirs up rebellion against
+him. No need, therefore, to set out his past misdeeds. A clean title
+to your large inheritance, which the Abbot claims? That will be more
+difficult, since the King claims through him. At best, money must be
+paid for it. A declaration that your marriage is good and your boy born
+in lawful wedlock? Not so hard, but will cost something. The annulment
+of the sentence of witchcraft on you both? Easy, for the Abbot passed
+it. Is there aught more?”
+
+“Yes, Master Smith; the good nuns who befriended me--I would save their
+house and lands to them. Those jewels are pledged to do it, if it can be
+done.”
+
+“A matter of money, Lady--a mere matter of money. You will have to buy
+the property, that is all. Now, let us see what it will cost, if
+fortune goes with me,” and he took pen and paper and began to write down
+figures.
+
+Finally he rose, sighing and shaking his head. “Two thousand pounds,” he
+groaned; “a vast sum, but I can’t lessen it by a shilling--there are so
+many to be bought. Yes; £1000 in gifts and £1000 as loan to his Majesty,
+who does not repay.”
+
+“Two thousand pounds!” exclaimed Cicely in dismay; “oh! how shall I find
+so much, whose first year’s rents are already pledged?”
+
+“Know you the worth of those jewels?” asked Jacob, looking at her.
+
+“Nay; the half of that, perhaps.”
+
+“Let us say double that, and then right cheap.”
+
+“Well, if so,” replied Cicely, with a gasp, “where shall we sell them?
+Who has so much money?”
+
+“I’ll try to find it, or what is needful. Now, Cousin Emlyn,” he added
+sarcastically, “you see where my profit lies. I buy the gems at half
+their value, and the rest I keep.”
+
+“In your own words: go to!” said Emlyn, “and keep your gibes until we
+have more leisure.”
+
+The old man thought a while, and said--
+
+“It grows late, but the evening is pleasant, and I think I need some
+air. That crack-brained, red-haired fellow of yours will watch you while
+I am gone, and for mercy’s sake be careful with those candles. Nay, nay;
+you must have no fire, you must go cold. After what you said to me, I
+can think of naught but fire. It is for this night only. By to-morrow
+evening I’ll prepare a place where Abbot Maldon himself might sit
+unscorched in the midst of hell. But till then make out with clothes.
+I have some furs in pledge that I will send up to you. It is your own
+fault, and in my youth we did not need a fire on an autumn day. No more,
+no more,” and he was gone, nor did they see him again that night.
+
+On the following morning, as they sat at their breakfast, Jacob Smith
+appeared, and began to talk of many things, such as the badness of the
+weather--for it rained--the toughness of the ham, which he said was not
+to be compared to those they cured at Blossholme in his youth, and the
+likeness of the baby boy to his mother.
+
+“Indeed, no,” broke in Cicely, who felt that he was playing with them;
+“he is his father’s self; there is no look of me in him.”
+
+“Oh!” answered Jacob; “well, I’ll give my judgment when I see the
+father. By the way, let me read that note again which the cloaked man
+brought to Emlyn.”
+
+Cicely gave it to him, and he studied it carefully; then said, in an
+indifferent voice--
+
+“The other day I saw a list of Christian captives said to have been
+recovered from the Turks by the Emperor Charles at Tunis, and among
+them was one ‘Huflit,’ described as an English señor, and his servant. I
+wonder now----”
+
+Cicely sprang upon him.
+
+“Oh! cruel wretch,” she said, “to have known this so long and not to
+have told me!”
+
+“Peace, Lady,” he said, retreating before her; “I only learned it at
+eleven of the clock last night, when you were fast asleep. Yesterday is
+not this same day, and therefore ’tis the other day, is it not?”
+
+“Surely you might have woke me. But, swift, where is he now?”
+
+“How can I know? Not here, at least. But the writing said----”
+
+“Well, what did the writing say?”
+
+“I am trying to think--my memory fails me at times; perhaps you will
+find the same thing when you have my years, should it please Heaven----”
+
+“Oh! that it might please Heaven to make you speak! What said the
+writing?”
+
+“Ah! I have it now. It said, in a note appended amidst other news,
+for--did I tell you this was a letter from his Grace’s ambassador in
+Spain? and, oh! his is the vilest scrawl to read. Nay, hurry me not--it
+said that this ‘Sir Huflit’--the ambassador has put a query against
+his name--and his servant--yes, yes, I am sure it said his servant
+too--well, that they both of them, being angry at the treatment they had
+met with from the infidel Turks--no, I forgot to add there were three
+of them, one a priest, who did otherwise. Well, as I said, being angry,
+they stopped there to serve with the Spaniards against the Turks till
+the end of that campaign. There, that is all.”
+
+“How little is your all!” exclaimed Cicely. “Yet, ‘tis something. Oh!
+why should a married man stop across the seas to be revenged on poor
+ignorant Turks?”
+
+“Why should he not?” interrupted Emlyn, “when he deems himself a
+widower, as does your lord?”
+
+“Yes, I forgot; he thinks me dead, who doubtless himself will be dead,
+if he is not so already, seeing that those wicked, murderous Turks will
+kill him,” and she began to weep.
+
+“I should have added,” said Jacob hastily, “that in a second letter, of
+later date, the ambassador declares that the Emperor’s war against the
+Turks is finished for this season, and that the Englishmen who were with
+him fought with great honour and were all escaped unharmed, though this
+time he gives no names.”
+
+“All escaped! If my husband were dead, who could not die meanly or
+without fame, how could he say that they were all escaped? Nay, nay; he
+lives, though who knows if he will return? Perchance he will wander off
+elsewhere, or stay and wed again.”
+
+“Impossible,” said old Jacob, bowing to her; “having called you
+wife--impossible.”
+
+“Impossible,” echoed Emlyn, “having such a score to settle with yonder
+Maldon! A man may forget his love, especially if he deems her buried.
+But as he stayed foreign to fight the Turk, who wronged him, so he’ll
+come home to fight the Abbot, who ruined him and slew his bride.”
+
+There followed a silence, which the goldsmith, who felt it somewhat
+painful, hastened to break, saying--
+
+“Yes, doubtless he will come home; for aught we know he may be here
+already. But meanwhile we also have our score against this Abbot, a bad
+one, though think not for his sake that all Abbots are bad, for I have
+known some who might be counted angels upon earth, and, having gone to
+martyrdom, doubtless to-day are angels in heaven. Now, my Lady, I will
+tell you what I have done, hoping that it will please you better than
+it does me. Last night I saw the Lord Cromwell, with whom I have many
+dealings, at his house in Austin Friars, and told him the case, of
+which, as I thought, that false villain Legh had said nothing to him,
+purposing to pick the plums out of the pudding ere he handed on the suet
+to his master. He read your deeds and hunted up some petition from the
+Abbot, with which he compared them; then made a note of my demands and
+asked straight out--How much?
+
+“I told him £1000 on loan to the King, which would not be asked for back
+again, the said loan to be discharged by the grant to me--that is, to
+you--of all the Abbey lands, in addition to your own, when the said
+Abbey lands are sequestered, as they will be shortly. To this he
+agreed, on behalf of his Grace, who needs money much, but inquired as to
+himself. I replied £500 for him and his jackals, including Dr. Legh, of
+which no account would be asked. He told me it was not enough, for after
+the jackals had their pickings nothing would be left for him but the
+bones; I, who asked so much, must offer more, and he made as though to
+dismiss me. At the door I turned and said I had a wonderful pink pearl
+that he, who loved jewels, might like to see--a pink pearl worth many
+abbeys. He said, ‘Show it;’ and, oh! he gloated over it like a maid over
+her first love-letter. ‘If there were two of these, now!’ he whispered.
+
+“‘Two, my Lord!’ I answered; ‘there’s no fellow to that pearl in the
+whole world,’ though it is true that as I said the words, the setting of
+its twin, that was pinned to my inner shirt, pricked me sorely, as if
+in anger. Then I took it up again, and for the second time began to bow
+myself out.
+
+“‘Jacob,’ he said, ‘you are an old friend, and I’ll stretch my duty for
+you. Leave the pearl--his Grace needs that £1000 so sorely that I must
+keep it against my will,’ and he put out his hand to take it, only to
+find that I had covered it with my own.
+
+“‘First the writing, then its price, my Lord. Here is a memorandum of it
+set out fair, to save you trouble, if it pleases you to sign.’
+
+“He read it through, then, taking a pen, scored out the clause as
+regards acquittal of the witchcraft, which, he said, must be looked into
+by the King in person or by his officers, but all the rest he signed,
+undertaking to hand over the proper deeds under the great seal and royal
+hand upon payment of £1000. Being able to do no better, I said that
+would serve, and left him your pearl, he promising, on his part, to move
+his Majesty to receive you, which I doubt not he will do quickly for the
+sake of the £1000. Have I done well?”
+
+“Indeed, yes,” exclaimed Cicely. “Who else could have done half so
+well----?”
+
+As the words left her lips there came a loud knocking at the door of
+the house, and Jacob ran down to open it. Presently he returned with a
+messenger in a splendid coat, who bowed to Cicely and asked if she were
+the Lady Harflete. On her replying that such was her name, he said that
+he bore to her the command of his Grace the King to attend upon him at
+three o’clock of that afternoon at his Palace of Whitehall, together
+with Emlyn Stower and Thomas Bolle, there to make answer to his Majesty
+concerning a certain charge of witchcraft that had been laid against her
+and them, which summons she would neglect at her peril.
+
+“Sir, I will be there,” answered Cicely; “but tell me, do I come as a
+prisoner?”
+
+“Nay,” replied the herald, “since Master Jacob Smith, in whom his Grace
+has trust, has consented to be answerable for you.”
+
+“And for the £1000,” muttered Jacob, as, with many salutations, he
+showed the royal messenger to the door, not neglecting to thrust a gold
+piece into his hand that he waved behind him in farewell.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+THE DEVIL AT COURT
+
+
+It was half-past two of the clock when Cicely, who carried her boy in
+her arms, accompanied by Emlyn, Thomas Bolle and Jacob Smith, found
+herself in the great courtyard of the Palace of Whitehall. The place was
+full of people waiting there upon one business or another, through whom
+messengers and armed men thrust their way continually, crying, “Way!
+In the King’s name, way!” So great was the press, indeed, that for some
+time even Jacob could command no attention, till at length he caught
+sight of the herald who had visited his house in the morning, and
+beckoned to him.
+
+“I was looking for you, Master Smith, and for the Lady Harflete,” the
+man said, bowing to her. “You have an appointment with his Grace, have
+you not? but God knows if it can be kept. The ante-chambers are full of
+folk bringing news about the rebellion in the north, and of great lords
+and councillors who wait for commands or money, most of them for money.
+In short the King has given order that all appointments are cancelled;
+he can see no one to-day. The Lord Cromwell told me so himself.”
+
+Jacob took a golden angel from his pouch and began to play with it
+between his fingers.
+
+“I understand, noble herald,” he said. “Still, do you think that you
+could find me a messenger to the Lord Cromwell? If so, this trifle----”
+
+“I’ll try, Master Smith,” he answered, stretching out his hand for the
+piece of money. “But what is the message?”
+
+“Oh, say that Pink Pearl would learn from his Lordship where he can lay
+hands upon £1000 without interest.”
+
+“A strange message, to which I will hazard an answer--nowhere,” said the
+herald, “yet I’ll find some one to deliver it. Step within this archway
+and wait out of the rain. Fear not, I will be back presently.”
+
+They did as he bid them, gladly enough, for it had begun to drizzle and
+Cicely was afraid lest her boy, with whom London did not agree too well,
+should take cold. Here, then, they stood amusing themselves in watching
+the motley throng that came and went. Bolle, to whom the scene was
+strange, gaped at them with his mouth open; Emlyn took note of every one
+with her quick eyes, while old Jacob Smith whispered tales concerning
+individuals as they passed, most of which were little to their credit.
+
+As for Cicely, soon her thoughts were far away. She knew that she was at
+a crisis of her fortune; that if things went well with her this day she
+might look to be avenged upon her enemies, and to spend the rest of
+her life in wealth and honour. But it was not of such matters that
+she dreamed, whose heart was set on Christopher, without whom naught
+availed. Where was he, she wondered. If Jacob’s tale were true, after
+passing many dangers, but a little while ago he lived and had his
+health. Yet in those times death came quickly, leaping like the
+lightning from unexpected clouds or even out of a clear sky, and who
+could say? Besides, he believed her gone, and that being so would be
+careless of himself, or perchance, worst thought of all, would take some
+other wife, as was but right and natural. Oh! then indeed----
+
+At this moment a sound of altercation woke her to the world again, and
+she looked up to see that Thomas Bolle was bringing trouble on them.
+A coarse fat lout with a fiery and a knotted nose, being somewhat in
+liquor, had amused himself by making mock of his country looks and red
+hair, and asking whether they used him for a scarecrow in his native
+fields.
+
+Thomas bore it for a while, only answering with another question:
+whether he, the fat fellow, hired out his nose to London housewives to
+light their fires. The man, feeling that the laugh was against him,
+and noticing the child in Cicely’s arms pointed it out to his friends,
+inquiring whether they did not think it was exactly like its dad. Then
+Thomas’s rage burnt up, although the jest was silly and aimless enough.
+
+“You low, London gutter-hound!” he exclaimed; “I’ll learn you to insult
+the Lady Harflete with your ribald japes,” and stretching out his big
+fist he seized his enemy’s purple nose in a grip of iron and began to
+twist it till the sot roared with pain. Thereon guards ran up and would
+have arrested Bolle for breaking the peace in the King’s palace. Indeed,
+arrested he must have been, notwithstanding all Jacob Smith could do
+to save him, had not at that moment a man appeared at whose coming the
+crowd that had gathered, separated, bowing; a man of middle age with a
+quick, clever face, who wore rich clothes and a fur-trimmed velvet cap
+and gown.
+
+Cicely knew him at once for Cromwell, the greatest man in England after
+the King, and marked him well, knowing that he held her fate and that
+of her child in the hollow of his hand. She noted the thin-lipped mouth,
+small as a woman’s, the sharp nose, the little brownish eyes set close
+together and surrounded by wrinkled skin that gave them a cunning look,
+and noting was afraid. Before her stood a man who, though at present he
+seemed to be her friend, if he chanced to become her enemy, as once he
+had been bribed to be her father’s, would show her no more pity than the
+spider shows a fly.
+
+Indeed she was right, for many were the flies that had been snared and
+sucked in the web of Cromwell, who, in his full tide of power and pomp,
+forgot the fate of his master, Wolsey, in his day a greater spider
+still.
+
+“What passes here?” Cromwell said in a sharp voice. “Men, is this the
+place to brawl beneath his Grace’s very windows? Ah! Master Smith, is it
+you? Explain.”
+
+“My Lord,” answered Jacob, bowing, “this is Lady Harflete’s servant
+and he is not to blame. That fat knave insulted her and, being
+quick-tempered, her man, Bolle, wrang his nose.”
+
+“I see that he wrang it. Look, he is wringing it still. Friend Bolle,
+leave go, or presently you will have in your hand that which is of no
+value to you. Guard, take this beer-tub and hold his head beneath the
+pump for five minutes by the clock to wash him, and if he comes back
+again set him in the stocks. Nay, no words, fellow, you are well served.
+Master Smith, follow me with your party.”
+
+Again the crowd parted as they walked after Cromwell to a side door that
+was near at hand, to find themselves alone with him in a small chamber.
+Here he stopped and, turning, surveyed them all narrowly, especially
+Cicely.
+
+“I suppose, Master Smith,” he said, pointing to Bolle, who was wiping
+his hands clean with the rushes from the floor, “this is the man that
+you told me played the devil yonder at Blossholme. Well, he can play
+the fool also. In another minute there would have been a tumult and you
+would have lost your chance of seeing his Grace, for months perhaps,
+since he has determined to ride from London to-morrow morning
+northwards, though it is true he may change his mind ere then. This
+rebellion troubles him much, and were it not for the loan you promise,
+when loans are needed, small hope would you have had of audience. Now
+come quickly and be careful that you do not cross the King’s temper, for
+it is tetchy to-day. Indeed, had it not been for the Queen, who is with
+him and minded to see this Lady Harflete, that they would have burnt as
+a witch, you must have waited till a more convenient season which may
+never come. Stay, what is in that great sack you carry, Bolle?”
+
+“The devil’s livery, may it please your Lordship.”
+
+“The devil’s livery, many wear that in London. Still, bring the gear, it
+may make his Grace laugh, and if so I’ll give you a gold piece, who have
+had enough of oaths and scoldings, aye,” he added, with a sour grin,
+“and of blows too. Now follow me into the Presence, and speak only when
+you are spoken to, nor dare to answer if he rates you.”
+
+They went from the room down a passage and through another door, where
+the guards on duty looked suspiciously at Bolle and his sack, but at a
+word from Cromwell let them through into a large room in which a
+fire burned upon the hearth. At the end of this room stood a huge,
+proud-looking man with a flat and cruel face, broad as an ox’s skull, as
+Thomas Bolle said afterwards, who was dressed in some rich, sombre stuff
+and wore a velvet cap upon his head. He held a parchment in his hand,
+and before him on the other side of an oak table sat an officer of state
+in a black robe, who wrote upon another parchment, whereof there were
+many scattered about on the table and the floor.
+
+“Knave,” shouted the King, for they guessed that it was he, “you have
+cast up these figures wrong. Oh, that it should be my lot to be served
+by none but fools!”
+
+“Pardon, your Grace,” said the secretary in a trembling voice, “thrice
+have I checked them.”
+
+“Would you gainsay me, you lying lawyer,” bellowed the King again. “I
+tell you they must be wrong, since otherwise the sum is short by £1100
+of that which I was promised. Where are the £1100? You must have stolen
+them, thief.”
+
+“I steal, oh, your Grace, I steal!”
+
+“Aye, why not, since your betters do. Only you are clumsy, you lack
+skill. Ask my Lord Cromwell there to give you lessons. He learned under
+the best of masters, and is a merchant by trade to boot. Oh, get you
+gone and take your scribblings with you.”
+
+The poor officer hastened to avail himself of this invitation. Hurriedly
+collecting his parchments he bowed himself from the presence of his
+irate Sovereign. At the door, about twelve feet away, however, he
+turned.
+
+“My gracious Liege,” he began, “the casting of the count is right. Upon
+my honour as a Christian soul I can look your Majesty in the face with
+truth in my eye----”
+
+Now on the table there was a massive inkstand made from the horn of a
+ram mounted with silver feet. This Henry seized and hurled with all
+his strength. The aim was good, for the heavy horn struck the wretched
+scribe upon the nose so that the ink squirted all over his face, and
+felled him to the floor.
+
+“Now there is more in your eye than truth,” shouted the King. “Be off,
+ere the stool follows the inkpot.”
+
+Two ladies who stood by the fire talking together and taking no heed,
+for to such rude scenes they seemed to be accustomed, looked up and
+laughed a little, then went on talking, while Cromwell smiled and
+shrugged his shoulders. Then in the midst of the silence which followed
+Thomas Bolle, who had been watching open-mouthed, ejaculated in his
+great voice--
+
+“A bull’s eye! A noble bull! Myself cannot throw straighter.”
+
+“Silence, fool,” hissed Emlyn.
+
+“Who spoke?” asked the king, looking towards them sharply.
+
+“Please, my Liege, it was I, Thomas Bolle.”
+
+“Thomas Bolle! Can you sling a stone, Thomas Bolle, whoever you may be?”
+
+“Aye, Sire, but not better than you, I think. That was a gallant shot.”
+
+“Thomas Bolle, you are right. Seeing the hurry and the unhandiness of
+the missile, it was excellent. Let the knave stand up again and I’ll bet
+you a gold noble to a brass nail that you’ll not do as well within an
+inch. Why, the fellow’s gone! Will you try on my Lord Cromwell? Nay,
+this is no time for fooling. What’s your business, Thomas Bolle, and who
+are those women with you?”
+
+Now Cromwell stepped forward, and with cringing gestures began to
+explain something to the King in a low voice. Meanwhile, the two ladies
+became suddenly interested in Cicely, and one of them, a pale but pretty
+woman, splendidly dressed, stepped forward to her, saying--
+
+“Are you the Lady Harflete of whom we have heard, she who was to have
+been burnt as a witch? Yes? And is that your child? Oh! what a beautiful
+child. A boy, I’ll swear. Come to me, sweet, and in after years you can
+tell that a queen has nursed you,” and she stretched out her arms.
+
+As good fortune would have it the child was awake, and attracted by the
+Queen’s pleasant voice, or perhaps by the necklace of bright gems
+that she wore, he held out his little hands towards her and went quite
+contentedly to her breast. Jane Seymour, for it was she, began to fondle
+him with delight, then, followed by her lady, ran to the King, saying--
+
+“See, Harry, see what a beautiful boy, and how he loves me. God send us
+such a son as this!”
+
+The King glanced at the child, then answered--
+
+“Aye, he would do well enow. Well, it rests with you, Jane. Nurse him,
+nurse him, perhaps the sex is catching. I and all England would see you
+brought to bed of that sickness, Sweet. What said you, Cromwell?”
+
+The great minister went on with his explanations, till the King,
+wearying of him, called out--
+
+“Come here, Master Smith.”
+
+Jacob advanced, bowing, and stood still.
+
+“Now, Master Smith, the Lord Cromwell tells me that if I sign these
+papers, you, on behalf of the Lady Harflete, will loan me £1000 without
+interest, which as it chances I need. Where, then, is this £1000?--for
+I will have no promises, not even from you, who are known to keep them,
+Master Smith.”
+
+Jacob thrust his hand beneath his robe, and from various inner pockets
+drew out bags of gold, which he set in a row upon the table.
+
+“Here they are, your Grace,” he said quietly. “If you should wish for
+them they can be weighed and counted.”
+
+“God’s truth! I think I had better keep them, lest some accident should
+happen to you on the way home, Master Smith. You might fall into the
+Thames and sink.”
+
+“Your Grace is right, the parchments will be lighter to carry, even,” he
+added meaningly, “with your Highness’s name added.”
+
+“I can’t sign,” said the King doubtfully, “all the ink is spilt.”
+
+Jacob produced a small ink-horn, which like most merchants of the day he
+carried hung to his girdle, drew out the stopper and with a bow set it
+on the table.
+
+“In truth you are a good man of business, Master Smith, too good for
+a mere king. Such readiness makes me pause. Perhaps we had better meet
+again at a more leisured season.”
+
+Jacob bowed once more, and stretching out his hand slowly lifted the
+first of the bags of gold as though to replace it in his pocket.
+
+“Cromwell, come hither,” said the King, whereon Jacob, as though in
+forgetfulness, laid the bag back upon the table.
+
+“Repeat the heads of this matter, Cromwell.”
+
+“My Liege, the Lady Harflete seeks justice on the Spaniard Maldon,
+Abbot of Blossholme, who is said to have murdered her father, Sir John
+Foterell, and her husband, Sir Christopher Harflete, though rumour has
+it that the latter escaped his clutches and is now in Spain. Item:
+the said Abbot has seized the lands which this Dame Cicely should have
+inherited from her father, and demands their restitution.”
+
+“By God’s wounds! justice she shall have and for nothing if we can give
+it her,” answered the King, letting his heavy fist fall upon the table.
+“No need to waste time in setting out her wrongs. Why, ‘tis the same
+Spanish knave Maldon who stirs up all this hell’s broth in the north.
+Well, he shall boil in his own pot, for against him our score is long.
+What more?”
+
+“A declaration, Sire, of the validity of the marriage between
+Christopher Harflete and Cicely Foterell, which without doubt is good
+and lawful although the Abbot disputes it for his own ends; and an
+indemnity for the deaths of certain men who fell when the said Abbot
+attacked and burnt the house of the said Christopher Harflete.”
+
+“It should have been granted the more readily if Maldon had fallen also,
+but let that pass. What more?”
+
+“The promise, your Grace, of the lands of the Abbey of Blossholme and of
+the Priory of Blossholme in consideration of the loan of £1000 advanced
+to your Grace by the agent of Cicely Harflete, Jacob Smith.”
+
+“A large demand, my Lord. Have these lands been valued?”
+
+“Aye, Sire, by your Commissioner, who reports it doubtful if with all
+their tenements and timber they would fetch £1000 in gold.”
+
+“Our Commissioner? A fig for his valuing, doubtless he has been bribed.
+Still, if we repay the money we can hold the land, and since this Dame
+Harflete and her husband have suffered sorely at the hands of Maldon and
+his armed ruffians, why, let it pass also. Now, is that all? I weary of
+so much talk.”
+
+“But one thing more, your Grace,” put in Cromwell hastily, for Henry was
+already rising from his chair. “Dame Cicely Harflete, her servant, Emlyn
+Stower, and a certain crazed old nun were condemned of sorcery by a
+Court Ecclesiastic whereof the Abbot Maldon was a member, the said Abbot
+alleging that they had bewitched him and his goods.”
+
+“Then he was pleader and judge in one?”
+
+“That is so, your Grace. Already without the royal warrant they were
+bound to the stake for burning, the said Maldon having usurped the
+prerogative of the Crown, when your Commissioner, Legh, arrived and
+loosed them, but not without fighting, for certain men were killed and
+wounded. Now they humbly crave your Majesty’s royal pardon for their
+share in this man-slaying, if any, as also does Thomas Bolle yonder, who
+seems to have done the slaying----”
+
+“Well can I believe it,” muttered the King.
+
+“And a declaration of the invalidity of their trial and condemning, and
+of their innocence of the foul charge laid against them.”
+
+“Innocence!” exclaimed Henry, growing impatient and fixing on the last
+point. “How do we know they were innocent, though it is true that if
+Dame Harflete is a witch she is the prettiest that ever we have heard of
+or seen. You ask too much, after your fashion, Cromwell.”
+
+“I crave your Grace’s patience for one short minute. There is a man here
+who can prove that they were innocent; yonder red-haired Bolle.”
+
+“What? He who praised our shooting? Well, Bolle, since you are so good a
+sportsman, we will listen to you. Prove and be brief.”
+
+“Now all is finished,” murmured Emlyn to Cicely, “for assuredly fool
+Thomas will land us in the mire.”
+
+“Your Grace,” said Bolle in his big voice, “I obey in four words--I was
+the devil.”
+
+“The devil you were, Thomas Bolle. Now, your meaning?”
+
+“Your Grace, Blossholme was haunted, I haunted it.”
+
+“How could you do otherwise if you lived there?”
+
+“I’ll show your Grace,” and without more ado, to the horror of Cicely,
+Thomas tumbled from his sack all his hellish garb and set to work to
+clothe himself. In a minute, for he was practised at the game, the
+hideous mask was on his head, and with it the horns and skin of the
+widow’s billy-goat; the tail and painted hides were tied about him, and
+in his hand he waved the eel spear, short-handled now. Thus arrayed he
+capered before the astonished King and Queen, shaking the tail that had
+a wire in it and clattering his hoofs upon the floor.
+
+“Oh, good devil! Most excellent devil!” exclaimed his Majesty, clapping
+his hands. “If I had met thee I’d have run like a hare. Stay, Jane, peep
+you through yonder door and tell me who are gathered there.”
+
+The Queen obeyed and, returned, said--
+
+“There be a bishop and a priest, I cannot see which, for it grows dark,
+with chaplains and sundry of the lords of Council waiting audience.”
+
+“Good. Then we’ll try the devil on these devil-tamers. Friend Satan,
+go you to that door, slip through it softly and rush upon them roaring,
+driving them through this chamber so that we may see which of them will
+be bold enough to try to lay you. Dost understand, Beelzebub?”
+
+Thomas nodded his horns and departed silently as a cat.
+
+“Now open the door and stand on one side,” said the King.
+
+Cromwell obeyed, nor had they long to wait. Presently from the hall
+beyond there rose a most fearful clamour. Then through the door shot the
+bishop panting, after him came lords, chaplains, and secretaries, and
+last of all the priest, who, being very fat and hampered by his gown,
+could not run so fast, although at his back Satan leapt and bellowed.
+No heed did they take of the King’s Majesty or of aught else, whose only
+thought was flight as they tore down the chamber to the farther door.
+
+“Oh, noble, noble!” hallooed the King, who was shaking with laughter.
+“Give him your fork, devil, give him your fork,” and having the royal
+command Bolle obeyed with zeal.
+
+In thirty seconds it was all over; the rout had come and gone,
+only Thomas in his hideous attire stood bowing before the King, who
+exclaimed--
+
+“I thank thee, Thomas Bolle, thou hast made me laugh as I have not
+laughed for years. Little wonder that thy mistress was condemned for
+witchcraft. Now,” he added, changing his tone, “off with that mummery,
+and, Cromwell, go, catch one of those fools and tell them the truth ere
+tales fly round the palace. Jane, cease from merriment, there is a time
+for all things. Come hither, Lady Harflete, I would speak with you.”
+
+Cicely approached and curtseyed, leaving her boy in the Queen’s arms,
+where he had gone to sleep, for she did not seem minded to part with
+him.
+
+“You are asking much of us,” he said suddenly, searching her with a
+shrewd glance, “relying, doubtless, on your wrongs, which are deep, or
+your face, which is sweet, or both. Well, these things move Kings mayhap
+more than others, also I knew old Sir John, your father, a loyal man and
+a brave, he fought well at Flodden; and young Harflete, your husband, if
+he still lives, had a good name like his forebears. Moreover your enemy,
+Maldon, is ours, a treacherous foreign snake such as England hates, for
+he would set her beneath the heel of Spain.
+
+“Now, Dame Harflete, doubtless when you go hence you will bear away
+strange stories of King Harry and his doings. You will say he plays the
+fool, pelting his servants with inkpots when he is wrath, as God knows
+he has often cause to be, and scaring his bishops with sham Satans, as
+after all why should he not since it is a dull world? You’ll say, too,
+that he takes his teaching from his ministers, and signs what these lay
+before him with small search as to the truth or falsity. Well, that’s
+the lot of monarchs who have but one man’s brain and one man’s time;
+who needs must trust their slaves until these become their masters, and
+there is naught left,” here his face grew fierce, “save to kill them,
+and find more and worse. New servants, new wives,” and he glanced at
+Jane, who was not listening, “new friends, false, false, all three of
+them, new foes, and at the last old Death to round it off. Such has been
+the lot of kings from David down, and such I think it shall always be.”
+
+He paused a while, brooding heavily, then looked up and went on, “I know
+not why I should speak thus to a chit like you, except it be, that
+young though you are, you also have known trouble and the feel of a sick
+heart. Well, well, I have heard more of you and your affairs than you
+might think, and I forget nothing--that’s my gift. Dame Harflete, you
+are richer than you have been advised to say, and I repeat you ask much
+of me. Justice is your due from your Sovereign, and you shall have it;
+but these wide Abbey lands, this Priory of Blossholme, whose nuns have
+befriended you and whom you desire to save, this embracing pardon for
+others who had shed blood, this cancelling outside of the form of law of
+a sentence passed by a Court duly constituted, if unjust, all in return
+for a loan of a pitiful £1000? You huckster well, Lady Harflete,
+one would think that your father had been a chapman, not rough John
+Foterell, you who can drive so shrewd a bargain with your King’s
+necessities.”
+
+“Sire, Sire,” broke in Cicely in confusion, “I have no more, my lands
+are wasted by Abbot Maldon, my husband’s hall is burnt by his soldiers,
+my first year’s rents, if ever I should receive them, are promised----”
+
+“To whom?”
+
+She hesitated.
+
+“To whom?” he thundered. “Answer, Madam.”
+
+“To your Royal Commissioner, Dr. Legh.”
+
+“Ah! I thought as much, though when he spoke of you he did not tell it,
+the snuffling rogue.”
+
+“The jewels that came to me from my mother are in pawn for that £1000,
+and I have no more.”
+
+“A palpable lie, Dame Harflete, for if so, how have you paid Cromwell?
+He did not bring you here for nothing.”
+
+“Oh, my Liege, my Liege,” said Cicely, sinking to her knees, “ask not a
+helpless woman to betray those who have befriended her in her most sore
+and honest need. I said I have nothing, unless those gems are worth more
+than I know.”
+
+“And I believe you, Dame Harflete. We have plucked you bare between us,
+have we not? Still, perchance, you will be no loser in the end. Now,
+Master Smith, there, does not work for love alone.”
+
+“Sire,” said Jacob, “that is true, I copy my masters. I have this lady’s
+jewels in pledge, and I hope to make a profit on them. Still, Sire,
+there is among them a pink pearl of great beauty that it might please
+the Queen to wear. Here it is,” and he laid it upon the table.
+
+“Oh, what a lovely thing,” said Jane; “never have I seen its like.”
+
+“Then study it well, Wife, for you look your last upon it. When we
+cannot pay our soldiers to keep our crown upon our head, and preserve
+the liberties of England against the Spaniard and the Pope of Rome, it
+is no time to give you gems that I have not bought. Take that gaud and
+sell it, Master Smith, for whatever it will fetch among the Jews, and
+add the price to the £1000, lessened by one tenth for your trouble. Now,
+Dame Harflete, you have bought the favour of your King, for whoever
+else may, I’ll not lie. Ah! here comes Cromwell. My Lord, you have been
+long.”
+
+“Your Grace, yonder priest is in a fit from fright, and thinks himself
+in hell. I had to tarry with him till the doctor came.”
+
+“Doubtless he’ll get better now that you are gone. Poor man, if a sham
+devil frights him so, what will he do at last? Now, Cromwell, I have
+made examination of this business and I will sign your papers, all of
+them. Dame Harflete here tells me how hard you have worked for her, all
+for nothing, Cromwell, and that pleases me, who at times have wondered
+how you grew so rich, as your learner, Wolsey, did before you. _He_ took
+bribes, Cromwell!”
+
+“My Liege,” he answered in a low voice, “this case was cruel, it moved
+my pity----”
+
+“As it has ours, leaving us the richer by £1000 and the price of a
+pearl. There, five, are they all signed? Take them, Master Smith, as the
+Lady Harflete is your client, and study them to-night. If aught be wrong
+or omitted, you have our royal word that we will set it straight. This
+is our command--note it, Cromwell--that all things be done quickly
+as occasion shall arise to give effect to these precepts, pardons and
+patents which you, Cromwell, shall countersign ere they leave this room.
+Also, that no further fee, secret or declared, shall be taken from
+the Lady Harflete, whom henceforth, in token of our special favour, we
+create and name the Lady of Blossholme, from her husband or her child,
+as to any of these matters, and that Commissioner Legh, on receipt
+thereof, shall pay into our treasury any sum or sums that Dame Harflete
+may have promised to him. Write it down, my Lord Cromwell, and see that
+our words are carried out, lest it be the worse for you.”
+
+The Vicar-General hastened to obey, for there was something in the
+King’s eye that frightened him. Meanwhile the Queen, after she had seen
+the coveted pearl disappear into Jacob’s pocket, thrust back the child
+into Cicely’s arms, and without any word of adieu or reverence to the
+King, followed by her lady, departed from the room, slamming the door
+behind her.
+
+“Her Grace is cross because that gem--your gem, Lady Harflete--was
+refused to her,” said Henry, then added in an angry growl, “‘Fore God!
+does she dare to play off her tempers upon me, and so soon, when I am
+troubled about big matters? Oho! Jane Seymour is the Queen to-day, and
+she’d let the world know it. Well, what makes a queen? A king’s fancy
+and a crown of gold, which the hand that set it on can take off again,
+head and all, if it stick too tight. And then where’s your queen? Pest
+upon women and the whims that make us seek their company! Dame Harflete,
+you’d not treat your lord so, would you? You have never been to Court, I
+think, or I should have known your eyes again. Well, perhaps it is well
+for you, and that’s why you are gentle and loving.”
+
+“If I am gentle, Sire, it is trouble that has gentled me, who have
+suffered so much, and know not even now whether after one week of
+marriage I am wife or widow.”
+
+“Widow? Should that be so, come to me and I will find you another and a
+nobler spouse. With your face and possessions it will not be difficult.
+Nay, do not weep, for your sake I trust that this lucky man may live to
+comfort you and serve his King. At least he’ll be no Spaniard’s tool and
+Pope’s plotter.”
+
+“Well will he serve your Grace if God gives him the chance, as my
+murdered father did.”
+
+“We know it, Lady. Cromwell, will you never have finished with those
+writings? The Council waits us, and so does supper, and a word or two
+with her Grace ere bedtime. You, Thomas Bolle, you are no fool and can
+hold a sword; tell me, shall I go up north to fight the rebels, or bide
+here and let others do it?”
+
+“Bide here, your Grace,” answered Thomas promptly. “‘Twixt Wash and
+Humber is a wild land in winter and arrows fly about there like ducks at
+night, none knowing whence they come. Also your Grace is over-heavy for
+a horse on forest roads and moorland, and if aught should chance, why,
+they’d laugh in Spain and Rome, or nearer, and who would rule England
+with a girl child on its throne?” and he stared hard at Cromwell’s back.
+
+“Truth at last, and out of the lips of a red-haired bumpkin,” muttered
+the King, also staring at the unconscious Cromwell, who was engaged on
+his writing and either feigned deafness or did not hear. “Thomas Bolle,
+I said that you were no fool, although some may have thought you so, is
+there aught you would have in payment for your counsel--save money, for
+that we have none?”
+
+“Aye, Sire, freedom from my oath as a lay-brother of the Abbey of
+Blossholme, and leave to marry.”
+
+“To marry whom?”
+
+“Her, Sire,” and he pointed to Emlyn.
+
+“What! The other handsome witch? See you not that she has a temper? Nay,
+woman, be silent, it is written in your face. Well, take your freedom
+and her with it, but, Thomas Bolle, why did you not ask otherwise when
+the chance came your way? I thought better of you. Like the rest of us,
+you are but a fool after all. Farewell to you, Fool Thomas, and to you
+also, my fair Lady of Blossholme.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+THE VOICE IN THE FOREST
+
+
+The four were back safe in their lodging in Cheapside, whither, after
+the deeds had been sealed, three soldiers escorted them by command.
+
+“Have we done well, have we done well?” asked Jacob, rubbing his hands.
+
+“It would seem so, Master Smith,” replied Cicely, “thanks to you; that
+is, if all the King said is really in those writings.”
+
+“It is there sure enough,” said Jacob; “for know, that with the aid of
+a lawyer and three scriveners, I drafted them myself in the Lord
+Cromwell’s office this morning, and oh, I drew them wide. Hard, hard we
+worked with no time for dinner, and that was why I was ten minutes late
+by the clock, for which Emlyn here chided me so sharply. Still, I’ll
+read them through again, and if aught is left out we will have it
+righted, though these are the same parchments, for I set a secret mark
+upon them.”
+
+“Nay, nay,” said Cicely, “leave well alone. His Grace’s mood may change,
+or the Queen--that matter of the pearl.”
+
+“Ah, the pearl, it grieved me to part with that beautiful pearl. But
+there was no way out, it must be sold and the money handed over, our
+honour is on it. Had I refused, who knows? Yes, we may thank God, for
+if the most of your jewels are gone, the wide Abbey lands have come and
+other things. Nothing is forgot. Bolle is unfrocked and may wed; Cousin
+Stower has got a husband----”
+
+Then Emlyn, who until now had been strangely silent, burst out in
+wrath----
+
+“Am I, then, a beast that I should be given to this man like a heriot
+at yonder King’s bidding?” she exclaimed, pointing with her finger at
+Bolle, who stood in the corner. “Who gave you the right, Thomas, to
+demand me in marriage?”
+
+“Well, since you ask me, Emlyn, it was you yourself; once, many years
+ago, down in the mead by the water, and more lately in the chapel of
+Blossholme Priory before I began to play the devil.”
+
+“Play the devil! Aye, you have played the devil with me. There in the
+King’s presence I must stand for an hour or more while all talked and
+never let a word slip between my lips, and at last hear myself called by
+his Grace a woman of temper and you a fool for wishing to marry me. Oh,
+if ever we do marry, I’ll prove his words.”
+
+“Then perhaps, Emlyn, we who have got on a long while apart, had best
+stay so,” answered Thomas calmly. “Yet, why you should fret because you
+must keep your tongue in its case for an hour, or because I asked leave
+to marry you in all honour, I do not know. I have worked my best for
+you and your mistress at some hazard, and things have not gone so ill,
+seeing that now we are quit of blame and in a fair way to peace and
+comfort. If you are not content, why then, the King was right, and I’m
+a fool, and so good-bye, I’ll trouble you no more in fair weather or
+in foul. I have leave to marry, and there are other women in the world
+should I need one.”
+
+“Tread on their tails and even worms will turn,” soliloquized Jacob,
+while Emlyn burst into tears.
+
+Cicely ran to console her, and Bolle made as though he would leave the
+room.
+
+Just then there came a great knocking on the street door, and the sound
+of a voice crying--
+
+“In the King’s name! In the King’s name, open!”
+
+“That’s Commissioner Legh,” said Thomas. “I learned the cry from him,
+and it is a good one at a pinch, as some of you may remember.”
+
+Emlyn dried her tears with her sleeve; Cicely sat down and Jacob
+shovelled the parchments into his big pockets. Then in burst the
+Commissioner, to whom some one had opened.
+
+“What’s this I hear?” he cried, addressing Cicely, his face as red as a
+turkey cock’s. “That you have been working behind my back; that you have
+told falsehoods of me to his Grace, who called me knave and thief; that
+I am commanded to pay my fees into the Treasury? Oh, ungrateful wench,
+would to God that I had let you burn ere you disgraced me thus.”
+
+“If you bring so much heat into my poor house, learned Doctor, surely
+all of us will soon burn,” said Jacob suavely. “The Lady Harflete said
+nothing that his Highness did not force her to say, as I know who was
+present, and among so many pickings cannot you spare a single dole?
+Come, come, drink a cup of wine and be calm.”
+
+But Dr. Legh, who had already drunk several cups of wine, would not be
+calm. He reviled first one of them and then the other, but especially
+Emlyn, whom he conceived to be the cause of all his woes, till at length
+he called her by a very ill name. Then came forward Thomas Bolle, who
+all this while had been standing in the corner, and took him by the
+neck.
+
+“In the King’s name!” he said, “nay, complain not, ‘tis your own cry
+and I have warrant for it,” and he knocked Legh’s head against the
+door-post. “In the King’s name, get out of this,” and he gave him such a
+kick as never Royal Commissioner had felt before, shooting him down the
+passage. “For the third time in the King’s name!” and he hurled him
+out in a heap into the courtyard. “Begone, and know if ever I see your
+pudding face again, in the King’s name, I’ll break your neck!”
+
+Thus did Visitor Legh depart out of the life of Cicely, though in due
+course she paid him her first year’s rent, nor ever asked who took the
+benefit.
+
+“Thomas,” said Emlyn, when he returned smiling at the memory of that
+farewell kick, “the King was right, I am quick-tempered at times, no ill
+thing for it has helped me more than once. Forget, and so will I,”
+ and she gave him her hand, which he kissed, then went to see about the
+supper.
+
+While they ate, which they did heartily who needed food, there came
+another knock.
+
+“Go, Thomas,” said Jacob, “and say we see none to-night.”
+
+So Thomas went and they heard talk. Then he re-entered followed by a
+cloaked man, saying--
+
+“Here is a visitor whom I dare not deny,” whereon they all rose,
+thinking in their folly that it was the King himself, and not one almost
+as mighty in England for a while--the Lord Cromwell.
+
+“Pardon me,” said Cromwell, bowing in his courteous manner, “and if you
+will, let me be seated with you, and give me a bite and a sup, for I
+need them, who have been hard-worked to-day.”
+
+So he sat down among them, and ate and drank, talking pleasantly of
+many things, and telling them that the King had changed his mind at the
+Council, as he thought, because of the words of Thomas Bolle, which he
+believed had stuck there, and would not go north to fight the rebels
+after all, but would send the Duke of Norfolk and other lords. Then when
+he had done he pushed away his cup and platter, looked at his hosts and
+said--
+
+“Now to business. My Lady Harflete, fortune has been your friend this
+day, for all you asked has been granted to you, which, as his Grace’s
+temper has been of late, is a wondrous thing. Moreover, I thank you that
+you did not answer a certain question as to myself which I learn he put
+to you urgently.”
+
+“My Lord,” said Cicely, “you have befriended me. Still, had he pressed
+me further, God knows. Commissioner Legh did not thank me to-night,” and
+she told him of the visit they had just received, and of its ending.
+
+“A rough man and a greedy, who doubtless henceforth will be your enemy,”
+ replied Cromwell. “Still you were not to blame, for who can reason with
+a bull in his own yard? Well, while I have power I’ll not forget your
+faithfulness, though in truth, my Lady of Blossholme, I sit upon a
+slippery height, and beneath waits a gulf that has swallowed some as
+great, and greater. Therefore I will not deny it, I lay by while I may,
+not knowing who will gather.”
+
+He brooded a while, then went on, with a sigh--
+
+“The times are uncertain; thus, you who have the promise of wealth may
+yet die a beggar. The lands of Blossholme Abbey, on which you hold a
+bond that will never be redeemed, are not yet in the King’s hands to
+give. A black storm is bursting in the north and, I say this in secret,
+the fury of it may sweep Henry from the throne. If it should be so, away
+with you to any land where you are not known, for then after this day’s
+work here a rope will be your only heritage. More, this Queen, unlike
+Anne who is gone, is a friend to the party of the Church, and though she
+affects to care little for such things, is bitter about that pearl, and
+therefore against you, its owner. Have you no jewel left that you could
+spare which I might take to her? As for the pearl itself, which Master
+Smith here swore to me was not to be found in the whole world when he
+showed me its fellow, it must be sold as the King commanded,” and he
+looked at Jacob somewhat sourly.
+
+Now Cicely spoke with Jacob, who went away and returned presently with
+a brooch in which was set a large white diamond surrounded by five small
+rubies.
+
+“Take her this with my duty, my Lord,” said Cicely.
+
+“I will, I will. Oh! fear not, it shall reach her for my own sake as
+well as yours. You are a wise giver, Lady Harflete, who know when and
+where to cast your bread upon the waters. And now I have a gift for you
+that perchance will please you more than gems. Your husband, Christopher
+Harflete, accompanied by a servant, has landed in the north safe and
+well.”
+
+“Oh, my Lord,” she cried, “then where is he now?”
+
+“Alas! the rest of the tale is not so pleasing, for as he journeyed,
+from Hull I think, he was taken prisoner by the rebels, who have him
+fast at Lincoln, wishing to make him, whose name is of account, one of
+their company. But he being a wise and loyal man, contrived to send a
+letter to the King’s captain in those parts, which has reached me this
+night. Here it is, do you know the writing?”
+
+“Aye, aye,” gasped Cicely, staring at the scrawl that was ill writ and
+worse spelt, for Christopher was no scholar.
+
+“Then I’ll read it to you, and afterwards certify a copy to multiply the
+evidence.”
+
+
+“To the Captain of the King’s Forces outside Lincoln.
+
+“This to give notice to you, his Grace, and his ministers and all
+others, that we, Christopher Harflete, Knight, and Jeffrey Stokes,
+his servant, when journeying from the seaport whither we had come from
+Spain, were taken by rebels in arms against the King and brought here
+to Lincoln. These men would win me to their party because the name of
+Harflete is still strong and known. So violent were they that we have
+taken some kind of oath. Yet this writing advises you that so I only
+did to save my life, having no heart that way who am a loyal man and
+understand little of their quarrel. Life, in sooth, is of small value to
+me who have lost wife, lands and all. Yet ere I die I would be avenged
+upon the murderous Abbot of Blossholme, and therefore I seek to keep my
+breath in me and to escape.
+
+“I learn that the said Abbot is afoot with a great following within
+fifty miles of here. Pray God he does not get his claws in me again, but
+if so, say to the King, that Harflete died faithful.
+
+“Christopher Harflete.
+
+“Jeffrey Stokes, X his mark.”
+
+“My Lord,” said Cicely, “what shall I do, my Lord?”
+
+“There is naught to be done, save trust in God and hope for the best.
+Doubtless he will escape, and at least his Grace shall see this letter
+to-morrow morning and send orders to help him if may be. Copy it, Master
+Smith.”
+
+Jacob took the letter and began to write swiftly, while Cromwell
+thought.
+
+“Listen,” he said presently. “Round Blossholme there are no rebels, all
+of that colour have drawn off north. Now Foterell and Harflete are good
+names yonder, cannot you journey thither and raise a company?”
+
+“Aye, aye, that I can do,” broke in Bolle. “In a week I will have a
+hundred men at my back. Give commission and money to my Lady there and
+name me captain and you’ll see.”
+
+“The commission and the captaincy under the privy signet shall be at
+this house by nine of the clock to-morrow,” answered Cromwell. “The
+money you must find, for there is none outside the coffers of Jacob
+Smith. Yet pause, Lady Harflete, there is risk and here you are safe.”
+
+“I know the risk,” she answered, “but what do I care for risks who have
+taken so many, when my husband is yonder and I may serve him?”
+
+“An excellent spirit, let us trust that it comes from on high,” remarked
+Cromwell; but old Jacob, as he wrote _vera copia_ for his Lordship’s
+signature at the foot of the transcript of Christopher’s letter, shook
+his head sadly.
+
+In another minute Cromwell had signed without troubling to compare the
+two, and with some gentle words of farewell was gone, having bigger
+matters waiting his attention.
+
+Cicely never saw him again, indeed with the exception of Jacob Smith
+she never saw any of those folk again, including the King, who had been
+concerned in this crisis of her life. Yet, notwithstanding his cunning
+and his extortion, she grieved for Cromwell when some four years later
+the Duke of Suffolk and the Earl of Southampton rudely tore the Garter
+and his other decorations off his person and he was haled from the
+Council to the Tower, and thence after abject supplications for mercy,
+to perish a criminal upon the block. At least he had served her well,
+for he kept all his promises to the letter. One of his last acts also
+was to send her back the pink pearl which he had received as a bribe
+from Jacob Smith, with a message to the effect that he was sure it would
+become her more than it had him, and that he hoped it would bring her a
+better fortune.
+
+
+
+When Cromwell had gone Jacob turned to Cicely and inquired if she were
+leaving his house upon the morrow.
+
+“Have I not said so?” she asked, with impatience. “Knowing what I know
+how could I stay in London? Why do you ask?”
+
+“Because I must balance our account. I think you owe me a matter of
+twenty marks for rent and board. Also it is probable that we shall need
+money for our journey, and this day has left me somewhat bare of coin.”
+
+“Our journey?” said Cicely. “Do you, then, accompany us, Master Smith?”
+
+“With your leave I think so, Lady. Times are bad here, I have no
+shilling left to lend, yet if I do not lend I shall never be forgiven.
+Also I need a holiday, and ere I die would once again see Blossholme,
+where I was born, should we live to reach it. But if we start to-morrow
+I have much to do this night. For instance, your jewels which I hold in
+pawn must be set in a place of safety; also these deeds, whereof copies
+should be made, and that pearl must be left in trusty hands for sale. So
+at what hour do we ride on this mad errand?”
+
+“At eleven of the clock,” answered Cicely, “if the King’s safe-conduct
+and commission have come by then.”
+
+“So be it. Then I bid you good-night. Come with me, worthy Bolle, for
+there’ll be no sleep for us. I go to call my clerks and you must go to
+the stable. Lady Harflete and you, Cousin Emlyn, get you to bed.”
+
+On the following morning Cicely rose with the dawn, nor was she sorry to
+do so, who had spent but a troubled night. For long sleep would not come
+to her, and when it did at length, she was tossed upon a sea of
+dreams, dreams of the King, who threatened her with his great voice; of
+Cromwell, who took everything she had down to her cloak; of Commissioner
+Legh, who dragged her back to the stake because he had lost his bribe.
+
+But most of all she dreamed of Christopher, her beloved husband, who was
+so near and yet as far away as he had ever been, a prisoner in the hands
+of the rebels; her husband who deemed her dead.
+
+From all these phantasies she awoke weeping and oppressed by fears.
+Could it be that when at length the cup of joy was so near her lips fate
+waited to dash it down again? She knew not, who had naught but faith to
+lean on, that faith which in the past had served her well. Meanwhile,
+she was sure that if Christopher lived he would make his way to Cranwell
+or to Blossholme, and, whatever the risk, thither she would go also as
+fast as horses could carry her.
+
+Hurry as they would, midday was an hour gone ere they rode out of
+Cheapside. There was so much to do, and even then things were left
+undone. The four of them travelled humbly clad, giving out that they
+were a party of merchant folk returning to Cambridge after a visit to
+London as to an inheritance in which they were interested, especially
+Cicely, who posed as a widow named Johnson. This was their story, which
+they varied from time to time according to circumstances. In some ways
+their minds were more at ease than when they travelled to the great
+city, for now at least they were clear of the horrid company of
+Commissioner Legh and his people, nor were they haunted by the knowledge
+that they had about them jewels of great price. All these jewels were
+left behind in safe keeping, as were also the writings under the King’s
+hand and seal, of which they only took attested copies, and with them
+the commission that Cromwell had duly sent to Cicely addressed to her
+husband and herself, and Bolle’s certificate of captaincy. These they
+hid in their boots or the linings of their vests, together with such
+money as was necessary for the costs of travel.
+
+Thus riding hard, for their horses were good and fresh, they came
+unmolested to Cambridge on the night of the second day and slept there.
+Beyond Cambridge, they were told, the country was so disturbed that
+it would not be safe for them to journey. But just when they were in
+despair, for even Bolle said that they must not go on, a troop of the
+King’s horse arrived on their way to join the Duke of Norfolk wherever
+he might lie in Lincolnshire.
+
+To their captain, one Jeffreys, Jacob showed the King’s commission,
+revealing who they were. Seeing that it commanded all his Grace’s
+officers and servants to do them service, this Captain Jeffreys said
+that he would give them escort until their roads separated. So next day
+they went on again. The company was not pleasant, for the men, of whom
+there were about a hundred, proved rough fellows, still, having been
+warned that he who insulted or laid a finger on them should be hanged,
+they did them no harm. It was well, indeed, that they had their
+protection, for they found the country through which they passed up in
+arms, and were more than once threatened by mobs of peasants, led by
+priests, who would have attacked them had they dared.
+
+For two days they travelled thus with Captain Jeffreys, coming on the
+evening of the second to Peterborough, where they found lodgings at an
+inn. When they rose the next morning, however, it was to discover that
+Jeffreys and his men had already gone, leaving a message to say that he
+had received urgent orders to push on to Lincoln.
+
+Now once more they told their old tale, declaring that they were
+citizens of Boston, and having learned that the Fens were peaceful,
+perhaps because so few people lived in them, started forward by
+themselves under the guidance of Bolle, who had often journeyed through
+that country, buying or selling cattle for the monks. An ill land was
+it to travel in also in that wet autumn, seeing that in many places the
+floods were out and the tracks were like a quagmire. The first night
+they spent in a marshman’s hut, listening to the pouring rain and
+fearing fever and ague, especially for the boy. The next day, by good
+fortune, they reached higher land and slept at a tavern.
+
+Here they were visited by rude men, who, being of the party of
+rebellion, sought to know their business. For a while things were
+dangerous, but Bolle, who could talk their own dialect, showed that
+they were scarcely to be feared who travelled with two women and a babe,
+adding that he was a lay-brother of Blossholme Abbey disguised as a
+serving-man for dread of the King’s party. Jacob Smith also called for
+ale and drank with them to the success of the Pilgrimage of Grace, as
+their revolt was named.
+
+In this way they disarmed suspicion with one tale and another.
+Moreover, they heard that as yet the country round Blossholme remained
+undisturbed, although it was said that the Abbot had fortified the Abbey
+and stored it with provisions. He himself was with the leaders of the
+revolt in the neighbourhood of Lincoln, but he had done this that he
+might have a strong place to fall back on.
+
+So in the end the men went away full of strong beer, and that danger
+passed by.
+
+Next morning they started forward early, hoping to reach Blossholme by
+sunset though the days were shortening much. This, however, was not
+to be, for as it chanced they were badly bogged in a quagmire that lay
+about two miles off their inn, and when at length they scrambled out had
+to ride many miles round to escape the swamp. So it happened that it
+was already well on in the afternoon when they came to that stretch of
+forest in which the Abbot had murdered Sir John Foterell. Following the
+woodland road, towards sunset they passed the mere where he had fallen.
+Weary as she was, Cicely looked at the spot and found it familiar.
+
+“I know this place,” she said. “Where have I seen it? Oh, in the ill
+dream I had on that day I lost my father.”
+
+“That is not wonderful,” answered Emlyn, who rode beside her carrying
+the child, “seeing that Thomas says it was just here they butchered him.
+Look, yonder lie the bones of Meg, his mare; I know them by her black
+mane.”
+
+“Aye, Lady,” broke in Bolle, “and there he lies also where he fell; they
+buried him with never a Christian prayer,” and he pointed to a little
+careless mound between two willows.
+
+“Jesus, have mercy on his soul!” said Cicely, crossing herself. “Now, if
+I live, I swear that I will move his bones to the chancel of Blossholme
+church and build a fair monument to his memory.”
+
+This, as all visitors to the place know, she did, for that monument
+remains to this day, representing the old knight lying in the snow, with
+the arrow in his throat, between the two murderers whom he slew, while
+round the corner of the tomb Jeffrey Stokes gallops away.
+
+While Cicely stared back at this desolate grave, muttering a prayer for
+the departed, Thomas Bolle heard something which caused him to prick his
+ears.
+
+“What is it?” asked Jacob Smith, who saw the change in his face.
+
+“Horses galloping--many horses, master,” he answered; “yes, and riders
+on them. Listen.”
+
+They did so, and now they also heard the thud of horse’s hoofs and the
+shouts of men.
+
+“Quick, quick,” said Bolle, “follow me. I know where we may hide,” and
+he led them off to a dense thicket of thorn and beech scrub which grew
+about two hundred yards away under a group of oaks at a place where four
+tracks crossed. Owing to the beech leaves, which, when the trees are
+young, as every gardener knows, cling to the twigs through autumn and
+winter, this place was very close, and hid them completely.
+
+Scarcely had they taken up their stand there, when, in the red light
+of the sunset, they saw a strange sight. Along, not that road they had
+followed, but another, which led round the farther side of King’s Grave
+Mount, now seen and now hidden by the forest trees, a tall man in armour
+mounted on a grey horse, accompanied by another man in a leathern jerkin
+mounted on a black horse, galloped towards them, whilst, at a distance
+of not more than a hundred yards behind them, appeared a motley mob of
+pursuers.
+
+“Escaped prisoners being run down,” muttered Bolle, but Cicely took no
+heed. There was something about the appearance of the rider of the grey
+horse that seemed to draw her heart out of her.
+
+She leaned forward on her beast’s neck, staring with all her eyes. Now
+the two men were almost opposite the thicket, and the man in mail turned
+his face to his companion and called cheerily--
+
+“We gain! We’ll slip them yet, Jeffrey.”
+
+Cicely saw the face.
+
+“Christopher!” she cried; “_Christopher!_”
+
+Another moment and they had swept past, but Christopher--for it was
+he--had caught the sound of that remembered voice. With eyes made quick
+by love and fear she saw him pulling on his rein. She heard him shout
+to Jeffrey, and Jeffrey shout back to him in tones of remonstrance.
+They halted confusedly in the open space beyond. He tried to turn, then
+perceived his pursuers drawing nearer, and, when they were already at
+his heels, with an exclamation, pulled round again to gallop away. Too
+late! Up the slope they sped for another hundred yards or so. Now they
+were surrounded, and now, at the crest of it, they fought, for swords
+flashed in the red light. The pursuers closed in on them like hounds on
+an outrun fox. They went down--they vanished.
+
+Cicely strove to gallop after them, for she was crazed, but the others
+held her back.
+
+At length there was silence, and Thomas Bolle, dismounting, crept out to
+look. Ten minutes later he returned.
+
+“All have gone,” he said.
+
+“Oh! he is dead!” wailed Cicely. “This fatal place has robbed me of
+father and of husband.”
+
+“I think not,” answered Bolle. “I see no bloodstains, nor any signs of
+a man being carried. He went living on his horse. Still, would to Heaven
+that women could learn when to keep silent!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+BETWEEN DOOM AND HONOUR
+
+
+The day was about to break when at last, utterly worn out in body and
+mind, Cicely and her party rode their stumbling horses up to the gates
+of Blossholme Priory.
+
+“Pray God the nuns are still here,” said Emlyn, who held the child, “for
+if they have been driven out and my mistress must go farther, I think
+that she will die. Knock hard, Thomas, that old gardener is deaf as a
+wall.”
+
+Bolle obeyed with good will, till presently the grille in the door was
+opened and a trembling woman’s voice asked who was there.
+
+“That’s Mother Matilda,” said Emlyn, and slipping from her horse, she
+ran to the bars and began to talk to her through them. Then other nuns
+came, and between them they opened one of the large gates, for the
+gardener either could not or would not be aroused, and passed through it
+into the courtyard where, when it was understood that Cicely had really
+come again, there was a great welcoming. But now she could hardly speak,
+so they made her swallow a bowl of milk and took her to her old room,
+where sleep of some kind overcame her. When she awoke it was nine of the
+clock. Emlyn, looking little the worse, was already up and stood talking
+with Mother Matilda.
+
+“Oh!” cried Cicely, as memory came back to her, “has aught been heard of
+my husband?”
+
+They shook their heads, and the Prioress said--
+
+“First you must eat, Sweet, and then we will tell you all we know, which
+is little.”
+
+So she ate who needed food sadly, and while Emlyn helped her to dress
+herself, hearkened to the news. It was of no great account, only
+confirming that which they had learnt from the Fenmen; that the Abbey
+was fortified and guarded by strange soldiers, rebellious men from the
+north or foreigners, and the Abbot supposed to be away.
+
+Bolle, who had been out, reported also that a man he met declared that
+he had heard a troop of horsemen pass through the village in the night,
+but of this no proof was forthcoming, since if they had done so the
+heavy rain that was still falling had washed out all traces of them.
+Moreover, in those times people were always moving to and fro in the
+dark, and none could know if this troop had anything to do with the band
+they had seen in the forest, which might have gone some other way.
+
+When Cicely was ready they went downstairs, and in Mother Matilda’s
+private room found Jacob Smith and Thomas Bolle awaiting them.
+
+“Lady Harflete,” said Jacob, with the air of a man who has no time to
+lose, “things stand thus. As yet none know that you are here, for we
+have the gardener and his wife under ward. But as soon as they learn
+it at the Abbey there will be risk of an attack, and this place is not
+defensible. Now at your hall of Shefton it is otherwise, for there
+it seems is a deep moat with a drawbridge and the rest. To Shefton,
+therefore, you must go at once, unobserved if may be. Indeed, Thomas has
+been there already, and spoken to certain of your tenants whom he can
+trust, who are now hard at work preparing and victualling the place,
+and passing on the word to others. By nightfall he hopes to have thirty
+strong men to defend it, and within three days a hundred, when your
+commission and his captaincy are made known. Come, then, for there is no
+time to tarry and the horses are saddled.”
+
+So Cicely kissed Mother Matilda, who blessed and thanked her for all she
+had done, or tried to do on behalf of the sisterhood, and within five
+minutes once more they were on the backs of their weary beasts and
+riding through the rain to Shefton, which happily was but three
+miles away. Keeping under the lee of the woods they left the Priory
+unobserved, for in that wet few were stirring, and the sentinels at
+the Abbey, if there were any, had taken shelter in the guard-house. So
+thankfully enough they came unmolested to walled and wooded Shefton,
+which Cicely had last seen when she fled thence to Cranwell on the
+day of her marriage, oh, years and years ago, or so it seemed to her
+tormented heart.
+
+It was a strange and a sad home-coming, she thought, as they rode over
+the drawbridge and through the sodden and weed-smothered pleasaunce to
+the familiar door. Yet it might have been worse, for the tenants whom
+Bolle had warned had not been idle. For two hours past and more a dozen
+willing women had swept and cleaned; the fires had been lit, and there
+was plenteous food of a sort in the kitchen and the store-room.
+
+Moreover, in all the big hall were gathered about a score of her people,
+who welcomed her by raising their bonnets and even tried to cheer. To
+these at once Jacob read the King’s commission, showing them the signet
+and the seal, and that other commission which named Thomas Bolle a
+captain with wide powers, the sight and hearing of which writings seemed
+to put a great heart into them who so long had lacked a leader and the
+support of authority. One and all they swore to stand by the King and
+their lady, Cicely Harflete, and her lord, Sir Christopher, or if he
+were dead, his child. Then about half of them took horse and rode off,
+this way and that, to gather men in the King’s name, while the rest
+stayed to guard the Hall and work at its defences.
+
+By sunset men were riding up from all sides, some of them driving carts
+loaded with provisions, arms and fodder, or sheep and beasts that could
+be killed for sustenance, while as they came Jacob enrolled their names
+upon a paper and by virtue of his commission Thomas Bolle swore them in.
+Indeed that night they had forty men quartered there, and the promise of
+many more.
+
+By now, however, the secret was out, for the story had gone round and
+the smoke from the Shefton chimneys told its own tale. First a single
+spy appeared on the opposite rise, watching. Then he galloped away, to
+return an hour later with ten armed and mounted men, one of whom carried
+a banner on which were embroidered the emblems of the Pilgrimage
+of Grace. These men rode to within a hundred paces of Shefton Hall,
+apparently with the object of attacking it, then seeing that the
+drawbridge was up and that archers with bent bows stood on either side,
+halted and sent forward one of their number with a white flag to parley.
+
+“Who holds Shefton,” shouted this man, “and for what cause?”
+
+“The Lady Harflete, its owner, and Captain Thomas Bolle, for the cause
+of the King,” called old Jacob Smith back to him.
+
+“By what warrant?” asked the man. “The Abbot of Blossholme is lord of
+Shefton, and Thomas Bolle is but a lay-brother of his monastery.”
+
+“By warrant of the King’s Grace,” said Jacob, and then and there at the
+top of his voice he read to him the Royal Commission, which when the
+envoy had heard, he went back to consult with his companions. For a
+while they hesitated, apparently still meditating attack, but in the end
+rode away and were seen no more.
+
+Bolle wished to follow and fall on them with such men as he had, but the
+cautious Jacob Smith forbade it, fearing lest he should tumble into
+some ambush and be killed or captured with his people, leaving the place
+defenceless.
+
+So the afternoon went by, and ere evening closed in they had so much
+strength that there was no more cause for fear of an attack from the
+Abbey, whose garrison they learned amounted to not over fifty men and a
+few monks, for most of these had fled.
+
+That night Cicely with Emlyn and old Jacob were seated in the long upper
+room where her father, Sir John Foterell, had once surprised Christopher
+paying his court to her, when Bolle entered, followed by a man with a
+hang-dog look who was wrapped in a sheepskin coat which seemed to become
+him very ill.
+
+“Who is this, friend?” asked Jacob.
+
+“An old companion of mine, your worship, a monk of Blossholme who is
+weary of Grace and its pilgrimages, and seeks the King’s comfort and
+pardon, which I have made bold to promise to him.”
+
+“Good,” said Jacob, “I’ll enter his name, and if he remains faithful
+your promise shall be kept. But why do you bring him here?”
+
+“Because he bears tidings.”
+
+Now something in Bolle’s voice caused Cicely, who was brooding apart, to
+look up sharply and say--
+
+“Speak, and be swift.”
+
+“My Lady,” began the man in a slow voice, “I, who am named Basil in
+religion, have fled the Abbey because, although a monk, I am true to
+the King, and moreover have suffered much from the Abbot, who has just
+returned raging, having met with some reverse out Lincoln way, I know
+not what. My news is that your lord, Sir Christopher Harflete, and his
+servant Jeffrey Stokes are prisoners in the Abbey dungeons, whither they
+were brought last night by a company of the rebels who had captured them
+and afterwards rode on.”
+
+“Prisoners!” exclaimed Cicely. “Then he is not dead or wounded? At least
+he is whole and safe?”
+
+“Aye, my Lady, whole and safe as a mouse in the paws of a cat before it
+is eaten.”
+
+The blood left Cicely’s cheeks. In her mind’s eye she saw Abbot Maldon
+turned into a great cat with a monk’s head and patting Christopher with
+his claws.
+
+“My fault, my fault!” she said in a heavy voice. “Oh, if I had not
+called him he would have escaped. Would that I had been stricken dumb!”
+
+“I don’t think so,” answered Brother Basil. “There were others watching
+for him ahead who, when he was taken, went away and that is how you came
+to get through so neatly. At least there he lies, and if you would save
+him, you had best gather what strength you can and strike at once.”
+
+“Does he know that I live?” asked Cicely.
+
+“How can I tell, Lady? The Abbey dungeons are no good place for
+news. Yet the monk who took him his food this morning said that Sir
+Christopher told him that he had been undone by some ghost which called
+to him with the voice of his dead wife as he rode near King’s Grave
+Mount.”
+
+Now when Cicely heard this she rose and left the room accompanied by
+Emlyn, for she could bear no more.
+
+But Jacob Smith and Bolle remained questioning the man closely upon many
+matters, and, having learned all he could tell them, sent him away under
+guard and sat there till midnight consulting and making up their plans
+with the farmers and yeomen whom they called to them from time to time.
+
+Next morning early they sought out Cicely and told her that to them it
+seemed wise that the Abbey should be attacked without delay.
+
+“But my husband lies there,” she answered in distress, “and then they
+will kill him.”
+
+“So I fear they may if we do not attack,” replied Jacob. “Moreover,
+Lady, to tell the truth, there are other things to be thought of. For
+instance, the King’s cause and honour, which we are bound to forward,
+and the lives and goods of all those who through us have declared
+themselves for him. If we lie idle Abbot Maldon will send messengers to
+the north and within a few days bring down thousands upon us, against
+whom we cannot hope to stand. Indeed, it is probable that he has
+already sent. But if they hear that the Abbey has fallen the rebels will
+scarcely come for revenge alone. Lastly, if we sit with folded hands,
+our own people may grow cold with doubts and fears and melt away, who
+now are hot as fire.”
+
+“If it must be, so let it be. In God’s hands I leave his life,” said
+Cicely in a heavy voice.
+
+
+
+That day the King’s men, under the captaincy of Bolle, advanced and
+invested the Abbey, setting their camp in Blossholme village. Cicely,
+who would not be left behind, came with them and once more took up her
+quarters in the Priory, which on a formal summons opened its gates to
+her, its only guard, the deaf gardener, surrendering at discretion. He
+was set to work as a camp servant, and never in his life did he labour
+so hard before, since Emlyn, who owed him many a grudge, saw to it that
+he did not lack for tasks that were mean and heavy.
+
+Now that day Thomas and others spied out the Abbey and returned shaking
+their heads, for without cannon--and as yet they had none--the great
+building of hewn stone seemed almost impregnable. At but one spot indeed
+was attack possible, from the back where once stood the dormers and farm
+steadings which Emlyn had egged on Thomas to burn. These had been built
+up to the inner edge of the moat, making, as it were, part of the Abbey
+wall, but the fierce fire had so cracked and crumbled their masonry that
+several rods of it had fallen forward into the water.
+
+For purposes of defence the gap this formed was now closed by a double
+palisade of stout stakes, filled in with faggots, the charred beams
+of the old buildings and other rubbish. Yet to carry this palisade,
+protected as it was by the broad and deep moat and commanded from the
+windows and the corner tower, was more than they dared try, since if it
+could be done at all it would certainly cost them very many lives. One
+thing they had learned, however, from the monk Basil and others, that in
+the Abbey there was but small store of food to feed so many: three days’
+supply, said Basil, and none put it at over four.
+
+That evening, then, they held another council, at which it was
+determined to starve the place out and only attempt an onslaught if
+their spies reported to them that the rebels were marching to its
+relief.
+
+“But,” urged Cicely, “then my lord and Jeffrey Stokes will starve also,”
+ whereon they went away sadly, saying there was no choice, seeing that
+they were but two men and the lives of many lay at stake.
+
+The siege began, just such a siege as Cicely had suffered at Cranwell
+Towers. The first day the garrison of the Abbey scoffed at them from the
+walls. The second day they scoffed no longer, noting that the force of
+the besiegers increased, which it did hourly. The third day suddenly
+they let down the drawbridge and poured out on to it as though for a
+sortie, but when they perceived the scores of Bolle’s men waiting bow
+in hand and arrow on string, changed their minds and drew the bridge up
+again.
+
+“They grow hungry and desperate,” said the shrewd Jacob. “Soon we shall
+have some message from them.”
+
+He was right, since just before sunset a postern gate was opened and a
+man, holding a white flag above his head, was seen swimming across the
+moat. He scrambled out on the farther side, shook himself like a dog,
+and advanced slowly to where Bolle and the women stood upon the Abbey
+green out of arrow-shot from the walls. Indeed, Cicely, who was weak
+with dread and wretchedness, leaned against the oaken stake that
+had never been removed, to which once she was tied to be burned for
+witchcraft.
+
+“Who is that man?” said Emlyn to her.
+
+Cicely scanned the gaunt, bearded figure who walked haltingly like one
+that is sick.
+
+“I know not--yes, yes, he puts me in mind of Jeffrey Stokes!”
+
+“Jeffrey it is and no other,” said Emlyn, nodding her head. “Now what
+news does he bear, I wonder?”
+
+Cicely made no reply, only clung to her stake and waited, with just such
+a heart as once she had waited there while the Abbey cook blew up his
+brands to fire her faggots. Jeffrey was opposite to her now; his sunken
+eyes fell upon her, and at the sight his bearded chin dropped, making
+his face look even more long and hollow than it had before.
+
+“Ah!” he said, speaking to himself, “many wars and journeyings, months
+in an infidel galley, three days with not enough food to feed a rat and
+a bath in November water! Well, such things, to say nothing of a worse,
+turn men’s brains. Yet to think that I should live to see a daylight
+ghost in homely Blossholme, who never met with one before.”
+
+Still staring he shook the water from his beard, then added,
+“Lay-brother or Captain Thomas Bolle, whichever you may be now-a-days,
+if you’re not a ghost also, give me a quart of strong ale and a loaf of
+bread, for I’m empty as a gutted herring, and floating heavenward, so to
+speak, who would stick upon this scurvy earth.”
+
+“Jeffrey, Jeffrey,” broke in Cicely, “what news of your master? Emlyn,
+tell him that we still live. He does not understand.”
+
+“Oh, you still live, do you?” he added slowly. “So the fire could not
+burn you after all, or Emlyn either. Well, then, there’s hope for
+every one, and perhaps hunger and Abbot Maldon’s knives cannot kill
+Christopher Harflete.”
+
+“He lives, then, and is well?”
+
+“He lives and is as well as a man may be after a three days’ fast in a
+black dungeon that is somewhat damp. Here’s a writing on the matter for
+the captain of this company,” and, taking a letter from the folds of the
+white flag in which it had been fastened, he handed it to Bolle, who, as
+he could not read, passed it on to Jacob Smith. Just then a lad brought
+the ale for which Jeffrey had asked, and with it a platter of cold meat
+and bread, on which he fell like a famished hound, drinking in great
+gulps and devouring the food almost without chewing it.
+
+“By the saints, you are starved, Jeffrey,” said a yeoman who stood by.
+“Come with me and shift those wet clothes of yours, or you will take
+harm,” and he led him off, still eating, to a tent that stood near by.
+
+Meanwhile, Jacob, having studied the letter with bent and anxious brows,
+read it aloud. It ran thus--
+
+
+“To the Captain of the King’s men, from Clement, Abbot of Blossholme.
+
+“By what warrant I know not you besiege us here, threatening this Abbey
+and its Religious with fire and sword. I am told that Cicely Foterell
+is your leader. Say, then, to that escaped witch that I hold the man
+she calls her husband, and who is the father of her base-born child,
+a prisoner. Unless this night she disperses her troop and sends me a
+writing signed and witnessed, promising indemnity on behalf of the King
+for me and those with me for all that we may have done against him and
+his laws, or privately against her, and freedom to go where we will
+without pursuit or hindrance or loss of land or chattels, know that
+to-morrow at the dawn we put to death Christopher Harflete, Knight, in
+punishment of the murders and other crimes that he has committed against
+us, and in proof thereof his body shall be hung from the Abbey tower. If
+otherwise we will leave him unharmed here where you shall find him after
+we have gone. For the rest, ask his servant, Jeffrey Stokes, whom we
+send to you with this letter.
+
+“Clement, Abbot.”
+
+
+Jacob finished reading and a silence fell upon all who listened.
+
+“Let us go to some private place and consider this matter,” said Emlyn.
+
+“Nay,” broke in Cicely, “it is I, who in my lord’s absence, hold the
+King’s commission and I will be heard. Thomas Bolle, first send a man
+under flag to the Abbot, saying, that if aught of harm befalls Sir
+Christopher Harflete I’ll put every living soul within the Abbey walls
+to death by sword or rope, and stand answerable for it to the King.
+Set it in writing, Master Smith, and send with it copy of the King’s
+commission for my warrant. At once, let it be done at once.”
+
+So they went to a cottage near by, which Bolle used as a guard-house,
+where this stern message was written down, copied out fair, signed by
+Cicely and by Bolle, as captain, with Jacob Smith for witness. This
+paper, together with a copy of the King’s commissions, Cicely with her
+own hand gave to a bold and trusty man, charged to ask an answer, who
+departed, carrying the white flag and wearing a steel shirt beneath his
+doublet, for fear of treachery.
+
+When he had gone they sent for Jeffrey, who arrived clad in dry garments
+and still eating, for his hunger was that of a wolf.
+
+“Tell us all,” said Cicely.
+
+“It will be a long story if I begin at the beginning, Lady. When your
+worshipful father, Sir John, and I rode away from Shefton on the day of
+his murder----”
+
+“Nay, nay,” interrupted Cicely, “that may stand, we have no time. My
+lord and you escaped from Lincoln, did you not, and, as we saw, were
+taken in the forest?”
+
+“Aye, Lady. Some tricksy spirit called out with your voice and he heard
+and pulled rein, and so they came on to us and overwhelmed us, though
+without hurt as it chanced. Then they brought us to the Abbey and thrust
+us into that accursed dungeon, where, save for a little bread and water,
+we have starved for three days in the dark. That is all the tale.”
+
+“How, then, did you come out, Jeffrey?”
+
+“Thus, my Lady. Something over an hour ago a monk and three guards
+unlocked the dungeon door. While we blinked at his lantern, like owls
+in the sunlight, the monk said that the Abbot purposed to send me to the
+camp of the King’s party to offer Christopher Harflete’s life against
+the lives of all of them. He told him, Harflete, also, that he had
+brought ink and paper and that if he wished to save himself he would do
+well to write a letter praying that this offer might be accepted, since
+otherwise he would certainly die at dawn.”
+
+“And what said my husband?” asked Cicely, leaning forward.
+
+“What said he? Why, he laughed in their faces and told them that first
+he would cut off his hand. On this they haled me out of the dungeon
+roughly enough, for I would have stayed there with him to the end. But
+as the door closed he shouted after me, ‘Tell the King’s officers to
+burn this rats’ nest and take no heed of Christopher Harflete, who
+desires to die!’”
+
+“Why does he desire to die?” asked Cicely again.
+
+“Because he thinks his wife dead, Mistress, as I did, and believes that
+in the forest he heard her voice calling him to join her.”
+
+“Oh God! oh God!” moaned Cicely; “I shall be his death.”
+
+“Not so,” answered Jeffrey. “Do you know so little of Christopher
+Harflete that you think he would sell the King’s cause to gain his own
+life? Why, if you yourself came and pleaded with him he would thrust you
+away, saying, ‘Get thee behind me, Satan!’”
+
+“I believe it, and I am proud,” muttered Cicely. “If need be, let
+Harflete die, we’ll keep his honour and our own lest he should live to
+curse us. Go on.”
+
+“Well, they led me to the Abbot, who gave me that letter which you have,
+and bade me take it and tell the case to whoever commanded here. Then he
+lifted up his hand and, laying it on the crucifix about his neck, swore
+that this was no idle threat, but that unless his terms were taken,
+Harflete should hang from the tower top at to-morrow’s dawn, adding,
+though I knew not what he meant, ‘I think you’ll find one yonder who
+will listen to that reasoning.’ Now he was dismissing me when a soldier
+said--
+
+“‘Is it wise to free this Stokes? You forget, my Lord Abbot, that he
+is alleged to have witnessed a certain slaying yonder in the forest and
+will bear evidence.’ ‘Aye,’ answered Maldon, ‘I had forgotten who in
+this press remembered only that no other man would be believed. Still,
+perhaps it would be best to choose a different messenger and to silence
+this fellow at once. Write down that Jeffrey Stokes, a prisoner, strove
+to escape and was killed by the guards in self-defence. Take him hence
+and let me hear no more.’
+
+“Now my blood went cold, although I strove to look as careless as a man
+may on an empty stomach after three days in the dark, and cursed him
+prettily in Spanish to his face. Then, as they were haling me off,
+Brother Martin--do you remember him? he was our companion in some
+troubles over-seas--stepped forward out of the shadow and said, ‘Of what
+use is it, Abbot, to stain your soul with so foul a murder? Since John
+Foterell died the King has many things to lay to your account, and any
+one of them will hang you. Should you fall into his hands, he’ll not
+hark back to Foterell’s death, if, indeed, you were to blame in that
+matter.’
+
+“‘You speak roughly, Brother,’ answered the Abbot; ‘and acts of war are
+not murder, though perchance afterwards you might say they were, to
+save your own skin, or others might. Well, if so, there’s wisdom in your
+words. Touch not the man. Give him the letter and thrust him into the
+moat to swim it. His lies can make no odds in the count against us.’
+
+“Well, they did so, and I came here, as you saw, to find you living,
+and now I understand why Maldon thought that Harflete’s life is worth so
+much,” and, having done his tale, once more Jeffrey began to eat.
+
+Cicely looked at him, they all looked at him--this gaunt, fierce man
+who, after many other sorrows and strivings, had spent three days in a
+black dungeon with the rats, fed upon water and a few fingers of black
+bread. Yes; with the crawling rats and another man so dear to one of
+them, who still sat in that horrid hole, waiting to be hung like a felon
+at the dawn. The silence, with only Jeffrey’s munching to break it, grew
+painful, so that all were glad when the door opened and the messenger
+whom they had sent to the Abbey appeared. He was breathless, having run
+fast, and somewhat disturbed, perhaps because two arrows were sticking
+in his back, or rather in his jerkin, for the mail beneath had stopped
+them.
+
+“Speak,” said old Jacob Smith; “what is your answer?”
+
+“Look behind me, master, and you will find it,” replied the man. “They
+set a ladder across the moat and a board on that, over which a priest
+tripped to take my writing. I waited a while, till presently I heard a
+voice hail me from the gateway tower, and, looking up, saw Abbot Maldon
+standing there, with a face like that of a black devil.
+
+“‘Hark you, knave,’ he said to me, ‘get you gone to the witch,
+Cicely Foterell, and to the recreant monk, Bolle, whom I curse and
+excommunicate from the fellowship of Holy Church, and tell them to watch
+for the first light of dawn, for by it, somewhat high up, they’ll see
+Christopher Harflete hanging black against the morning sky!’
+
+“On hearing this I lost my caution, and hallooed back--
+
+“‘If so, ere to-morrow’s nightfall you shall keep him company, every
+one of you, black against the evening sky, except those who go to be
+quartered at Tower Hill and Tyburn.’ Then I ran and they shot at me,
+hitting once or twice, but, though old, the mail was good, and here am
+I, unhurt except for bruises.”
+
+
+
+A while later Cicely, Jacob Smith, Thomas Bolle, Jeffrey Stokes, and
+Emlyn Stower sat together taking counsel--very earnest counsel, for the
+case was desperate. Plan after plan was brought forward and set aside
+for this reason or for that, till at length they stared at each other
+emptily.
+
+“Emlyn,” exclaimed Cicely at last, “in past days you were wont to be
+full of comfortable words; have you never a one in this extreme?” for
+all the while Emlyn had sat silent.
+
+“Thomas,” said Emlyn, looking up, “do you remember when we were children
+where we used to catch the big carp in the Abbey moat?”
+
+“Aye, woman,” he answered; “but what time is this for fishing stories of
+many years ago? As I was saying, of that tunnel underground there is no
+hope. Beyond the grove it is utterly caved in and blocked--I’ve tried
+it. If we had a week, perhaps----”
+
+“Let her be,” broke in Jacob; “she has something to tell us.”
+
+“And do you remember,” went on Emlyn, “that you told me that there
+the carp were so big and fat because just at this place ‘neath the
+drawbridge the Abbey sewer--the big Abbey sewer down which all foul
+things are poured--empties itself into the moat, and that therefore I
+would eat none of those fish, even in Lent?”
+
+“Aye, I remember. What of it?”
+
+“Thomas, did I hear you say that the powder you sent for had come?”
+
+“Yes, an hour ago; six kegs, by the carrier’s van, of a hundredweight
+each. Not so much as we hoped for, but something, though, as the cannon
+has not come--for the King’s folk had none--it is of no use.”
+
+“A dark night, a ladder with a plank on it, a brick arched drain, two
+hundredweight, or better still, four of powder set beneath the gate,
+a slow-match and a brave man to fire it--taken together with God’s
+blessing, these things might do much,” mused Emlyn, as though to
+herself.
+
+Now at length they took her point.
+
+“They’d be listening like a cat for a mouse,” said Bolle.
+
+“I think the wind rises,” she answered; “I hear it in the trees. I think
+presently it will blow a gale. Also, lanterns might be shown at the back
+where the breach is, and men might shout there, as though preparing to
+attack. That would draw them off. Meanwhile Jeffrey Stokes and I would
+try our luck with the ladder and the kegs of powder--he to roll and I
+to fire when the time came, for being, as you have heard, a witch, I
+understand how to humour brimstone.”
+
+
+
+Ten minutes later, and their plans were fixed. Two hours later, and,
+in the midst of a raving gale, hidden by the pitchy darkness and the
+towering screen of the lifted drawbridge, Emlyn and the strong Jeffrey
+rolled the kegs of powder over planks laid across the moat, into the
+mouth of the big drain and twenty feet down it, till they lay under the
+gateway towers! Then, lying there in the stinking filth, they drew the
+spigots out of holes that they had made in them, and in their place set
+the slow-matches. Jeffrey struck a flint, blew the tinder to a glow, and
+handed it to Emlyn.
+
+“Now get you gone,” she said; “I follow. At this job one is better than
+two.”
+
+A minute later she joined him on the farther bank of the moat. “Run!”
+ she said. “Run for your life; there’s death behind!”
+
+He obeyed, but Emlyn turned and screamed, till, hearing her through the
+gale, all the guard hurried up the towers, flashing lanterns, to see
+what passed.
+
+“_Storm! storm!_” she cried. “_Up with the ladders! For the King and
+Harflete! Storm! storm!_”
+
+Then she too turned and fled.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+OUT OF THE SHADOWS
+
+
+Through the black night sudden and red there shot a sheet of fire
+illumining all things as lightning does. Above the roaring of the gale
+there echoed a dull and heavy noise like to that of muffled thunder.
+Then after a moment’s pause and silence the sky rained stones, and with
+them the limbs of men.
+
+“The gateway’s gone,” shouted a great voice, it was that of Bolle. “Out
+with the ladders!”
+
+Men who were waiting ran up with them and thrust them, four in all,
+athwart the moat. By the planks that were lashed along their staves
+they scrambled across and over the piles of shattered masonry into the
+courtyard beyond where none waited them, for all who watched here were
+dead or maimed.
+
+“Light the lanterns,” shouted Bolle again, “for it will be dark in
+yonder,” and a man who followed with a torch obeyed him.
+
+Then they rushed across the courtyard to the door of the refectory,
+which stood open. Here in the wide, high-roofed hall they met the mass
+of Maldon’s people pouring back from the faggoted breach, where they had
+been gathered, expecting attack, some of them also bearing lanterns. For
+a moment the two parties stood staring at each other; then followed
+a wild and savage scene. With shouts and oaths and battle-cries they
+fought furiously. The massive, oaken tables were overthrown, by the red
+flicker of the pole-borne lanterns men grappled and fell and slew
+each other upon the floor. A priest struck down a yeoman with a brazen
+crucifix, and next moment himself was brained with its broken shaft.
+
+“For God and Grace!” shouted some; “For the King and Harflete!” answered
+others.
+
+“Keep line! Keep line!” roared Bolle, “and sweep them out.”
+
+The lanterns were dashed down and extinguished till but one remained,
+a red and wavering star. Hoarse voices shouted for light, for none knew
+friend from foe. It came; some one had fired the tapestries and the
+blaze ran up them to the roof. Then fearing lest they should be roasted,
+the Abbot’s folk gave way and fled to the farther door, followed by
+their foes. Here it was that most of them fell, for they jammed in the
+doorway and were cut down there or on the stair beyond.
+
+While Bolle still plied his axe fiercely, some one caught his arm and
+screamed into his ear--
+
+“Let be! Let be! The wretch is sped.”
+
+In his red wrath he turned to strike the speaker, and saw by the flare
+that it was Cicely.
+
+“What do you here?” he cried. “Get gone.”
+
+“Fool,” she answered in a low, fierce voice, “I seek my husband. Show me
+the path ere it be too late, you know it alone. Come, Jeffrey Stokes, a
+lantern, a lantern!”
+
+Jeffrey appeared, sword in one hand and lantern in the other, and with
+him Emlyn, who also held a sword which she had plucked from a fallen
+man, Emlyn still foul with the filth of the sewer and the mud of the
+moat.
+
+“I may not leave,” muttered Thomas Bolle. “I seek Maldon.”
+
+“On to the dungeons,” shrieked Emlyn, “or I will stab you. I heard them
+give word to kill Harflete.”
+
+Then he snatched the light from Jeffrey’s hand, and crying “Follow me,”
+ rushed along a passage till they came to an open door and beyond it to
+stairs. They descended the stairs and passed other passages which ran
+underground, till a sudden turn to the right brought them to a little
+walled-in place with a vaulted roof. Two torches flared in iron holders
+in the masonry, and by the light of them they saw a strange and fearful
+sight.
+
+At the end of the open place a heavy, nail-studded door stood wide,
+revealing a cell, or rather a little cave beyond--those who are curious
+can see it to this day. Fastened by a chain to the wall of this dungeon
+was a man, who held in his hand a three-legged stool and tugged at his
+chain like a maddened beast. In front of him, holding the doorway, stood
+a tall, lank priest, his robe tucked up into his girdle. He was wounded,
+for blood poured from his shaven crown and he plied a great sword with
+both hands, striking savagely at four men who tried to cut him down. As
+Bolle and his party appeared, one of these men fell beneath the priest’s
+blows, and another took his place, shouting--
+
+“Out of the way, traitor. We would kill Harflete, not you.”
+
+“We die or live together, murderers,” answered the priest in a thick,
+gasping voice.
+
+At this moment one of them, it was he who had spoken, heard the sound
+of the rescuers’ footsteps and glanced back. In an instant he turned and
+was running past them like a hare. As he went the light from the lantern
+fell upon his face, and Emlyn knew it for that of the Abbot. She struck
+at him with the sword she held, but the steel glanced from his mail. He
+also struck, but at the lantern, dashing it to the ground.
+
+“Seize him,” screamed Emlyn. “Seize Maldon, Jeffrey,” and at the words
+Stokes bounded away, only to return presently, having lost him in the
+dark passages. Then with a roar Bolle leaped upon the two remaining
+men-at-arms as they faced about, and very soon between his axe and
+the sword of the priest behind, they sank to the ground and died still
+fighting, who knew they had no hope of quarter.
+
+It was over and done and dreadful silence fell upon the place, the
+silence of the dead broken only by the heavy breathing of those who
+remained alive. There the wounded monk leaned against the door-post, his
+red sword drooping to the floor. There Harflete, the stool still lifted,
+rested his weight against the chain and peered forward in amazement,
+swaying as though from weakness. And lastly there lay the three slain
+men, one of whom still moved a little.
+
+Cicely crept forward; over the dead she went and past the priest till
+she stood face to face with the prisoner.
+
+“Come nearer and I will dash out your brains,” he said in a hoarse
+voice, for such light as there was came from behind her whom he thought
+to be but another of the murderers.
+
+Then at length she found her voice.
+
+“Christopher!” she cried, “Christopher!”
+
+He hearkened, and the stool fell from his hand.
+
+“The Voice again,” he muttered. “Well, ‘tis time. Tarry a while, Wife, I
+come, I come!” and he fell back against the wall shutting his eyes.
+
+She leapt to him, and throwing her arms about him kissed his lips, his
+poor, bloodless lips. The shut eyes opened.
+
+“Death might be worse,” he said, “but so I knew that we would meet.”
+
+Now Emlyn, seeing some change in his face, snatched one of the torches
+from its iron and ran forward, holding it so that the light fell full on
+Cicely.
+
+“Oh, Christopher,” she cried, “I am no ghost, but your living wife.”
+
+He heard, he stared, he stared again, then lifted his thin hand and
+stroked her hair.
+
+“Oh God,” he exclaimed, “the dead live!” and down he fell in a heap at
+her feet.
+
+They thrust Cicely aside, Cicely who stood there shivering, she who
+thought he had gone again and this time for ever. With difficulty they
+broke the chain whereby he had been held like a kennelled hound, and
+bore him, still senseless, up the long passages, Bolle going ahead
+as guard and Jeffrey Stokes following after. Behind them came Emlyn
+supporting the wounded monk Martin, for it was he and no other who had
+saved the life of Christopher.
+
+As they went up towards the stairs they heard a roaring noise.
+
+“Fire!” said Cicely, who knew that sound well, and next instant the
+light of it burst upon them and its smoke wrapped them round. The Abbey
+was ablaze, and its wide hall in front looked like the mouth of hell.
+
+“Did I not prophesy that it would be so--yonder at Cranwell burning?”
+ asked Emlyn, with a fierce laugh.
+
+“Follow me!” shouted Bolle. “Be swift now ere the roof falls and traps
+us.”
+
+On they went desperately, leaving the hall on their left, and well for
+them was it that Thomas knew the way. One little chamber through which
+they passed had already caught, for flakes of fire fell among them from
+above and here the smoke was very thick. They were through it, who even
+a minute later could never have walked that path and lived. They were
+through it and out into the open air by the cloister door, which those
+who fled before them had left wide. They reached the moat just where the
+breach had been mended with faggots, and mounting on them Bolle shouted
+till one of his own men heard him and dropped the bow that he had raised
+to shoot him as a rebel. Then planks and ladders were brought, and at
+last they escaped from danger and the intolerable heat.
+
+
+
+Thus it was that Cicely who lost her love in fire, in fire found him
+once again.
+
+For Christopher was not dead as at first they feared. They carried him
+to the Priory, and there Emlyn, having felt his heart and found that it
+still beat, though faintly, sent Mother Matilda to fetch some of that
+Portugal wine of hers which Commissioner Legh had praised. Spoonful by
+spoonful she poured it down his throat, till at length he opened his
+eyes, though only to shut them again in natural sleep, for the wine had
+taken a hold of his starved body and weakened brain. For hour after hour
+Cicely sat by him, only rising from time to time to watch the burning of
+the great Abbey church, as once she had watched that of its dormers and
+farm-steading.
+
+About three in the morning the lead ceased to pour down in a silvery
+molten shower, its roofs fell in, and by dawn it was nothing but a
+fire-blackened shell much as it remains to-day. Just before daybreak
+Emlyn came to her, saying--
+
+“There is one who would speak with you.”
+
+“I cannot see him,” she answered, “I bide by my husband.”
+
+“Yet you should,” said Emlyn, “since but for him you would now have
+no husband. The monk Martin, who held off the murderers, is dying and
+desires to bid you farewell.”
+
+Then Cicely went to find the man still conscious, but fading away with
+the flow of his own blood, which could not be stayed by any skill they
+had.
+
+“I have come to thank you,” she murmured, who knew not what else to say.
+
+“Thank me not,” he answered faintly, pausing often between his words,
+“who did but strive to repay part of a great debt. Last winter I shared
+in awful sin, in obedience, not to my heart, but to my vows. I who was
+set to watch the body of your husband found that he lived, and by my
+help he was borne away upon a ship. That ship was taken by the Infidels,
+and afterwards he and I and Jeffrey served together upon their galleys.
+There I fell sick, and your husband nursed me back to life. It was I who
+brought you the deeds and wrote the letter which I gave to Emlyn Stower.
+My vows still held me fast, and I did no more. This night I broke their
+bonds, for when I heard the order given that he should be slain I ran
+down before the murderers and fought my best, forgetting that I was a
+priest, till at length you came. Let this atone my crimes against my
+Country, my King and you that I died for my friend at last, as I am glad
+to do who find this world--too difficult.”
+
+“I will tell him if he lives,” sobbed Cicely.
+
+He opened his eyes, which had shut, and answered--
+
+“Oh, he’ll live, he’ll live. You have had many troubles, but, save for
+the creep of age and death, they are over. I can see and know.”
+
+Again he shut his eyes and the watchers thought that all was done, till
+of a sudden once more he opened them and added in broken tones--
+
+“The Abbot--show him mercy--if you can. He is wicked and cruel, but I
+have been his confessor and know his heart. He strove for a good end--by
+an evil road. Queen Catherine was the King’s lawful wife. To seize the
+monasteries is shameless theft. Also his blood is not English; he sees
+otherwise, and serves the Pope as I do, and Spain, as I do not. As I
+have helped you, help him. Judge not, that ye be not judged. Promise!”
+ and he raised himself a little on the bed and looked at her earnestly.
+
+“I promise,” answered Cicely, and as she spoke Martin smiled. Then his
+face turned quite grey, all the light went out of his eyes and a moment
+later Emlyn threw a linen cloth over his head. It was finished.
+
+Cicely returned to Christopher to find him sitting up in bed drinking a
+bowl of broth.
+
+“Oh, my husband, my husband,” she said, casting her arms about him. Then
+she took her son and laid him upon his father’s breast.
+
+
+Three days had gone by and Christopher and Cicely were walking in the
+shrubbery of Shefton Hall. By now, although still weak, he was almost
+recovered, whose only sickness had been grief and famine, for which
+joy and plenty are wonderful medicines. It was evening, a pleasant and
+beautiful early winter evening just fading into night. Seated on a bench
+he had been telling her his adventures, and they were a moving tale
+worthy, as Cicely wrote afterwards in a letter to old Jacob Smith that
+is still extant in her fine, quaint handwriting, to be recorded in a
+book, though this it would seem was never done.
+
+He told her of the great fight on the ship _Great Yarmouth_, when they
+were taken by the two Turkish pirates, and of how bravely Father Martin
+bore himself. Afterwards when they came to the galleys, by good fortune
+Martin, Jeffrey and he served on the same bench. Then Martin fell sick
+of some Southern fever, and being in port at Tunis at the time, where
+they could get fruit, they nursed him back to life and strength. Four
+months later the Emperor Charles attacked Tunis, and when it fell,
+through God’s mercy, they were rescued with the other Christian slaves,
+after which Martin returned to England taking old Sir John’s writings to
+be delivered to his next heir, for they all believed Cicely to be dead.
+
+But Christopher and Jeffrey, having nothing to seek at home, stayed to
+fight with the Spaniards against the Turks, who had oppressed them so
+sorely. When that war was over they made their way back to England,
+not knowing where else to go and having a score to settle against the
+Spanish Abbot of Blossholme, and--well, she knew the rest.
+
+Aye, answered Cicely, she knew it and never would forget it, but it
+was chill for him sitting on that bench, he must come in. Christopher
+laughed at her, and answered--
+
+“Sweetheart, if you could have seen the bench on which it was my lot
+to sit yonder off the coast of Africa, but new recovered from the wound
+which I had of Maldon’s men at Cranwell Towers, you would not be anxious
+for me here. There for six long months chained to Jeffrey and to Father
+Martin, for it pleased those heathen devils to keep the three of us
+together, perhaps that they might watch us better, through the hot days
+that scorched us, and the chill, wet nights, we laboured at our oars,
+while infidel overseers ran up and down the boards and thrashed us with
+their whips of hide. Yes,” he added slowly, “they thrashed us as though
+we were oxen in a yoke. You have seen the scars upon my back.”
+
+“Oh, God! to think of it,” she murmured; “you, a noble Englishman,
+beaten by those savage wretches like a brute? How did you bear it,
+Christopher?”
+
+“I know not, Wife. I think that had it not been for that angel in man’s
+form, the priest Martin--peace be to his noble soul--that angel who
+thrice at least has saved my life, I should have dashed out my brains
+against the thwarts, or starved myself to death, or provoked the Moors
+to kill me; I, who, thinking you dead, had no hope to live for. But
+Martin taught me otherwise; he preached patience and submission,
+saying that I did not suffer for nothing--of his own miseries he never
+spoke--and that he was sure that fearful as was my lot, all things
+worked together for good to me.”
+
+“And therefore it was that you lived on, Husband? Oh! I’ll build a
+shrine to that saint Martin.”
+
+“Not altogether, dear. I’ll tell you true; I lived for
+vengeance--vengeance on Clement Maldon, the man, or the devil, who
+wrought me all this ill, and, being yet young, made me old with grief
+and pain,” and he pointed to his scarred forehead and the hair above,
+that was now grizzled with white, “and vengeance, too, upon those
+worshippers of Mohammed, my masters. Yes; though Martin reproved me
+when I made confession to him, I think it was for that I lived, and the
+saints know,” he added grimly, “afterwards at the sack, and elsewhere,
+I took it on the Turks. Oh! you should have seen the last meeting of
+Jeffrey and myself with the captain of that galley and his officers who
+had so often beaten us. No, I am glad you did not see it, for it was
+fierce and bloody; even the hard-hearted Spaniards stared.”
+
+He paused, and perhaps to change the current of his mind--for during all
+his after-life, when Christopher brooded on these things he grew gloomy
+for hours, and even days--Cicely said hurriedly--
+
+“I wonder what has chanced to our enemy, the Abbot. The search has been
+close, the roads are watched, and we know that he had none with him, for
+all his foreign soldiers are slain or taken. I think he must be dead in
+the fire, Christopher.”
+
+He shook his head.
+
+“A devil does not die in fire. He is away somewhere, to plot fresh
+murders--perhaps our own and our boy’s. Oh!” he added savagely, “till
+my hands are about his throat and my dagger is in his heart there’s no
+peace for me, who have a score to pay and you both to guard.”
+
+Cicely knew not what to answer; indeed, when this mood was on him it
+was hard to reason with Christopher, who had suffered so fearfully, and,
+like herself, been saved but by a miracle or the mandate of Heaven.
+
+Of a sudden a hush fell upon the place. The blackbirds ceased their
+winter chatter in the laurels; it grew so still that they heard a dead
+leaf drop to the ground. The night was at hand. One last red ray from
+the set sun struck across the frosty sky and was reflected to the earth.
+In the light of that ray Christopher’s trained eyes caught the gleam of
+something white that moved in the shadow of the beech tree where they
+sat. Like a tiger he sprang at it, and the next moment haled out a man.
+
+“Look,” he said, twisting the head of his captive so that the glow fell
+on it. “Look; I have the snake. Ah! Wife, you saw nothing, but I saw
+him, and here he is at last--at last!”
+
+“The Abbot!” gasped Cicely.
+
+The Abbot it was indeed, but oh! how changed. His plump, olive-coloured
+countenance had shrunk to that of a skeleton still covered by yellow
+skin, in which the dark eyes rolled bloodshot and unnaturally large.
+His tonsure and jaws showed a growth of stubbly grey hair, his frame had
+become weak and small, his soft and delicate hands resembled those of a
+woman dead of some wasting disease, and, like his garments, were clogged
+with dirt. The mail shirt he wore hung loose upon him; one of his shoes
+was gone, and the toes peeped through his stockinged foot. He was but a
+living misery.
+
+“Deliver your arms,” growled Christopher, shaking him as a terrier
+shakes a rat, “or you die. Do you yield? Answer!”
+
+“How can he,” broke in Cicely, “when you have him by the throat?”
+
+Christopher loosed his grip of the man’s windpipe, and instead seized
+his wrists, whereon the Abbot drew a great breath, for he was almost
+choked, and fell to his knees, in weakness, not in supplication.
+
+“I came to you for mercy,” he said presently, “but, having overheard
+your talk, know that I can hope for none. Indeed, why should I, who
+showed none, and whose great cause seems dead, that cause for which I
+fought and lived? Let me die with it. I ask no more. Still, you are a
+gentleman, and therefore I beg a favour of you. Do not hand me over to
+be drawn, hanged and quartered by your brute-king. Kill me now. You can
+say that I attacked you, and that you did it in self-defence. I have no
+arms, but you may set a dagger in my hand.”
+
+Christopher looked down at the poor creature huddled at his feet and
+laughed.
+
+“Who would believe me?” he asked; “though, indeed, who would question,
+seeing that your life is forfeit to me or any who can take it? Yet that
+is a matter of which the King’s Justices shall judge.”
+
+Maldon shivered. “Drawn, hanged and quartered,” he repeated beneath
+his breath. “Drawn, hanged and quartered as a traitor to one I never
+served!”
+
+“Why not?” asked Christopher. “You have played a cruel game, and lost.”
+
+He made no answer; indeed, it was Cicely who spoke, saying--
+
+“How came you in such a case? We thought you fled.”
+
+“Lady,” he answered, “I’ve starved for three days and nights in a hole
+in the ground like an earthed-up fox; a culvert in your garden hid me.
+At last I crept out to see the light and die, and heard you talking,
+and thought that I would ask for mercy, since mortal extremity has no
+honour.”
+
+“Mercy!” said Cicely. “Of your treasons I say nothing, for you are not
+English, and serve your own king, who years ago sent you here to plot
+against England. But look on this man, my husband. Did he not starve
+for three days and nights in your strong dungeon ere you came thither to
+massacre him? Did you not strive to burn him in his Hall, and ship him
+wounded across the seas to doom? Did you not send your assassin to kill
+my babe, who stood between you and the wealth you needed for your plots,
+and bind me, the mother, to the stake--a food for fire? Did you not
+shoot down my father in the wood, fearing lest he should prove you
+traitor, and after rob me of my heritage? Did you not compel your monks
+to work evil and bring some of them to their deaths? Oh! have done! Worm
+dressed up as God’s priest, how can you writhe there and ask for mercy?”
+
+“I said I _came_ to seek for mercy because the agony of sleepless hunger
+drove me, who _now_ seek only death. Insult not the fallen, Cicely
+Foterell, but take the vengeance that is your due, and kill,” replied
+the Abbot, looking up at her with his hollow eyes, adding, with a laugh
+that sounded like a groan, “Come, Sir Christopher; you have got a sword,
+and it is time you went to supper. The air is cold; your wife--if such
+she be--said it but now.”
+
+“Cicely,” said Christopher, “go to the Hall and summon Jeffrey Stokes.
+Emlyn will know where to find him.”
+
+“Emlyn!” groaned the Abbot. “Give me not over to Emlyn. She’d torture
+me.”
+
+“Nay,” said Christopher, “this is not Blossholme Abbey; though what may
+chance in London I know not. Go now, Wife.”
+
+But Cicely did not stir; she only stared at the wretched creature at her
+feet.
+
+“I bid you go,” repeated Christopher.
+
+“And I’ll not obey,” she answered. “Do you remember what I promised
+Martin ere he died?”
+
+“Martin dead! Is Martin, who saved your husband, dead?” exclaimed the
+Abbot, lifting his face and letting it fall again. “Happy Martin, to be
+dead.”
+
+“I was not there, and I am not bound by your promises, Cicely.”
+
+“But I am, and you and I are one. I vowed mercy to this man if he should
+fall into our power, and mercy he shall have.”
+
+“Then you spare him to destroy us. The wheels go round quick in England,
+Wife.”
+
+“So be it. What I vowed, I vowed. With God be the rest. He has watched
+us well heretofore, and I think,” she added, with one of her bursts of
+triumphant faith, “will do so to the end. Abbot Maldon, sinful, fallen
+Abbot Maldon, you are as you were made, and Martin, the saint, said that
+there is good in your heart, though you have shown none of it to me or
+mine. Now, look you; yonder is a wooden summer-house, thatched and warm.
+Get you there, and I’ll send you food and wine and new clothing by one
+who will not talk; also a pass to Lincoln. By to-morrow’s dawn you will
+be refreshed, and then you will find a good horse tied to yonder tree,
+and so away to sanctuary at Lincoln, and, if aught of ill befalls you
+afterwards, know it is not our doing, but that of some other enemy, or
+of God, with Whom I pray you make your peace. May He forgive you, as
+I do, Who knows all hearts, which I do not. Now, farewell. Nay, say
+nothing. There is nothing to be said. Come, Christopher, for this once
+you obey me, not I you.”
+
+So they went, and the wretched man raised himself upon his hands and
+looked after them, but what passed in his heart at that moment none will
+ever learn.
+
+
+
+Some months had gone by and Blossholme, with all the country round,
+was once more at peace. The tide of trouble had rolled away northward,
+whence came rumours of renewed rebellion. Abbot Maldon had been seen
+no more, and for a while it was believed that although he never took
+sanctuary at Lincoln, he had done a wiser thing and fled to Spain. Then
+Emlyn, who heard everything, got news that this was not so, but that
+he was foremost among those who stirred up sedition and war along the
+Scottish border.
+
+“I can well believe it,” said Cicely. “The sow must to its wallowing in
+the mire. Nature made him a plotter, and he will follow his heart to the
+end.”
+
+“Ere long he may find it hard to follow his head,” answered Emlyn
+grimly. “Oh, to think that you had that wolf caged and turned him loose
+again to prey on England and on us!”
+
+“I did but show mercy to the fallen, Nurse.”
+
+“Mercy? I call it madness. Why, when Jeffrey and Thomas heard of it I
+thought they would burst with rage, especially Jeffrey, who loved your
+father well and loved not the infidel galleys,” answered the fierce
+Emlyn.
+
+“Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord,” murmured Cicely in a
+gentle voice.
+
+“The Lord also said that whoso sheddeth man’s blood by man shall his
+blood be shed. Why, I’ve heard this Maldon quote it to your husband at
+Cranwell Towers.”
+
+“So will it be, Emlyn, if so it is to be, only let others shed that
+cruel blood. I would not have it on my hands or on those of any of my
+house, for after all he is an ordained priest of my own faith. Moreover,
+I had promised. Still, talk not of the matter lest it should bring
+trouble on us all, who had no right to loose him. Also these are ill
+thoughts for your wedding day. Go, deck yourself in those fine clothes
+which Jacob Smith has sent from London, since the clergyman will be
+at Blossholme church by four, and I think that Thomas has waited long
+enough for you.”
+
+Emlyn smiled a little, and shrugged her broad shoulders, muttering
+something that would have angered Thomas if he could have heard it,
+as Cicely went off to join Christopher, who called to her from another
+room.
+
+She found him adding up figures on paper, a very different Christopher
+to the broken man they had rescued from the dungeon, though still much
+aged by the terrors of the past year and just now looking rueful.
+
+“See, Sweet,” he said, “we should give a marriage portion to Emlyn, who
+has earned it if ever woman did, but where it is to come from I know
+not. Those Abbey lands Jacob Smith bought from the King are not yours
+yet, nor Henry’s either, though doubtless he will have them soon.
+Neither have any rents been paid to you from your own estates, and when
+they come they are promised up in London, while the Abbot’s razor has
+shaved my own poor parsimony bare as a churchyard skull. Also Mother
+Matilda and her nuns must be kept till we can endow them with their
+lands again. One day we, or our boy yonder, may be rich, but till it
+comes there are hard times for all of us.”
+
+“Not so hard as some we have known, Husband,” she answered, laughing,
+“for at least we are free and have food to eat, and for the rest we will
+borrow from Jacob Smith on the jewels that remain over. Indeed, I have
+written to him and he will not refuse.”
+
+“Aye, but how about Thomas and Emlyn?”
+
+“They must do as their betters do. Though there is little stock on it,
+Thomas has the Manor Farm at low rent, which he may pay when he can,
+while Jacob put a present in the pocket of Emlyn’s wedding dress. What’s
+more, I think he will make her his heir, and if so she will be rich
+indeed, so rich that I shall have to curtsey to her. Now, go make ready
+for this marriage, and as you have no fine doublet, bid Jeffrey put on
+your mail, for you look best in that, or so at least I think, who to my
+mind look best in anything you chance to wear.”
+
+Then while he demurred, saying that there was now no need to bear arms
+in Blossholme, also that Jeffrey was away settling himself as landlord
+of the Ford Inn, the same that the Abbot had once promised to Flounder
+Megges, she kissed him, and seizing her boy, who lay crowing in the
+sunlight, danced with him from the room. For oh, Cicely’s heart was
+merry.
+
+
+
+There were many folk at the marriage of Emlyn Stower and Thomas Bolle,
+for of late Blossholme had been but a sorry place, and this wedding came
+to it like the breath of spring to the woods and meads around, a hint
+of happiness after the miseries of winter. The story of the pair had got
+about also. How they had been pledged in youth and separated by scheming
+men for their own purposes. How Emlyn had been married off against her
+will to an aged partner whom she hated, and Thomas, who was set down as
+a fool, forced to serve the monastery as a lay-brother, a strong hind
+skilled in the management of cattle and such matters, but half crazy, as
+indeed it had suited him to feign himself to be.
+
+People knew the end of the thing also; that Emlyn had cursed the Abbot,
+and that her curse had been fulfilled. That Thomas Bolle had shaken off
+his superstitious fears and risen up against him and at last been given
+the commission of the King, and, as his Grace’s officer, shown himself
+no fool but a man of mettle who had taken the Abbey by storm and
+rescued Sir Christopher Harflete from its dungeons. Emlyn also, like her
+mistress, had been bound to the stake as a witch, and saved from burning
+by this same Thomas, who with her had been concerned in many remarkable
+events whereof the countryside was full of tales, true or false. Now at
+last after all these adventures they came together to be wed, and who
+was there for ten miles round that would not see it done?
+
+The monks being gone Father Roger Necton, the old vicar of Cranwell, he
+who had united Christopher and his wife Cicely in strange circumstances,
+and for that deed been obliged to fly for his life when the last Abbot
+of Blossholme burned Cranwell Towers, came to tie the knot before his
+great congregation. Notwithstanding that they were both of middle
+age, Emlyn in her grand gown and the brawny, red-haired Thomas in his
+yeoman’s garb of green, such as he had worn when he wooed her many years
+before he put on the monk’s russet robe, made a fine and handsome pair
+at the altar. Or so folk thought, though some friend of the monks,
+remembering Bolle’s devil’s livery and Emlyn’s repute as a sorceress,
+cried out from the shadow that Satan was marrying a witch, and for his
+pains got his head broken by Jeffrey Stokes.
+
+So the white-haired and gentle Father Necton, having first read the
+King’s order releasing Thomas from his vows, tied them fast according to
+the ancient rites and blessed them both. At length it was finished, and
+the pair walked from the old church to the Manor Farm, where they were
+to dwell, followed, as was the custom, by a company of their friends
+and well-wishers. As they went they passed through a little stretch of
+woodland by the stream, where on this spring day the wild daffodils and
+lilies of the valley were abloom making sweet the air. Here Emlyn paused
+a moment and said to her husband, Captain Bolle--
+
+“Do you remember this place?”
+
+“Aye, Wife,” he answered, “it was here that we plighted our troth in
+youth, and looked up to see Maldon passing us just beyond that same oak,
+and felt the shadow of him strike cold to our hearts. You spoke of it
+yonder in the Priory chapel when I came up by the secret way, and its
+memory made me mad.”
+
+“Yes, Thomas, I spoke of it,” answered Emlyn in a rich and gentle
+voice, a new voice to him. “Well, now let its memory make you happy, as,
+notwithstanding all my faults, I will if I can,” and swiftly she bent
+towards him and kissed him, adding, “Come on, Husband, they press behind
+us and I hope that we have done with perils and plottings.”
+
+“Amen,” answered Bolle, and as he spoke certain strange men who wore
+the King’s colours and carried a long ladder went by them at a distance.
+Wondering what was their business at Blossholme, the pair passed through
+the last of the woodland and reached the rise whence they could see the
+gaunt skeleton of the burnt-out Abbey that appeared within fifty paces
+of them. At this they paused to look, and presently were joined there
+by Christopher and Cicely, Mother Matilda and her good nuns, Jeffrey
+Stokes, and others. The place seemed grim and desolate in the evening
+light, and all of them stood staring at it filled with their separate
+thoughts.
+
+“What is that?” said Cicely, with a start, pointing to a round black
+object new set over the ruin of the gateway tower.
+
+Just then a red ray from the sunset struck upon the thing.
+
+It was the severed head of Clement Maldon the Spaniard.
+
+
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LADY OF BLOSSHOLME ***
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+<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" />
+<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" />
+<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Lady of Blossholme, by H. Rider Haggard</title>
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+    hr  { width: 50%; text-align: center;}
+    .toc       { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;}
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+<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Lady Of Blossholme, by H. Rider Haggard</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
+most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
+of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
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+country where you are located before using this eBook.
+</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Lady Of Blossholme</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: H. Rider Haggard</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: September 21, 2001 [eBook #3813]<br />
+[Most recently updated: October 15, 2021]</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: John Bickers, Dagny and David Widger</div>
+<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LADY OF BLOSSHOLME ***</div>
+
+    <h1>
+      THE LADY OF BLOSSHOLME
+    </h1>
+    <p>
+      <br />
+    </p>
+    <h2>
+      By H. Rider Haggard
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+
+      <p class="toc">
+        <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big>
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        <br />
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII </a>
+      </p>
+
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a> <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER I
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      SIR JOHN FOTERELL
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      Who that has ever seen them can forget the ruins of Blossholme Abbey, set
+      upon their mount between the great waters of the tidal estuary to the
+      north, the rich lands and grazing marshes that, backed with woods, border
+      it east and south, and to the west by the rolling uplands, merging at last
+      into purple moor, and, far away, the sombre eternal hills! Probably the
+      scene has not changed very much since the days of Henry VIII, when those
+      things happened of which we have to tell, for here no large town has
+      arisen, nor have mines been dug or factories built to affront the earth
+      and defile the air with their hideousness and smoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The village of Blossholme we know has scarcely varied in its population,
+      for the old records tell us this, and as there is no railway here its
+      aspect must be much the same. Houses built of the local grey stone do not
+      readily fall down. The folk of that generation walked in and out of the
+      doorways of many of them, although the roofs for the most part are now
+      covered with tiles or rough slates in place of reeds from the dike. The
+      parish wells also, fitted with iron pumps that have superseded the old
+      rollers and buckets, still serve the place with drinking-water as they
+      have done since the days of the first Edward, and perhaps for centuries
+      before.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Although their use, if not their necessity, has passed away, not far from
+      the Abbey gate the stocks and whipping-post, the latter arranged with
+      three sets of iron loops fixed at different heights and of varying
+      diameters to accommodate the wrists of man, woman, and child, may still be
+      found in the middle of the Priests&rsquo; Green. These stand, it will be
+      remembered, under a quaint old roof supported on rough, oaken pillars, and
+      surmounted by a weathercock which the monkish fancy has fashioned to the
+      shape of the archangel blowing the last trump. His clarion or coach-horn,
+      or whatever instrument of music it was he blew, has vanished. The parish
+      book records that in the time of George I a boy broke it off, melted it
+      down, and was publicly flogged in consequence, the last time, apparently,
+      that the whipping-post was used. But Gabriel still twists about as
+      manfully as he did when old Peter, the famous smith, fashioned and set him
+      up with his own hand in the last year of King Henry VIII, as it is said to
+      commemorate the fact that on this spot stood the stakes to which Cicely
+      Harflete, Lady of Blossholme, and her foster-mother, Emlyn, were chained
+      to be burned as witches.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So it is with everything at Blossholme, a place that Time has touched but
+      lightly. The fields, or many of them, bear the same names and remain
+      identical in their shape and outline. The old farmsteads and the few halls
+      in which reside the gentry of the district, stand where they always stood.
+      The glorious tower of the Abbey still points upwards to the sky, although
+      bells and roof are gone, while half-a-mile away the parish church that was
+      there before it&mdash;having been rebuilt indeed upon Saxon foundations in
+      the days of William Rufus&mdash;yet lies among its ancient elms. Farther
+      on, situate upon the slope of a vale down which runs a brook through
+      meadows, is the stark ruin of the old Nunnery that was subservient to the
+      proud Abbey on the hill, some of it now roofed in with galvanised iron
+      sheets and used as cow-sheds.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It is of this Abbey and this Nunnery and of those who dwelt around them in
+      a day bygone, and especially of that fair and persecuted woman who came to
+      be known as the Lady of Blossholme, that our story has to tell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was dead winter in the year 1535&mdash;the 31st of December, indeed.
+      Old Sir John Foterell, a white-bearded, red-faced man of about sixty years
+      of age, was seated before the log fire in the dining-hall of his great
+      house at Shefton, spelling through a letter which had just been brought to
+      him from Blossholme Abbey. He mastered it at length, and when it was done
+      any one who had been there to look might have seen a knight and gentleman
+      of large estate in a rage remarkable even for the time of the eighth
+      Henry. He dashed the document to the ground; he drank three cups of strong
+      ale, of which he had already had enough, in quick succession; he swore a
+      number of the best oaths of the period, and finally, in the most
+      expressive language, he consigned the body of the Abbot of Blossholme to
+      the gallows and his soul to hell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He claims my lands, does he?&rdquo; he exclaimed, shaking his fist in the
+      direction of Blossholme. &ldquo;What does the rogue say? That the abbot who went
+      before him parted with them to my grandfather for no good consideration,
+      but under fear and threats. Now, writes he, this Secretary Cromwell, whom
+      they call Vicar-General, has declared that the said transfer was without
+      the law, and that I must hand over the said lands to the Abbey of
+      Blossholme on or before Candlemas! What was Cromwell paid to sign that
+      order with no inquiry made, I wonder?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Sir John poured out and drank a fourth cup of ale, then set to walking up
+      and down the hall. Presently he halted in front of the fire and addressed
+      it as though it were his enemy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are a clever fellow, Clement Maldon; they tell me that all Spaniards
+      are, and you were taught your craft at Rome and sent here for a purpose.
+      You began as nothing, and now you are Abbot of Blossholme, and, if the
+      King had not faced the Pope, would be more. But you forget yourself at
+      times, for the Southern blood is hot, and when the wine is in, the truth
+      is out. There were certain words you spoke not a year ago before me and
+      other witnesses of which I will remind you presently. Perhaps when
+      Secretary Cromwell learns them he will cancel his gift of my lands, and
+      mayhap lift that plotting head of yours up higher. I&rsquo;ll go remind you of
+      them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Sir John strode to the door and shouted; it would not be too much to say
+      that he bellowed like a bull. It opened after a while, and a serving-man
+      appeared, a bow-legged, sturdy-looking fellow with a shock of black hair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why are you not quicker, Jeffrey Stokes?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;Must I wait your
+      pleasure from noon to night?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I came as fast as I could, master. Why, then, do you rate me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Would you argue with me, fellow? Do it again and I will have you tied to
+      a post and lashed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lash yourself, master, and let out the choler and good ale, which you
+      need to do,&rdquo; replied Jeffrey in his gruff voice. &ldquo;There be some men who
+      never know when they are well served, and such are apt to come to ill and
+      lonely ends. What is your pleasure? I&rsquo;ll do it if I can, and if not, do it
+      yourself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Sir John lifted his hand as though to strike him, then let it fall again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I like one who braves me to my teeth,&rdquo; he said more gently, &ldquo;and that was
+      ever your nature. Take it not ill, man; I was angered, and have cause to
+      be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The anger I see, but not the cause, though, as a monk came from the Abbey
+      but now, perhaps I can hazard a guess.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, that&rsquo;s it, that&rsquo;s it, Jeffrey. Hark; I ride to yonder crows&rsquo;-nest,
+      and at once. Saddle me a horse.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good, master. I&rsquo;ll saddle two horses.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Two? I said one. Fool, can I ride a pair at once, like a mountebank?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know not, but you can ride one and I another. When the Abbot of
+      Blossholme visits Sir John Foterell of Shefton he comes with hawk on
+      wrist, with chaplains and pages, and ten stout men-at-arms, of whom he
+      keeps more of late than a priest would seem to need about him. When Sir
+      John Foterell visits the Abbot of Blossholme, at least he should have one
+      serving-man at his back to hold his nag and bear him witness.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Sir John looked at him shrewdly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I called you fool,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;but you are none except in looks. Do as you
+      will, Jeffrey, but be swift. Stop. Where is my daughter?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Lady Cicely sits in her parlour. I saw her sweet face at the window
+      but now staring out at the snow as though she thought to see a ghost in
+      it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Um,&rdquo; grunted Sir John, &ldquo;the ghost she thinks to see rides a grand grey
+      mare, stands over six feet high, has a jolly face, and a pair of arms well
+      made for sword and shield, or to clip a girl in. Yet that ghost must be
+      laid, Jeffrey.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pity if so, master. Moreover, you may find it hard. Ghost-laying is a
+      priest&rsquo;s job, and when maids&rsquo; waists are willing, men&rsquo;s arms reach far.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Be off, sirrah,&rdquo; roared Sir John, and Jeffrey went.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ten minutes later they were riding for the Abbey, three miles away, and
+      within half-an-hour Sir John was knocking, not gently, at its gate, while
+      the monks within ran to and fro like startled ants, for the times were
+      rough, and they were not sure who threatened them. When they knew their
+      visitor at last they set to work to unbar the great doors and let down the
+      drawbridge, that had been hoist up at sunset.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Presently Sir John stood in the Abbot&rsquo;s chamber, warming himself at the
+      great fire, and behind him stood his serving-man, Jeffrey, carrying his
+      long cloak. It was a fine room, with a noble roof of carved chestnut wood
+      and stone walls hung with costly tapestry, whereon were worked scenes from
+      the Scriptures. The floor was hid with rich carpets made of coloured
+      Eastern wools. The furniture also was rich and foreign-looking, being
+      inlaid with ivory and silver, while on the table stood a golden crucifix,
+      a miracle of art, and upon an easel, so that the light from a hanging
+      silver lamp fell on it, a life-sized picture of the Magdalene by some
+      great Italian painter, turning her beauteous eyes to heaven and beating
+      her fair breast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sir John looked about him and sniffed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, Jeffrey, would you think that you were in a monk&rsquo;s cell or in some
+      great dame&rsquo;s bower? Hunt under the table, man; sure, you will find her
+      lute and needlework. Whose portrait is that, think you?&rdquo; and he pointed to
+      the Magdalene.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A sinner turning saint, I think, master. Good company for laymen when she
+      was sinner, and good for priests now that she is saint. For the rest, I
+      could snore well here after a cup of yon red wine,&rdquo; and he jerked his
+      thumb towards a long-necked bottle on a sideboard. &ldquo;Also, the fire burns
+      bright, which is not to be wondered at, seeing that it is made of dry oak
+      from your Sticksley Wood.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How know you that, Jeffrey?&rdquo; asked Sir John.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By the grain of it, master&mdash;by the grain of it. I have hewn too many
+      a timber there not to know. There&rsquo;s that in the Sticksley clays which
+      makes the rings grow wavy and darker at the heart. See there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Sir John looked, and swore an angry oath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are right, man; and now I come to think of it, when I was a little
+      lad my old grandsire bade me note this very thing about the Sticksley
+      oaks. These cursed monks waste my woods beneath my nose. My forester is a
+      rogue. They have scared or bribed him, and he shall hang for it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;First prove the crime, master, which won&rsquo;t be easy; then talk of hanging,
+      which only kings and abbots, &lsquo;with right of gallows,&rsquo; can do at will. Ah!
+      you speak truth,&rdquo; he added in a changed voice; &ldquo;it is a lovely chamber,
+      though not good enough for the holy man who dwells in it, since such a
+      saint should have a silver shrine like him before the altar yonder, as
+      doubtless he will do when ere long he is old bones,&rdquo; and, as though by
+      chance, he trod upon his lord&rsquo;s foot, which was somewhat gouty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Round came Sir John like the Blossholme weathercock on a gusty day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Clumsy toad!&rdquo; he yelled, then paused, for there within the arras, that
+      had been lifted silently, stood a tall, tonsured figure clothed in rich
+      furs, and behind him two other figures, also tonsured, in simple black
+      robes. It was the Abbot with his chaplains.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Benedicite!&rdquo; said the Abbot in his soft, foreign voice, lifting the two
+      fingers of his right hand in blessing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good-day,&rdquo; answered Sir John, while his retainer bowed his head and
+      crossed himself. &ldquo;Why do you steal upon a man like a thief in the night,
+      holy Father?&rdquo; he added irritably.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is how we are told judgment shall come, my son,&rdquo; answered the Abbot,
+      smiling; &ldquo;and in truth there seems some need of it. We heard loud
+      quarrelling and talk of hanging men. What is your argument?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A hard one of oak,&rdquo; answered old Sir John sullenly. &ldquo;My servant here said
+      those logs upon your fire came from my Sticksley Wood, and I answered him
+      that if so they were stolen, and my reeve should hang for it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The worthy man is right, my son, and yet your forester deserves no
+      punishment. I bought our scanty store of firing from him, and, to tell
+      truth, the count has not yet been paid. The money that should have
+      discharged it has gone to London, so I asked him to let it stand until the
+      summer rents come in. Blame him not, Sir John, if, out of friendship,
+      knowing it was naught to you, he has not bared the nakedness of our poor
+      house.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is it the nakedness of your poor house&rdquo;&mdash;and he glanced round the
+      sumptuous chamber&mdash;&ldquo;that caused you to send me this letter saying
+      that you have Cromwell&rsquo;s writ to seize my lands?&rdquo; asked Sir John, rushing
+      at his grievance like a bull, and casting down the document upon the
+      table; &ldquo;or do you also mean to make payment for them&mdash;when your
+      summer rents come in?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, son. In that matter duty led me. For twenty years we have disputed
+      of those estates which, as you know, your grandsire took from us in a time
+      of trouble, thus cutting the Abbey lands in twain, against the protest of
+      him who was Abbot in those days. Therefore, at last I laid the matter
+      before the Vicar-General, who, I hear, has been pleased to decide the suit
+      in favour of this Abbey.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To decide a suit of which the defendant had no notice!&rdquo; exclaimed Sir
+      John. &ldquo;My Lord Abbot, this is not justice; it is roguery that I will never
+      bear. Did you decide aught else, pray you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Since you ask it&mdash;something, my son. To save costs I laid before him
+      the sundry points at issue between us, and in sum this is the judgment:
+      Your title to all your Blossholme lands and those contiguous, totalling
+      eight thousand acres, is not voided, yet it is held to be tainted and
+      doubtful.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;God&rsquo;s blood! Why?&rdquo; asked Sir John.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My son, I will tell you,&rdquo; replied the Abbot gently. &ldquo;Because within a
+      hundred years they belonged to this Abbey by gift of the Crown, and there
+      is no record that the Crown consented to their alienation.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No record,&rdquo; exclaimed Sir John, &ldquo;when I have the indentured deed in my
+      strong-box, signed by my great-grandfather and the Abbot Frank Ingham! No
+      record, when my said forefather gave you other lands in place of them
+      which you now hold? But go on, holy priest.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My son, I obey you. Your title, though pronounced so doubtful, is not
+      utterly voided; yet it is held that you have all these lands as tenant of
+      this Abbey, to which, should you die without issue, they will relapse. Or
+      should you die with issue under age, such issue will be ward to the Abbot
+      of Blossholme for the time being, and failing him, that is, if there were
+      no Abbot and no Abbey, of the Crown.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Sir John listened, then sank back into a chair, while his face went white
+      as ashes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Show me that judgment,&rdquo; he said slowly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is not yet engrossed, my son. Within ten days or so I hope&mdash;&mdash;But
+      you seem faint. The warmth of this room after the cold outer air, perhaps.
+      Drink a cup of our poor wine,&rdquo; and at a motion of his hand one of the
+      chaplains stepped to the sideboard, filled a goblet from the long-necked
+      flask that stood there, and brought it to Sir John.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He took it as one that knows not what he does, then suddenly threw the
+      silver cup and its contents into the fire, whence a chaplain recovered it
+      with the wood-tongs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It seems that you priests are my heirs,&rdquo; said Sir John in a new, quiet
+      voice, &ldquo;or so you say; and, if that is so, my life is likely to be short.
+      I&rsquo;ll not drink your wine, lest it should be poisoned. Hearken now, Sir
+      Abbot. I believe little of this tale, though doubtless by bribes and other
+      means you have done your best to harm me behind my back up yonder in
+      London. Well, to-morrow at the dawn, come fair weather or come foul, I
+      ride through the snows to London, where I too have friends, and we will
+      see, we will see. You are a clever man, Abbot Maldon, and I know that you
+      need money, or its worth, to pay your men-at-arms and satisfy the great
+      costs at which you live&mdash;and there are our famous jewels&mdash;yes,
+      yes, the old Crusader jewels. Therefore you have sought to rob me, whom
+      you ever hated, and perchance Cromwell has listened to your tale.
+      Perchance, fool priest,&rdquo; he added slowly, &ldquo;he had it in his mind to fat
+      this Church goose of yours with my meal before he wrings its neck and
+      cooks it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At these words the Abbot started for the first time, and even the two
+      impassive chaplains glanced at each other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! does that touch you?&rdquo; asked Sir John Foterell. &ldquo;Well, then, here is
+      what shall make you smart. You think yourself in favour at the Court, do
+      you not? because you took the oath of succession which braver men, like
+      the brethren of the Charterhouse, refused, and died for it. But you forget
+      the words you said to me when the wine you love had a hold of you in my
+      hall&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Silence! For your own sake, silence, Sir John Foterell!&rdquo; broke in the
+      Abbot. &ldquo;You go too far.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not so far as you shall go, my Lord Abbot, ere I have done with you. Not
+      so far as Tower Hill or Tyburn, thither to be hung and quartered as a
+      traitor to his Grace. I tell you, you forget the words you spoke, but I
+      will remind you of them. Did you not say to me when the guests had gone,
+      that King Henry was a heretic, a tyrant, and an infidel whom the Pope
+      would do well to excommunicate and depose? Did you not, when I led you on,
+      ask me if I could not bring about a rising of the common people in these
+      parts, among whom I have great power, and of those gentry who know and
+      love me, to overthrow him, and in his place set up a certain Cardinal
+      Pole, and for the deed promise me the pardon and absolution of the Pope,
+      and much advancement in his name and that of the Spanish Emperor?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never,&rdquo; answered the Abbot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And did I not,&rdquo; went on Sir John, taking no note of his denial, &ldquo;did I
+      not refuse to listen to you and tell you that your words were traitorous,
+      and that had they been spoken otherwhere than in my house, I, as in duty
+      bound by my office, would make report of them? Aye, and have you not from
+      that hour striven to undo me, whom you fear?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I deny it all,&rdquo; said the Abbot again. &ldquo;These be but empty lies bred of
+      your malice, Sir John Foterell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Empty words, are they, my Lord Abbot! Well, I tell you that they are all
+      written down and signed in due form. I tell you I had witnesses you knew
+      naught of who heard them with their ears. Here stands one of them behind
+      my chair. Is it not so, Jeffrey?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, master,&rdquo; answered the serving-man. &ldquo;I chanced to be in the little
+      chamber beyond the wainscot with others waiting to escort the Abbot home,
+      and heard them all, and afterward I and they put our marks upon the
+      writing. As I am a Christian man that is so, though, master, this is not
+      the place that I should have chosen to speak of it, however much I might
+      be wronged.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It will serve my turn,&rdquo; said the enraged knight, &ldquo;though it is true that
+      I will speak of it louder elsewhere, namely, before the King&rsquo;s Council.
+      To-morrow, my Lord Abbot, this paper and I go to London, and then you
+      shall learn how well it pays you to try to pluck a Foterell of his own.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now it was the Abbot&rsquo;s turn to be frightened. His smooth, olive-coloured
+      cheeks sank in and went white, as though already he felt the cord about
+      his throat. His jewelled hand shook, and he caught the arm of one of his
+      chaplains and hung to it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Man,&rdquo; he hissed, &ldquo;do you think that you can utter such false threats and
+      go hence to ruin me, a consecrated abbot? I have dungeons here; I have
+      power. It will be said that you attacked me, and that I did but strive to
+      defend myself. Others can bring witness besides you, Sir John,&rdquo; and he
+      whispered some words in Latin or Spanish into the ear of one of his
+      chaplains, whereon that priest turned to leave the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now it seems that we are getting to business,&rdquo; said Jeffrey Stokes, as,
+      laying his hand upon the knife at his girdle, he slipped between the monk
+      and the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s it, Jeffrey,&rdquo; cried Sir John. &ldquo;Stop the rat&rsquo;s hole. Look you,
+      Spaniard, I have a sword. Show me to your gate, or, by virtue of the
+      King&rsquo;s commission that I hold, I do instant justice on you as a traitor,
+      and afterward answer for it if I win out.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot considered a moment, taking the measure of the fierce old knight
+      before him. Then he said slowly&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go as you came, in peace, O man of wrath and evil, but know that the
+      curse of the Church shall follow you. I say that you stand near to ill.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Sir John looked at him. The anger went out of his face, and, instead, upon
+      it appeared something strange&mdash;a breath of foresight, an inspiration,
+      call it what you will.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By heaven and all its saints! I think you are right, Clement Maldon,&rdquo; he
+      muttered. &ldquo;Beneath that black dress of yours you are a man like the rest
+      of us, are you not? You have a heart, you have members, you have a brain
+      to think with; you are a fiddle for God to play on, and however much your
+      superstitions mask and alter it, out of those strings now and again will
+      come some squeak of truth. Well, I am another fiddle, of a more honest
+      sort, mayhap, though I do not lift two fingers of my right hand and say,
+      &lsquo;Benedicite, my son,&rsquo; and &lsquo;Your sins are forgiven you&rsquo;; and just now the
+      God of both of us plays His tune in me, and I will tell you what it is. I
+      stand near to death, but you stand not far from the gallows. I&rsquo;ll die an
+      honest man; you will die like a dog, false to everything, and afterwards
+      let your beads and your masses and your saints help you if they can. We&rsquo;ll
+      talk it over when we meet again elsewhere. And now, my Lord Abbot, lead me
+      to your gate, remembering that I follow with my sword. Jeffrey, set those
+      carrion crow in front of you, and watch them well. My Lord Abbot, I am
+      your servant; march!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER II
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      THE MURDER BY THE MERE
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      For a while Sir John and his retainer rode in silence. Then he laughed
+      loudly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jeffrey,&rdquo; he called, &ldquo;that was a near touch. Sir Priest was minded to
+      stick his Spanish pick-tooth between our ribs, and shrive us afterwards,
+      as we lay dying, to salve his conscience.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, master; only, being reasonable, he remembered that English swords
+      have a longer reach, and that his bullies are in the Ford ale-house seeing
+      the Old Year out, and so put it off. Master, I have always told you that
+      old October of yours is too strong to drink at noon. It should be saved
+      till bed-time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean, man?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I mean that ale spoke yonder, not wisdom. You have showed your hand and
+      played the fool.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who are you to teach me?&rdquo; asked Sir John angrily. &ldquo;I meant that he should
+      hear the truth for once, the slimy traitor.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps, perhaps; but these be bad days for Truth and those who court
+      her. Was it needful to tell him that to-morrow you journey to London upon
+      a certain errand?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not? I&rsquo;ll be there before him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will you ever be there, master? The road runs past the Abbey, and that
+      priest has good ruffians in his pay who can hold their tongues.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you mean that he will waylay me? I say he dare not. Still, to please
+      you, we will take the longer path through the forest.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A rough one, master; but who goes with you on this business? Most of us
+      are away with the wains, and others make holiday. There are but three
+      serving-men at the hall, and you cannot leave the Lady Cicely without a
+      guard, or take her with you through this cold. Remember there&rsquo;s wealth
+      yonder which some may need more even than your lands,&rdquo; he added meaningly.
+      &ldquo;Wait a while, then, till your people return or you can call up your
+      tenants, and go to London as one of your quality should, with twenty good
+      men at your back.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And so give our friend the Abbot time to get Cromwell&rsquo;s ear, and through
+      him that of the King. No, no; I ride to-morrow at the dawn with you, or,
+      if you are afraid, without you, as I have done before and taken no harm.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;None shall say that Jeffrey Stokes is afraid of man or priest or devil,&rdquo;
+       answered the old soldier, colouring. &ldquo;Your road has been good enough for
+      me this thirty years, and it is good enough now. If I warned you it was
+      not for my own sake, who care little what comes, but for yours and that of
+      your house.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know it,&rdquo; said Sir John more kindly. &ldquo;Take not my words ill, my temper
+      is up to-day. Thank the saints! here is the hall at last. Why! whose horse
+      has passed the gates before us?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jeffrey glanced at the tracks which the moonlight showed very clearly in
+      the new-fallen snow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir Christopher Harflete&rsquo;s grey mare,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I know the shoeing and
+      the round shape of the hoof. Doubtless he is visiting Mistress Cicely.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Whom I have forbidden to him,&rdquo; grumbled Sir John, swinging himself from
+      the saddle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Forbid him not,&rdquo; answered Jeffrey, as he took his horse. &ldquo;Christopher
+      Harflete may yet be a good friend to a maid in need, and I think that need
+      is nigh.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mind your business, knave,&rdquo; shouted Sir John. &ldquo;Am I to be set at naught
+      in my own house by a chit of a girl and a gallant who would mend his
+      broken fortunes?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you ask me, I think so,&rdquo; replied the imperturbable Jeffrey, as he led
+      away the horses.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sir John strode into the house by the backway, which opened on to the
+      stable-yard. Taking the lantern that stood by the door, he went along
+      galleries and upstairs to the sitting-chamber above the hall, which, since
+      her mother&rsquo;s death, his daughter had used as her own, for here he guessed
+      that he would find her. Setting down the lantern upon the passage table,
+      he pushed open the door, which was not latched, and entered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The room was large, and, being lighted only by the great fire that burned
+      upon the hearth and two candles, all this end of it was hid in shadow.
+      Near to the deep window-place the shadow ceased, however, and here, seated
+      in a high-backed oak chair, with the light of the blazing fire falling
+      full upon her, was Cicely Foterell, Sir John&rsquo;s only surviving child. She
+      was a tall and graceful maiden, blue-eyed, brown-haired, fair-skinned,
+      with a round and child-like face which most people thought beautiful to
+      look upon. Just now this face, that generally was so arch and cheerful,
+      seemed somewhat troubled. For this there might be a reason, since, seated
+      upon a stool at her side, was a young man talking to her earnestly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was a stalwart young man, very broad about the shoulders, clean-cut in
+      feature, with a long, straight nose, black hair, and merry black eyes.
+      Also, as such a gallant should do, he appeared to be making love with much
+      vigour and directness, for his face was upturned pleading with the girl,
+      who leaned back in her chair answering him nothing. At this moment,
+      indeed, his copious flow of words came to an end, perhaps from exhaustion,
+      perhaps for other reasons, and was succeeded by a more effective method of
+      attack. Suddenly sinking from the stool to his knees, he took the
+      unresisting hand of Cicely and kissed it several times; then, emboldened
+      by his success, threw his long arms about her, and before Sir John, choked
+      with indignation, could find words to stop him, drew her towards him and
+      treated her red lips as he had treated her fingers. This rude proceeding
+      seemed to break the spell that bound her, for she pushed back the chair
+      and, escaping from his grasp, rose, saying in a broken voice&mdash;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! Christopher, dear Christopher, this is most wrong.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;May be,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;So long as you love me I care not what it is.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That you have known these two years, Christopher. I love you well, but,
+      alas! my father will have none of you. Get you hence now, ere he returns,
+      or we both shall pay for it, and I, perhaps, be sent to a nunnery where no
+      man may come.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, sweet, I am here to ask his consent to my suit&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then at last Sir John broke out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To ask my consent to your suit, you dishonest knave!&rdquo; he roared from the
+      darkness; whereat Cicely sank back into her chair looking as though she
+      would faint, and the strong Christopher staggered like a man pierced by an
+      arrow. &ldquo;First to take my girl and hug her before my very eyes, and then,
+      when the mischief is done, to ask my consent to your suit!&rdquo; and he rushed
+      at them like a charging bull.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely rose to fly, then, seeing no escape, took refuge in her lover&rsquo;s
+      arms. Her infuriated father seized the first part of her that came to his
+      hand, which chanced to be one of her long brown plaits of hair, and tugged
+      at it till she cried out with pain, purposing to tear her away, at which
+      sight and sound Christopher lost his temper also.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Leave go of the maid, sir,&rdquo; he said in a low, fierce voice, &ldquo;or, by God!
+      I&rsquo;ll make you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Leave go of the maid?&rdquo; gasped Sir John. &ldquo;Why, who holds her tightest, you
+      or I? Do you leave go of her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, yes, Christopher,&rdquo; she whispered, &ldquo;ere I am pulled in two.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he obeyed, lifting her into the chair, but her father still kept his
+      hold of the brown tress.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, Sir Christopher,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I am minded to put my sword through
+      you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And pierce your daughter&rsquo;s heart as well as mine. Well, do it if you
+      will, and when we are dead and you are childless, weep yourself and go to
+      the grave.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! father, father,&rdquo; broke in Cicely, who knew the old man&rsquo;s temper, and
+      feared the worst, &ldquo;in justice and in pity, listen to me. All my heart is
+      Christopher&rsquo;s, and has been from a child. With him I shall have happiness,
+      without him black despair; and that is his case too, or so he swears. Why,
+      then, should you part us? Is he not a proper man and of good lineage, and
+      name unstained? Until of late did you not ever favour him much and let us
+      be together day by day? And now, when it is too late, you deny him. Oh!
+      why, why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You know why well enough, girl. Because I have chosen another husband for
+      you. The Lord Despard is taken with your baby face, and would marry you.
+      But this morning I had it under his own hand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Lord Despard?&rdquo; gasped Cicely. &ldquo;Why, he only buried his second wife
+      last month! Father, he is as old as you are, and drunken, and has
+      grandchildren of well-nigh my age. I would obey you in all things, but
+      never will I go to him alive.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And never shall he live to take you,&rdquo; muttered Christopher.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What matter his years, daughter? He is a sound man, and has no son, and
+      should one be born to him, his will be the greatest heritage within three
+      shires. Moreover, I need his friendship, who have bitter enemies. But
+      enough of this. Get you gone, Christopher, before worse befall you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So be it, sir, I will go; but first, as an honest man and my father&rsquo;s
+      friend, and, as I thought, my own, answer me one question. Why have you
+      changed your tune to me of late? Am I not the same Christopher Harflete I
+      was a year or two ago? And have I done aught to lower me in the world&rsquo;s
+      eye or in yours?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, lad,&rdquo; answered the old knight bluntly; &ldquo;but since you will have it,
+      here it is. Within that year or two your uncle whose heir you were has
+      married and bred a son, and now you are but a gentleman of good name, and
+      little to float it on. That big house of yours must go to the hammer,
+      Christopher. You&rsquo;ll never stow a bride in it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! I thought as much. Christopher Harflete with the promise of the
+      Lesborough lands was one man; Christopher Harflete without them is another&mdash;in
+      your eyes. Yet, sir, I hold you foolish. I love your daughter and she
+      loves me, and those lands and more may come back, or I, who am no fool,
+      will win others. Soon there will be plenty going up there at Court, where
+      I am known. Further, I tell you this: I believe that I shall marry Cicely,
+      and earlier than you think, and I would have had your blessing with her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What! Will you steal the girl away?&rdquo; asked Sir John furiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By no means, sir. But this is a strange world of ours, in which from hour
+      to hour top becomes bottom, and bottom top, and there&mdash;I think I
+      shall marry her. At least I am sure that Despard the sot never will, for
+      I&rsquo;ll kill him first, if I hang for it. Sir, sir, surely you will not throw
+      your pearl upon that muckheap. Better crush it beneath your heel at once.
+      Look, and say you cannot do it,&rdquo; and he pointed to the pathetic figure of
+      Cicely, who stood by them with clasped hands, panting breast, and a face
+      of agony.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The old knight glanced at her out of the corners of his eyes, and saw
+      something that moved him to pity, for at bottom his heart was honest, and
+      though he treated her so roughly, as was the fashion of the times, he
+      loved his daughter more than all the world.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who are you, that would teach me my duty to my bone and blood?&rdquo; he
+      grumbled. Then he thought a while, and added, &ldquo;Hear me, now, Christopher
+      Harflete. To-morrow at the dawn I ride to London with Jeffrey Stokes on a
+      somewhat risky business.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What business, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you would know&mdash;that of a quarrel with yonder Spanish rogue of an
+      Abbot, who claims the best part of my lands, and has poisoned the ear of
+      that upstart, the Vicar-General Cromwell. I go to take the deeds and prove
+      him a liar and a traitor also, which Cromwell does not know. Now, is my
+      nest safe from you while I am away? Give me your word, and I&rsquo;ll believe
+      you, for at least you are an honest gentleman, and if you have poached a
+      kiss or two, that may be forgiven. Others have done the same before you
+      were born. Give me your word, or I must drag the girl through the snows to
+      London at my heels.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have it, sir,&rdquo; answered Christopher. &ldquo;If she needs my company she
+      must come for it to Cranwell Towers, for I&rsquo;ll not seek hers while you are
+      away.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good. Then one gift for another. I&rsquo;ll not answer my Lord of Despard&rsquo;s
+      letter till I get back again&mdash;not to please you, but because I hate
+      writing. It is a labour to me, and I have no time to spare to-night. Now,
+      have a cup of drink and be off with you. Love-making is thirsty work.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, gladly, sir, but hear me, hear me. Ride not to London with such
+      slight attendance after a quarrel with Abbot Maldon. Let me wait on you.
+      Although my fortunes be so low I can bring a man or two&mdash;six or
+      eight, indeed&mdash;while yours are away with the wains.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never, Christopher. My own hand has guarded my head these sixty years,
+      and can do so still. Also,&rdquo; he added, with a flash of insight, &ldquo;as you
+      say, the journey is dangerous, and who knows? If aught went wrong, you
+      might be wanted nearer home. Christopher, you shall never have my girl;
+      she&rsquo;s not for you. Yet, perhaps, if need were, you would strike a blow for
+      her even if it made you excommunicate. Get hence, wench. Why do you stand
+      there gaping on us, like an owl in sunlight? And remember, if I catch you
+      at more such tricks, you&rsquo;ll spend your days mumbling at prayers in a
+      nunnery, and much good may they do you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;At least I should find peace there, and gentle words,&rdquo; answered Cicely
+      with spirit, for she knew her father, and the worst of her fear had
+      departed. &ldquo;Only, sir, I did not know that you wished to swell the wealth
+      of the Abbots of Blossholme.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Swell their wealth!&rdquo; roared her father. &ldquo;Nay, I&rsquo;ll stretch their necks.
+      Get you to your chamber, and send up Jeffrey with the liquor.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, having no choice, Cicely curtseyed, first to her father and next to
+      Christopher, to whom she sent a message with her eyes that she dared not
+      utter with her lips, and so vanished into the shadows, where presently she
+      was heard stumbling against some article of furniture.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Show the maid a light, Christopher,&rdquo; said Sir John, who, lost in his own
+      thoughts, was now gazing into the fire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Seizing one of the two candles, Christopher sprang after her like a hound
+      after a hare, and presently the pair of them passed through the door and
+      down the long passage beyond. At a turn in it they halted, and once more,
+      without word spoken, she found her way into those long arms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will not forget me, even if we must part?&rdquo; sobbed Cicely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, sweet,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;Moreover, keep a brave heart; we do not part
+      for long, for God has given us to each other. Your father does not mean
+      all he says, and his temper, which has been stirred to-day, will soften.
+      If not, we must look to ourselves. I keep a swift horse or two, Cicely.
+      Could you ride one if need were?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have ever loved riding,&rdquo; she said meaningly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good. Then you shall never go to that fat hog&rsquo;s sty, for I&rsquo;ll stick him
+      first. And I have friends both in Scotland and in France. Which like you
+      best?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They say the air of France is softer. Now, away from me, or one will come
+      to seek us,&rdquo; and they tore themselves apart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Emlyn, your foster-mother, is to be trusted,&rdquo; he said rapidly; &ldquo;also she
+      loves me well. If there be need, let me hear of you through her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye,&rdquo; she answered, &ldquo;without fail,&rdquo; and glided from him like a ghost.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you been waiting to see the moon rise?&rdquo; asked Sir John, glancing at
+      Christopher from beneath his shaggy eyebrows as he returned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, sir, but the passages in this old house of yours are most wondrous
+      long, and I took a wrong turn in threading them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; said Sir John. &ldquo;Well, you have a talent for wrong turns, and such
+      partings are hard. Now, do you understand that this is the last of them?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I understand that you may say so, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And that I mean it, too, I hope. Listen, Christopher,&rdquo; he added, with
+      earnestness, but in a kindly voice. &ldquo;Believe me, I like you well, and
+      would not give you pain, or the maid yonder, if I could help it. Yet I
+      have no choice. I am threatened on all sides by priest and king, and you
+      have lost your heritage. She is the only jewel that I can pawn, and for
+      your own safety&rsquo;s sake and her children&rsquo;s sake, must marry well. Yonder
+      Despard will not live long, he drinks too hard; and then your day may
+      come, if you still care for his leavings&mdash;perhaps in two years,
+      perhaps in less, for she will soon see him out. Now, let us talk no more
+      of the matter, but if aught befalls me, be a friend to her. Here comes the
+      liquor&mdash;drink it up and be off. Though I seem rough with you, my hope
+      is that you may quaff many another cup at Shefton.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was seven o&rsquo;clock of the next morning, and Sir John, having eaten his
+      breakfast, was girding on his sword&mdash;for Jeffrey had already gone to
+      fetch the horses&mdash;when the door opened and his daughter entered the
+      great hall, candle in hand, wrapped in a fur cloak, over which her long
+      hair fell. Glancing at her, Sir John noted that her eyes were wide and
+      frightened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is it now, girl?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;You&rsquo;ll take your death of cold among
+      these draughts.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! father,&rdquo; she said, kissing him, &ldquo;I came to bid you farewell, and&mdash;and&mdash;to
+      pray you not to start.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not to start? And why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because, father, I have dreamed a bad dream. At first last night I could
+      not sleep, and when at length I did I dreamed that dream thrice,&rdquo; and she
+      paused.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go on, Cicely; I am not afraid of dreams, which are but foolishness&mdash;coming
+      from the stomach.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mayhap; yet, father, it was so plain and clear I can scarcely bear to
+      tell it to you. I stood in a dark place amidst black things that I knew to
+      be trees. Then the red dawn broke upon the snow, and I saw a little pool
+      with brown rushes frozen in its ice. And there&mdash;there, at the edge of
+      the pool, by a pollard willow with one white limb, you lay, your bare
+      sword in your hand and an arrow in your neck, shot from behind, while in
+      the trunk of the willow were other arrows, and lying near you two slain.
+      Then cloaked men came as though to carry them away, and I awoke. I say I
+      dreamed it thrice.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A jolly good morrow indeed,&rdquo; said Sir John, turning a shade paler. &ldquo;And
+      now, daughter, what do you make of this business?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I? Oh! I make that you should stop at home and send some one else to do
+      your business. Sir Christopher, for instance.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, then I should baulk your dream, which is either true or false. If
+      true, I have no choice, it must be fulfilled; if false, why should I heed
+      it? Cicely, I am a plain man and take no note of such fancies. Yet I have
+      enemies, and it may well chance that my day is done. If so, use your
+      mother wit, girl; beware of Maldon, look to yourself, and as for your
+      mother&rsquo;s jewels, hide them,&rdquo; and he turned to go.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She clasped him by the arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In that sad case what should I do, father?&rdquo; she asked eagerly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He stopped and stared at her up and down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I see that you believe in your dream,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;and therefore, although
+      it shall not stay a Foterell, I begin to believe in it too. In that case
+      you have a lover whom I have forbid to you. Yet he is a man after my own
+      heart, who would deal well by you. If I die, my game is played. Set your
+      own anew, sweet Cicely, and set it soon, ere that Abbot is at your heels.
+      Rough as I may have been, remember me with kindness, and God&rsquo;s blessing
+      and mine be on you. Hark! Jeffrey calls, and if they stand, the horses
+      will take cold. There, fare you well. Fear not for me, I wear a chain
+      shirt beneath my cloak. Get back to bed and warm you,&rdquo; and he kissed her
+      on the brow, thrust her from him and was gone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus did Cicely and her father part&mdash;for ever.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All that day Sir John and Jeffrey, his serving-man, trotted forward
+      through the snow&mdash;that is, when they were not obliged to walk because
+      of the depth of the drifts. Their plan was to reach a certain farm in a
+      glade of the woodland within two hours of sundown, and sleep there, for
+      they had taken the forest path, leaving again for the Fens and Cambridge
+      at the dawn. This, however, proved not possible because of the exceeding
+      badness of the road. So it came about that when the darkness closed in on
+      them a little before five o&rsquo;clock, bringing with it a cold, moaning wind
+      and a scurry of snow, they were obliged to shelter in a faggot-built
+      woodman&rsquo;s hut, waiting for the moon to appear among the clouds. Here they
+      fed the horses with corn that they had brought with them, and themselves
+      also from their store of dried meat and barley cakes, which Jeffrey
+      carried on his shoulder in a bag. It was a poor meal eaten thus in the
+      darkness, but served to stay their stomachs and pass away the time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At length a ray of light pierced the doorway of the hut.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She&rsquo;s up,&rdquo; said Sir John, &ldquo;let us be going ere the nags grow stiff.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Making no answer, Jeffrey slipped the bits back into the horses&rsquo; mouths
+      and led them out. Now the full moon had appeared like a great white eye
+      between two black banks of cloud and turned the world to silver. It was a
+      dreary scene on which she shone; a dazzling plain of snow, broken by
+      patches of hawthorns, and here and there by the gaunt shape of a pollard
+      oak, since this being the outskirt of the forest, folk came hither to lop
+      the tops of the trees for firing. A hundred and fifty yards away or so, at
+      the crest of a slope, was a round-shaped hill, made, not by Nature, but by
+      man. None knew what that hill might be, but tradition said that once,
+      hundreds or thousands of years before, a big battle had been fought around
+      it in which a king was killed, and that his victorious army had raised
+      this mound above his bones to be a memorial for ever.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The story was indeed that, being a sea-king, they had built a boat or
+      dragged it thither from the river shore and set him in it with all the
+      slain for rowers; also that he might be seen at nights seated on his horse
+      in armour, and staring about him, as when he directed the battle. At least
+      it is true that the mount was called King&rsquo;s Grave, and that people feared
+      to pass it after sundown.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As Jeffrey Stokes was holding his master&rsquo;s stirrup for him to mount, he
+      uttered an exclamation and pointed. Following the line of his outstretched
+      hand, in the clear moonlight Sir John saw a man, who sat, still as any
+      statue, upon a horse on the very point of King&rsquo;s Grave. He appeared to be
+      covered with a long cloak, but above it his helmet glittered like silver.
+      Next moment a fringe of black cloud hid the face of the moon, and when it
+      passed away the man and horse were gone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What did that fellow there?&rdquo; asked Sir John.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fellow?&rdquo; answered Jeffrey in a shaken voice, &ldquo;I saw none. That was the
+      Ghost of the Grave. My grandfather met him ere he came to his end in the
+      forest, none know how, for the wolves, of which there were plenty in his
+      day, picked his bones clean, and so have many others for hundreds of
+      years; always just before their doom. He is an ill fowl, that Ghost of the
+      Grave, and those who clap eyes on him do wisely to turn their horses&rsquo; 
+      heads homewards, as I would to-night if I had my way, master.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What use, Jeffrey? If the sight of him means death, death will come.
+      Moreover, I believe nothing of the tale. Your ghost was some forest reeve
+      or herdsman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A forest reeve or herdsman who wanders about in a steel helm on a fine
+      horse in snow-time when there are no trees to cut or cattle to mind! Well,
+      have it as you will, master; only God save me from such reeves and
+      herdmen, for I think they hail from hell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then he was a spy watching whither we go,&rdquo; answered Sir John angrily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If so, who sent him? The Abbot of Blossholme? In that case I would sooner
+      meet the devil, for this means mischief. I say that we had better ride
+      back to Shefton.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then do so, Jeffrey, if you are scared, and I will go on alone, who,
+      being on an honest business, fear not Satan or an abbot, either.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, master. Many a year ago, when we were younger, I stood by you on
+      Flodden Field when Sir Edward, Christopher Harflete&rsquo;s father, was killed
+      at our side, and those red-bearded Scotch bare-breeks pressed us hard, yet
+      I never itched to turn my back, even after that great fellow with an axe
+      got you down, and we thought that all was lost. Then shall I do so now?&mdash;though
+      it is true that I fear yon goblin more than all the Highlanders beyond the
+      Tweed. Ride on; man can die but once, and for my part I care not when it
+      comes, who have little to lose in an ill world.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So without more words they started forward, peering about them as they
+      went. Soon the forest thickened, and the track they followed wound its way
+      round great trunks of primeval oaks, or the edges of bog-holes, or through
+      brakes of thorns. Hard enough it was to find it at times, since the snow
+      made it one with the bordering ground, and the gloom of the oaks was
+      great. But Jeffrey was a woodman born, and from his childhood had known
+      the shape of every tree in that waste, so that they held safely to their
+      road. Well would it have been for them if they had not!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They came to a place where three other tracks crossed that which they rode
+      upon, and here Jeffrey Stokes, who was ahead, held up his hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is it?&rdquo; asked Sir John.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is the marks of ten or a dozen shod horses passed within two hours,
+      since the last snow fell. And who be they, I wonder?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Doubtless travellers like ourselves. Ride on, man; that farm is not a
+      mile ahead.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Jeffrey broke out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Master, I like it not,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Battle-horses have gone by here, not
+      chapmen&rsquo;s or farmers&rsquo; nags, and I think I know their breed. I say that we
+      had best turn about if we would not walk into some snare.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Turn you, then,&rdquo; grumbled Sir John indifferently. &ldquo;I am cold and weary,
+      and seek my rest.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pray God that you may not find it when you are colder,&rdquo; muttered Jeffrey,
+      spurring his horse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They went on through the dead winter silence, that was broken only by the
+      hoots of a flitting owl hungry for the food that it could not find, and
+      the swish of the feet of a galloping fox as it looped past them through
+      the snow. Presently they came to an open place ringed in by forest, so wet
+      that only marsh-trees would grow there. To their right lay a little
+      ice-covered mere, with sere, brown reeds standing here and there upon its
+      face, and at the end of it a group of stark pollarded willows, whereof the
+      tops had been cut for poles by those who dwelt in the forest farm near by.
+      Sir John looked at the place and shivered a little&mdash;perhaps because
+      the frost bit him. Or was it that he remembered his daughter&rsquo;s dream,
+      which told of such a spot? At any rate, he set his teeth, and his right
+      hand sought the hilt of his sword. His weary horse sniffed the air and
+      neighed, and the neigh was answered from close at hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank the saints! we are nearer to that farm than I thought,&rdquo; said Sir
+      John.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As he spoke the words a number of men appeared galloping down on them from
+      out of the shelter of a thorn-brake, and the moonlight shone on the bared
+      weapons in their hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thieves!&rdquo; shouted Sir John. &ldquo;At them now, Jeffrey, and win through to the
+      farm.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The man hesitated, for he saw that their foes were many and no common
+      robbers, but his master drew his sword and spurred his beast, so he must
+      do likewise. In twenty seconds they were among them, and some one
+      commanded them to yield. Sir John rushed at the fellow, and, rising in his
+      stirrups, cut him down. He fell all of a heap and lay still in the snow,
+      which grew crimson about him. One came at Jeffrey, who turned his horse so
+      that the blow missed, then took his weight upon the point of his sword, so
+      that this man, too, fell down and lay in the snow, moving feebly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The rest, thinking this greeting too warm for them, swung round and
+      vanished again among the thorns.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now ride for it,&rdquo; said Jeffrey.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I cannot,&rdquo; answered Sir John. &ldquo;One of those knaves has hurt my mare,&rdquo; and
+      he pointed to blood that ran from a great gash in the beast&rsquo;s foreleg,
+      which it held up piteously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Take mine,&rdquo; said Jeffrey; &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll dodge them afoot.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never, man! To the willows; we will hold our own there;&rdquo; and, springing
+      from the wounded beast, which tried to hobble after them, but could not,
+      for its sinews were cut, he ran to the shelter of the trees, followed by
+      Jeffrey on his horse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who are these rogues?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Abbot&rsquo;s men-at-arms,&rdquo; answered Jeffrey. &ldquo;I saw the face of him I
+      spitted.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now Sir John&rsquo;s jaw dropped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then we are sped, friend, for they dare not let us go. Cicely dreams
+      well.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      As he spoke an arrow whistled by them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jeffrey,&rdquo; he went on, &ldquo;I have papers on me that should not be lost, for
+      with them might go my girl&rsquo;s heritage. Take them,&rdquo; and he thrust a packet
+      into his hand, &ldquo;and this purse also. There&rsquo;s plenty in it. Away&mdash;anywhere,
+      and lie hid out of reach a while, or they&rsquo;ll still your tongue. Then I
+      charge you on your soul, come back with help and hang that knave Abbot&mdash;for
+      your Lady&rsquo;s sake, Jeffrey. She&rsquo;ll reward you, and so will God above.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The man thrust away purse and deeds in some deep pocket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How can I leave you to be butchered?&rdquo; he muttered, grinding his teeth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As the words left his lips he heard his master utter a gurgling sound, and
+      saw that an arrow, shot from behind, had pierced him through the throat;
+      saw, too, he who was skilled in war, that the wound was mortal. Then he
+      hesitated no longer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Christ rest you!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll do your bidding or die;&rdquo; and, turning
+      his horse, he drove the rowels into its sides, causing it to bound away
+      like a deer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For a moment the stricken Sir John watched him go. Then he ran out of his
+      cover, shaking his sword above his head&mdash;ran into the open moonlight
+      to draw the arrows. They came fast enough, but ere ever he fell, for that
+      steel shirt of his was strong, Jeffrey, lying low on his horse&rsquo;s neck, was
+      safe away, and though the murderers followed hard they never caught him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Nor, though they searched for days, could they find him at Shefton or
+      elsewhere, for Jeffrey, who knew that all roads were blocked, and who
+      dared not venture home, doubling like a hare across country, had won down
+      to the water, where a ship lay foreign bound, and by dawn was on the sea.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER III
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      A WEDDING
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      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. Then there were merry voices about the house where now was
+      silence, and she alone, with naught but a spaniel dog for company. Also
+      most of the men were away with the wains laden with the year&rsquo;s clip of
+      wool, which her father had held until the price had heightened, nor in
+      this snow would they be back for another week, or perhaps longer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Oh! her heart was heavy as the winter clouds without, and young and fair
+      as she might be, almost she wished that she had gone when her brothers
+      went, and found her peace.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To cheer her spirits she drank from a cup of spiced ale, that the
+      manservant had placed beside her covered with a napkin, and was glad of
+      its warmth and comfort. Just then the door opened, and her foster-mother,
+      Mrs. Stower, entered. She was still a handsome woman in her prime, for her
+      husband had been carried off by a fever when she was but nineteen, and her
+      baby with him, whereon she had been brought to the Hall to nurse Cicely,
+      whose mother was very ill after her birth. Moreover, she was tall and
+      dark, with black and flashing eyes, for her father had been a Spaniard of
+      gentle birth, and, it was said, gypsy blood ran in her mother&rsquo;s veins.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There were but two people in the world for whom Emlyn Stower cared&mdash;Cicely,
+      her foster-child, and a certain playmate of hers, one Thomas Bolle, now a
+      lay-brother at the Abbey who had charge of the cattle. The tale was that
+      in their early youth he had courted her, not against her will, and that
+      when, after her parents&rsquo; tragic deaths, as a ward of the former Abbot of
+      Blossholme, she was married to her husband, not with her will, this Thomas
+      put on the robe of a monk of the lowest degree, being but a yeoman of good
+      stock though of little learning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Something in the woman&rsquo;s manner attracted Cicely&rsquo;s attention, and gave a
+      hint of tragedy. She paused at the door, fumbling with its latch, which
+      was not her way, then turned and stood upright against it, like a picture
+      in its frame.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is it, Nurse?&rdquo; asked Cicely in a shaken voice. &ldquo;From your look you
+      bear tidings.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Emlyn Stower walked forward, rested one hand upon the oak table and
+      answered&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, evil tidings if they be true. Prepare your heart, my sweet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quick with them, Emlyn,&rdquo; gasped Cicely. &ldquo;Who is dead? Christopher?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She shook her head, and Cicely sighed in relief, adding&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who, then? Oh! was that dream true?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, dear; you are an orphan.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl&rsquo;s head fell forward. Then she lifted it, and asked&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who told you? Give me all the truth or I shall die.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A friend of mine who has to do with the Abbey yonder; ask not his name.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know it, Emlyn; Thomas Bolle,&rdquo; she whispered back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A friend of mine,&rdquo; repeated the tall, dark woman, &ldquo;told me that Sir John
+      Foterell, your sire, was murdered last night in the forest by a gang of
+      armed men, of whom he slew two.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;From the Abbey?&rdquo; queried Cicely in the same whisper.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who knows? I think it. They say that the arrow in his throat was such as
+      they make there. Jeffrey Stokes was hunted, but escaped on to some ship
+      that had her anchor up.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll have his life for it, the coward!&rdquo; exclaimed Cicely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Blame him not yet. He met another friend of mine, and sent a message. It
+      was that he did but obey his master&rsquo;s last orders, and, as he had seen too
+      much and to linger here was certain death, if he lived, he would return
+      from over-seas with the papers when the times are safer. He prayed that
+      you would not doubt him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The papers! What papers, Emlyn?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She shrugged her broad shoulders.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How should I know? Doubtless some that your father was taking to London
+      and did not desire to lose. His iron chest stands open in his chamber.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now poor Cicely remembered that her father had spoken of certain &ldquo;deeds&rdquo;
+       which he must take with him, and began to sob.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Weep not, darling,&rdquo; said her foster-mother, smoothing Cicely&rsquo;s brown hair
+      with her strong hand. &ldquo;These things are decreed of God, and done with. Now
+      you must look to yourself. Your father is gone, but one remains.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely lifted her tear-stained face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I have you,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Me!&rdquo; she answered, with a quick smile. &ldquo;Nay, of what use am I? Your
+      nursing days are over. What did you tell me your father said to you before
+      he rode&mdash;about Sir Christopher? Hush! there&rsquo;s no time to talk; you
+      must away to Cranwell Towers.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why?&rdquo; asked Cicely. &ldquo;He cannot bring my father back to life, and it would
+      be thought strange indeed that at such a time I should visit a man in his
+      own house. Send and tell him the tidings. I bide here to bury my father,
+      and,&rdquo; she added proudly, &ldquo;to avenge him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If so, sweet, you bide here to be buried yourself in yonder Nunnery.
+      Hark, I have not told you all my news. The Abbot Maldon claims the
+      Blossholme lands under some trick of law. It was as to them that your
+      father quarrelled with him the other night; and with the land goes your
+      wardship, as once mine went under this monk&rsquo;s charter. Before sunset the
+      Abbot rides here with his men-at-arms to take them, and to set you for
+      safe-keeping in the Nunnery, where you will find a husband called Holy
+      Church.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Name of God! is it so?&rdquo; said Cicely, springing up; &ldquo;and the most of the
+      men are away! I cannot hold the Hall against that foreign Abbot and his
+      hirelings, and an orphaned heiress is but a chattel to be sold. Oh! now I
+      understand what my father meant. Order horses. I&rsquo;ll off to Christopher.
+      Yet, stay, Nurse. What will he do with me? It may seem shameless, and will
+      vex him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think he will marry you. I think to-night you will be a wife. If not,
+      I&rsquo;ll know the reason why,&rdquo; she added viciously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A wife! To-night!&rdquo; exclaimed the girl, turning crimson to her hair. &ldquo;And
+      my father but just dead! How can it be?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll talk of that with Harflete. Mayhap, like you, he&rsquo;ll wish to wait
+      and ask the banns, or to lay the case before a London lawyer. Meanwhile, I
+      have ordered horses and sent a message to the Abbot to say you come to
+      learn the meaning of these rumours, which will keep him still till
+      nightfall; and another to Cranwell Towers, that we may find food and
+      lodging there. Quick, now, and get your cloak and hood. I have the jewels
+      in their case, for Maldon seeks them more even than your lands, and with
+      them all the money I can find. Also I have bid the sewing-girl make a pack
+      of some garments. Come now, come, for that Abbot is hungry and will be
+      stirring. There is no time for talk.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Three hours later in the red glow of the sunset Christopher Harflete,
+      watching at his door, saw two women riding towards him across the snow,
+      and knew them while they were yet far off.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is true, then,&rdquo; he said to Father Roger Necton, the old clergyman of
+      Cranwell, whom he had summoned from the vicarage. &ldquo;I thought that fool of
+      a messenger must be drunk. What can have chanced, Father?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Death, I think, my son, for sure naught else would bring the Lady Cicely
+      here unaccompanied save by a waiting-woman. The question is&mdash;what
+      will happen now?&rdquo; and he glanced sideways at him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know well if I can get my way,&rdquo; answered Christopher, with a merry
+      laugh. &ldquo;Say now, Father, if it should so be that this lady were willing,
+      could you marry us?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Without a doubt, my son, with the consent of the parents;&rdquo; and again he
+      looked at him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And if there were no parents?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then with the consent of the guardian, the bride being under age.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And if no guardian had been declared or admitted?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then such a marriage duly solemnized, being a sacrament of the Church,
+      would hold fast until the crack of doom unless the Pope annulled it, and,
+      as you know, the Pope is out of favour in this realm on this very matter
+      of marriage. Let me explain the law to you, ecclesiastic and civil&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Christopher was already running towards the gate, so the old parson&rsquo;s
+      lecture remained undelivered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The two met in the snow, Emlyn Stower riding on ahead and leaving them
+      together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is it, sweetest?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;What is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! Christopher,&rdquo; she answered, weeping, &ldquo;my poor father is dead&mdash;murdered,
+      or so says Emlyn.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Murdered! By whom?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By the Abbot of Blossholme&rsquo;s soldiers&mdash;so says Emlyn, yonder in the
+      forest last eve. And the Abbot is coming to Shefton to declare me his ward
+      and thrust me into the Nunnery&mdash;that was Emlyn&rsquo;s tale. And so,
+      although it is a strange thing to do, having none to protect me, I have
+      fled to you&mdash;because Emlyn said I ought.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She is a wise woman, Emlyn,&rdquo; broke in Christopher; &ldquo;I always thought well
+      of her judgment. But did you only come to me because Emlyn told you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not altogether, Christopher. I came because I am distraught, and you are
+      a better friend than none at all, and&mdash;where else should I go? Also
+      my poor father with his last words to me, although he was so angry with
+      you, bade me seek your help if there were need&mdash;and&mdash;oh!
+      Christopher, I came because you swore you loved me, and, therefore, it
+      seemed right. If I had gone to the Nunnery, although the Prioress, Mother
+      Matilda, is good, and my friend, who knows, she might not have let me out
+      again, for the Abbot is her master, and <i>not</i> my friend. It is our
+      lands he loves, and the famous jewels&mdash;Emlyn has them with her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      By now they were across the moat and at the steps of the house, so,
+      without answering, Christopher lifted her tenderly from the saddle,
+      pressing her to his breast as he did so, for that seemed his best answer.
+      A groom came to lead away the horses, touching his bonnet, and staring at
+      them curiously; and, leaning on her lover&rsquo;s shoulder, Cicely passed
+      through the arched doorway of Cranwell Towers into the hall, where a great
+      fire burned. Before this fire, warming his thin hands, stood Father
+      Necton, engaged in eager conversation with Emlyn Stower. As the pair
+      advanced this talk ceased, evidently because it was of them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mistress Cicely,&rdquo; said the kindly-faced old man, speaking in a nervous
+      fashion, &ldquo;I fear that you visit us in sad case,&rdquo; and he paused, not
+      knowing what to add.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, indeed,&rdquo; she answered, &ldquo;if all I hear is true. They say that my
+      father is killed by cruel men&mdash;I know not for certain why or by whom&mdash;and
+      that the Abbot of Blossholme comes to claim me as his ward and immure me
+      in Blossholme Priory, whither I would not go. I have fled here to escape
+      him, having no other refuge, though you may think ill of me for this
+      deed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not I, my child. I should not speak against yonder Abbot, for he is my
+      superior in the Church, though, mind you, I owe him no allegiance, since
+      this benefice is not in his gift, nor am I a Benedictine. Therefore I will
+      tell you the truth. I hold the man not honest. All is provender that comes
+      to his maw; moreover, he is no Englishman, but a Spaniard, one sent here
+      to work against the welfare of this realm; to suck its wealth, stir up
+      rebellion, and make report of all that passes in it, for the benefit of
+      England&rsquo;s enemies.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yet he has friends at Court, or so said my father.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, aye, such folks have ever friends&mdash;their money buys them;
+      though mayhap an ill day is at hand for him and his likes. Well, your poor
+      father is gone, God knows how, though I thought for long that would be his
+      end, who ever spoke his mind, or more; and you with your wealth are the
+      morsel that tempts Maldon&rsquo;s appetite. And now what is to be done? This is
+      a hard case. Would you refuge in some other Nunnery?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; answered Cicely, glancing sideways at her lover.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then what&rsquo;s to be done?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! I know not,&rdquo; she said, bursting into a fit of weeping. &ldquo;How can I
+      tell you, who am mazed with grief and doubt? I had but a single friend&mdash;my
+      father, though at times he was a rough one. Yet he loved me in his way,
+      and I have obeyed his last counsel;&rdquo; and, all her courage gone, she sank
+      into a chair and rocked herself to and fro, her head resting on her hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is not true,&rdquo; said Emlyn in her bold voice. &ldquo;Am I who suckled you no
+      friend, and is Father Necton here no friend, and is Sir Christopher no
+      friend? Well, if you have lost your judgment, I have kept mine, and here
+      it is. Yonder, not two bowshots away, stands a church, and before me I see
+      a priest and a pair who would serve for bride and bridegroom. Also we can
+      rake up witnesses and a cup of wine to drink your health; and after that
+      let the Abbot of Blossholme do his worst. What say you, Sir Christopher?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You know my mind, Nurse Emlyn; but what says Cicely? Oh! Cicely, what say
+      <i>you</i>?&rdquo; and he bent over her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She raised herself, still weeping, and, throwing her arms about his neck,
+      laid her head upon his shoulder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think it is the will of God,&rdquo; she whispered, &ldquo;and why should I fight
+      against it, who am His servant?&mdash;and yours, Chris.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And now, Father, what say you?&rdquo; asked Emlyn, pointing to the pair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do not think there is much to say,&rdquo; answered the old clergyman, turning
+      his head aside, &ldquo;save that if it should please you to come to the church
+      in ten minutes&rsquo; time you will find a candle on the altar, and a priest
+      within the rails, and a clerk to hold the book. More we cannot do at such
+      short notice.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he paused for a while, and, hearing no dissent, walked down the hall
+      and out of the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Emlyn took Cicely by the hand, led her to a room that was shown to them,
+      and there made her ready for her bridal as best she might. She had no fine
+      dress in which to clothe her, nor, indeed, would there have been time to
+      don it. But she combed out her beautiful brown hair, and, opening that box
+      of Eastern jewels which were the great pride of the Foterells&mdash;being
+      the rarest and the most ancient in all the countryside&mdash;she decked
+      her with them. On her broad brow she set a circlet from which hung
+      sparkling diamonds that had been brought, the story said, by her mother&rsquo;s
+      ancestor, a Carfax, from the Holy Land, where once they were the peculiar
+      treasure of a paynim queen, and upon her bosom a necklet of large pearls.
+      Brooches and rings also she found for her breast and fingers, and for her
+      waist a jewelled girdle with a golden clasp, while to her ears she hung
+      the finest gems of all&mdash;two great pearls pink like the hawthorn-bloom
+      when it begins to turn. Lastly she flung over her head a veil of lace most
+      curiously wrought, and stood back with pride to look at her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now Cicely, who all this while had been silent and unresisting, spoke for
+      the first time, saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How came this here, Nurse?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your mother wore it at her bridal, and her mother too, so I have been
+      told. Also once before I wrapped it about you&mdash;when you were
+      christened, sweet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mayhap; but how came it here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In the bosom of my robe. Not knowing when we should get home again, I
+      brought it, thinking that perhaps one day you might marry, when it would
+      be useful. And now, strangely enough, the marriage has come.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Emlyn, Emlyn, I believe that you planned all this business, whereof God
+      alone knows the end.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is why He makes a beginning, dear, that His end may be fulfilled in
+      due season.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, but what is that end? Mayhap this is my shroud you wrap about me. In
+      truth, I feel as though death were near.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He is ever that,&rdquo; replied Emlyn unconcernedly. &ldquo;But so long as he doesn&rsquo;t
+      touch, what does it matter? Now hark you, sweetest, I&rsquo;ve Spanish and gypsy
+      blood in me with which go gifts, and so I&rsquo;ll tell you something for your
+      comfort. However oft he snatches, Death will not lay his bony hand on you
+      for many a long year&mdash;not till you are well-nigh as thin with age as
+      he is. Oh! you&rsquo;ll have your troubles like all of us, worse than many,
+      mayhap, but you are Luck&rsquo;s own child, who lived when the rest were taken,
+      and you&rsquo;ll win through and take others on your back, as a whale does
+      barnacles. So snap your fingers at death, as I do,&rdquo; and she suited the
+      action to the word, &ldquo;and be happy while you may, and when you&rsquo;re not
+      happy, wait till your turn comes round again. Now follow me and, though
+      your father is murdered, smile as you should in such an hour, for what man
+      wants a sad-faced bride?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They walked down the broad oaken stairs into the hall where Christopher
+      stood waiting for them. Glancing at him shyly, Cicely saw that he was clad
+      in mail beneath his cloak, and that his sword was girded at his side, also
+      that some men with him were armed. For a moment he stared at her
+      glittering beauty confused, then said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fear not this hint of war in love&rsquo;s own hour,&rdquo; and he touched his shining
+      armour. &ldquo;Cicely, these nuptials are strange as they are happy, and some
+      might try to break in upon them. Come now, my sweet lady;&rdquo; and bowing
+      before her he took her by the hand and led her from the house, Emlyn
+      walking behind them and the men with torches going before and following
+      after.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Outside it was freezing sharply, so that the snow crunched beneath their
+      feet. In the west the last red glow of sunset still lingered on the steely
+      sky, and over against it the great moon rose above the round edge of the
+      world. In the bushes of the garden, and the tall poplars that bordered the
+      moat, blackbirds and fieldfares chattered their winter evening song, while
+      about the grey tower of the neighbouring church the daws still wheeled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The picture of that scene whereof at the time she seemed to take no note,
+      always remained fixed in the mind of Cicely: the cold expanse of snow, the
+      inky trees, the hard sky, the lambent beams of the moon, the dull glow of
+      the torches caught and reflected by her jewels and her lover&rsquo;s mail, the
+      midwinter sound of birds, the barking of a distant hound, the black porch
+      of the church that drew nearer, the little oblong mounds which hid the
+      bones of hundreds who in their day had passed it as infants, as
+      bridegrooms and as brides, and at last as cold, white things that had been
+      men and women.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now they were in the nave of the old fane where the cold struck them like
+      a sword. The dim lights of the torches showed them that, short as had been
+      the time, the news of this marvellous marriage had spread about, for at
+      least a score of people were standing here and there in knots, or a few of
+      them seated on the oak benches near the chancel. All these turned to stare
+      at them eagerly as they walked towards the altar where stood the priest in
+      his robes, and since his sight was dim, behind him the old clerk with a
+      stable-lantern held on high to enable him to read from his book.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They reached the carven rood-screen, and at a sign kneeled down. In a
+      clear voice the clergyman began the service; presently, at another sign,
+      the pair rose, advanced to the altar-rails and again knelt down. The
+      moonlight, flowing through the eastern window, fell full on both of them,
+      turning them to cold, white statues, such as those that knelt in marble
+      upon the tomb at their side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All through the holy office Cicely watched these statues with fascinated
+      eyes, and it seemed to her that they and the old crusaders, Harfletes of a
+      long-past day who lay near by, were watching her with a wistful and kindly
+      interest. She made certain answers, a ring that was somewhat too small was
+      thrust upon her finger&mdash;all the rest of her life that ring hurt her
+      at times, but she would never have it moved, and then some one was kissing
+      her. At first she thought it must be her father, and remembering, nearly
+      wept till she heard Christopher&rsquo;s voice calling her wife, and knew that
+      she was wed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Father Roger, the old clerk still holding the lantern behind him, writing
+      something in a little vellum book, asking her the date of her birth and
+      her full name, which, as he had been present at her christening, she
+      thought strange. Then her husband signed the book, using the altar as a
+      table, not very easily for he was no great scholar, and she signed also in
+      her maiden name for the last time, and the priest signed, and at his
+      bidding Emlyn Stower, who could write well, signed too. Next, as though by
+      an afterthought, Father Roger called several of the congregation, who
+      rather unwillingly made their marks as witnesses. While they did so he
+      explained to them that, as the circumstances were uncommon, it was well
+      that there should be evidence, and that he intended to send copies of this
+      entry to sundry dignities, not forgetting the holy Father at Rome.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On learning this they appeared to be sorry that they had anything to do
+      with the matter, and one and all of them melted into the darkness of the
+      nave and out of Cicely&rsquo;s mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So it was done at last.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Father Necton blew on his little book till the ink was dry, then hid it
+      away in his robe. The old clerk, having pocketed a handsome fee from
+      Christopher, lit the pair down the nave to the porch, where he locked the
+      oaken door behind them, extinguished his lantern and trudged off through
+      the snow to the ale-house, there to discuss these nuptials and hot beer.
+      Escorted by their torch-bearers Cicely and Christopher walked silently
+      arm-in-arm back to the Towers, whither Emlyn, after embracing the bride,
+      had already gone on ahead. So having added one more ceremony to its
+      countless record, perhaps the strangest of them all, the ancient church
+      behind them grew silent as the dead within its graves.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Towers reached, the new-wed pair, with Father Roger and Emlyn, sat
+      down to the best meal that could be prepared for them at such short
+      notice; a very curious wedding feast. Still, though the company was so
+      small it did not lack for heartiness, since the old clergyman proposed
+      their health in a speech full of Latin words which they did not
+      understand, and every member of the household who had assembled to hear
+      him drank to it in cups of wine. This done, the beautiful bride, now
+      blushing and now pale, was led away to the best chamber, which had been
+      hastily prepared for her. But Emlyn remained behind a while, for she had
+      words to speak.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir Christopher,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;you are fast wed to the sweetest lady that
+      ever sun or moon shone on, and in that may hold yourself a lucky man. Yet
+      such deep joys seldom come without their pain, and I think that this is
+      near at hand. There are those who will envy you your fortune, Sir
+      Christopher.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yet they cannot change it, Emlyn,&rdquo; he answered anxiously. &ldquo;The knot that
+      was tied to-night may not be unloosed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never,&rdquo; broke in Father Roger. &ldquo;Though the suddenness and the
+      circumstances of it may be unusual, this marriage is a sacrament
+      celebrated in the face of the world with the full consent of both parties
+      and of the Holy Church. Moreover, before the dawn I&rsquo;ll send the record of
+      it to the bishop&rsquo;s registry and elsewhere, that it may not be questioned
+      in days to come, giving copies of the same to you and your lady&rsquo;s
+      foster-mother, who is her nearest friend at hand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It may not be loosed on earth or in heaven,&rdquo; replied Emlyn solemnly, &ldquo;yet
+      perchance the sword can cut it. Sir Christopher, I think that we should
+      all do well to travel as soon as may be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not to-night, surely, Nurse!&rdquo; he exclaimed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, not to-night,&rdquo; she answered, with a faint smile. &ldquo;Your wife has had a
+      weary day, and could not. Moreover, preparation must be made which is
+      impossible at this hour. But to-morrow, if the roads are open to you, I
+      think we should start for London, where she may make complaint of her
+      father&rsquo;s slaying and claim her heritage and the protection of the law.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is good counsel,&rdquo; said the vicar, and Christopher, with whom words
+      seemed to be few, nodded his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Meanwhile,&rdquo; went on Emlyn, &ldquo;you have six men in this house and others
+      round it. Send out a messenger and summon them all here at dawn, bidding
+      them bring provision with them, and what bows and arms they have. Set a
+      watch also, and after the Father and the messenger have gone, command that
+      the drawbridge be triced.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you fear?&rdquo; he asked, waking from his dream.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I fear the Abbot of Blossholme and his hired ruffians, who reck little of
+      the laws, as the soul of dead Sir John knows now, or can use them as a
+      cover to evil deeds. He&rsquo;ll not let such a prize slip between his fingers
+      if he can help it, and the times are turbulent.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alas! alas! it is true,&rdquo; said Father Roger, &ldquo;and that Abbot is a
+      relentless man who sticks at nothing, having much wealth and many friends
+      both here and beyond the seas. Yet surely he would never dare&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That we shall learn,&rdquo; interrupted Emlyn. &ldquo;Meanwhile, Sir Christopher,
+      rouse yourself and give the orders.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So Christopher summoned his men and spoke words to them at which they
+      looked very grave, but being true-hearted fellows who loved him, said they
+      would do his bidding.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A while later, having written out a copy of the marriage lines and
+      witnessed it, Father Roger departed with the messenger. The drawbridge was
+      hoisted above the moat, the doors were barred, and a man set to watch in
+      the gateway tower, while Christopher, forgetful of all else, even of the
+      danger in which they were, sought the company of her who waited for him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER IV
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      THE ABBOT&rsquo;S OATH
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      On the following morning, shortly after it was light, Christopher was
+      called from his chamber by Emlyn, who gave him a letter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Whence came this?&rdquo; he asked, turning it over suspiciously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A messenger has brought it from Blossholme Abbey,&rdquo; she answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wife Cicely,&rdquo; he called through the door, &ldquo;come hither if you will.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Presently she appeared, looking quaint and lovely in her long fur cloak,
+      and, having embraced her foster-mother, asked what was the matter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This, my darling,&rdquo; he answered, handing her the paper. &ldquo;I never loved
+      book-learnings over-much, and this morn I seem to hate them; read, you who
+      are more scholarly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I mistrust me of that great seal; it bodes us no good, Chris,&rdquo; she
+      replied doubtfully, and paling a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The message within is no medlar to soften by keeping,&rdquo; said Emlyn. &ldquo;Give
+      it me. I was schooled in a nunnery, and can read their scrawls.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So, nothing loth, Cicely handed her the paper, which she took in her
+      strong fingers, broke the seal, snapped the silk, unfolded, and read. It
+      ran thus&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To Sir Christopher Harflete, to Mistress Cicely Foterell, to Emlyn
+      Stower, the waiting-woman, and to all others whom it may concern.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I, Clement Maldon, Abbot of Blossholme, having heard of the death of Sir
+      John Foterell, Knt., at the cruel hands of the forest thieves and outlaws,
+      sent last night to serve the declaration of my wardship, according to my
+      prerogative established by law and custom, over the person and property of
+      you, Cicely, his only child surviving. My messengers returned saying that
+      you had fled from your home of Shefton Hall. They said further that it was
+      rumoured that you had ridden with your foster-mother, Emlyn Stower, to
+      Cranwell Towers, the house of Sir Christopher Harflete. If this be so, for
+      the sake of your good name it is needful that you should remove from such
+      company at once, as there is talk about you and the said Sir Christopher
+      Harflete. I purpose, therefore, God permitting me, to ride this day to
+      Cranwell Towers, and if you be there, as your lawful guardian and ghostly
+      father, to command you, being an infant under age, to accompany me thence
+      to the Nunnery of Blossholme. There I have determined, in the exercise of
+      my authority, you shall abide until a fitting husband is found for you,
+      unless, indeed, God should move your heart to remain within its walls as
+      one of the brides of Christ.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Clement, Abbot.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now when the reading of this letter was finished, the three of them stood
+      a little while staring at each other, knowing well that it meant trouble
+      for them all, till Cicely said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bring me ink and paper, Nurse. I will answer this Abbot.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So they were brought, and Cicely wrote in her round, girlish hand&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My Lord Abbot,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In answer to your letter, I would have you know that as my noble father
+      (whose cruel death must be inquired of and avenged) bade me with his last
+      words, I, fearing that a like fate would overtake me at the hands of his
+      murderers, did, as you suppose, seek refuge at this house. Here,
+      yesterday, I was married in the face of God and man in the church of
+      Cranwell, as you may learn from the paper sent herewith. It is not,
+      therefore, needful that you should seek a husband for me, since my dear
+      lord, Sir Christopher Harflete, and I are one till death do part us. Nor
+      do I admit that now, or at any time, you had or have right of wardship
+      over my person or the lands and goods which I hold and inherit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your humble servant,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cicely Harflete.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This letter Cicely copied out fair and sealed, and presently it was given
+      to the Abbot&rsquo;s messenger, who placed it in his pouch and rode off as fast
+      as the snow would let him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They watched him go from a window.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now,&rdquo; said Christopher, turning to his wife, &ldquo;I think, dear, we shall do
+      well to ride also as soon as may be. Yonder Abbot is sharp-set, and I
+      doubt whether letters will satisfy his appetite.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think so also,&rdquo; said Emlyn. &ldquo;Make ready and eat, both of you. I go to
+      see that the horses are saddled.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      An hour later everything was prepared. Three horses stood before the door,
+      and with them an escort of four mounted men, who were all having arms and
+      beasts to ride that Christopher could gather at such short notice, though
+      others of his tenants and servants had already assembled at the Towers in
+      answer to his summons, to the number of twelve, indeed. Without the snow
+      was falling fast, and although she tried to look brave and happy, Cicely
+      shivered a little as she saw it through the open door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We go on a strange honeymoon, my sweet,&rdquo; said Christopher uneasily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What matter, so long as we go together?&rdquo; she answered in a gay voice that
+      yet seemed to ring untrue, &ldquo;although,&rdquo; she added, with a little choke of
+      the throat, &ldquo;I would that we could have stayed here until I had found and
+      buried my father. It haunts me to think of him lying somewhere in the
+      snows like a perished ox.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is his murderers that I wish to bury,&rdquo; exclaimed Christopher; &ldquo;and, by
+      God&rsquo;s name, I swear I&rsquo;ll do it ere all is done. Think not, dear, that I
+      forget your griefs because I do not speak much of them, but bridals and
+      buryings are strange company. So while we may, let us take what joy we
+      can, since the ill that goes before ofttimes follows after also. Come, let
+      us mount and away to London to find friends and justice.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, having spoken a few words to his house-people, he lifted Cicely to
+      her horse, and they rode out into the softly-falling snow, thinking that
+      they had seen their last of the Towers for many a day. But this was not to
+      be. For as they passed along the Blossholme highway, purposing to leave
+      the Abbey on their left, when they were about three miles from Cranwell,
+      suddenly a tall fellow, who wore a great sheepskin coat with a monk&rsquo;s hood
+      to it and carried a thick staff in his hand, burst through the fence and
+      stood in front of them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who are you?&rdquo; asked Christopher, laying his hand upon his sword.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&rsquo;d know me well enough if my hood were back,&rdquo; he answered in a deep
+      voice; &ldquo;but if you want my name, it&rsquo;s Thomas Bolle, cattle-reeve to the
+      Abbey yonder.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your voice proves you,&rdquo; said Christopher, laughing. &ldquo;And now what is your
+      business, lay-brother Bolle?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To get up a bunch of yearling steers that have been running on the
+      forest-edge, living, like the rest of us, on what they can find, as the
+      weather is coming on hard enough to starve them. That&rsquo;s my business, Sir
+      Christopher. But as I see an old friend of mine there,&rdquo; and he nodded
+      towards Emlyn, who was watching him from her horse, &ldquo;with your leave I&rsquo;ll
+      ask her if she has any confession to make, since she seems to be on a
+      dangerous journey.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now Christopher made as though he would push on, for he was in no mood to
+      chat with cattle-reeves. But Emlyn, who had been eyeing the man, called
+      out&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come here, Thomas, and I will answer you myself, who always have a few
+      sins to spare for a priest&rsquo;s wallet, and need a blessing or two to warm
+      me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He strode forward, and, taking her horse by the bridle, led it a little
+      way apart, and as soon as they were out of earshot fell into an eager
+      conversation with its rider. A minute or so later Cicely, looking round&mdash;for
+      they had ridden forward at a slow pace&mdash;saw Thomas Bolle leap through
+      the other fence of the roadway and vanish at a run into the falling snow,
+      while Emlyn spurred her horse after them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stop,&rdquo; she said to Christopher; &ldquo;I have tidings for you. The Abbot, with
+      all his men-at-arms and servants, to the number of forty or more, waits
+      for us under shelter of Blossholme Grove yonder, purposing to take the
+      Lady Cicely by force. Some spy has told him of this journey.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I see no one,&rdquo; said Christopher, staring at the Grove, which lay below
+      them about a quarter of a mile away, for they were on the top of a rise.
+      &ldquo;Still, the matter is not hard to prove,&rdquo; and he called to the two best
+      mounted of his men and bade them ride forward and make report if any
+      lurked behind that wood.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So the men went off, while they remained where they were, silent, but
+      anxious enough. Ten minutes or so later, before they could see them, for
+      the snow was now falling quickly, they heard the sound of many horses
+      galloping. Then the two men appeared, calling out as they came&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Abbot and all his folk are after us. Back to Cranwell, ere you be
+      taken!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Christopher thought for a moment, then, remembering that with but four men
+      and cumbered by two women it was not possible to cut his way through so
+      great a force, and admonished by that sound of advancing hoofs, he gave a
+      sudden order. They turned about, and not too soon, for as they did so,
+      scarce two hundred yards away, the first of the Abbot&rsquo;s horsemen appeared
+      plunging towards them up the slope. Then the race began, and well for them
+      was it that their horses were good and fresh, since before ever they came
+      in sight of Cranwell Towers the pursuers were not ninety yards behind. But
+      here on the flat their beasts, scenting home, answered nobly to whip and
+      spur, and drew ahead a little. Moreover, those who watched within the
+      house saw them, and ran to the drawbridge. When they were within fifty
+      yards of the moat Cicely&rsquo;s horse stumbled, slipped, and fell, throwing her
+      into the snow, then recovered itself and galloped on alone. Christopher
+      reined up alongside of her, and, as she rose, frightened but unharmed, put
+      out his long arm, and, lifting her to the saddle in front of him, plunged
+      forward, while those behind shouted &ldquo;Yield!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Under this double burden his horse went but slowly. Still they reached the
+      bridge before any could lay hands upon them, and thundered over it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wind up,&rdquo; shouted Christopher, and all there, even the womenfolk, laid
+      hands upon the cranks. The bridge began to rise, but now five or six of
+      the Abbot&rsquo;s folk, dismounting, sprang at it, catching the end of it with
+      their hands when it was about six feet in the air, and holding on so that
+      it could not be lifted, but remained, moving neither up nor down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Leave go, you knaves,&rdquo; shouted Christopher; but by way of answer one of
+      them, with the help of his fellows, scrambled on to the end of the bridge,
+      and stood there, hanging to the chains.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Christopher snatched a bow from the hand of a serving-man, and the
+      arrow being already on the string, again shouted&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Get off at your peril!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In answer the man called out something about the commands of the Lord
+      Abbot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Christopher, looking past him, saw that others of the company had
+      dismounted and were running towards the bridge. If they reached it he knew
+      well that the game was played. So he hesitated no longer, but, aiming
+      swiftly, drew and loosed the bow. At that distance he could not miss. The
+      arrow struck the man where his steel cap joined the mail beneath, and
+      pierced him through the throat, so that he fell back dead. The others,
+      scared by his fate, loosed their hold, so that now the bridge, relieved of
+      the weight upon it, instantly rose up beyond their reach, and presently
+      came home and was made fast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As they afterwards discovered, this man, it may here be said, was a
+      captain of the Abbot&rsquo;s guard. Moreover, it was he who had shot the arrow
+      that killed Sir John Foterell some forty hours before, striking him
+      through the throat, as it was fated that he himself should be struck.
+      Thus, then, one of that good knight&rsquo;s murderers reaped his just reward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now the men ran back out of range, for they feared more arrows, while
+      Christopher watched them go in silence. Cicely, who stood by his side, her
+      hands held before her face to shut out the sight of death, let them fall
+      suddenly, and, turning to her husband, said, as she pointed to the corpse
+      that lay upon the blood-stained snow of the roadway&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How many more will follow him, I wonder? I think that is but the first
+      throw of a long game, husband.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, sweet,&rdquo; he answered, &ldquo;the second; the first was cast two nights gone
+      by King&rsquo;s Grave Mount in the forest yonder, and blood ever calls for
+      blood.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye,&rdquo; she answered, &ldquo;blood calls for blood.&rdquo; Then, remembering that she
+      was orphaned and what sort of a honeymoon hers was like to be, she turned
+      and sought her chamber, weeping.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now, while Christopher still stood irresolute, for he was oppressed by the
+      sense of this man-slaying, and knew not what he should do next, he saw
+      three men separate from the knot of soldiers and ride towards the Towers,
+      one of whom held a white cloth above his head in token of parley. Then
+      Christopher went up into the little gateway turret, followed by Emlyn, who
+      crouched down behind the brick battlement, so that she could see and hear
+      without being seen. Having reached the further side of the moat, he who
+      held the white cloth threw back the hood of his long cape, and they saw
+      that it was the Abbot of Blossholme himself, also that his dark eyes
+      flashed and that his olive-hued face was almost white with rage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why do you hunt me across my own park and come knocking so rudely at my
+      doors, my Lord Abbot?&rdquo; asked Christopher, leaning on the parapet of the
+      gateway.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why do you work murder on my servant, Christopher Harflete?&rdquo; answered the
+      Abbot, pointing to the dead man in the snow. &ldquo;Know you not that whoso
+      sheds blood, by man shall his blood be shed, and that under our ancient
+      charters, here I have the right to execute justice on you, as, by God&rsquo;s
+      holy Name, I swear that I will do?&rdquo; he added in a choked voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye,&rdquo; repeated Christopher reflectively, &ldquo;by man shall his blood be shed.
+      Perhaps that is why this fellow died. Tell me, Abbot, was he not one of
+      those who rode by moonlight round King&rsquo;s Grave lately, and there chanced
+      to meet Sir John Foterell?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The shot was a random one, yet it seemed that it went home; at least, the
+      Abbot&rsquo;s jaw dropped, and some words that were on his lips never passed
+      them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know naught of the meaning of your talk,&rdquo; he said presently in a
+      quieter voice, &ldquo;or of how my late friend and neighbour, Sir John&mdash;may
+      God rest his soul&mdash;came to his end. Yet it is of him, or rather of
+      his, that we must speak. It seems that you have stolen his daughter, a
+      woman under age, and by pretence of a false marriage, as I fear, brought
+      her to shame&mdash;a crime even fouler than this murder.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, by means of a true marriage I have brought her to such small honour
+      as may be the share of Christopher Harflete&rsquo;s lawful wife. If there be any
+      virtue in the rites of Holy Church, then God&rsquo;s own hand has bound us fast
+      as man can be tied to woman, and death is the only pope who can loose that
+      knot.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Death!&rdquo; repeated the Abbot in a slow voice, looking up at him very
+      curiously. For a little while he was silent, then went on, &ldquo;Well, his
+      court is always open, and he has many shrewd and instant messengers, such
+      as this,&rdquo; and he pointed to the arrow in the neck of the slain soldier.
+      &ldquo;Yet I am a man of peace, and although you have murdered my servant, I
+      would settle our cause more gently if I may. Listen now, Sir Christopher;
+      here is my offer. Yield up to me the person of Cicely Foterell&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of Cicely Harflete,&rdquo; interrupted Christopher.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of Cicely Foterell, and I swear to you that no violence shall be done to
+      her, nor shall she be given to a husband till the King or his
+      Vicar-General, or whatever court he may appoint, has passed judgment in
+      this matter and declared this mock marriage of yours null and void.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What!&rdquo; broke in Christopher scoffingly; &ldquo;does the Abbot of Blossholme
+      announce that the powers temporal of this realm have right of divorce? Ere
+      now I have heard him argue differently, and so have others, when the case
+      of Queen Catherine was in question.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot bit his lip, but continued, taking no heed&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nor will I lay any complaint against you as to the death of my servant
+      here, for which otherwise you should hang. That I will write down as an
+      accident, and, further, compensate his family. Now you have my offer&mdash;answer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what if I refuse this same generous offer to surrender her whom I
+      hold dearer than a thousand lives?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then, by virtue of my rights and authority, I will take her by force,
+      Christopher Harflete, and if harm should happen to come to you, now or
+      hereafter, on your own head be it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At this Christopher&rsquo;s rage broke out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you dare to threaten me, a loyal Englishman, you false priest and
+      foreign traitor,&rdquo; he shouted, &ldquo;whom all men know to be in the pay of
+      Spain, and using the cover of a monk&rsquo;s dress to plot against the land on
+      which you fatten like a horse-leech? Why was John Foterell murdered in the
+      forest two nights gone? You won&rsquo;t answer? Then I will. Because he rode to
+      Court to prove the truth about you and your treachery, and therefore you
+      butchered him. Why do you claim my wife as your ward? Because you wish to
+      steal her lands and goods to feed your plots and luxury. You think you
+      have bought friends at Court, and that for money&rsquo;s sake those in power
+      there will turn a blind eye to your crimes. So it may be for a while; but
+      wait, wait. All eyes are not blind yonder, nor all ears deaf. That head of
+      yours shall yet be lifted higher than you think&mdash;so high that it
+      sticks upon the top of Blossholme Towers, a warning to all who would sell
+      England to her enemies. John Foterell lies dead with your knave&rsquo;s arrow in
+      his throat, but Jeffrey Stokes is away with the writings. And now do your
+      worst, Clement Maldon. If you want my wife, come take her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot listened, listened intently, drinking in every ominous word. His
+      swarthy face went white with fear, then turned black with rage. The veins
+      upon his forehead gathered into knots; even from that distance Christopher
+      could see them. He looked so evil that his countenance became twisted and
+      ridiculous, and Christopher, noting it, burst into one of his hearty
+      laughs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot, who was not accustomed to mockery, whispered something to the
+      two men who were with him, whereon they lifted the crossbows which they
+      carried and pulled trigger. One quarel went wide and hit the wall of the
+      house behind, where it stuck fast in the joints of the stud-work. But the
+      other, better aimed, smote Christopher above the heart, causing him to
+      stagger, but being shot from below and turned by the mail he wore glanced
+      upwards over his left shoulder. The men, seeing that he was unhurt, pulled
+      their horses round and galloped off, but Christopher, setting another
+      arrow to the string of the bow he carried, drew it to his ear, covering
+      the Abbot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Loose, and make an end of him,&rdquo; muttered Emlyn from her shelter behind
+      the parapet. But Christopher thought a moment, then cried&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stay a while, Sir Abbot; I have more to say to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He took no heed who was also turning about.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stay!&rdquo; thundered Christopher, &ldquo;or I will kill that fine nag of yours;&rdquo;
+       then, as the Abbot still dragged upon the reins, he let the arrow fly. The
+      aim was true enough. Right through the arch of the neck it sped, cutting
+      the cord between the bones, so that the poor beast reared straight up and
+      fell in a heap, tumbling its rider off into the snow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, Clement Maldon,&rdquo; cried Christopher, &ldquo;will you listen, or will you
+      bide with your horse and servant and hear no more till Judgment Day? If
+      you do not guess it, learn that I have practised archery from my youth.
+      Should you doubt, hold up your hand and I&rsquo;ll send a shaft between your
+      fingers.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot, who was shaken but unhurt, rose slowly and stood there, the
+      dead horse on one side and the dead man on the other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Speak,&rdquo; he said in a muffled voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My Lord Abbot,&rdquo; went on Christopher, &ldquo;a minute ago you tried to murder
+      me, and, had not my mail been good, would have succeeded. Now your life is
+      in my hand, for, as you have seen, I do not miss. Those servants of yours
+      are coming to your help. Call to them to halt, or&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; and he
+      lifted the bow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot obeyed, and the men, understanding, stayed where they were, at a
+      distance, but within earshot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have a crucifix upon your breast,&rdquo; continued Christopher. &ldquo;Take it in
+      your right hand now and swear an oath.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again the Abbot obeyed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Swear thus,&rdquo; he said, Emlyn, who was crouched beneath the parapet,
+      prompting him from time to time; &ldquo;I, Clement Maldon, Abbot of Blossholme,
+      in the presence of Almighty God in heaven, and of Christopher Harflete and
+      others upon earth,&rdquo; and he jerked his head backwards towards the windows
+      of the house, where all therein were gathered, listening, &ldquo;make oath upon
+      the symbol of the Rood. I swear that I abandon all claim of wardship over
+      the body of Cicely Harflete, born Cicely Foterell, the lawful wife of
+      Christopher Harflete, and all claim to the lands and goods that she may
+      possess, or that were possessed by her father, John Foterell, Knight, or
+      by her mother, Dame Foterell, deceased. I swear that I will raise no suit
+      in any court, spiritual or temporal, of this or other realms against the
+      said Cicely Harflete or against the said Christopher Harflete, her
+      husband, nor seek to work injury to their bodies or their souls, or to the
+      bodies or the souls of any who cling to them, and that henceforth they may
+      live and die in peace from me or any whom I control. Set your lips to the
+      Rood and swear thus now, Clement Maldon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot hearkened, and so great was his rage, for he had no meek heart,
+      that he seemed to swell like an angry toad.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who gave you authority to administer oaths to me?&rdquo; he asked at length.
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll not swear,&rdquo; and he cast the crucifix down upon the snow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I&rsquo;ll shoot,&rdquo; answered Christopher. &ldquo;Come, pick up that cross.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Maldon stood silent, his arms folded on his breast. Christopher aimed
+      and loosed, and so great was his skill&mdash;for there were few archers in
+      England like to him&mdash;that the arrow pierced Maldon&rsquo;s fur cap and
+      carried it away without touching the shaven head beneath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The next shall be two inches lower,&rdquo; he said, as he set another on the
+      string. &ldquo;I waste no more good shafts.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, very slowly, to save his life, which he loved well enough, Maldon
+      bent down, and, lifting the crucifix from the snow, held it to his lips
+      and kissed it, muttering&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I swear.&rdquo; But the oath he swore was very different to that which
+      Christopher had repeated to him, for, like a hunted fox, he knew how to
+      meet guile with guile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now that I, a consecrated abbot, deeming it right that I should live on
+      to fulfil my work on earth, have done your bidding, have I leave to go
+      about my business, Christopher Harflete?&rdquo; he asked, with bitter irony.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not?&rdquo; asked Christopher. &ldquo;Only be pleased henceforth not to meddle
+      with me and my business. To-morrow I wish to ride to London with my lady,
+      and we do not seek your company on the road.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, having found his cap, the Abbot turned and walked back towards his
+      own men, drawing the arrow from it as he went, and presently all of them
+      rode away over the rise towards Blossholme.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now that is well finished, and I have an oath that he will scarcely dare
+      to break,&rdquo; said Christopher presently. &ldquo;What say you, Nurse?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I say that you are even a bigger simpleton than I took you to be,&rdquo;
+       answered Emlyn angrily, as she rose and stretched herself, for her limbs
+      were cramped. &ldquo;The oath, pshaw! By now he is absolved from it as given
+      under fear. Did you not hear me whisper to you to put an arrow through his
+      heart, instead of playing boy&rsquo;s pranks with his cap?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did not wish to kill an abbot, Nurse.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Foolish man, what is the difference in such a matter between him and one
+      of his servants? Moreover, he will only say that you tried to slay him,
+      and missed, and produce the cap and arrow in evidence against you. Well,
+      my talk serves nothing to mend a bad matter, and soon you will hear it
+      straighter from himself. Go now and make your house ready for attack, and
+      never dare to set a foot without its doors, for death waits you there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Emlyn was right. Within three hours an unarmed monk trudged up to Cranwell
+      Towers through the falling snow and cast across the moat a letter that was
+      tied to a stone. Then he nailed a writing to one of the oak posts of the
+      outer gate, and, without a word, departed as he had come. In the presence
+      of Christopher and Cicely, Emlyn opened and read this second letter, as
+      she had read the first. It was short, and ran&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Take notice, Sir Christopher Harflete, and all others whom it may
+      concern, that the oath which I, Clement Maldon, Abbot of Blossholme, swore
+      to you this day, is utterly void and of none effect, having been wrung
+      from me under the threat of instant death. Take notice, further, that a
+      report of the murder which you have done has been forwarded to the King&rsquo;s
+      grace and to the Sheriff and other officers of this county, and that by
+      virtue of my rights and authority, ecclesiastical and civil, I shall
+      proceed to possess myself of the person of Cicely Foterell, my ward, and
+      of the lands and other property held by her father, Sir John Foterell,
+      deceased, upon the former of which I have already entered on her behalf,
+      and by exercise of such force as may be needful to seize you, Christopher
+      Harflete, and to hand you over to justice. Further, by means of notice
+      sent herewith, I warn all that cling to you and abet you in your crimes
+      that they will do so at the peril of their souls and bodies.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Clement Maldon, Abbot of Blossholme.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER V
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      WHAT PASSED AT CRANWELL
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      A week had gone by. For the first three days of that time little of note
+      had happened at Cranwell Towers; that is, no assault was delivered. Only
+      Christopher and his dozen or so of house-servants and small tenants
+      discovered that they were quite surrounded. Once or twice some of them
+      rode out a little way, to be hunted back again by a much superior force,
+      which emerged from the copses near by or from cottages in the village, and
+      even from the porch of the church. With these men they never came to close
+      quarters, so that no lives were lost. In a fashion this was a disadvantage
+      to them, since they lacked the excitement of actual fighting, the dread of
+      which was ever present, but not its joy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Meanwhile in other ways things went ill with them. Thus, first of all
+      their beer gave out, and then such other cordials as they had, so that
+      they were reduced to water to drink. Next their fuel became exhausted, for
+      nearly all the stock of it was kept at the farmstead about a quarter of a
+      mile away, and on the second day of the siege this stead was fired and
+      burned with its contents, the cattle and horses being driven off, they
+      knew not where.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So it came about at length they could keep only one fire, in the kitchen,
+      and that but small, which in the end they were obliged to feed with the
+      doors of the outhouses, and even with the floorings torn out of the
+      attics, in order that they might cook their food. Nor was there much of
+      this; only a store of salt meat and some pickled pork and smoked bacon,
+      together with a certain amount of oatmeal and flour, that they made into
+      cakes and bread.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the fourth day, however, these gave out, so that they were reduced to a
+      scanty diet of hung flesh, with a few apples by way of vegetables, and hot
+      water to drink to warm them. At length, too, there was nothing more to
+      burn, and therefore they must eat their meat raw, and grew sick on it.
+      Moreover, a cold thaw set in, and the house grew icy, so that they moved
+      about it with chattering teeth, and at night, ill-nurtured as they were,
+      could scarce keep the life in them beneath all the coverings which they
+      had.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah! how long were those nights, with never a blaze upon the hearth or so
+      much as a candle to light them. At four o&rsquo;clock the darkness came down,
+      which did not lessen, for the moon grew low and the mists were thick,
+      until day broke about seven on the following morning. And all this time,
+      fearing attack, they must keep watch and ward through the gloom, so that
+      even sleep was denied them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For a while they bore up bravely, even the tenants, though news was
+      shouted to these that their steads had been harried, and their wives and
+      children hunted off to seek shelter where they might.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely and Emlyn never murmured. Indeed, this new-made wife kept her
+      dreadful honeymoon with a cheerful face, trudging through the black hours
+      around the circle of the moat at her husband&rsquo;s side, or from window-place
+      to window-place in the empty rooms, till at length they cast themselves
+      down upon some bed to sleep a while, giving over the watch to others. Only
+      Emlyn never seemed to sleep. But at length their companions did begin to
+      murmur.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One morning at the dawn, after a very bitter night, they waited upon
+      Christopher and told him that they were willing to fight for his sake and
+      his lady&rsquo;s, but that, as there was no hope of help, they could no longer
+      freeze and starve; in short, that they must either escape from the house
+      or surrender. He listened to them patiently, knowing that what they said
+      was true, and then consulted for a while with Cicely and Emlyn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Our case is desperate, dear wife. Now what shall we do, who have no
+      chance of succour, since none know of our plight? Yield, or strive to
+      escape through the darkness?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not yield, I think,&rdquo; answered Cicely, choking back a sob. &ldquo;If we yield
+      certainly they will separate us, and that merciless Abbot will bring you
+      to your death and me to a nunnery.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That may happen in any case,&rdquo; muttered Christopher, turning his head
+      aside. &ldquo;But what say you, Nurse?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I say fight for it,&rdquo; answered Emlyn boldly. &ldquo;It is certain that we cannot
+      stay here, for, to be plain, Sir Christopher, there are some among us whom
+      I do not trust. What wonder? Their stomachs are empty, their hands are
+      blue, their wives and children are they know not where, and the heavy
+      curse of the Church hangs over them, all of which things may be mended if
+      they play you false. Let us take what horses remain and slip away at dead
+      of night if we can; or if we cannot, then let us die, as many better folk
+      have done before.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So they agreed to try their fortune, thinking that it was so bad it could
+      not be worse, and spent the rest of that day in getting ready as best they
+      could. The seven horses still stood in the stable, and although they were
+      stiff from want of exercise, had been hay-fed and watered. On these they
+      proposed to ride, but first they must tell the truth to those who had
+      stood by them. So about three o&rsquo;clock of the afternoon Christopher called
+      all the men together beneath the gateway and sorrowfully set out his tale.
+      Here, he showed them, they could bide no longer, and to surrender meant
+      that his new-wed wife would soon be made a widow. Therefore they must fly,
+      taking with them as many as there were horses for them to ride, if they
+      cared to risk such a journey. If not, he and the two women would go alone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now four of the stoutest-hearted of them, men who had served him and his
+      father for many years, stepped forward, saying that, evil as these seemed
+      to be, they would follow his fortunes to the last. He thanked them
+      shortly, whereon one of the others asked what they were to do, and if he
+      proposed to desert them after leading them into this plight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;God knows I would rather die,&rdquo; he replied, with a swelling heart; &ldquo;but,
+      my friends, consider the case. If I bide here, what of my wife? Alas! it
+      has come to this: that you must choose whether you will slip out with us
+      and scatter in the woods, where I think you will not be followed, since
+      yonder Abbot has no quarrel against you; or whether you will wait here,
+      and to-morrow at the dawn, surrender. In either event you can say that I
+      compelled you to stand by us, and that you have shed no man&rsquo;s blood; also
+      I will give you a writing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So they talked together gloomily, and at last announced that when he and
+      their lady went they would go also and get off as best they could. But
+      there was a man among them, a small farmer named Jonathan Dicksey, who
+      thought otherwise. This Jonathan, who held his land under Christopher, had
+      been forced to this business of the defence of Cranwell Towers somewhat
+      against his will, namely, by the pressure of Christopher&rsquo;s largest tenant,
+      to whose daughter he was affianced. He was a sly young man, and even
+      during the siege, by means that need not be described, he had contrived to
+      convey a message to the Abbot of Blossholme, telling him that had it been
+      in his power he would gladly be in any other place. Therefore, as he knew
+      well, whatever had happened to others, his farm remained unharried. Now he
+      determined to be out of a bad business as soon as he might, for Jonathan
+      was one of those who liked to stand upon the winning side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Therefore, although he said &ldquo;Aye, aye,&rdquo; more loudly than his comrades, as
+      soon as the dusk had fallen, while the others were making ready the horses
+      and mounting guard, Jonathan thrust a ladder across the moat at the back
+      of the stable, and clambered along its rungs into the shelter of a
+      cattle-shed in the meadow, and so away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Half-an-hour later he stood before the Abbot in the cottage where he had
+      taken up his quarters, having contrived to blunder among his people and be
+      captured. To him at first Jonathan would say nothing, but when at length
+      they threatened to take him out and hang him, to save his life, as he
+      said, he found his tongue and told all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So, so,&rdquo; said the Abbot when he had finished. &ldquo;Now God is good to us. We
+      have these birds in our net, and I shall keep St. Hilary&rsquo;s at Blossholme
+      after all. For your services, Master Dicksey, you shall be my reeve at
+      Cranwell Towers when they are in my hands.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But here it may be said that in the end things went otherwise, since, so
+      far from getting the stewardship of Cranwell, when the truth came to be
+      known, Jonathan&rsquo;s maiden would have no more to do with him, and the folk
+      in those parts sacked his farm and hunted him out of the country, so that
+      he was never heard of among them again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Meanwhile, all being ready, Christopher at the Towers was closeted with
+      Cicely, taking his farewell of her in the dark, for no light was left to
+      them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This is a desperate venture,&rdquo; he said to her, &ldquo;nor can I tell how it will
+      end, or if ever I shall see your sweet face again. Yet, dearest, we have
+      been happy together for some few hours, and if I fall and you live on I am
+      sure that you will always remember me till, as we are taught, we meet
+      again where no enemy has the power to torment us, and cold and hunger and
+      darkness are not. Cicely, if that should be so and any child should come
+      to you, teach it to love the father whom it never saw.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now she threw her arms about him and wept, and wept, and wept.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you die,&rdquo; she sobbed, &ldquo;surely I will do so also, for although I am but
+      young I find this world a very evil place, and now that my father is gone,
+      without you, husband, it would be a hell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, nay,&rdquo; he answered; &ldquo;live on while you may; for who knows? Often out
+      of the worst comes the best. At least we have had our joy. Swear it now,
+      sweet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, if you will swear it also, for I may be taken and you left. In the
+      dark swords do not choose. Let us promise that we will both endure our
+      lives, together or separate, until God calls us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So they swore there in the icy gloom, and sealed the oath with kisses.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now the time was come at last, and they crept their way to the courtyard
+      hand in hand, taking some comfort because the night was very favourable to
+      their project. The snow had melted, and a great gale blew from the
+      sou&rsquo;-west, boisterous but not cold, which caused the tall elms that stood
+      about to screech and groan like things alive. In such a wind as this they
+      were sure that they would not be heard, nor could they be seen beneath
+      that murky, starless sky, while the rain which fell between the gusts
+      would wash out the footprints of their horses.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They mounted silently, and with the four men&mdash;for by now all the rest
+      had gone&mdash;rode across the drawbridge, which had been lowered in
+      preparation for their flight. Three hundred yards or so away their road
+      ran through an ancient marl-pit worked out generations before, in which
+      self-sown trees grew on either side of the path. As they drew near this
+      place suddenly, in the silence of the night, a horse neighed ahead of
+      them, and one of their beasts answered to the neigh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Halt!&rdquo; whispered Cicely, whose ears were made sharp by fear. &ldquo;I hear men
+      moving.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They pulled rein and listened. Yes; between the gusts of wind there was a
+      faint sound as of the clanking of armour. They strained their eyes in the
+      darkness, but could see nothing. Again the horse neighed and was answered.
+      One of their servants cursed the beast beneath his breath and struck it
+      savagely with the flat of his sword, whereon, being fresh, it took the bit
+      between its teeth and bolted. Another minute and there arose a great
+      clamour from the marl-pit in front of them&mdash;a noise of shoutings, of
+      sword-strokes, and then a heavy groan as from the lips of a dying man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;An ambush!&rdquo; exclaimed Christopher.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can we get round?&rdquo; asked Cicely, and there was terror in her voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; he answered, &ldquo;the stream is in flood; we should be bogged. Hark!
+      they charge us. Back to the Towers&mdash;there is no other way.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So they turned and fled, followed by shouts and the thunder of many horses
+      galloping. In two minutes they were there and across the bridge&mdash;the
+      women, Christopher, and the three men who were left.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Up with the bridge!&rdquo; cried Christopher, and they leapt from their saddles
+      and fumbled for the cranks; too late, for already the Abbot&rsquo;s horsemen
+      pressed it down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then a fight began. The horses of the enemy shrank back from the trembling
+      bridge, so their riders, dismounting, rushed forward, to be met by
+      Christopher and his three remaining men, who in that narrow place were as
+      good as a hundred. Wild, random blows were struck in the darkness, and, as
+      it chanced, two of the Abbot&rsquo;s people fell, whereon a deep voice cried&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come back and wait for light.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When they had gone, dragging off their wounded with them, Christopher and
+      his servants again strove to wind up the bridge, only to find that it
+      would not stir.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Some traitor has fouled the chains,&rdquo; he said in the quiet voice of
+      despair. &ldquo;Cicely and Emlyn, get you into the house. I, and any who will
+      bide with me, stay here to see this business out. When I am down, yield
+      yourself. Afterwards I think that the King will give you justice, if you
+      can come to him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll not go,&rdquo; she wailed; &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll die with you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, you shall go,&rdquo; he said, stamping his foot, and, as he spoke, an
+      arrow hissed between them. &ldquo;Emlyn, drag her hence ere she is shot. Swift,
+      I say, swift, or God&rsquo;s curse and mine rest on you. Unclasp your arms,
+      wife; how can I fight while you hang about my neck? What! Must I strike
+      you? Then, there and there!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She loosed her grasp, and, groaning, fell back upon the breast of Emlyn,
+      who half led, half carried her across the courtyard, where their scared
+      horses galloped loose.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Whither go we?&rdquo; sobbed Cicely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To the central tower,&rdquo; answered Emlyn; &ldquo;it seems safest there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      To this tower, whence the place took its name, they groped their way.
+      Unlike the rest of the house, which for the most part was of wood, it was
+      built of stone, being part of an older fabric dating from the Norman days.
+      Slowly they stumbled up the steps till at length they reached the roof,
+      for some instinct prompted them to find a spot whence they could see,
+      should the stars break out. Here, on this lofty perch, they crouched them
+      down and waited the end, whatever it might be&mdash;waited in silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A while passed&mdash;they never knew how long&mdash;till at length a
+      sudden flame shot up above the roof of the kitchens at the rear, which the
+      wind caught and blew on to the timbers of the main building, so that
+      presently this began to blaze also. The house had been fired, by whom was
+      never known, though it was said that the traitor, Jonathan Dicksey, had
+      returned and done it, either for a bribe or that his own sin might be
+      forgotten in this great catastrophe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The house burns,&rdquo; said Emlyn in her quiet voice. &ldquo;Now, if you would save
+      your life, follow me. Beneath this tower is a vault where no flame can
+      touch us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Cicely would not stir, for by the fierce and ever-growing light she
+      could see what passed beneath, and, as it chanced, the wind blew the smoke
+      away from them. There, beyond the drawbridge, were gathered the Abbey
+      guards, and there in the gateway stood Christopher and his three men with
+      drawn swords, while in the courtyard the horses galloped madly, screaming
+      in their fear. A soldier looked up and saw the two women standing on the
+      top of the tower, then called out something to the Abbot, who sat on
+      horseback near to him. He looked and saw also.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yield, Sir Christopher,&rdquo; he shouted; &ldquo;the Lady Cicely burns. Yield, that
+      we may save her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Christopher turned and saw also. For a moment he hesitated, then wheeled
+      round to run across the courtyard. Too late, for as he came the flames
+      burst through the main roof of the house, and the timber front of it,
+      blazing furiously, fell outwards, blocking the doorway, so that the place
+      became a furnace into which none might enter and live.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now a madness seemed to take hold of him. For a moment he stared up at the
+      figures of the two women standing high above the rolling smoke and
+      wrapping flame. Then, with his three men, he charged with a roar into the
+      crowd of soldiers who had followed him into the courtyard, striving, it
+      would seem, to cut his way to the Abbot, who lurked behind. It was a
+      dreadful sight, for he and those with him fought furiously, and many went
+      down. Presently, of the four only Christopher was left upon his feet.
+      Swords and spears smote upon his armour, but he did not fall; it was those
+      in front of him who fell. A great fellow with an axe got behind him and
+      struck with all his might upon his helm. The sword dropped from Harflete&rsquo;s
+      hand; slowly he turned about, looked upward, then stretched out his arms
+      and fell heavily to earth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot leapt from his horse and ran to him, kneeling at his side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dead!&rdquo; he cried, and began to shrive his passing soul, or so it seemed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dead,&rdquo; repeated Emlyn, &ldquo;and a gallant death!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dead!&rdquo; wailed Cicely, in so terrible a voice that all below heard it.
+      &ldquo;Dead, dead!&rdquo; and sank senseless on Emlyn&rsquo;s breast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At that moment the rest of the roof fell in, hiding the tower in spouts
+      and veils of flame. Here they might not stay if they would live. Lifting
+      her mistress in her strong arms, as she was wont to do when she was
+      little, Emlyn found the head of the stair, so that when the wind blew the
+      smoke aside for an instant, those below saw that both had vanished, as
+      they thought withered in the fire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now you can enter on the Shefton lands, Abbot,&rdquo; cried a voice from the
+      darkness of the gateway, though in the turmoil none knew who spoke; &ldquo;but
+      not for all England would I bear that innocent blood!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot&rsquo;s face turned ghastly, and though it was hot enough in that
+      courtyard his teeth chattered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is on the head of this woman-thief,&rdquo; he exclaimed with an effort,
+      looking down on Christopher, who lay at his feet. &ldquo;Take him up, that
+      inquest may be held on him, who died doing murder. Can none enter the
+      house? His pocket full of gold to him who saves the Lady Cicely!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can any enter hell and live?&rdquo; answered the same voice out of the smoke
+      and gloom. &ldquo;Seek her sweet soul in heaven, if you may come there, Abbot.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, with scared faces, they lifted up Christopher and the other dead and
+      wounded and carried them away, leaving Cranwell Towers to burn itself to
+      ashes, for so fierce was the heat that none could bide there longer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Two hours had gone by. The Abbot sat in the little room of a cottage at
+      Cranwell that he had occupied during the siege of the Towers. It was near
+      midnight, yet, weary as he was, he could not rest; indeed, had the night
+      been less foul and dark he would have spent the time in riding back to
+      Blossholme. His heart was ill at ease. Things had gone well with him, it
+      is true. Sir John Foterell was dead&mdash;slain by &ldquo;outlawed men;&rdquo; Sir
+      Christopher Harflete was dead&mdash;did not his body lie in the neat-house
+      yonder? Cicely, daughter of the one and wife to the other, was dead also,
+      burned in the fire at the Towers, so that doubtless the precious gems and
+      the wide lands he coveted would fall into his lap without further trouble.
+      For, Cromwell being bribed, who would try to snatch them from the powerful
+      Abbot of Blossholme, and had he not a title to them&mdash;of a sort?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And yet he was very ill at ease, for, as that voice had said&mdash;whose
+      voice was it? he wondered, somehow it seemed familiar&mdash;the blood of
+      these people lay on his head; and there came into his mind the text of
+      Holy Writ which he had quoted to Christopher, that he who shed man&rsquo;s blood
+      by man should his blood be shed. Also, although he had paid the
+      Vicar-General to back him, monks were in no great favour at the English
+      Court, and if this story travelled there, as it might, for even the
+      strengthless dead find friends, it was possible that questions would be
+      asked, questions hard to answer. Before Heaven he could justify himself
+      for all that he had done, but before King Henry, who would usurp the
+      powers of the very Pope, if the truth should chance to reach the royal ear&mdash;ah!
+      that was another matter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The room was cold after the heat of that great fire; his Southern blood,
+      which had been warm enough, grew chill; loneliness and depression took
+      hold of him; he began to wonder how far in the eyes of God above the end
+      justifies the means. He opened the door of the place, and holding on to it
+      lest the rough, wintry gale should tear it from its frail hinges, shouted
+      aloud for Brother Martin, one of his chaplains.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Presently Martin arrived, emerging from the cattleshed, a lantern in his
+      hand&mdash;a tall, thin man, with perplexed and melancholy eyes, long
+      nose, and a clever face&mdash;and, bowing, asked his superior&rsquo;s pleasure.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My pleasure, Brother,&rdquo; answered the Abbot, &ldquo;is that you shut the door and
+      keep out the wind, for this accursed climate is killing me. Yes, make up
+      the fire if you can, but the wood is too wet to burn; also it smokes.
+      There, what did I tell you? If this goes on we shall be hams by to-morrow
+      morning. Let it be, for, after all, we have seen enough of fires to-night,
+      and sit down to a cup of wine&mdash;nay, I forgot, you drink but water&mdash;well,
+      then, to a bite of bread and meat.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thank you, my Lord Abbot,&rdquo; answered Martin, &ldquo;but I may not touch flesh;
+      this is Friday.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Friday or no we have touched flesh&mdash;the flesh of men&mdash;up at the
+      Towers yonder this night,&rdquo; answered the Abbot, with an uneasy laugh.
+      &ldquo;Still, obey your conscience, Brother, and eat bread. Soon it will be
+      midnight, and the meat can follow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The lean monk bowed, and, taking a hunch of bread, began to bite at it,
+      for he was almost starving.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you come from watching by the body of that bloody and rebellious man
+      who has worked us so much harm and loss?&rdquo; asked the Abbot presently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The secretary nodded, then swallowing a crust, said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, I have been praying over him and the others. At least he was brave,
+      and it must be hard to see one&rsquo;s new-wed wife burn like a witch. Also, now
+      that I come to study the matter, I know not what his sin was who did but
+      fight bravely when he was attacked. For without doubt the marriage is
+      good, and whether he should have waited to ask your leave to make it is a
+      point that might be debated through every court in Christendom.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot frowned, not appreciating this open and judicial tone in matters
+      that touched him so nearly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have honoured me of late by choosing me as one of your confessors,
+      though I think you do not tell me everything, my Lord Abbot; therefore I
+      bare my mind to you,&rdquo; continued Brother Martin apologetically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Speak on then, man. What do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I mean that I do not like this business,&rdquo; he answered slowly, in the
+      intervals of munching at his bread. &ldquo;You had a quarrel with Sir John
+      Foterell about those lands which you say belong to the Abbey. God knows
+      the right of it, for I understand no law; but he denied it, for did I not
+      hear it yonder in your chamber at Blossholme? He denied it, and accused
+      you of treason enough to hang all Blossholme, of which again God knows the
+      truth. You threatened him in your anger, but he and his servant were armed
+      and won out, and next day the two of them rode for London with certain
+      papers. Well, that night Sir John Foterell was killed in the forest,
+      though his servant Stokes escaped with the papers. Now, who killed him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot looked at him, then seemed to take a sudden resolution.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Our people, those men-at-arms whom I have gathered for the defence of our
+      House and the Church. My orders to them were to seize him living, but the
+      old English bull would not yield, and fought so fiercely that it ended
+      otherwise&mdash;to my sorrow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The monk put down his bread, for which he seemed to have no further
+      appetite.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A dreadful deed,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;for which one day you must answer to God and
+      man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For which we all must answer,&rdquo; corrected the Abbot, &ldquo;down to the last
+      lay-brother and soldier&mdash;you as much as any of us, Brother, for were
+      you not present at our quarrel?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So be it, Abbot. Being innocent, I am ready. But that is not the end of
+      it. The Lady Cicely, on hearing of this murder&mdash;nay, be not wrath, I
+      know no other name for it&mdash;and learning that you claimed her as your
+      ward, flies to her affianced lover, Sir Christopher Harflete, and that
+      very day is married to him by the parish priest in yonder church.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was no marriage. Due notice had not been given. Moreover, how could my
+      ward be wed without my leave?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She had not been served with notice of your wardship, if such exists, or
+      so she declared,&rdquo; replied Martin in his quiet, obstinate voice. &ldquo;I think
+      that there is no court in Europe which would void this open marriage when
+      it learned that the parties lived a while as man and wife, and were so
+      received by those about them&mdash;no, not the Pope himself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He who says that he is no lawyer still sets out the law,&rdquo; broke in Maldon
+      sarcastically. &ldquo;Well, what does it matter, seeing that death has voided
+      it? Husband and wife, if such they were, are both dead; it is finished.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No; for now they lay their appeal in the Court of Heaven, to which every
+      one of us is summoned; and Heaven can stir up its ministers on earth. Oh!
+      I like it not, I like it not; and I mourn for those two, so loving, brave,
+      and young. Their blood and that of many more is on our hands&mdash;for
+      what? A stretch of upland and of marsh which the King or others may seize
+      to-morrow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot seemed to cower beneath the weight of these sad, earnest words,
+      and for a little while there was silence. Then he plucked up courage, and
+      said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am glad that you remember that their blood is on your hands as well as
+      mine, since now, perhaps, you will keep them hidden.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He rose and walked to the door and the window to see that none were
+      without, then returned and exclaimed fiercely&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fool, do you then think that these deeds were done to win a new estate?
+      True it is that those lands are ours by right, and we need their revenues;
+      but there is more behind. The whole Church of this realm is threatened by
+      that accursed son of Belial who sits upon the throne. Why, what is it now,
+      man?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Only that I am an Englishman, and love not to hear England&rsquo;s king called
+      a son of Belial. His sins, I know, are many and black, like those of
+      others&mdash;still, &lsquo;son of Belial!&rsquo; Let his Highness hear it, and that
+      name alone is enough to hang you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, then, angel of grace, if it suits you better. At the least we are
+      threatened. Against the law of God and man our blessed Queen, Catherine of
+      Spain, is thrust away in favour of the slut who fills her place. Even now
+      I have tidings from Kimbolton that she lies dying there of slow poison; so
+      they say and I believe. Also I have other tidings. Fisher and More being
+      murdered, Parliament next month will be moved to strike at the lesser
+      monasteries and steal their goods, and after them our turn will come. But
+      we will not bear it tamely, for ere this new year is out all England shall
+      be ablaze, and I, Clement Maldon, I&mdash;I will light the fire. Now you
+      have the truth, Martin. Will you betray me, as that dead knight would have
+      done?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, my Lord Abbot, your secrets are safe with me. Am I not your
+      chaplain, and does not this wilful and rebellious King of ours work much
+      mischief against God and His servants? Yet I tell you that I like it not,
+      and cannot see the end. We English are a stiff-necked folk whom you of
+      Spain do not understand and will never break, and Henry is strong and
+      subtle; moreover, his people love him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I knew that I could trust you, Martin, and the proof of it is that I have
+      spoken to you so openly,&rdquo; went on Maldon in a gentler voice. &ldquo;Well, you
+      shall hear all. The great Emperor of Germany and Spain is on our side, as,
+      seeing his blood and faith, he must be. He will avenge the wrongs of the
+      Church and of his royal aunt. I, who know him, am his agent here, and what
+      I do is done at his bidding. But I must have more money than he finds me,
+      and that is why I stirred in this matter of the Shefton lands. Also the
+      Lady Cicely had jewels of vast price, though I fear greatly lest they
+      should have been lost in the fire this night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Filthy lucre&mdash;the root of all evil,&rdquo; muttered Brother Martin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, and of all good. Money, money&mdash;I must have more money to bribe
+      men and buy arms, to defend that stronghold of Heaven, the Church. What
+      matters it if lives are lost so that the immortal Church holds her own?
+      Let them go. My friend, you are fearful; these deaths weigh upon your soul&mdash;aye,
+      and on mine. I loved that girl, whom as a babe I held in my arms, and even
+      her rough father, I loved him for his honest heart, although he always
+      mistrusted me, the Spaniard&mdash;and rightly. The knight Harflete, too,
+      who lies yonder, he was of a brave breed, but not one who would have
+      served our turn. Well, they are gone, and for these blood-sheddings we
+      must find absolution.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If we can.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! we can, we can. Already I have it in my pouch, under a seal you know.
+      And for our bodies, fear not. There is such a gale rising in England as
+      will blow out this petty breeze. A question of rights, some arrows shot, a
+      fire and lives lost&mdash;what of that when it agitates betwixt powers
+      temporal and spiritual, and which of them shall hold the sceptre in this
+      mighty Britain? Martin, I have a mission for you that may lead you to a
+      bishopric ere all is done, for that&rsquo;s your mind and aim, and if you would
+      put off your doubts and moodiness you&rsquo;ve got the brain to rule. That ship,
+      the <i>Great Yarmouth</i>, which sailed for Spain some days ago, has been
+      beat back into the river, and should weigh anchor again to-morrow morning.
+      I have letters for the Spanish Court, and you shall take them with my
+      verbal explanations, which I will give you presently, for they would hang
+      us, and may not be trusted to writing. She is bound for Seville, but you
+      will follow the Emperor wherever he may be. You will go, won&rsquo;t you?&rdquo; and
+      he glanced at him sideways.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I obey orders,&rdquo; answered Martin, &ldquo;though I know little of Spaniards or of
+      Spanish.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In every town the Benedictines have a monastery, and in every monastery
+      interpreters, and you shall be accredited to them all who are of that
+      great Brotherhood. Well, &lsquo;tis settled. Go, make ready as best you can; I
+      must write. Stay; the sooner this Harflete is under ground the better. Bid
+      that sturdy fellow, Bolle, find the sexton of the church and help dig his
+      grave, for we will bury him at dawn. Now go, go, I tell you I must write.
+      Come back in an hour, and I will give you money for your faring, also my
+      secret messages.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Brother Martin bowed and went.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A dangerous man,&rdquo; muttered the Abbot, as the door closed on him; &ldquo;too
+      honest for our game, and too much an Englishman. That native spirit peeps
+      beneath his cowl; a monk should have no country and no kin. Well, he will
+      learn a trick or two in Spain, and I&rsquo;ll make sure they keep him there a
+      while. Now for my letters,&rdquo; and he sat down at the rude table and began to
+      write.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Half-an-hour later the door opened and Martin entered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is it now?&rdquo; asked the Abbot testily. &ldquo;I said, &lsquo;Come back in an
+      hour.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, you said that, but I have good news for you that I thought you might
+      like to hear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Out with it, then, man. It&rsquo;s scarce now-a-days. Have they found those
+      jewels? No, how could they? the place still flares,&rdquo; and he glanced
+      through the window-place. &ldquo;What&rsquo;s the news?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Better than jewels. Christopher Harflete is not dead. While I was praying
+      over him he turned his head and muttered. I think he is only stunned. You
+      are skilled in medicine; come, look at him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A minute later and the Abbot knelt over the senseless form of Christopher
+      where it lay on the filthy floor of the neat-house. By the light of the
+      lanterns with deft fingers he felt his wounded head, from which the
+      shattered casque had been removed, and afterwards his heart and pulse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The skull is cut, but not broken,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;My judgment is that though
+      he may lie unsensed for days, if fed and tended this man will live, being
+      so young and strong. But if left alone in this cold place he will be dead
+      by morning, and perhaps he is better dead,&rdquo; and he looked at Martin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That would be murder indeed,&rdquo; answered the secretary. &ldquo;Come, let us bear
+      him to the fire and pour milk down his throat. We may save him yet. Lift
+      you his feet and I will take his head.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot did so, not very willingly, as it seemed to Martin, but rather
+      as one who has no choice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Half-an-hour later, when the hurts of Christopher had been dressed with
+      ointment and bound up, and milk poured down his throat, which he swallowed
+      although he was so senseless, the Abbot, looking at him, said to Martin&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You gave orders for this Harflete&rsquo;s burial, did you not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The monk nodded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then have you told any that he needs no grave at present?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No one except yourself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot thought a while, rubbing his shaven chin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think the funeral should go forward,&rdquo; he said presently. &ldquo;Look not so
+      frightened; I do not purpose to inter him living. But there is a dead man
+      lying in that shed, Andrew Woods, my servant, the Scotch soldier whom
+      Harflete slew. He has no friends here to claim him, and these two were of
+      much the same height and breadth. Shrouded in a blanket, none would know
+      one body from the other, and it will be thought that Andrew was buried
+      with the rest. Let him be promoted in his death, and fill a knight&rsquo;s
+      grave.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To what purpose would you play so unholy a trick, which must, moreover,
+      be discovered in a day, seeing that Sir Christopher lives?&rdquo; asked Martin,
+      staring at him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For a very good purpose, my friend. It is well that Sir Christopher
+      Harflete should seem to die, who, if he is known to be alive, has powerful
+      kin in the south who will bring much trouble on us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you mean&mdash;&mdash;? If so, before God I will have no hand in it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I said&mdash;seem to die. Where are your wits to-night?&rdquo; answered the
+      Abbot, with irritation. &ldquo;Sir Christopher travels with you to Spain as our
+      sick Brother Luiz, who, like myself, is of that country, and desires to
+      return there, as we know, but is too ill to do so. You will nurse him, and
+      on the ship he will die or recover, as God wills. If he recovers our
+      Brotherhood will show him hospitality at Seville, notwithstanding his
+      crimes, and by the time that he reaches England again, which may not be
+      for a long while, men will have forgotten all this fray in a greater that
+      draws on. Nor will he be harmed, seeing that the lady whom he pretends to
+      have married is dead beyond a doubt, as you can tell him should he find
+      his understanding.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A strange game,&rdquo; muttered Martin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Strange or no, it is my game which I must play. Therefore question not,
+      but be obedient, and silent also, on your oath,&rdquo; replied the Abbot in a
+      cold, hard voice. &ldquo;That covered litter which was brought here for the
+      wounded is in the next chamber. Wrap this man in blankets and a monk&rsquo;s
+      robe, and we will place him in it. Then let him be borne to Blossholme as
+      one of the dead by brethren who will ask no questions, and ere dawn on to
+      the ship <i>Great Yarmouth</i>, if he still lives. It lies near the quay
+      not half-a-mile from the Abbey gate. Be swift now, and help me. I will
+      overtake you with the letters, and see that you are furnished with all
+      things needful from our store. Also I must speak with the captain ere he
+      weighs anchor. Waste no more time in talking, but obey and be secret.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I obey, and I will be secret, as is my duty,&rdquo; answered Brother Martin,
+      bowing his head humbly. &ldquo;But what will be the end of all this business,
+      God and His angels know alone. I say that I like it not.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A <i>very</i> dangerous man,&rdquo; muttered the Abbot, as he watched Martin
+      go. &ldquo;He also must bide a while in Spain; a long while. I&rsquo;ll see to it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VI
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      EMLYN&rsquo;S CURSE
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      Just before the wild dawn broke on the morrow of the burning of the
+      Towers, a corpse, roughly shrouded, was borne from the village into the
+      churchyard of Cranwell, where a shallow grave had been dug for its last
+      home.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Whom do we bury in such haste?&rdquo; asked the tall Thomas Bolle, who had
+      delved the grave alone in the dark, for his orders were urgent, and the
+      sexton was fled away from these tumults.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That man of blood, Sir Christopher Harflete, who has caused us so much
+      loss,&rdquo; said the old monk who had been bidden to perform the office, as the
+      clergyman, Father Necton, had gone also, fearing the vengeance of the
+      Abbot for his part in the marriage of Cicely. &ldquo;A sad story, a very sad
+      story. Wedded by night, and now buried by night, both of them, one in the
+      flame and one in the earth. Truly, O God, Thy judgments are wonderful, and
+      woe to those who lift hands against Thine anointed ministers!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very wonderful,&rdquo; answered Bolle, as, standing in the grave, he took the
+      head of the body and laid it down between his straddled feet; &ldquo;so
+      wonderful that a plain man wonders what will be the wondrous end of them,
+      also why this noble young knight has grown so wondrously lighter than he
+      used to be. Trouble and hunger in those burnt Towers, I suppose. Why did
+      they not set him in the vault with his ancestors? It would have saved me a
+      lonely job among the ghosts that haunt this place. What do you say,
+      Father? Because the stone is cemented down and the entrance bricked up,
+      and there is no mason to be found? Then why not have waited till one could
+      be fetched? Oh, it is wonderful, all wonderful. But who am I that I should
+      dare to ask questions? When the Lord Abbot orders, the lay-brother obeys,
+      for he also is wonderful&mdash;a wonderful abbot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, he is tidy now&mdash;straight on his back and his feet pointing to
+      the east, at least I hope so, for I could take no good bearings in the
+      dark; and the whole wonderful story comes to its wonderful end. So give me
+      your hand out of this hole, Father, and say your prayers over the sinful
+      body of this wicked fellow who dared to marry the maid he loved, and to
+      let out the souls of certain holy monks, or rather of their hired
+      rufflers, for monks don&rsquo;t fight, because they wished to separate those
+      whom God&mdash;I mean the devil&mdash;had joined together, and to add
+      their temporalities to the estate of Mother Church.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then the old priest, who was shivering with cold, and understood little of
+      this dark talk, began to mumble his ritual, skipping those parts of it
+      which he could not remember. So another grain was planted in the
+      cornfields of death and immortality, though when and where it should grow
+      and what it should bear he neither knew nor cared, who wished to escape
+      from fears and fightings back to his accustomed cell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was done, and he and the bearers departed, beating their way against
+      the rough, raw wind, and leaving Thomas Bolle to fill in the grave, which,
+      so long as they were in sight, or rather hearing, he did with much vigour.
+      When they were gone, however, he descended into the hole under pretence of
+      trampling the loose soil, and there, to be out of the wind, sat himself
+      down upon the feet of the corpse and waited, full of reflections.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir Christopher dead,&rdquo; he muttered to himself. &ldquo;I knew his grandfather
+      when I was a lad, and my grandfather told me that he knew his
+      grandfather&rsquo;s great-grandfather&mdash;say three hundred years of them&mdash;and
+      now I sit on the cold toes of the last of the lot, butchered like a mad ox
+      in his own yard by a Spanish priest and his hirelings, to win his wife&rsquo;s
+      goods. Oh! yes, it is wonderful, all very wonderful; and the Lady Cicely
+      dead, burnt like a common witch. And Emlyn dead&mdash;Emlyn, whom I have
+      hugged many a time in this very churchyard, before they whipped her into
+      marrying that fat old grieve and made a monk of me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I had her first kiss, and, by the saints! how she cursed old Stower
+      all the way down yonder path. I stood behind that tree and heard her. She
+      said he would die soon, and he did, and his brat with him. She said she
+      would dance on his grave, and she did; I saw her do it in the moonlight
+      the night after he was buried; dressed in white she danced on his grave!
+      She always kept her promises, did Emlyn. That&rsquo;s her blood. If her mother
+      had not been a gypsy witch, she wouldn&rsquo;t have married a Spaniard when
+      every man in the place was after her for her beautiful eyes. Emlyn is a
+      witch too, or was, for they say she is dead; but I can&rsquo;t think it, she
+      isn&rsquo;t the sort that dies. Still, she must be dead, and that&rsquo;s good for my
+      soul. Oh! miserable man, what are you thinking? Get behind me, Satan, if
+      you can find room. A grave is no place for you, Satan, but I wish you were
+      in it with me, Emlyn. You <i>must</i> have been a witch, since, after you,
+      I could never fancy any other woman, which is against nature, for all&rsquo;s
+      fish that comes to a man&rsquo;s net. Evidently a witch of the worst sort, but,
+      my darling, witch or no I wish you weren&rsquo;t dead, and I&rsquo;ll break that
+      Abbot&rsquo;s neck for you yet, if it costs me my soul. Oh! Emlyn, my darling,
+      my darling, do you remember how we kissed in the copse by the river? Never
+      was there a woman who could love like you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So he moaned on, rocking himself to and fro on the legs of the corpse,
+      till at length a wild ray from the red, risen sun crept into the darksome
+      hole, lighting first of all upon a mouldering skull which Bolle had thrown
+      back among the soil. He rose up and pitched it out with a word that should
+      not have passed the lips of a lay-brother, even as such thoughts should
+      not have passed his mind. Then he set himself to a task which he had
+      planned in the intervals of his amorous meditations&mdash;a somewhat
+      grizzly task.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Drawing his knife from its sheath, he cut the rough stitching of the
+      grave-clothes, and, with numb hands, dragged them away from the body&rsquo;s
+      head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The light went out behind a cloud, but, not to waste time, he began to
+      feel the face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir Christopher&rsquo;s nose wasn&rsquo;t broken,&rdquo; he muttered to himself, &ldquo;unless it
+      were in that last fray, and then the bone would be loose, and this is
+      stiff. No, no, he had a very pretty nose.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The light came again, and Thomas peered down at the dead face beneath him;
+      then suddenly burst into a hoarse laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By all the saints! here&rsquo;s another of our Spaniard&rsquo;s tricks. It is drunken
+      Andrew the Scotchman, turned into a dead English knight. Christopher
+      killed him, and now he is Christopher. But where&rsquo;s Christopher?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He thought a little while, then, jumping out of the grave, began to fill
+      it in with all his might.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&rsquo;re Christopher,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;well, stop Christopher until I can prove
+      you&rsquo;re Andrew. Good-bye, Sir Andrew Christopher; I am off to seek your
+      betters. If you are dead, who may not be alive? Emlyn herself, perhaps,
+      after this. Oh, the devil is playing a merry game round old Cranwell
+      Towers to-night, and Thomas Bolle will take a hand in it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was right. The devil was playing a merry game. At least, so thought
+      others beside Thomas. For instance, that misguided but honest bigot,
+      Martin, as he contemplated the still senseless form of Christopher, who,
+      re-christened Brother Luiz, had been safely conveyed aboard the <i>Great
+      Yarmouth</i>, and now, whether dead or living, which he was not sure, lay
+      in the little cabin that had been allotted to the two of them. Almost did
+      Martin, as he looked at him and shook his bald head, seem to smell
+      brimstone in that close place, which, as he knew well, was the fiend&rsquo;s
+      favourite scent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The captain also, a sour-faced mariner with a squint, known in Dunwich,
+      whence he hailed, as Miser Goody, because of his earnestness in pursuing
+      wealth and his skill in hoarding it, seemed to feel the unhallowed
+      influence of his Satanic Majesty. So far everything had gone wrong upon
+      this voyage, which already had been delayed six weeks, that is, till the
+      very worst period of the year, while he waited for certain mysterious
+      letters and cargo which his owners said he must carry to Seville. Then he
+      had sailed out of the river with a fair wind, only to be beaten back by
+      fearful weather that nearly sank the ship.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Item: six of his best men had deserted because they feared a trip to Spain
+      at that season, and he had been obliged to take others at hazard. Among
+      them was a broad-shouldered, black-bearded fellow clad in a leather
+      jerkin, with spurs upon his heels&mdash;bloody spurs&mdash;that he seemed
+      to have found no time to take off. This hard rider came aboard in a skiff
+      after the anchor was up, and, having cast the skiff adrift, offered good
+      money for a passage to Spain or any other foreign port, and paid it down
+      upon the nail. He, Goody, had taken the money, though with a doubtful
+      heart, and given a receipt to the name of Charles Smith, asking no
+      questions, since for this gold he need not account to the owners.
+      Afterwards also the man, having put off his spurs and soldier&rsquo;s jerkin,
+      set himself to work among the crew, some of whom seemed to know him, and
+      in the storm that followed showed that he was stout-hearted and useful,
+      though not a skilled sailor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Still, he mistrusted him of Charles Smith, and his bloody spurs, and had
+      he not been so short-handed and taken the knave&rsquo;s broad pieces would have
+      liked to set him ashore again when they were driven back into the river,
+      especially as he heard that there had been man-slaying about Blossholme,
+      and that Sir John Foterell lay slaughtered in the forest. Perhaps this
+      Charles Smith had murdered him. Well, if so, it was no affair of his, and
+      he could not spare a hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now, when at length the weather had moderated, just as he was hauling up
+      his anchor, comes the Abbot of Blossholme, on whose will he had been
+      bidden to wait, with a lean-faced monk and another passenger, said to be a
+      sick religious, wrapped up in blankets and to all appearance dead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Why, wondered that astute mariner Goody, should a sick monk wear harness,
+      for he felt it through the blankets as he helped him up the ladder,
+      although monk&rsquo;s shoes were stuck upon his feet. And why, as he saw when
+      the covering slipped aside for a moment, was his crown bound up with
+      bloody cloths?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Indeed, he ventured to question the Abbot as to this mysterious matter
+      while his Lordship was paying the passage money in his cabin, only to get
+      a very sharp answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Were you not commanded to obey me in all things, Captain Goody, and does
+      obedience lie in prying out my business? Another word and I will report
+      you to those in Spain who know how to deal with mischief-makers. If you
+      would see Dunwich again, hold your peace.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your pardon, my Lord Abbot,&rdquo; said Goody; &ldquo;but things go so upon this ship
+      that I grow afraid. That is an ill voyage upon which one lifts anchor
+      twice in the same port.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will not make them go better, captain, by seeking to nose out my
+      affairs and those of the Church. Do you desire that I should lay its curse
+      upon you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, your Reverence, I desire that you should take the curse off,&rdquo;
+       answered Goody, who was very superstitious. &ldquo;Do that and I&rsquo;ll carry a
+      dozen sick priests to Spain, even though they choose to wear chain shirts&mdash;for
+      penance.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot smiled, then, lifting his hand, pronounced some words in Latin,
+      which, as he did not understand them, Goody found very comforting. As they
+      passed his lips the <i>Great Yarmouth</i> began to move, for the sailors
+      were hoisting up her anchor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As I do not accompany you on this voyage, fare you well,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;The
+      saints go with you, as shall my prayers. Since you will not pass the
+      Gibraltar Straits, where I hear many infidel pirates lurk, given good
+      weather your voyage should be safe and easy. Again farewell. I commend
+      Brother Martin and our sick friend to your keeping, and shall ask account
+      of them when we meet again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I pray it may not be this side of hell, for I do not like that Spanish
+      Abbot and his passengers, dead or living, thought Goody to himself, as he
+      bowed him from the cabin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A minute later the Abbot, after a few earnest, hurried words with Martin,
+      began to descend the ladder to the boat, that, manned by his own people,
+      was already being drawn slowly through the water. As he did so he glanced
+      back, and, in the clinging mist of dawn, which was almost as dense as
+      wool, caught sight of the face of a man who had been ordered to hold the
+      ladder, and knew it for that of Jeffrey Stokes, who had escaped from the
+      slaying of Sir John&mdash;escaped with the damning papers that had cost
+      his master&rsquo;s life. Yes, Jeffrey Stokes, no other. His lips shaped
+      themselves to call out something, but before ever a syllable had passed
+      them an accident happened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To the Abbot it seemed as though the whole ship had struck him violently
+      behind&mdash;so violently that he was propelled headfirst among the rowers
+      in the boat, and lay there hurt and breathless.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is it?&rdquo; called the captain, who heard the noise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Abbot slipped, or the ladder slipped, I know not which,&rdquo; answered
+      Jeffrey gruffly, staring at the toe of his sea-boot. &ldquo;At least he is safe
+      enough in the boat now,&rdquo; and, turning, he vanished aft into the mist,
+      muttering to himself&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A very good kick, though a little high. Yet I wish it had been off
+      another kind of ladder. That murdering rogue would look well with a rope
+      round his neck. Still I dared do no more and it served to stop his lying
+      mouth before he betrayed me. Oh, my poor master, my poor old master!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bruised and sore as he was&mdash;and he was very sore&mdash;within little
+      over an hour Abbot Maldon was back at the ruin of Cranwell Towers. It
+      seemed strange that he should go there, but in truth his uneasy heart
+      would not let him rest. His plans had succeeded only far too well. Sir
+      John Foterell was dead&mdash;a crime, no doubt, but necessary, for had the
+      knight lived to reach London with that evidence in his pocket, his own
+      life and those of many others might have paid the price of it, since who
+      knows what truths may be twisted from a victim on the rack? Maldon had
+      always feared the rack; it was a nightmare that haunted his sleep,
+      although the ambitious cunning of his nature and the cause he served with
+      heart and soul prompted him to put himself in continual danger of that
+      fate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In an unguarded moment, when his tongue was loosed with wine, he had
+      placed himself in the power of Sir John Foterell, hoping to win him to the
+      side of Spain, and afterwards, forgetting it, made of him a dreadful
+      enemy. Therefore this enemy must die, for had he lived, not only might he
+      himself have died in place of him, but all his plans for the rebellion of
+      the Church against the Crown must have come to nothing. Yes, yes, that
+      deed was lawful, and pardon for it assured should the truth become known.
+      Till this morning he had hoped that it never would be known, but now
+      Jeffrey Stokes had escaped upon the ship <i>Great Yarmouth</i>.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Oh, if only he had seen him a minute earlier; if only something&mdash;could
+      it have been that impious knave, Jeffrey? he wondered&mdash;had not struck
+      him so violently in the back and hurled him to the boat, where he lay
+      almost senseless till the vessel had glided from them down the river!
+      Well, she was gone, and Jeffrey in her. He was but a common serving-man,
+      after all, who, if he knew anything, would never have the wit to use his
+      knowledge, although it was true he had been wise enough to fly from
+      England.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No papers had been discovered upon Sir John&rsquo;s body, and no money. Without
+      doubt the old knight had found time to pass them on to Jeffrey, who now
+      fled the kingdom disguised as a sailor. Oh! what ill chance had put him on
+      board the same vessel with Sir Christopher Harflete?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Well, Sir Christopher would probably die; were Brother Martin a little
+      less of a fool he would certainly die, but the fact remained that this
+      monk, though able, in such matters <i>was</i> a fool, with a conscience
+      that would not suit itself to circumstances. If Christopher could be
+      saved, Martin would save him, as he had already saved him in the shed,
+      even if he handed him over to the Inquisition afterwards. Still, he might
+      slip through his fingers or the vessel might be lost, as was devoutly to
+      be prayed, and seemed not unlikely at this season of the year. Also, the
+      first opportunity must be taken to send certain messages to Spain that
+      might result in hampering the activities of Brother Martin, and of Sir
+      Christopher Harflete, if he lived to reach that land.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Meanwhile, reflected Maldon, other things had gone wrong. He had wished to
+      proclaim his wardship over Cicely and to immure her in a nunnery because
+      of her great possessions, which he needed for the cause, but he had not
+      wished her death. Indeed, he was fond of the girl, whom he had known from
+      a child, and her innocent blood was a weight that he ill could bear, he
+      who at heart always shrank from the shedding of blood. Still, Heaven had
+      killed her, not he, and the matter could not now be mended. Also, as she
+      was dead, her inheritance would, he thought, fall into his hands without
+      further trouble, for he&mdash;a mitred Abbot with a seat among the Lords
+      of the realm&mdash;had friends in London, who, for a fee, could stifle
+      inquiry into all this far-off business.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No, no, he must not be faint-hearted, who, after all, had much for which
+      to be thankful. Meanwhile the cause went on&mdash;that great cause of the
+      threatened Church to which he had devoted his life. Henry the heretic
+      would fall; the Spanish Emperor, whose spy he was and who loved him well,
+      would invade and take England. He would yet live to see the Holy
+      Inquisition at work at Westminster, and himself&mdash;yes, himself; had it
+      not been hinted to him?&mdash;enthroned at Canterbury, the Cardinal&rsquo;s red
+      hat he coveted upon his head, and&mdash;oh, glorious thought!&mdash;perhaps
+      afterwards wearing the triple crown at Rome.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Rain was falling heavily when the Abbot, with his escort of two monks and
+      half-a-dozen men-at-arms, rode up to Cranwell. The house was now but a
+      smoking heap of ashes, mingled with charred beams and burnt clay, in the
+      midst of which, scarcely visible through the clouds of steam caused by the
+      falling rain, rose the grim old Norman tower, for on its stonework the
+      flames had beat vainly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why have we come here?&rdquo; asked one of the monks, surveying the dismal
+      scene with a shudder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To seek the bodies of the Lady Cicely and her woman, and give them
+      Christian burial,&rdquo; answered the Abbot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;After bringing them to a most unchristian death,&rdquo; muttered the monk to
+      himself, then added aloud, &ldquo;You were ever charitable, my Lord Abbot, and
+      though she defied you, such is that noble lady&rsquo;s due. As for the nurse
+      Emlyn, she was a witch, and did but come to the end that she deserved, if
+      she be really dead.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What mean you?&rdquo; asked the Abbot sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I mean that, being a witch, the fire may have turned from her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pray God, then, that it turned from her mistress also! But it cannot be.
+      Only a fiend could have lived in the heat of that furnace; look, even the
+      tower is gutted.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, it cannot be,&rdquo; answered the monk; &ldquo;so, since we shall never find
+      them, let us chant the Burial Office over this great grave of theirs and
+      begone&mdash;the sooner the better, for yon place has a haunted look.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not till we have searched out their bones, which must be beneath the
+      tower yonder, whereon we saw them last,&rdquo; replied the Abbot, adding in a
+      low voice, &ldquo;Remember, Brother, the Lady Cicely had jewels of great price,
+      which, if they were wrapped in leather, the fire may have spared, and
+      these are among our heritage. At Shefton they cannot be found; therefore
+      they must be here, and the seeking of them is no task for common folk.
+      That is why I hurried hither so fast. Do you understand?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The monk nodded his head. Having dismounted, they gave their horses to the
+      serving-men and began to make an examination of the ruin, the Abbot
+      leaning on his inferior&rsquo;s arm, for he was in great pain from the blow in
+      the back that Jeffrey had administered with his sea-boot, and the bruises
+      which he had received in falling to the boat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      First they passed under the gatehouse, which still stood, only to find
+      that the courtyard beyond was so choked with smouldering rubbish that they
+      could make no entry&mdash;for it will be remembered that the house had
+      fallen outwards. Here, however, lying by the carcass of a horse, they
+      found the body of one of the men whom Christopher had killed in his last
+      stand, and caused it to be borne out. Then, followed by their people,
+      leaving the dead man in the gateway, they walked round the ruin, keeping
+      on the inner side of the moat, till they came to the little pleasaunce
+      garden at its back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look,&rdquo; said the monk in a frightened voice, pointing to some scorched
+      bushes that had been a bower.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot did so, but for a while could see nothing because of the wreaths
+      of steam. Presently a puff of wind blew these aside, and there, standing
+      hand in hand, he beheld the figures of two women. His men beheld them
+      also, and called aloud that these were the ghosts of Cicely and Emlyn. As
+      they spoke the figures, still hand in hand, began to walk towards them,
+      and they saw that they were Cicely and Emlyn indeed, but in the flesh,
+      quite unharmed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For a moment there was deep silence; then the Abbot asked&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Whence come you, Mistress Cicely?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Out of the fire,&rdquo; she answered in a small, cold voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Out of the fire! How did you live through the fire?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;God sent His angel to save us,&rdquo; she answered, again in that small voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A miracle,&rdquo; muttered the monk; &ldquo;a true miracle!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Or mayhap Emlyn Stower&rsquo;s witchcraft,&rdquo; exclaimed one of the men behind;
+      and Maldon started at his words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lead me to my husband, my Lord Abbot, lest, thinking me dead, his heart
+      should break,&rdquo; said Cicely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now again there was silence so deep that they could hear the patter of
+      every drop of falling rain. Twice the Abbot strove to speak, but could
+      not, but at the third effort his words came.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The man you call your husband, but who was not your husband, but your
+      ravisher, was slain in the fray last night, Cicely Foterell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She stood quite quiet for a while, as though considering his words, then
+      said, in the same unnatural voice&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You lie, my Lord Abbot. You were ever a liar, like your father the devil,
+      for the angel told me so in the midst of the fire. Also he told me that,
+      though I seemed to see him fall, Christopher is alive upon the earth&mdash;yes,
+      and other things, many other things;&rdquo; and she passed her hand before her
+      eyes and held it there, as though to shut out the sight of her enemy&rsquo;s
+      face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now the Abbot trembled in his terror, he who knew that he lied, though at
+      that time none else there knew it. It was as though suddenly he had been
+      haled before the Judgment-seat where all secrets must be bared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Some evil spirit has entered into you,&rdquo; he said huskily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She dropped her hand, pointing at him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, nay; I never knew but one evil spirit, and he stands before me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cicely,&rdquo; he went on, &ldquo;cease your blaspheming. Alas! that I must tell it
+      you. Sir Christopher Harflete is dead and buried in yonder churchyard.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What! So soon, and all uncoffined, he who was a noble knight? Then you
+      buried him living, and, living, in a day to come he shall rise up against
+      you. Hear my words, all. Christopher Harflete shall rise up living and
+      give testimony against this devil in a monk&rsquo;s robe, and afterwards&mdash;afterwards&mdash;&rdquo;
+       and she laughed shrilly, then suddenly fell down and lay still.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now Emlyn, the dark and handsome, as became her Spanish, or perhaps gypsy
+      blood, who all this while had stood silent, her arms folded upon her high
+      bosom, leaned down and looked at her. Then she straightened herself, and
+      her face was like the face of a beautiful fiend.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She is dead!&rdquo; she screamed. &ldquo;My dove is dead. She whom these breasts
+      nursed, the greatest lady of all the wolds and all the vales, the Lady of
+      Blossholme, of Cranwell and of Shefton, in whose veins ran the blood of
+      mighty nobles, aye, and of old kings, is dead, murdered by a beggarly
+      foreign monk, who not ten days gone butchered her father also yonder by
+      King&rsquo;s Grave&mdash;yonder by the mere. Oh! the arrow in his throat! the
+      arrow in his throat! I cursed the hand that shot it, and to-day that hand
+      is blue beneath the mould. So, too, I curse you, Maldonado, evil-gifted
+      one, Abbot consecrated by Satan, you and all your herd of butchers!&rdquo; and
+      she broke into the stream of Spanish imprecations whereof the Abbot knew
+      the meaning well.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Presently Emlyn paused and looked behind her at the smouldering ruins.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This house is burned,&rdquo; she cried; &ldquo;well, mark Emlyn&rsquo;s words: even so
+      shall your house burn, while your monks run squeaking like rats from a
+      flaming rick. You have stolen the lands; they shall be taken from you, and
+      yours also, every acre of them. Not enough shall be left to bury you in,
+      for, priest, you&rsquo;ll need no burial. The fowls of the air shall bury you,
+      and that&rsquo;s the nearest you will ever get to heaven&mdash;in their filthy
+      crops. Murderer, if Christopher Harflete is dead, yet he shall live, as
+      his lady swore, for his seed shall rise up against you. Oh! I forgot; how
+      can it, how can it, seeing that she is dead with him, and their bridal
+      coverlet has become a pall woven by the black monks? Yet it shall, it
+      shall. Christopher Harflete&rsquo;s seed shall sit where the Abbots of
+      Blossholme sat, and from father to son tell the tale of the last of them&mdash;the
+      Spaniard who plotted against England&rsquo;s king and overshot himself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her rage veered like a hurricane wind. Forgetting the Abbot, she turned
+      upon the monk at his side and cursed him. Then she cursed the hired
+      men-at-arms, those present and those absent, many by name, and lastly&mdash;greatest
+      crime of all&mdash;she cursed the Pope and the King of Spain, and called
+      to God in heaven and Henry of England upon earth to avenge her Lady
+      Cicely&rsquo;s wrongings, and the murder of Sir John Foterell, and the murder of
+      Christopher Harflete, on each and all of them, individually and
+      separately.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So fierce and fearful was her onslaught that all who heard her were
+      reduced to utter silence. The Abbot and the monk leaned against each
+      other, the soldiers crossed themselves and muttered prayers, while one of
+      them, running up, fell upon his knees and assured her that he had had
+      nothing to do with all this business, having only returned from a journey
+      last night, and been called thither that morning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Emlyn, who had paused from lack of breath, listened to him, and said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I take the curse off you and yours, John Athey. Now lift up my lady
+      and bear her to the church, for there we will lay her out as becomes her
+      rank; though not with her jewels, her great and priceless jewels, for
+      which she was hunted like a doe. She must lie without her jewels; her
+      pearls and coronet, and rings, her stomacher and necklets of bright gems,
+      that were worth so much more than those beggarly acres&mdash;those that
+      once a Sultan&rsquo;s woman wore. They are lost, though perhaps yonder Abbot has
+      found them. Sir John Foterell bore them to London for safe keeping, and
+      good Sir John is dead; footpads set on him in the forest, and an arrow
+      shot from behind pierced his throat. Those who killed him have the jewels,
+      and the dead bride must lie without them, adorned in the naked beauty that
+      God gave to her. Lift her, John Athey, and you monks, set up your funeral
+      chant; we&rsquo;ll to the church. The bride who knelt before the altar shall lie
+      there before the altar&mdash;Clement Maldonado&rsquo;s last offering to God.
+      First the father, then the husband, and now the wife&mdash;the sweet,
+      new-made wife!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So she raved on, while they stood before her dumb-founded, and the man
+      lifted up Cicely. Then suddenly this same Cicely, whom all thought dead,
+      opened her eyes and struggled from his arms to her feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;See,&rdquo; screamed Emlyn; &ldquo;did I not tell you that Harflete&rsquo;s seed should
+      live to be avenged upon all your tribe, and she stands there who will bear
+      it? Now where shall we shelter till England hears this tale? Cranwell is
+      down, though it shall rise again, and Shefton is stolen. Where shall we
+      shelter?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thrust away that woman,&rdquo; said the Abbot in a hoarse voice, &ldquo;for her
+      witchcrafts poison the air. Set the Lady Cicely on a horse and bear her to
+      our Nunnery of Blossholme, where she shall be tended.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The men advanced to do his bidding, though very doubtfully. But Emlyn,
+      hearing his words, ran to the Abbot and whispered something in his ear in
+      a foreign tongue that caused him to cross himself and stagger back from
+      her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have changed my mind,&rdquo; he said to the servants. &ldquo;Mistress Emlyn reminds
+      me that between her and her lady there is the tie of foster-motherhood.
+      They may not be separated as yet. Take them both to the Nunnery, where
+      they shall dwell, and as for this woman&rsquo;s words, forget them, for she was
+      mad with fear and grief, and knew not what she said. May God and His
+      saints forgive her, as I do.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VII
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      THE ABBOT&rsquo;S OFFER
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      The Nunnery at Blossholme was a peaceful place, a long, grey-gabled house
+      set under the shelter of a hill and surrounded by a high wall. Within this
+      wall lay also the great garden&mdash;neglected enough&mdash;and the
+      chapel, a building that still was beautiful in its decay.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once, indeed, Blossholme Priory, which was older than the Abbey, had been
+      rich and famous. Its foundress in the time of the first Edward, a certain
+      Lady Matilda, one of the Plantagenets, who retired from the world after
+      her husband had been killed in the Crusade, being childless, endowed it
+      with all her lands. Other noble ladies who accompanied her there, or
+      sought its refuge in after days, had done likewise, so that it grew in
+      power and in wealth, till at its most prosperous time over twenty nuns
+      told their beads within its walls. Then the proud Abbey rose upon the
+      opposing hill, and obtained some royal charter that the Pope confirmed,
+      under which the Priory of Blossholme was affiliated to the Abbey of
+      Blossholme, and the Abbot of Blossholme became the spiritual lord of its
+      religious. From that day forward its fortunes began to decline, since
+      under this pretext and that the abbots filched away its lands to swell
+      their own estates.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So it came about that at the date of our history the total revenue of this
+      Nunnery was but £130 a year of the money of the day, and even of this sum
+      the Abbot took tithe and toll. Now in all the great house, that once had
+      been so full, there dwelt but six nuns, one of whom was, in fact, a
+      servant, while an aged monk from the Abbey celebrated Mass in the fair
+      chapel where lay the bones of so many who had gone before. Also on certain
+      feasts the Abbot himself attended, confessed the nuns, and granted them
+      absolution and his holy blessing. On these days, too, he would examine
+      their accounts, and if there were money in hand take a share of it to
+      serve his necessities, for which reason the Prioress looked forward to his
+      coming with little joy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was to this ancient home of peace that the distraught Cicely and her
+      servant Emlyn were conveyed upon the morrow of the great burning. Indeed,
+      Cicely knew it well enough already, since as a child during three years or
+      more she had gone there daily to be taught by the Prioress Matilda, for
+      every head of the Priory took this name in turn to the honour of their
+      foundress and in accordance with the provisions of her will. Happy years
+      they were, as these old nuns loved her in her youth and innocence, and
+      she, too, loved them every one. Now, by the workings of fate, she was
+      borne back to the same quiet room where she had played and studied&mdash;a
+      new-made wife, a new-made widow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But of all this poor Cicely knew nothing till three weeks or more had gone
+      by, when at length her wandering brain cleared and she opened her eyes to
+      the world again. At the moment she was alone, and lay looking about her.
+      The place was familiar. She recognized the deep windows, the faded
+      tapestries of Abraham cutting Isaac&rsquo;s throat with a butcher&rsquo;s knife, and
+      Jonah being shot into the very gateway of a castle where his family
+      awaited him, from the mouth of a gigantic carp with goggle eyes, for the
+      simple artist had found his whale&rsquo;s model in a stewpond. Well she
+      remembered those delightful pictures, and how often she had wondered
+      whether Isaac could escape bleeding to death, or Jonah&rsquo;s wife, with the
+      outspread arms, withstand the sudden shock of her husband&rsquo;s unexpected
+      arrival out of the interior of the whale. There also was the splendid
+      fireplace of wrought stone, and above it, cunningly carved in gilded oak,
+      gleamed many coats-of-arms without crests, for they were those of sundry
+      noble prioresses.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yes, this was certainly the great guest-chamber of the Blossholme Priory,
+      which, since the nuns had now few guests and many places in which to put
+      them, had been given up to her, Sir John Foterell&rsquo;s heiress, as her
+      schoolroom. There she lay, thinking that she was a child again, a happy,
+      careless child, or that she dreamed, till presently the door opened and
+      Mother Matilda appeared, followed by Emlyn, who bore a tray, on which
+      stood a silver bowl that smoked. There was no mistaking Mother Matilda in
+      her black Benedictine robe and her white wimple, wearing the great silver
+      crucifix which was her badge of office, and the golden ring with an
+      emerald bezel whereon was cut St. Catherine being broken on the wheel&mdash;the
+      ancient ring which every Prioress of Blossholme had worn from the
+      beginning. Moreover, who that had ever seen it could forget her sweet,
+      old, high-bred face, with the fine lips, the arched nose, and the quick,
+      kind grey eyes!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely strove to rise and to do her reverence, as had been her custom
+      during those childish years, only to find that she could not, for lo! she
+      fell back heavily upon her pillow. Thereon Emlyn, setting down the tray
+      with a clatter upon a table, ran to her, and putting her arms about her,
+      began to scold, as was her fashion, but in a very gentle voice; and Mother
+      Matilda, kneeling by her bed, gave thanks to Jesus and His blessed saints&mdash;though
+      why she thanked Him at first Cicely did not understand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Am I ill, reverend Mother?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not now, daughter, but you were very ill,&rdquo; answered the Prioress in her
+      sweet, low voice. &ldquo;Now we think that God has healed you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How long have I been here?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Mother began to reckon, counting her beads, one for every day&mdash;for
+      in such places time slips by&mdash;but long before she had finished Emlyn
+      replied quickly&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cranwell Towers was burned three weeks yesternight.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Cicely remembered, and with a bitter groan turned her face to the
+      wall, while the Mother reproached Emlyn, saying she had killed her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think not,&rdquo; answered the nurse in a low voice. &ldquo;I think she has that
+      which will not let her die&rdquo;&mdash;a saying that puzzled the Prioress at
+      this time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Emlyn was right. Cicely did not die. On the contrary, she grew strong and
+      well in her body, though it was long before her mind recovered. Indeed,
+      she glided about the place like a ghost in her black mourning robe, for
+      now she no longer doubted that Christopher was dead, and she, the wife of
+      a week, widowed as well as orphaned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then in her utter desolation came comfort; a light broke on the darkness
+      of her soul like the moon above a tortured midnight sea. She was no longer
+      quite alone; the murdered Christopher had left his image with her. If she
+      lived a child would be born to him, and therefore she would surely live.
+      One evening, on her knees, she whispered her secret to the Prioress
+      Matilda, whereat the old nun blushed like a girl, yet, after a moment&rsquo;s
+      silent prayer, laid a thin hand upon her head in blessing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Lord Abbot declares that your marriage was no true marriage, my
+      daughter, though why I do not understand, since the man was he whom your
+      heart chose, and you were wed to him by an ordained priest before God&rsquo;s
+      altar and in presence of the congregation.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I care not what he says,&rdquo; answered Cicely in a stubborn voice. &ldquo;If I am
+      not a true wife, then no woman ever was.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear daughter,&rdquo; answered Mother Matilda, &ldquo;it is not for us unlearned
+      women to question the wisdom of a holy Abbot who doubtless is inspired
+      from on high.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If he is inspired it is not from on high, Mother. Would God or His saints
+      teach him to murder my father and my husband, to seize my heritage, or to
+      hold my person in this gentle prison? Such inspirations do not come from
+      above, Mother.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hush! hush!&rdquo; said the Prioress, glancing round her nervously; &ldquo;your woes
+      have crazed you. Besides, you have no proof. In this world there are so
+      many things that we cannot understand. Being an abbot, how could he do
+      wrong, although to us his acts seem wrong? But let us not talk of these
+      matters, of which, indeed, I only know from that rough-tongued Emlyn of
+      yours, who, I am told, was not afraid to curse him terribly. I was about
+      to say that whatever may be the law of it, I hold your marriage good and
+      true, and its issue, should such come to you, pure and holy, and night by
+      night I will pray that it shall be crowned with Heaven&rsquo;s richest
+      blessings.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thank you, dear Mother,&rdquo; answered Cicely, as she rose and left her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When she had gone the Prioress rose also, and, with a troubled face, began
+      to walk up and down the refectory, for it was here that they had spoken
+      together. Truly she could not understand, for unless all these tales were
+      false&mdash;and how could they be false?&mdash;this Abbot, whom her
+      high-bred English nature had always mistrusted, this dark, able Spanish
+      monk was no saint, but a wicked villain. There must be some explanation.
+      It was only that <i>she</i> did not understand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Soon the news spread throughout the Nunnery, and if the sisters had loved
+      Cicely before, now they loved her twice as well. Of the doubts as to the
+      validity to her marriage, like their Prioress, they took no heed, for had
+      it not been celebrated in a church? But that a child was to be born among
+      them&mdash;ah! that was a joyful thing, a thing that had not happened for
+      quite two hundred years, when, alas!&mdash;so said tradition and their
+      records&mdash;there had been a dreadful scandal which to this day was
+      spoken of with bated breath. For be it known at once this Nunnery,
+      whatever may or may not have been the case with some others, was one of
+      which no evil could be said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Beneath their black robes, however, these old nuns were still as much
+      women as the mothers who bore them, and this news of a child stirred them
+      to the marrow. Among themselves in their hours of recreation they talked
+      of little else, and even their prayers were largely occupied with this
+      same matter. Indeed, poor, weak-witted, old Sister Bridget, who hitherto
+      had been secretly looked down upon because she was the only one of the
+      seven who was not of gentle birth, now became very popular. For Sister
+      Bridget in her youth had been married and borne two children, both of whom
+      had been carried off by the smallpox after she was widowed, whereon, as
+      her face was seamed by this same disease, so that she had no hope of
+      another husband, as her neighbours said, or because her heart was broken,
+      as she said, she entered into religion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now she constituted herself Cicely&rsquo;s chief attendant, and although that
+      lady was quite well and strong, persecuted her with advice and with
+      noxious mixtures which she brewed, till Emlyn, descending on her like a
+      storm, hunted her from the room and cast her medicines through the window.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That these sisters should be thus interested in so small a matter was not,
+      indeed, wonderful, seeing that if their lives had been secluded before,
+      since the Lady Cicely came amongst them they were ten times more so. Soon
+      they discovered that she and her servant, Emlyn Stower, were, in fact,
+      prisoners, which meant that they, her hostesses, were prisoners also. None
+      were allowed to enter the Nunnery save the silent old monk who confessed
+      them and celebrated the Mass, nor, by an order of the Abbot, were they
+      suffered to go abroad upon any business whatsoever.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For the rest, as their only means of communication with those who dwelt
+      beyond was the surly gardener, who was deaf and set there to spy on them,
+      little news ever reached them. They were almost dead to the world, which,
+      had they known it, was busy enough just then with matters that concerned
+      them and all other religious houses.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At length one day, when Cicely and Emlyn were seated in the garden beneath
+      a flowering hawthorn-tree&mdash;for now June had come and with it warm
+      weather&mdash;of a sudden Sister Bridget hurried up saying that the Abbot
+      of Blossholme desired their presence. At this tidings Cicely turned faint,
+      and Emlyn rated Bridget, asking if her few wits had left her, or if she
+      thought that name was so pleasant to her mistress that she should suddenly
+      bawl it in her ear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thereon the poor old soul, who was not too strong-brained and much afraid
+      of Emlyn since she had thrown her medicines out of the window, began to
+      weep, protesting that she had meant no harm, till Cicely, recovering,
+      soothed her and sent her back to say that she would wait upon his
+      lordship.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you afraid of him, Mistress?&rdquo; asked Emlyn, as they prepared to
+      follow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A little, Nurse. He has shown himself a man to be afraid of, has he not?
+      My father and my husband are in his net, and will he spare the last fish
+      in the pool&mdash;a very narrow pool?&rdquo; and she glanced at the high walls
+      about her. &ldquo;I fear lest he should take you from me, and wonder why he has
+      not done so already.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because my father was a Spaniard, and through him I know that which would
+      ruin him with his friends, the Pope and the Emperor. Also, he believes
+      that I have the evil eye, and dreads my curse. Still, one day he may try
+      to murder me; who knows? Only then the secret of the jewels will go with
+      me, for that is mine alone; not yours even, for if you had it they would
+      squeeze it out of you. Meanwhile he will try to profess you a nun, but
+      push him off with soft words. Say that you will think of it after your
+      child is born. Till then he can do nothing, and, if Mother Matilda&rsquo;s fresh
+      tidings are true, by that time perchance there will be no more nuns in
+      England.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now very quietly and by the side door they were entering the old
+      reception-hall, that was only used for the entertainment of visitors and
+      on other great occasions, and close to them saw the Abbot seated in his
+      chair, while the Prioress stood before him, rendering her accounts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Whether you can spare it or no,&rdquo; they heard him say sharply, &ldquo;I must have
+      the half-year&rsquo;s rent. The times are evil; we servants of the Lord are
+      threatened by that adulterous king and his proud ministers, who swear they
+      will strip us to the shirt and turn us out to starve. I&rsquo;m but just from
+      London, and, although our enemy Anne Boleyn has lost her wanton head, I
+      tell you the danger is great. Money must be had to stir up rebellion, for
+      who can arm without it, and but little comes from Spain. I am in treaty to
+      sell the Foterell lands for what they will fetch, but as yet can give no
+      title. Either that stiff-necked girl must sign a release, or she must
+      profess, for otherwise, while she lives, some lawyer or relative might
+      upset the sale. Is she yet prepared to take her first vows? If not, I
+      shall hold you much to blame.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; answered the Prioress; &ldquo;there are reasons. You have been away, and
+      have not heard&rdquo;&mdash;she hesitated and looked about her nervously, to see
+      Cicely and Emlyn standing behind them. &ldquo;What do you there, daughter?&rdquo; she
+      asked, with as much asperity as she ever showed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In truth I know not, Mother,&rdquo; answered Cicely. &ldquo;Sister Bridget told us
+      that the Lord Abbot desired our presence.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I bid her say that you were to wait him in my chamber,&rdquo; said the Prioress
+      in a vexed voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; broke in the Abbot, &ldquo;it would seem that you have a fool for a
+      messenger; if it is that pockmarked hag, her brain has been gone for
+      years. Ward Cicely, I greet you, though after the sorrows that have fallen
+      on you, whereof by your leave we will not speak, since there is no use in
+      stirring up such memories, I grieve to see you in that worldly garb, who
+      thought you would have changed it for a better. But ere you entered the
+      holy Mother here spoke of some obstacle that stood between you and God.
+      What is it? Perchance my counsel may be of service. Not this woman, as I
+      trust,&rdquo; and he frowned at Emlyn, who at once answered, in her steady voice&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, my Lord Abbot, I stand not between her and God and His holiness, but
+      between her and man and his iniquity. Still I can tell you of that
+      obstacle&mdash;which comes from God&mdash;if you so need.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now the old Prioress, blushing to her white hair, bent forward and
+      whispered in the Abbot&rsquo;s ear words at which he sprang up as though a wasp
+      had stung him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pest on it! it cannot be,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Well, well, there it is, and must be
+      swallowed with the rest. Pity, though,&rdquo; he added, with a sneer on his dark
+      face, &ldquo;since many a year has gone by since these walls have seen a
+      bastard, and, as things are, that may pull them down about your ears.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know such brats are dangerous,&rdquo; interrupted Emlyn, looking Maldon full
+      in the eyes; &ldquo;my father told me of a young monk in Spain&mdash;I forget
+      his name&mdash;who brought certain ladies to the torture in some such
+      matter. But who talks of bastards in the case of Dame Cicely Harflete,
+      widow of Sir Christopher Harflete, slain by the Abbot of Blossholme?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Silence, woman. Where there is no lawful marriage there can be no lawful
+      child&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To take that lawful inheritance that it lawfully inherits. Say, my Lord
+      Abbot, did Sir Christopher make you his heir also?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, before he could answer, Cicely, who had been silent all this while,
+      broke in&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Heap what insults you will on me, my Lord Abbot, and having robbed me of
+      my father, my husband, and my heart, rob me of my goods also, if you can.
+      In my case it matters little. But slander not my child, if one should be
+      born to me, nor dare to touch its rights. Think not that you can break the
+      mother as you broke the girl, for there you will find that you have a
+      she-wolf by the ear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked at her, they all looked at her, for in her eyes was something
+      that compelled theirs. Clement Maldon, who knew the world and how a
+      she-wolf can fight for its cub, read in them a warning which caused him to
+      change his tone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tut, tut, daughter,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;what is the good of vapouring of a child
+      that is not and may never be? When it comes I will christen it, and we
+      will talk.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When it comes you will not lay a finger on it. I&rsquo;d rather that it went
+      unbaptized to its grave than marked with your cross of blood.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He waved his hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There is another matter, or rather two, of which I must speak to you, my
+      daughter. When do you take your first vows?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We will talk of it after my child is born. &lsquo;Tis a child of sin, you say,
+      and I am unrepentant, a wicked woman not fit to take a holy vow, to which,
+      moreover, you cannot force me,&rdquo; she replied, with bitter sarcasm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Again he waved his hand, for the she-wolf showed her teeth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The second matter is,&rdquo; he went on, &ldquo;that I need your signature to a
+      writing. It is nothing but a form, and one I fear you cannot read, nor in
+      faith can I,&rdquo; and with a somewhat doubtful smile he drew out a crabbed
+      indenture and spread it before her on the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What?&rdquo; she laughed, brushing aside the parchment. &ldquo;Have you remembered
+      that yesterday I came of age, and am, therefore, no more your ward, if
+      such I ever was? You should have sold my inheritance more swiftly, for now
+      the title you can give is rotten as last year&rsquo;s apples, and I&rsquo;ll sign
+      nothing. Bear witness, Mother Matilda, and you, Emlyn Stower, that I have
+      signed and will sign nothing. Clement Maldon, Abbot of Blossholme, I am a
+      free woman of full age, even though, as you say, I am a wanton. Where is
+      your right to chain up a wanton who is no religious? Unlock these gates
+      and let me go.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now he felt the wolf&rsquo;s fangs, and they were sharp.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Whither would you go?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Whither but to the King, to lay my cause before him, as my father would
+      have done last Christmas-time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a bold speech, but foolish. The she-wolf had loosed her hold to
+      growl&mdash;to growl at a hunter with a bloody sword.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think your father never reached his Grace with his sack of falsehoods;
+      nor might you, Cicely Foterell. The times are rough, rebellion is in the
+      air, and many wild men hunt the woods and roads. No, no; for your own sake
+      you bide here in safety till&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Till you murder me. Oh! it is in your mind. Do you remember the angel who
+      spoke with me in the fire and told me my husband was not dead?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A lying spirit, then; no angel.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am not so sure,&rdquo; and again she passed her hand across her eyes, as she
+      had done in that dreadful dawn at Cranwell. &ldquo;Well, I prayed to God to help
+      me, and last night that angel came again and spoke in my sleep. He told me
+      to fear you not at all, my Lord Abbot; however sore my case and however
+      near my death might seem, since God had shaped a stone to drop upon your
+      head. He showed it me; it was like an axe.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now the old Prioress held up her hands and gasped in horror, but the Abbot
+      leapt from his seat in rage&mdash;or was it fear?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wanton, you named yourself,&rdquo; he exclaimed; &ldquo;but I name you witch also,
+      who, if you had your deserts, should die the death of a witch by fire.
+      Mother Matilda, I command you, on your oath, keep this witch fast and make
+      report to me of all her sorceries. It is not fitting that such a one
+      should walk abroad to bring evil on the innocent. Witch and wanton, begone
+      to your chamber!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely listened, then, without another word, broke into a little scornful
+      laugh, and, turning, left the room, followed by the Prioress.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Emlyn did not go; she stayed behind, a smile on her dark, handsome
+      face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&rsquo;ve lost the throw, though all your dice were loaded,&rdquo; she said
+      boldly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot turned on her and reviled her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Woman,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;if she is a witch, you&rsquo;re the familiar, and certainly
+      you shall burn even though she escape. It is you who taught her how to
+      call up the devil.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then you had best keep me living, my Lord Abbot, that I may teach her how
+      to lay him. Nay, threaten not. Why, the rack might make me speak, and the
+      birds of the air carry the matter!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His face paled; then suddenly he asked&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where are those jewels? I need them. Give me the jewels and you shall go
+      free, and perchance your accursed mistress with you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I told you,&rdquo; she answered. &ldquo;Sir John took them to London, and if they
+      were not found upon his body, then either he threw them away or Jeffrey
+      Stokes carried them to wherever he has gone. Drag the mere, search the
+      forest, find Jeffrey and ask him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You lie, woman. When you and your mistress fled from Shefton a servant
+      there saw you with the box that held those jewels in your hand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;True, my Lord Abbot, but it no longer held them; only my mistress&rsquo;s
+      love-letters, which she would not leave behind.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then where is the box, and where are those letters?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We grew short of fuel in the siege, and burned both. When a woman has her
+      man she doesn&rsquo;t want his letters. Surely, Maldonado,&rdquo; she added, with
+      meaning, &ldquo;you should know that it is not always wise to keep old letters.
+      What, I wonder, would you give for some that I have seen and that are <i>not</i>
+      burned?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Accursed spawn of Satan,&rdquo; hissed the Abbot, &ldquo;how dare you flaunt me thus?
+      When Cicely was wed to Christopher she wore those very gems; I have it
+      from those who saw her decked in them&mdash;the necklace on her bosom, the
+      priceless rosebud pearls hanging from her ears.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oho! oho!&rdquo; said Emlyn; &ldquo;so you own that she was wed, the pure soul whom
+      but now you called a wanton. Look you, Sir Abbot, we will fence no more.
+      She wore the jewels. Jeffrey took nothing hence save your death-warrant.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then where are they?&rdquo; he asked, striking his fist upon the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where? Why, where you&rsquo;ll never follow them&mdash;gone up to heaven in the
+      fire. Thinking we might be robbed, I hid them behind a secret panel in her
+      chamber, purposing to return for them later. Go, rake out the ashes; you
+      might find a cracked diamond or two, but not the pearls; they fly in fire.
+      There, that&rsquo;s the truth at last, and much good may it do to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot groaned. Like most Spaniards he was emotional, and could not
+      help it; his bitterness burst from his heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Emlyn laughed at him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;See how the wise and mighty of this world overshoot themselves,&rdquo; she
+      said. &ldquo;Clement Maldonado, I have known you for some twenty years, and when
+      I was called the Beauty of Blossholme, and the Abbot who went before you
+      made me the Church&rsquo;s ward, though I ever hated you, who hunted down my
+      father, you had softer words for me than those you name me by to-day.
+      Well, I have watched you rise and I shall watch you fall, and I know your
+      heart and its desires. Money is what you lust for and must have, for
+      otherwise how will you gain your end? It was the jewels that you needed,
+      not the Shefton lands, which are worth little now-a-days, and will soon be
+      worth less. Why, one of those pink pearls placed among the Jews would buy
+      three parishes, with their halls thrown in. For the sake of those jewels
+      you have brought death on some and misery on some, and on your own soul
+      damnation without end, though had you but been wise and consulted me&mdash;why,
+      they, or some of them, might have been yours. Sir John was no fool; he
+      would have parted with a pearl or two, of which he did not know the value,
+      to end a feud against the Church and safeguard his title and his daughter.
+      And now, in your madness, you&rsquo;ve burnt them&mdash;burnt a king&rsquo;s ransom,
+      or what might have pulled down a king. Oh! had you but guessed it, you&rsquo;d
+      have hacked off the hand that put a torch to Cranwell Towers, for now the
+      gold you need is lacking to you, and therefore all your grand schemes will
+      fail, and you&rsquo;ll be buried in their ruin, as you thought we were in
+      Cranwell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot, who had listened to this long and bitter speech in patience,
+      groaned again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are a clever woman,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;we understand each other, coming from
+      the same blood. You know the case; what is your counsel to me now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That which you will not take, being foredoomed for your sins. Still I&rsquo;ll
+      give it honestly. Set the Lady Cicely free, restore her lands, confess
+      your evil doings. Fly the kingdom before Cromwell turns on you and Henry
+      finds you out, taking with you all the gold that you can gather, and bribe
+      the Emperor Charles to give you a bishopric in Granada or elsewhere&mdash;not
+      near Seville, for reasons that you know. So shall you live honoured, and
+      one day, after you have been dead a long while and many things are
+      forgotten, perchance be beatified as Saint Clement of Blossholme.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot looked at her reflectively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If I sought safety only and old age comforts your counsel might be good,
+      but I play for higher stakes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You set your head against them,&rdquo; broke in Emlyn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not so, woman, for in any case that head must win. If it stays upon my
+      shoulders it will wear an archbishop&rsquo;s mitre, or a cardinal&rsquo;s hat, or
+      perhaps something nobler yet; and if it parts from them, why, then a
+      heavenly crown of glory.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your head? <i>Your</i> head?&rdquo; exclaimed Emlyn, with a contemptuous laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not?&rdquo; he answered gravely. &ldquo;You chance to know of some errors of my
+      youth, but they are long ago repented of, and for such there is plentiful
+      forgiveness,&rdquo; and he crossed himself. &ldquo;Were it not so, who would escape?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Emlyn, who had been standing all this while, sat herself down, set her
+      elbows on the table and rested her chin upon her clenched hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;True,&rdquo; she said, looking him in the eyes; &ldquo;none of us would escape. But,
+      Clement Maldon, how about the unrepented errors of your age? Sir John
+      Foterell, for instance; Sir Christopher Harflete, for instance; my Lady
+      Cicely, for instance; to say nothing of black treason and a few other
+      matters?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Even were all these charges true, which I deny, they are no sins, seeing
+      that they would have been done, every one of them, not for my own sake,
+      but for that of the Church, to overset her enemies, to rebuild her
+      tottering walls, to secure her eternally in this realm.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And to lift you, Clement Maldon, to the topmost pinnacle of her temple,
+      whence Satan shows you all the kingdoms of the world, swearing that they
+      shall be yours.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Apparently the Abbot did not resent this bold speech; indeed, Emlyn&rsquo;s apt
+      illustration seemed to please him. Only he corrected her gently, saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not Satan, but Satan&rsquo;s Lord.&rdquo; Then he paused a while, looked round the
+      chamber to see that the doors were shut and make sure that they were
+      alone, and went on, &ldquo;Emlyn Stower, you have great wits and courage&mdash;more
+      than any woman that I know. Also you have knowledge both of the world and
+      of what lies beyond it, being what superstitious fools call a witch, but
+      I, a prophetess or a seer. These things come to you with your blood, I
+      suppose, seeing that your mother was of a gypsy tribe and your father a
+      high-bred Spanish gentleman, very learned and clever, though a pestilent
+      heretic, for which cause he fled for his life from Spain.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To find his dark death in England. The Holy Inquisition is patent and has
+      a long arm. If I remember right, also it was this business of the heresy
+      of my father that first brought you to Blossholme, where, after his
+      vanishing and the public burning of that book of his, you so greatly
+      prospered.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are always right, Emlyn, and therefore I need not tell you further
+      that we had been old enemies in Spain, which is why I was chosen to hunt
+      him down and how you come to know certain things.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She nodded, and he went on&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So much for the heretic father&mdash;now for the gypsy mother. She died,
+      by her own hand it is said, to escape the punishment of the law.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No need to beat about the bush, Abbot; let&rsquo;s have truth between old
+      friends. You mean, to escape being burnt by you as a witch, because she
+      had the letters which were not burned and threatened to use them&mdash;as
+      I do.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why rake up such tales, Emlyn?&rdquo; he interposed blandly. &ldquo;At least she
+      died, but not until she had taught you all she knew. The rest of the
+      history is short. You fell in love with old yeoman Bolle&rsquo;s son, or said
+      you did&mdash;that same great, silly Thomas who is now a lay-brother at
+      the Abbey&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Or said I did,&rdquo; she repeated. &ldquo;At least he fell in love with me, and
+      perhaps I wished an honest man to protect me, who in those days was young
+      and fair. Moreover, he was not silly then. That came upon him after he
+      fell into <i>your</i> hands. Oh! have done with it,&rdquo; she went on, in a
+      voice of suppressed passion. &ldquo;The witch&rsquo;s fair daughter was the Church&rsquo;s
+      ward, and you ruled the Abbot of that time, and he forced me into marriage
+      with old Peter Stower, as his third wife. I cursed him, and he died, as I
+      warned him that he would, and I bore a child, and it died. Then with what
+      was left to me I took refuge with Sir John Foterell, who ever was my
+      friend, and became foster-mother to his daughter, the only creature, save
+      one, that I have loved in this wide, wicked world. That&rsquo;s all the story;
+      and now what more do you want of me, Clement Maldonado&mdash;evil-gifted
+      one?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Emlyn, I want what I always wanted and you always refused&mdash;your
+      help, your partnership. I mean the partnership of that brain of yours&mdash;the
+      help of the knowledge that you have&mdash;no more. At Cranwell Towers you
+      called down evil on me. Take off that ban, for I&rsquo;ll speak truth, it weighs
+      heavy on my mind. Let us bury the past; let us clasp hands and be friends.
+      You have the true vision. Do you remember that when you thought Cicely
+      dead, you said that her seed should rise up against me, and now it seems
+      that it will be so.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What would you give me?&rdquo; asked Emlyn curiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will give you wealth; I will give you what you love more&mdash;power,
+      and rank too, if you wish it. The whole Church shall listen to you. What
+      you desire shall be done in this realm&mdash;yes, and across the world. I
+      speak no lie; I pledge my soul on it, and the honour of those I serve,
+      which I have authority to do. In return all I ask of you is your wisdom&mdash;that
+      you should read the future for me, that you should show me which way to
+      walk.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing more?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, two things&mdash;that you should find me those burned jewels and
+      with them the old letters that were not burned, and that this child of the
+      Lady Cicely shall not chance to live to take what you promised to it. Her
+      life I give you, for a nun more or less can matter little.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A noble offer, and in this case I am sure you will pay what <i>you</i>
+      promise&mdash;should you live. But what if I refuse?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then,&rdquo; answered the Abbot, dropping his fist upon the table, &ldquo;then death
+      for both of you&mdash;the witch&rsquo;s death, for I dare not let you go to work
+      my ruin. Remember, I am master here, you are my prisoners. Few know that
+      you live in this place, except a handful of weak-brained women who will
+      fear to speak&mdash;puppets that must dance when I pull the string&mdash;and
+      I&rsquo;ll see that no soul shall come near these walls. Choose, then, between
+      death and all its terrors or life and all its hopes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      On the table there stood a wooden bowl filled with roses. Emlyn drew it to
+      her, and taking the roses into her hands, threw them to the floor. Then
+      she waited for the water to steady, saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The riddle is hard; perhaps, if in truth I have such power, I shall find
+      its answer here.&rdquo; Presently, as he gazed at her, fascinated, she breathed
+      upon the water and stared into it for a long while. At length she looked
+      up, and said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Death or Life; that was the choice you gave me. Well, Clement Maldonado,
+      on behalf of myself and the Lady Cicely, and her husband Sir Christopher,
+      and the child that shall be born, and of God who directs all these things,
+      I choose&mdash;death.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a solemn silence. Then the Abbot rose, and said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good! On your own head be it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again there was a silence, and, as she made no answer, he turned and
+      walked towards the door, leaving her still staring into the bowl.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good!&rdquo; she repeated, as he laid his hand upon the latch. &ldquo;I have told you
+      that I choose death, but I have not told you whose death it is I choose.
+      Play your game, my Lord Abbot, and I&rsquo;ll play mine, remembering that God
+      holds the stakes. Meanwhile I confirm the words I spoke in my rage at
+      Cranwell. Expect evil, for I see now that it shall fall on you and all
+      with which you have to do.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then with a sudden movement she upset the bowl upon the table and watched
+      him go.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VIII
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      EMLYN CALLS HER MAN
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      One by one the weeks passed over the heads of Cicely and Emlyn in their
+      prison, and brought them neither hope nor tidings. Indeed, although they
+      could not see its cords, they felt that the evil net which held them was
+      drawing ever tighter. There were fear and pity as well as love in the eyes
+      of Mother Matilda when she looked at Cicely, which she did only if she
+      thought that no one observed her. The nuns also were afraid, though it was
+      clear that they knew not of what. One evening Emlyn, finding the Prioress
+      alone, sprang questions on her, asking what was in the wind, and why her
+      lady, a free woman of full age, was detained there against her will.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The old nun&rsquo;s face grew secret. She answered that she did not know of
+      anything unusual, and that, as regarded the detention, she must obey the
+      commands of her spiritual superior.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then,&rdquo; burst out Emlyn, &ldquo;I tell you that you do so at your peril. I tell
+      you that whether my lady lives or dies, there are those who will call you
+      to a strict account, aye, and those who will listen to the prayer of the
+      helpless. Mother Matilda, England is not the land it was when as a girl
+      they buried you in these mouldy walls. Where does God say that you have
+      the right to hold free women like felons in a jail? Tell me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I cannot,&rdquo; moaned Mother Matilda, wringing her thin hands. &ldquo;The right is
+      very hard to find, this place is strictly guarded, and whatever I may
+      think, I must do what I am bid, lest my soul should suffer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your soul! You cloistered women think always of your miserable souls, but
+      of those of other folk, aye, and of their bodies too, nothing. Then you&rsquo;ll
+      not help me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I cannot, I cannot, who am myself in bonds,&rdquo; she replied again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So be it, Mother; then I&rsquo;ll help myself, and when I do, God help <i>you</i>
+      all,&rdquo; and with a contemptuous shrug of her broad shoulders she walked
+      away, leaving the poor old Prioress almost in tears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Emlyn&rsquo;s threats were bold as her own heart, but how could she execute even
+      a tenth of them? The right was on their side, indeed, but, as many a
+      captive has found in those and other days, right is no Joshua&rsquo;s trumpet to
+      cause high walls to fall. Moreover, Cicely would not aid her. Now that her
+      husband was dead she took interest in one thing only&mdash;his child who
+      was to be.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For the rest she seemed to care nothing. Since she had no friends with
+      whom she could communicate, and her wealth, as she understood, had been
+      taken from her, what better place, she asked, could there be for that
+      child to see the light than in this quiet Nunnery? When it was born and
+      she was well again she would consider other matters. Meanwhile she was
+      languid, and why was Emlyn always prating to her of freedom? If she were
+      free, what should she do and whither should she go? The nuns were very
+      kind to her; they loved her as she did them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So she talked on, and Emlyn, listening, did not dare to tell her the
+      truth: that here she feared for the life of her child, dreading lest that
+      news might bring about the death of both of them. So she let her be, and
+      fell back on her own wits.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      First she thought of escape, only to abandon the idea, for her mistress
+      was in no state to face its perils. Moreover, whither should they go? Then
+      rescue came into her mind, but, alas! who would rescue them? The great men
+      in London, perhaps, as a matter of policy, but great men are hard to come
+      at, even for the free. If she were free she might find means to make them
+      listen, but she was not, nor could she leave her lady at such a time. What
+      remained, then? So to contrive that they should be set free.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Perhaps it might be done at a price&mdash;that of Cicely&rsquo;s jewels, of
+      which she alone knew the hiding-place, and with them a deed of indemnity
+      against her persecutors. Emlyn was not minded to give either. Moreover,
+      she guessed that it might be in vain. Once outside those walls, they knew
+      too much to be allowed to live. And yet within those walls Cicely&rsquo;s child
+      would not be allowed to live&mdash;the child that was heir to all. What,
+      then, could loose them and make them safe?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Terror, perhaps&mdash;such terror as that through which the Israelites
+      escaped from bondage. Oh! if she could but find a Moses to call down the
+      plagues of Egypt upon this Pharaoh of an Abbot&mdash;those plagues with
+      which she had threatened him&mdash;but although she believed that they
+      would fall (why did she believe it? she wondered), she was as yet impotent
+      to fulfil.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now Thomas Bolle! If only she could have words with that faithful Thomas
+      Bolle, the fierce and cunning man whom they thought foolish!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This idea of Thomas Bolle took possession of Emlyn&rsquo;s mind&mdash;Thomas
+      Bolle, who had loved her all his life, who would die to serve her. She
+      strove in vain to get in touch with him. The old gardener was so deaf that
+      he could not, or would not, understand. The silly Bridget gave the letter
+      that she wrote to him to the Prioress by mistake, who burnt it before her
+      eyes and said nothing. The monks who brought provisions to the Nunnery
+      were always received by three of the sisters, set to spy on each other and
+      on them, so that she could not come near to them alone. The priest who
+      celebrated Mass was an old enemy of hers; with him she could do nothing,
+      and no one else was allowed to approach the place except once or twice the
+      Abbot, who was closeted for hours with the Prioress, but spoke to her no
+      more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Why, wondered Emlyn, should less than half-a-mile of space be such a
+      barrier between her and Thomas Bolle? If he stood within twenty yards of
+      her she could make him understand; why not, then, when he stood within
+      five hundred? This idea possessed her; these limitations of nature made
+      her mad. She refused to accept them. Night by night, lying brooding in her
+      bed, while Cicely slept in peace at her side, she threw out her strong
+      soul towards the soul of her old lover, Thomas Bolle, commanding him to
+      listen, to obey, to come.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At first nothing happened. Afterwards she had a vague sense of being
+      answered; although she could not see or hear him, she felt his presence.
+      Then one afternoon, looking from an upper dormer window, she saw a scuffle
+      going on outside the gateway, and heard angry voices. Thomas Bolle was
+      trying to force his way in at the door, whence he was repelled by the
+      Abbot&rsquo;s men who always watched there.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the evening she gathered the truth from the nuns, who did not know that
+      she was listening to what they said. It seemed that Thomas, whom they
+      spoke of as a madman or as drunk, had tried to break into the Nunnery.
+      When he was asked what he wanted, he answered that he did not know, but he
+      must speak with Emlyn Stower. At this tidings she smiled to herself, for
+      now she knew that he had heard her, and that in this way or in that he
+      would obey her summons and come.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Two days later Thomas came&mdash;thus.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The September evening was fading into night, and Emlyn, leaving Cicely
+      resting on her bed, which now she often did for a while before the
+      supper-hour, had gone into the garden to enjoy the pleasant air. There she
+      walked until she wearied of its sameness, then entered the old chapel by a
+      side door and sat herself down to think in the chancel, not far from a
+      life-sized statue of the Virgin, in painted oak, which stood here because
+      of its peculiarities, for the back half of it seemed to be built into the
+      masonry. Also the eye-sockets were empty, which suggested to the observant
+      Emlyn either that they had once held jewels or that this was no likeness
+      of the holy Mother, but rather one of the blind St. Lucy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      While Emlyn mused there quite alone&mdash;for at this hour none entered
+      the place, nor would until the next morning&mdash;she thought that she
+      heard strange noises, as of some one stirring, which came from the
+      neighbourhood of the statue. Now many would have been scared and departed;
+      but not so Emlyn, who only sat still and listened. Presently, without
+      moving her head, she looked also. As it happened, the light of the setting
+      sun, pouring through the west window, fell almost full upon the figure,
+      and by it she saw, or thought she saw, that the eye-sockets were no longer
+      empty; there were eyes in them which moved and flashed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now for a moment even Emlyn was frightened. Then she reasoned with
+      herself, reflecting that a priest or one of the nuns was watching her from
+      behind the statue, which they might do for as long as they pleased. Or
+      perhaps this was a miracle, such as she had heard so much of but never
+      seen. Well, why should she fear spies or miracles? She would sit where she
+      was and see what happened. Nor had she long to wait, for presently a
+      voice, a hoarse, manly voice, whispered&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Emlyn! Emlyn Stower!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she answered, also in a whisper. &ldquo;Who speaks?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who do you think?&rdquo; asked the voice, with a chuckle. &ldquo;A devil, perhaps.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, if it be a friendly devil I don&rsquo;t know that I mind, who need
+      company in this lone place. So appear, man or devil,&rdquo; answered Emlyn
+      stoutly. But in secret she crossed herself beneath her cape, for in those
+      days folk believed in the appearance of devils for no good purposes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The statue began to creak, then opened like a door, though very
+      unwillingly, as though its hinges had been fixed for a long, long time and
+      rusted in the damp, which was indeed the case. Inside of it, like a corpse
+      in an upright coffin, appeared a figure, a square, strong figure, clad in
+      a tattered monk&rsquo;s robe, surmounted by a large head with fiery red hair and
+      beetling brows, beneath which shone two wild grey eyes. Emlyn, whose heart
+      had stood still&mdash;for, after all, Satan is awkward company for a
+      mortal woman&mdash;waited till it gave a jump in her breast and went on
+      again as usual. Then she said quietly&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What are you doing here, Thomas Bolle?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is what I want to know, Emlyn. Night and day for weeks you have been
+      calling me, and so I came.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I have been calling you; but how did you come?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By the old monk&rsquo;s road. They have forgotten it long ago, but my
+      grandfather told me of it when I was a boy, and at last a fox showed me
+      where it ran. It&rsquo;s a dark road, and when first I tried it I thought I
+      should be poisoned, but now the air is none so bad. It ran to the Abbey
+      once, and may still, but my door and Mrs. Fox&rsquo;s is in the copse by the
+      park wall, where none would ever look for it. If you would like a cub to
+      play with, I will bring you one. Or perhaps you want something more than
+      cubs,&rdquo; he added, with his cunning laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, Thomas, I want much more. Man,&rdquo; she said fiercely, &ldquo;will you do what
+      I tell you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That depends, Mistress Emlyn. Have I not done what you told me all my
+      life, and for no reward?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She moved across the chancel and sat herself down against him, pushing the
+      image door almost to and speaking to him through the crack.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you have had no reward, Thomas,&rdquo; she said in a gentle voice, &ldquo;whose
+      fault was it? Not mine, I think. I loved you once when we were young, did
+      I not? I would have given myself to you, body and soul, would I not? Well,
+      who came between us and spoiled our lives?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The monks,&rdquo; groaned Thomas; &ldquo;the accursed monks, who married you to
+      Stower because he paid them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, the accursed monks. And now our youth has gone, and love&mdash;of
+      that sort&mdash;is behind us. I have been another man&rsquo;s wife, Thomas, who
+      might have been yours. Think of it&mdash;your loving wife, the mother of
+      your children. And you&mdash;they have tamed you and made you their
+      servant, their cattle-herd, the strong fellow to fetch and carry, the
+      half-wit, as they call you, who can still be trusted to run an errand and
+      hold his tongue, the Abbey mule that does not dare to kick, the grieve of
+      your own stolen lands&mdash;you, whose father was almost a gentleman.
+      That&rsquo;s what they have done for you, Thomas; and for me, the Church&rsquo;s ward&mdash;well,
+      I will not speak of it. Now, if you had your will, what would you do for
+      them?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do for them? Do for them?&rdquo; gasped Thomas, worked up to fury by this
+      recital of his wrongs. &ldquo;Why, if I dared I&rsquo;d cut their throats, every one,
+      and grallock them like deer,&rdquo; and he ground his strong white teeth. &ldquo;But I
+      am afraid. They have my soul, and month by month I must confess. You
+      remember, Emlyn, I warned you when you and the lady would have ridden to
+      London before the siege. Well, afterward&mdash;I must confess it&mdash;the
+      Abbot heard it himself, and oh! sore, sore was my penance. Before I had
+      done with it my ribs showed through my skin and my back was like a red
+      osier basket. There&rsquo;s only one thing I didn&rsquo;t tell them, because, after
+      all, it is no sin to grub the earth off the face of a corpse.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; said Emlyn, looking at him. &ldquo;You&rsquo;re not to be trusted. Well, I
+      thought as much. Good-bye, Thomas Bolle, you coward. I&rsquo;ll find me a man
+      for a friend, not a whimpering, priest-ridden hound who sets a Latin
+      blessing which he does not understand above his honour. God in heaven! to
+      think I should ever have loved such a thing. Oh! I am shamed, I am shamed.
+      I&rsquo;ll go wash my hands. Shut your trap and get you gone down your rat-run,
+      Thomas Bolle, and, living or dead, never dare to speak to me again. Also
+      forget not to tell your monks how I called you to my side&mdash;for that&rsquo;s
+      witchcraft, you know, and I shall burn for it, and your soul gain benefit.
+      God in heaven! to think that once you were Thomas Bolle,&rdquo; and she made as
+      though to go away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He stretched out his great arm and caught her by the robe, exclaiming&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What would you have me do, Emlyn? I can&rsquo;t bear your scorn. Take it off me
+      or I go kill myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s what you had best do. You&rsquo;ll find the devil a better master than a
+      foreign abbot. Farewell for ever.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, nay; what&rsquo;s your will? Soul or no soul, I&rsquo;ll work it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will you? Will you indeed? If so, stay a moment,&rdquo; and she ran down the
+      chapel, bolting the doors; then returned to him, saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now come forth, Thomas, and since you are once more a man, kiss me as you
+      used to do twenty years ago and more. You&rsquo;ll not confess to that, will
+      you? There. Now, kneel before the altar here and swear an oath. Nay,
+      listen to it before you swear, for it is wide.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Emlyn said the oath to him. It was a great and terrible oath. Under it he
+      bound himself to be her slave and join himself with her in working woe to
+      the monks of Blossholme, and especially to their Abbot, Clement Maldon, in
+      payment of the wrongs that these had done to them both; in payment for the
+      murder of Sir John Foterell and of Christopher Harflete, and of the
+      imprisonment and robbery of Cicely Harflete, the daughter of the one and
+      the wife of the other. He bound himself to do those things which she
+      should tell him. He bound himself neither in the confessional nor, should
+      it come to that, on the bed of torture or the scaffold to breathe a word
+      of all their counsel. He prayed that if he did so his soul might pay the
+      price in everlasting torment, and of all these things he took Heaven to be
+      his witness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now,&rdquo; said Emlyn, when she had finished setting out this fearful vow,
+      &ldquo;will you be a man and swear and thereby avenge the dead and save the
+      innocent from death; or will you who have my secret be a crawling monk and
+      go back to Blossholme Abbey and betray me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He thought a moment, rubbing his red head, for the thing frightened him,
+      as well it might. The scales of the balance of his mind hung evenly, and
+      Emlyn knew not which way they would turn. She saw, and put out all her
+      woman&rsquo;s strength. Resting her hand upon his shoulder, she leaned forward
+      and whispered into his ear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you remember, Thomas, how first we told our young love that spring day
+      down in the copse by the water, and how sweet the daffodils bloomed about
+      our feet&mdash;the daffodils and the wood-lilies? Do you remember how we
+      swore ourselves each to each for all our lives, aye, and all the lives
+      that were to come, and how for us two the earth was turned to heaven? And
+      then&mdash;do you remember how that monk walked by&mdash;it was this
+      Clement Maldon&mdash;and froze us with his cruel eyes, and said, &lsquo;What do
+      you with the witch&rsquo;s daughter? She is not for you.&rsquo; And&mdash;oh! Thomas,
+      I can no more of it,&rdquo; and she broke down and sobbed, then added, &ldquo;Swear
+      nothing; get you gone and betray me, if you will. I&rsquo;ll bear you no malice,
+      even when I die for it, for after more than twenty years of monkcraft, how
+      could I hope that you would still remain a man? Come, get you gone
+      swiftly, ere they take us together, and your fair fame is besmirched.
+      Quick, now, and leave me and my lady and her unborn child to the doom
+      Maldon brews for us. Alas! for the copse by the river; alas! for the
+      withered lilies!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thomas heard; the big blue veins stood out upon his forehead, his great
+      breast heaved, his utterance choked. At length the words came in a thick
+      torrent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll not go, dearie; I&rsquo;ll swear what you will, by your eyes and by your
+      lips, by the flowers on which we trod, by all the empty years of aching
+      woe and shame, by God upon His throne in heaven, and by the devil in his
+      fires in hell. Come, come,&rdquo; and he ran to the altar and clasped the
+      crucifix that stood there. &ldquo;Say the words again, or any others that you
+      will, and I&rsquo;ll repeat them and take the oath, and may fiery worms eat me
+      living for ever and ever if I break a letter of it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With a little smile of triumph in her dark eyes Emlyn bent over the
+      kneeling man and whispered&mdash;whispered through the gathering bloom,
+      while he whispered after her, and kissed the Rood in token.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was done, and they drew away from the altar back to the painted saint.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So you are a man after all,&rdquo; she said, laughing aloud. &ldquo;Now, man&mdash;my
+      man&mdash;who, if we live through this, shall be my husband if you will&mdash;yes,
+      my husband, for I&rsquo;ll pay, and be proud of it&mdash;listen to my commands.
+      See you, I am Moses, and yonder in the Abbey sits Pharaoh with a hardened
+      heart, and you are the angel&mdash;the destroying angel with the sword of
+      the plagues of Egypt. To-night there will be fire in the Abbey&mdash;such
+      fire as fell on Cranwell Towers. Nay, nay, I know; the church will not
+      burn, nor all the great stone halls. But the dormitories, and the
+      storehouses, and the hayricks, and the cattle-byres, they&rsquo;ll flame bravely
+      after this time of drought, and if the wains are ashes, how will they draw
+      in their harvest? Will you do it, my man?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Surely. Have I not sworn?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then away to the work, and afterwards&mdash;to-morrow or next day&mdash;come
+      back and make report. Just now I am much moved to solitary prayer, so wait
+      till you see me here alone upon my knees. Stay! Wrap yourself in
+      grave-clothes, for then if you are seen they will think you are a ghost,
+      such as they say haunt this place. Fear not, by then I will have more work
+      for you. Have you mastered it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He nodded his head. &ldquo;All. All, especially your promise. Oh! I&rsquo;ll not die
+      now; I&rsquo;ll live to claim it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good. There&rsquo;s on account,&rdquo; and again she kissed him. &ldquo;Go.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He reeled in the intoxication of his joy; then said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;One word; my head swims; I forgot. Sir Christopher is not dead, or wasn&rsquo;t&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo; she almost hissed at him. &ldquo;In Christ&rsquo;s name be quick;
+      I hear voices without.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They buried another man for Christopher. I scraped him up and saw.
+      Christopher was sent foreign, sore wounded, on the ship&mdash;pest! I have
+      forgotten its name&mdash;the same ship that took Jeffrey Stokes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Blessings on your head for that tidings,&rdquo; exclaimed Emlyn, in a strange,
+      low voice. &ldquo;Away; they are coming to the door!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The wooden figure creaked to and stared at her blandly, as it had stared
+      for generations. For a moment Emlyn stood still, her hand upon her heart.
+      Then she walked swiftly down the chapel, unlocked the door, and in the
+      porch, just entering it, met the Prioress Matilda, another nun, and old
+      Bridget, who was chattering.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! it is you, Mistress Stower,&rdquo; said Mother Matilda, with evident
+      relief. &ldquo;Sister Bridget here swore that she heard a man talking in the
+      chapel when she came to shut the outer window at sunset.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did she?&rdquo; answered Emlyn indifferently. &ldquo;Then her luck&rsquo;s better than my
+      own, who long for the sound of a man&rsquo;s voice in this home of babbling
+      women. Nay, be not shocked, good Mother; I am no nun, and God did not
+      create the world all female, or we should none of us be here. But, now you
+      speak of it, I think there&rsquo;s something strange about that chapel. It is a
+      place where some might fear to be alone, for twice when I knelt there at
+      my prayers I have heard odd sounds, and once, when there was no sun, a
+      cold shadow fell upon me. Some ghost of the dead, I suppose, of whom so
+      many lie about. Well, ghosts I never feared; and now I must away to fetch
+      my lady&rsquo;s supper, for she eats in her room to-night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When she had gone the Prioress shook her head and remarked in her gentle
+      fashion&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A strange woman and a rough, but, my sisters, we must not judge her
+      harshly, for she is of a different world to ours, and I fear has met with
+      sorrows there, such as we are protected from by our holy office.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; answered the sister, &ldquo;but I think also that she has met with the
+      ghost that haunts the chapel, of which there are many records, and that
+      once I saw myself when I was a novice. The Prioress Matilda&mdash;I mean
+      the fourth of that name, she who was mixed up with Edward the Lame, the
+      monk, and died suddenly after the&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Peace, sister; let us have no scandal about that departed&mdash;woman,
+      who left the earth two hundred years ago. Also, if her unquiet spirit
+      still haunts the place, as many say, I know not why it should speak with
+      the voice of a man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps it was the monk Edward&rsquo;s voice that Bridget heard,&rdquo; replied the
+      sister, &ldquo;for no doubt he still hangs about her skirts as he did in life,
+      if all tales are true. Well, Mistress Emlyn says that she does not mind
+      ghosts, and I can well believe it, for she is a witch&rsquo;s daughter, and has
+      a strange look in her eyes. Did you ever see such bold eyes, Mother?
+      However it may be, I hate ghosts, and rather would I pass a month on bread
+      and water than be alone in that chapel at or after sundown. My back creeps
+      to think of it, for they say that the unhallowed babe walks too, and
+      gibbers round the font seeking baptism&mdash;ugh!&rdquo; and she shuddered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Peace, sister, peace to your goblin talk,&rdquo; said Mother Matilda again.
+      &ldquo;Let us think of holier things lest the foul fiend draw near to us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      That night, about one in the morning, the foul fiend drew very near to
+      Blossholme, and he came in the shape of fire. Suddenly the nuns were
+      aroused from their beds by the sound of bells tolling wildly. Running to
+      the window-places, they saw great sheets of flame leaping from the Abbey
+      roofs. They threw open the casements and stared out terrified. Sister
+      Bridget was sent even to wake the deaf gardener and his wife, who lived in
+      the gateway, and command them to go forth and learn what passed, and the
+      meaning of the shouts they heard, for they feared that Blossholme was
+      attacked by some army.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A long while went by, and Bridget returned with a confused tale, which, as
+      it had been gathered by an imbecile from a deaf gardener, was not easy to
+      understand. Meanwhile the shoutings went on and the fire at the Abbey
+      burnt ever more fiercely, so that the nuns thought that their last hour
+      had come, and knelt down to pray at the casement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Just then Cicely and Emlyn appeared among them, and stared at the great
+      fire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Suddenly Cicely turned round, and, fixing her large blue eyes on Emlyn,
+      said, in the hearing of them all&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Abbey burns. Why, Nurse, they told me that you said it would be so,
+      yonder amid the ashes of Cranwell Towers. Surely you are foresighted.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fire calls for fire,&rdquo; answered Emlyn grimly, and the nuns around looked
+      at her with doubtful eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a very fierce fire, which appeared to have begun in the
+      dormitories, whence, even at that distance, they saw half-clad monks
+      escaping through the windows, some by means of bed-coverings tied together
+      and some by jumping, notwithstanding the height. Presently the roof of the
+      building fell in, sending up showers of glowing embers, which lit upon the
+      thatch of the farm byres and sheds, and upon the ricks built and building
+      in the stackyard, so that all these caught also, and before dawn were
+      utterly consumed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One by one the watchers in the Nunnery wearied of the lamentable sight,
+      and muttering prayers, departed terrified to their beds. But Emlyn sat on
+      at the open casement till the rim of the splendid September sun showed
+      above the hills. There she sat, her head resting on her hand, her strong
+      face set like that of a statue. Only her dark eyes, in which the flames
+      were reflected, seemed to smile hardly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thomas is a great tool,&rdquo; she muttered to herself at length, &ldquo;and the
+      first cut has bitten to the bone. Well, there shall be worse to come. You
+      will live to beg Emlyn&rsquo;s mercy yet, Clement Maldonado.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER IX
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      THE BLOSSHOLME WITCHINGS
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      On the afternoon of that day the Abbot came again to visit the Nunnery,
+      and sent for Cicely and Emlyn. They found him alone in the guest-hall,
+      walking up and down its length with a troubled face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cicely Foterell,&rdquo; he said, without any form of greeting, &ldquo;when last we
+      met you refused to sign the deed which I brought with me. Well, it matters
+      nothing, for that purchaser has gone back upon his bargain.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Saying that he liked not the title?&rdquo; suggested Cicely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye; though who taught you of titles and the ins and outs of law? But
+      what need to ask&mdash;&mdash;?&rdquo; and he glowered at Emlyn. &ldquo;Well, let it
+      pass, for now I have a paper with me that you <i>must</i> sign. Read it if
+      you will. It is harmless&mdash;only an instruction to the tenants of the
+      lands your father held to pay their rents to me this Michaelmas, as warden
+      of that property.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do they refuse, then, seeing that you hold it all, my Lord Abbot?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, some one has been at work among them, and the stubborn churls will
+      not without instruction under your hand and seal. The farms your father
+      worked himself I have reaped, but last night every grain of corn and every
+      fleece of wool were burned in the fire.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I pray you keep account of them, my Lord, that you may pay me their
+      value when we come to settle our score, seeing that I never gave you leave
+      to shear my sheep and harvest my corn.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are pleased to be saucy, girl,&rdquo; he replied, biting his lip. &ldquo;I have
+      no time to bandy words&mdash;sign, and do you witness, Emlyn Stower.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely took the document, glanced at it, then slowly tore it into four
+      pieces and threw it to the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Rob me and my unborn child if you can and will, at least I&rsquo;ll be no
+      thief&rsquo;s partner,&rdquo; she said quietly. &ldquo;Now, if you want my name, go forge
+      it, for I sign nothing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot&rsquo;s face grew very evil.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you remember, woman,&rdquo; he asked, &ldquo;that here you are in my power? Do you
+      not know that rebellious sinners such as you are can be shut in a dark
+      dungeon and fed on the bread and water of affliction and beaten with the
+      rods of penance? Will you do my bidding, or shall these things fall on
+      you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely&rsquo;s beautiful face flushed up, and for a moment her blue eyes filled
+      with the tears of shame and terror. Then they cleared again, and she
+      looked at him boldly and answered&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know that a murderer can be a torturer also. Why should not he who
+      butchered the father scourge the daughter too? But I know also that there
+      is a God who protects the innocent, though sometimes He is slow to lift
+      His hand, and to Him I appeal, my Lord Abbot. I know, moreover, that I am
+      Foterell and Carfax, and that no man or woman of my blood has ever yet
+      yielded to fear or pain. I sign nothing,&rdquo; and, turning, she left the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now the Abbot and Emlyn were alone. Suddenly, before she could speak, for
+      her tongue was tied with rage, he began to rate and curse her and to
+      threaten horrible things against her and her mistress, such things as only
+      a cruel Spaniard could imagine. At length he paused for breath, and she
+      broke in&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Peace, wicked man, lest the roof fall on you, for I am sure that every
+      cruel word you speak shall become a snake to strike you. Will you not take
+      warning by what befell you last night, or must there be more such
+      lessons?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oho!&rdquo; he answered; &ldquo;so you know of that, do you? As I thought, your
+      witchcraft was at work there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How can I help knowing what the whole sky blazoned? The fat monks of
+      Blossholme must draw their girdles tight this winter. Those stolen lands
+      bring no luck, it seems, and John Foterell&rsquo;s blood has turned to fire. Be
+      warned, I say, be warned. Nay, I&rsquo;ll hear no more of your foul tongue. Lay
+      a finger on that poor lady if you dare, and pay the price,&rdquo; and she too
+      turned and went.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ere he left the Nunnery the Abbot had an interview with Mother Matilda.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely must be disciplined, he said; gently at first, afterwards with
+      roughness, even to scourging, if need were&mdash;for her soul&rsquo;s sake. Also
+      her servant Emlyn must be kept away from her&mdash;for her soul&rsquo;s sake,
+      since without doubt she was a dangerous witch. Also, when the time of the
+      birth of the child came on, he would send a wise woman to wait upon her,
+      one who was accustomed to such cases&mdash;for her body&rsquo;s sake and that of
+      her child. In the midst of the great trouble that had fallen upon them
+      through the terrible fire at the Abbey, which had cost them such fearful
+      loss, to say nothing of the lives of two of the servants and others burned
+      and maimed, he had not much time to talk of such small things; but did she
+      understand?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then it was that Mother Matilda, the meek and gentle, brought pain and
+      astonishment to the heart of the Lord Abbot, her spiritual superior.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She did not understand in the least. Such discipline as he suggested,
+      whatever might be her faults and frailty, was, she declared with vigour,
+      entirely unsuited to the case of the Lady Cicely, who, in her opinion, had
+      suffered much for a small cause, and who, moreover, was about to become a
+      mother, and therefore should be treated with every gentleness. For her
+      part, she washed her hands of the whole business, and rather than enforce
+      such commands would lay the case before the Vicar-General in London, who,
+      she understood, was ready to look into such matters. Or at least she would
+      set the Lady Harflete and her servant outside the gates and call upon the
+      charitable to assist them. Of course, however, if his Lordship chose to
+      send a skilled woman to wait upon her in her trouble, she could have no
+      objection, provided that this woman were a person of good repute. But in
+      the circumstances it was idle to talk to her of bread and water and dark
+      cells and scourgings. Such things should never happen while she was
+      Prioress. Before they did, she and her sisters would walk out of the
+      Nunnery and leave the King&rsquo;s Courts to judge of the matter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now the state of the Abbot was very like to that of a terrier dog which,
+      being accustomed to worry and torment a certain ewe-sheep, comes upon the
+      same after it has lambed and finds a new creature&mdash;one that, instead
+      of running in affright, turns upon it and, with head and hood and all its
+      weight of mutton, butts, and leaps, and tramples. Then what chance has
+      that dog against the terrible and unsuspected fury of the sheep, born, as
+      it thought, for it to tear? Then what can it do but run, panting and
+      discomfited, to its kennel? So it was with the Abbot at the onslaught of
+      Mother Matilda in the defence of her lamb&mdash;Cicely. With Emlyn he had
+      been prepared to exchange bite for bite&mdash;but Mother Matilda! his own
+      pet quarry. It was too much. He could only go away, cursing all women and
+      their infinite variety, on which no man might build. Who would have
+      thought it of Mother Matilda, of all people on the earth!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So it came to pass that at the Nunnery, notwithstanding these terrible
+      threats, things went on much as they had done before, since the times were
+      such that even an all-powerful and remote Lord Abbot, with &ldquo;right of
+      gallows,&rdquo; could not drive matters to an extremity. Cicely was not shut
+      into the dungeon and fed on bread and water, much less was she scourged.
+      Nor was she separated from her nurse Emlyn, although it is true that the
+      Prioress reproved her for her resistance to established authority, and
+      when she had finished her lecture, kissed and blessed her, and called her
+      &ldquo;her sweet child, her dove and joy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But if there was sameness at the Nunnery, at the Abbey there was constant
+      change and excitement. Only three days after the fire the great flock of
+      eight hundred lambs rushed one night over the Red Cliff on the fell,
+      where, as all shepherds in that country know, there is a sheer drop of
+      forty feet. Never was lamb&rsquo;s flesh so cheap in Blossholme and the country
+      round as on the morrow of that night, while every hind within ten miles
+      could have a winter coat for the skinning. Moreover, it was said and sworn
+      to by the shepherds that the devil himself, with horns and hoofs, and
+      mounted on a jackass, had been seen driving the same lambs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Next the ghost of Sir John Foterell appeared, clad in armour, sometimes
+      mounted and sometimes afoot, but always at night-time. First this dreadful
+      spirit was perceived walking in the gardens of Shefton Hall, where it met
+      the Abbot&rsquo;s caretaker&mdash;for the place was now shut up&mdash;as he went
+      to set a springe for hares. He was a man advanced in years, yet few horses
+      ever covered the distance between Shefton and Blossholme Abbey more
+      quickly than he did that night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Nor would he or any other return to his charge, so that henceforth Shefton
+      was left as a dwelling for the ghost, which, as all might see from time to
+      time, shone in the window-places like a candle. Moreover, the said ghost
+      travelled far and wide, for on dark, windy nights it knocked upon the
+      doors of those that in its lifetime had been its tenants, and in a hollow
+      voice declared that it had been murdered by the Abbot of Blossholme and
+      his underlings, who held its daughter in durance, and, under threats of
+      unearthly vengeance, commanded all men to bring him to justice, and to pay
+      him neither fees nor homage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So much terror did this ghost cause that Thomas Bolle, the swift of foot,
+      was set to watch for it, and returned announcing that he had seen it and
+      that it called him by his name, whereon he, being a bold fellow and
+      believing that it was but a man, sent an arrow straight through it, at
+      which it laughed and forthwith vanished away. More; in proof of these
+      things he led the Abbot and his monks to the very place, and showed them
+      where he had stood and where the ghost stood&mdash;yes, and the arrow, of
+      which all the feathers had been mysteriously burnt off and the wood seared
+      as though by fire, sunk deep into a tree beyond. Then, as this thing had
+      become a scandal and a dread, the Abbot, in his robes, solemnly laid the
+      ghost, Thomas Bolle showing him exactly where it had passed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This spirit being well and truly laid (like a foundation-stone), the Abbot
+      and his monks returned homeward through the wood, but as they went a
+      dreadful voice, which all recognized as that of Sir John Foterell, called
+      these words from the shadows of an impenetrable thicket&mdash;for now the
+      night was falling&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Clement Maldonado, Abbot of Blossholme, I, whom thou didst murder, summon
+      thee to meet me within a year before the throne of God.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thereon all fled; yes, even the Abbot fled, or rather, as he said, his
+      horse did, Thomas Bolle, who had lagged behind, outrunning them every one
+      and getting home the first, saying <i>Aves</i> as he went.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After this, although the whole countryside hunted for it, Sir John&rsquo;s ghost
+      was seen no more. Doubtless its work was done; but the Abbot explained
+      matters differently. Other and worse things were seen, however.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One moonlight night a disturbance was heard among the cows, that bellowed
+      and rushed about the field into which they had been turned after milking.
+      Thinking that dogs had got amongst them, the herd and a watchman&mdash;for
+      now no man would stir alone after sunset at Blossholme&mdash;went to see
+      what was happening, and presently fell down half dead with fright. For
+      there, leaning over the gate and laughing at them, was the foul fiend
+      himself&mdash;the fiend with horns and tail, and in his hand an instrument
+      like a pitchfork.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      How the pair got home again, they never knew, but this is certain, that
+      after that night no one could milk those cows; moreover, some of them
+      slipped their calves, and became so wild that they must be slaughtered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Next came rumours that even the Nunnery itself was haunted, especially the
+      chapel. Here voices were heard talking, and Emlyn Stower, who was praying
+      there, came out vowing that she had seen a ball of fire which rolled up
+      and down the aisle, and in the centre of it a man&rsquo;s head, that seemed to
+      try to talk to her, but could not.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Into this matter inquiry was held by the Abbot himself, who asked Emlyn if
+      she knew the face that was in the ball of fire. She answered that she
+      thought so. It seemed very like to one of his own guards, named Andrew
+      Woods, or more commonly Drunken Andrew, a Scotchman whom Sir Christopher
+      Harflete was said to have killed on the night of the great burning. At
+      least his Lordship would remember that this Andrew had a broken nose, and
+      so had the head in the fire, but, as it appeared to have changed a great
+      deal since death, she could not be quite certain. All she was sure of was
+      that it seemed to be trying to give her some message.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now, recalling the trick that had been played with the said Andrew&rsquo;s body,
+      the Abbot was silent. Only he asked shrewdly, if Emlyn had seen so
+      terrible a thing there, how it came about that she was not afraid to be
+      alone in the chapel, which he was informed she frequented much. She
+      answered, with a laugh, that it was men she dreaded, not spirits, good or
+      ill.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; he exclaimed, with a burst of rage, &ldquo;you do not dread them, woman,
+      because you are a witch, and summon them; nor shall we be free from these
+      wizardries until the fire has you and your company.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If so,&rdquo; replied Emlyn coolly, &ldquo;I will ask dead Andrew for his message to
+      you next time we meet, unless he chooses to deliver it to you himself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So they parted, but that very night there happened the worst thing of all.
+      It was about one in the morning when the Abbot, whose window was set open,
+      was wakened by a voice that spoke with a Scotch accent and repeatedly
+      called him by his name, summoning him to look out and see. He and others
+      rose and looked, but could see nothing, for the night was very dark and
+      rain fell. When the dawn came, however, their search was rewarded, for
+      there, set upon a pinnacle of the Abbey church, and staring straight into
+      the window of his Lordship&rsquo;s sleeping-room, from which it was but a few
+      yards distant, was the dreadful head of Andrew Woods!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Furiously the Abbot asked who had done this horrible thing, but the monks,
+      who were sure that it was the same being that had bewitched the cows, only
+      shrugged their shoulders, and suggested that the grave of Andrew should be
+      opened to see if he had lost his head. This was done at length, although,
+      for his own reasons, the Abbot forbade it, talking of the violation of the
+      dead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Well, the grave was opened when Maldon was away on one of his mysterious
+      journeys, and lo! no Andrew was there, but only a beam of oakwood stuffed
+      out with straw to the shape of a man and sewn up in a blanket. For the
+      real Andrew, or rather what was left of him, lay, it may be remembered, in
+      another grave that was supposed to be filled by Sir Christopher Harflete.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From this day forward the whole countryside for fifty miles round rang
+      with the tales of what were known as the Blossholme witchings, of which a
+      proof was still to be seen by all men in the withered head of Andrew
+      perched upon its pinnacle, whence none could be found to remove it for
+      love or money. Only it was noted that the Abbot changed his
+      sleeping-chamber, after which, except for a sickness which struck the
+      monks&mdash;it was thought from the drinking of sour beer&mdash;these
+      bedevilments were abated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Indeed, at that time men had other things to think of, since the air was
+      thick with rumours of impending change. The King threatened the Church,
+      and the Church prepared to resist the King. There was talk of the
+      suppression of the monasteries&mdash;some, in fact, had already been
+      suppressed&mdash;and more talk of a rising of the faithful in the shires
+      of York and Lincoln; high matters which called Abbot Maldon much away from
+      home.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One day he returned weary, but satisfied, from a long journey, and amongst
+      the news that awaited him found a message from the Prioress, over which he
+      pondered while he ate his food. Also there was a letter from Spain, which
+      he studied eagerly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Some nine months had passed since the ship <i>Great Yarmouth</i> sailed,
+      and during this time all that had been heard of her was that she had never
+      reached Seville, so that, like every one else, the Abbot believed she had
+      foundered in the deep seas. This was a sad event which he had borne with
+      resignation, seeing that, although it meant the loss of his letters, which
+      were of importance, she had aboard of her several persons whom he wished
+      to see no more, especially Sir Christopher Harflete and Sir John
+      Foterell&rsquo;s serving-man, Jeffrey Stokes, who was said to carry with him
+      certain inconvenient documents. Even his secretary and chaplain, Brother
+      Martin, could be spared, being, Maldon felt, a character better suited to
+      heaven than to an earth where the best of men must be prepared sometimes
+      to compromise with conscience.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In short, the vanishing of the <i>Great Yarmouth</i> was the wise decree
+      of a far-seeing Providence, that had removed certain stumbling-blocks from
+      his feet, which of late had been forced to travel over a rough and thorny
+      road. For the dead tell no tales, although it was true that the ghost of
+      Sir John Foterell and the grinning head of Drunken Andrew on his pinnacle
+      seemed to be instances to the contrary. Christopher Harflete and Jeffrey
+      Stokes at the bottom of the Bay of Biscay could bring no awkward charges,
+      and left him none to deal with save an imprisoned and forgotten girl and
+      an unborn child.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now things were changed again, however, for the Spanish letter in his hand
+      told him that the <i>Great Yarmouth</i> had not sunk, since two members of
+      her crew who escaped&mdash;how, it was not said&mdash;declared that she
+      had been captured by Turkish or other infidel pirates and taken away
+      through the Straits of Gibraltar to some place unknown. Therefore, if he
+      had survived the voyage, Christopher Harflete might still be living, and
+      so might Jeffrey Stokes and Brother Martin. Yet this was not likely, for
+      probably they would have perished in the fight, being hot-headed
+      Englishmen, all three of them, or at the best have been committed to the
+      Turkish galleys, whence not one man in a thousand ever returned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the whole, then, he had little cause to fear them, who were dead, or as
+      good as dead, especially in the midst of so many more pressing dangers.
+      All he had to fear, all that stood between him, or rather the Church, and
+      a very rich inheritance was the girl in the Nunnery and an unborn child,
+      and&mdash;yes, Emlyn Stower. Well, he was sure that the child would not
+      live, and probably the mother would not live. As for Emlyn, as she
+      deserved, she would be burned for a witch, ere long too, now that he had
+      time to see to it, and, if she survived her sickness, although he grieved
+      for her, Cicely, her accomplice, should justly accompany her to the stake.
+      Meanwhile, as Mother Matilda&rsquo;s message told him, this matter of the child
+      was urgent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot called a monk who was waiting on him and bade him send word to a
+      woman known as Goody Megges, bidding her come at once. Within ten minutes
+      she entered, having, as she explained, been warned to be close at hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This Goody Megges, who had some local repute as a &ldquo;wise woman,&rdquo; was a
+      person of about fifty years of age, remarkable for her enormous size, a
+      flat face with small oblong eyes and a little, twisted mouth, which had
+      caused her to be nicknamed &ldquo;the Flounder.&rdquo; She greeted the Abbot with much
+      reverence, curtseying till he thought she would fall backwards, and having
+      received his fatherly blessing, sank into a chair, that seemed to vanish
+      beneath her bulk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will wonder why I summon you here, friend, since this is no place for
+      the services of those of your trade,&rdquo; began the Abbot, with a smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no, my Lord,&rdquo; answered the woman; &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve heard it is to wait upon Sir
+      Christopher Harflete&rsquo;s wife in her trouble.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wish that I could call her by the honoured name of wife,&rdquo; said the
+      Abbot, with a sigh. &ldquo;But a mock-marriage does not make a wife, Mistress
+      Megges, and, alas! the poor babe, if ever it should be born, will be but a
+      bastard, marked from its birth with the brand of shame.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now, the Flounder, who was no fool, began to take her cue.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is sad, very sad, your Holiness&mdash;no, that&rsquo;s wrong; but never
+      mind, it will be right before all&rsquo;s done, and a good omen, I say, coming
+      so sudden and chancy&mdash;your Lordship, I mean&mdash;not but what
+      there&rsquo;s lots of the sort about here, as is generally the case round a&mdash;I
+      mean everywhere. Moreover, they generally grow up bad and ungrateful, as I
+      know well from my own three&mdash;not but what, of course, I was married
+      fast enough. Well, what I was going to say was, that when things is so,
+      sometimes it is a true blessing if the little innocents should go off at
+      the first, and so be spared the finger of shame and the sniff of scorn,&rdquo;
+       and she paused.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Mistress Megges, or at least in such a case it is not for us to rail
+      at the decree of Heaven&mdash;provided, of course, that the infant has
+      lived long enough to be baptized,&rdquo; he added hastily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, your Eminence, no. That&rsquo;s just what I said to that Smith girl last
+      spring, when, being a heavy sleeper, I happened to overlie her brat and
+      woke up to find it flat and blue. When she saw it she took on, bellowing
+      like a heifer that has lost its first calf, and I said to her, &lsquo;Mary, this
+      isn&rsquo;t me; it&rsquo;s Heaven. Mary, you should be very thankful, since my burden
+      has rid you of your burden, and you can bury such a tiny one for next to
+      nothing. Mary, cry a little if you like, for that&rsquo;s natural with the
+      first, but don&rsquo;t come here flying in the face of Heaven with your
+      railings, and gates, and posts&mdash;especially the rails, for Heaven
+      hates &lsquo;em.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; asked the Abbot, with mild interest, &ldquo;and pray what did Mary do
+      then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do, the graceless wench? Why, she said, &lsquo;Is it rails you&rsquo;re talking of,
+      you pig-smothering old sow? Then here&rsquo;s a rail for you,&rsquo; and she pulled
+      the top bar off my own fence&mdash;for we were talking by the door&mdash;oak
+      it was, and three by two&mdash;and knocked me flat&mdash;here&rsquo;s the scar
+      of it on my head&mdash;singing out, &lsquo;Is that enough, or will you have the
+      gate and the posts too?&rsquo; Oh! If there&rsquo;s one thing I hate, it is railing,
+      &lsquo;specially if made of hard oak and held edgeways.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So the wicked old hag babbled on, after her hideous fashion, while the
+      Abbot stared at the ceiling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Enough of these sad stories of vice and violence. Such mischances will
+      happen, and of course you were not to blame. Now, good Mistress Megges,
+      will you undertake this case, which cannot be left to ignorant nuns?
+      Though times are hard here, since of late many losses have fallen on our
+      house, your skill shall be well paid.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The woman shuffled her big feet and stared at the floor, then looked up
+      suddenly with a glance that seemed to bore to his heart like a bradawl,
+      and asked&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And if perchance the blessed babe should fly to heaven through my
+      fingers, as in my time I have known dozens of them do, should I still get
+      that pay?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then,&rdquo; the Abbot answered, with a smile&mdash;a somewhat sickly smile&mdash;&ldquo;then
+      I think, mistress, you should have double pay, to console you for your
+      sorrow and for any doubts that might be thrown upon your skill.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now that&rsquo;s noble trading,&rdquo; she replied, with an evil leer, &ldquo;such as one
+      might hope for from an Abbot. But, my Lord, they say the Nunnery is
+      haunted, and I can&rsquo;t face ghosts. Man or woman, with rails or without &lsquo;em,
+      Mother Flounder doesn&rsquo;t mind, but ghosts&mdash;no! Also Mistress Stower is
+      a witch, and might lay a curse on me; and those nuns are full of crinks
+      and cranks, and can pray an honest soul to death.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, come, my time is short. What is it you want, woman? Out with it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The inn there at the ford&mdash;your Lordship, will need a tenant next
+      month. It&rsquo;s a good paying house for those who know how to keep their
+      mouths shut and to look the other way, and through vile scandal and evil
+      slanderers, such as the Smith girl, my business isn&rsquo;t what it was. Now if
+      I could have it without rent for the first two years, till I had time to
+      work up the trade&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot, who could bear no more of the creature, rose from his chair and
+      said sharply&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will remember. Yes, I will promise. Go now; the reverend Mother is
+      advised of your coming. And report to me night and morning of the progress
+      of the case. Why, woman, what are you doing?&rdquo; for she had suddenly slid to
+      her knees and grasped his robes with her thick, filthy hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Absolution, holy Lordship; I ask absolution and blessing&mdash;<i>pax
+      Meggiscum</i>, and the rest of it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Absolution? There is nothing to absolve.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! yes, my Lord, there is plenty, though I am wondering who will absolve
+      <i>you</i> for your half. Also there are rows of little angels that
+      sometimes won&rsquo;t let me sleep, and that&rsquo;s why I can&rsquo;t stomach ghosts. I&rsquo;d
+      rather sup in winter on cold small ale and half-cooked pork than face even
+      a still-born ghost.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Begone!&rdquo; said the Abbot, in such a voice that she scrambled to her feet
+      and went, unblessed and unabsolved.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the door had closed behind her he went to the window and flung it
+      wide, although the night was foul.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By all the saints!&rdquo; he muttered, &ldquo;that beastly murderess poisons the air.
+      Why, I wonder, does God allow such filthy things to live? Cannot she ply
+      her hell-trade less grossly? Oh! Clement Maldonado, how low are you sunk
+      that you must use tools like these, and on such a business. And yet there
+      is no other way. Not for myself, but for the Church, O Lord! The great
+      plot thickens, and all men clamour to me, its head and spring, for money.
+      Give me money, and within six months Yorkshire and the North will be up,
+      and within a year Henry the Anti-Christ will be dead and the Princess
+      Mary fast upon the throne, with the Emperor and the Pope for watchdogs.
+      That stiff-necked Cicely must die and her babe must die, and then I&rsquo;ll
+      twist the secret of the jewels out of the witch, Emlyn&mdash;on the rack,
+      if need be. Those jewels&mdash;I&rsquo;ve seen them so often; why, they would
+      feed an army; but while Cicely or her brat lives where is my claim to
+      them? So, alas! they must die, but oh! the hag is right. Who shall give me
+      absolution for a deed I hate? Not for me, not for me, O my Patron, but for
+      the Church!&rdquo; and flinging himself to the floor before the holy image of
+      his chosen Saint, he rested his head upon its feet and wept.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER X
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      MOTHER MEGGES AND THE GHOST
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      Flounder Megges, with all the paraphernalia of her trade, was established
+      as nurse to Cicely at the Nunnery. This establishment, it is true, had not
+      been easy since Emlyn, who knew something of the woman&rsquo;s repute, and
+      suspected more, resisted it with all her strength, but here the Prioress
+      intervened in her gentle way. She herself, she explained, did not like
+      this person, who looked so odd, drank so much beer and talked so fast. Yet
+      she had made inquiries and found that she was extraordinarily skilled in
+      matters of that nature. Indeed, it was said that she had succeeded in
+      cases that were wonderfully difficult which the leech had abandoned as
+      hopeless, though of course there had been other cases where she had not
+      succeeded. But these, she was informed, were generally those of poor
+      people who did not pay her well. Now in this instance her pay would be
+      ample, for she, Mother Matilda, had promised her a splendid fee out of her
+      private store, and for the rest, since no man doctor might enter there,
+      who else was competent? Not she or the other nuns, for none of them had
+      been married save old Bridget, who was silly and had long ago forgotten
+      all such things. Not Emlyn even, who was but a girl when her own child was
+      born, and since then had been otherwise employed. Therefore there was no
+      choice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To this reasoning Emlyn agreed perforce, though she mistrusted her of the
+      fat wretch, whose appearance poor Cicely also disliked. Still, for very
+      fear Emlyn was humble and civil to her, for if she were not, who could
+      know if she would put out all her skill upon behalf of her mistress?
+      Therefore she did her bidding like a slave, and spiced her beer and made
+      her bed and even listened to her foul jests and talk unmurmuringly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The business was over at length, and the child, a noble boy, born into the
+      world. Had not the Flounder produced it in triumph laid upon a little
+      basket covered with a lamb-skin, and had not Emlyn and Mother Matilda and
+      all the nuns kissed and blessed it? Had it not also, for fear of accident
+      (such was the fatherly forethought of the Abbot), been baptized at once by
+      a priest who was waiting, under the names of John Christopher Foterell,
+      John after its grandfather and Christopher after its father, with Foterell
+      for a surname, since the Abbot would not allow that it should be called
+      Harflete, being, as he averred, base-born?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So this child was born, and Mother Megges swore that of all the two
+      hundred and three that she had issued into the world it was the finest,
+      nine and a half pounds in weight at the very least. Also, as its voice and
+      movements testified, it was lusty and like to live, for did not the
+      Flounder, in sight of all the wondering nuns, hold it up hanging by its
+      hands to her two fat forefingers, and afterwards drink a whole quart of
+      spiced ale to its health and long life?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But if the babe was like to live, Cicely was like to die. Indeed, she was
+      very, very ill, and perhaps would have passed away had it not been for a
+      device of Emlyn&rsquo;s. For when she was at her worst and the Flounder, shaking
+      her head and saying that she could do no more, had departed to her eternal
+      ale and a nap, Emlyn crept up and took her mistress&rsquo;s cold hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Darling,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;hear me,&rdquo; but Cicely did not stir. &ldquo;Darling,&rdquo; she
+      repeated, &ldquo;hear me, I have news for you of your husband.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely&rsquo;s white face turned a little on the pillow and her blue eyes
+      opened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of my husband?&rdquo; she whispered. &ldquo;Why, he is gone, as I soon shall be. What
+      news of him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That he is not gone, that he lives, or so I believe, though heretofore I
+      have hid it from you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The head was lifted for a moment, and the eyes stared at her with
+      wondering joy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you trick me, Nurse? Nay, you would never do that. Give me the milk, I
+      want it now. I&rsquo;ll listen. I promise you I&rsquo;ll not die till you have told
+      me. If Christopher lives why should I die who only hoped to find him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So Emlyn whispered all she knew. It was not much, only that Christopher
+      had not been buried in the grave where he was said to be buried, and that
+      he had been taken wounded aboard the ship <i>Great Yarmouth</i>, of the
+      fate of which ship fortunately she had heard nothing. Still, slight as
+      they might be, to Cicely these tidings were a magic medicine, for did they
+      not mean the rebirth of hope, hope that for nine long months had been dead
+      and buried with Christopher? From that moment she began to mend.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the Flounder, having slept off her drink, returned to the sick-bed,
+      she stared at her amazed and muttered something about witchcraft, she who
+      had been sure that she would die, as in those days so many women did who
+      fell into hands like hers. Indeed, she was bitterly disappointed, knowing
+      that this death was desired by her employer, who now after all might let
+      the Ford Inn to another. Moreover, the child was no waster, but one who
+      was set for life. Well, that at least she could mend, and if it were done
+      quickly the shock might kill the mother. Yet the thing was not so easy as
+      it looked, for there were many loving eyes upon that babe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When she wished to take it to her bed at night Emlyn forbade her fiercely,
+      and on being appealed to, the Prioress, who knew the creature&rsquo;s drunken
+      habits and had heard rumours of the fate of the Smith infant and others,
+      gave orders that it was not to be. So, since the mother was too weak to
+      have it with her, the boy was laid in a little cot at her side. And always
+      day and night one or more of the sweet-faced nuns stood at the head of
+      that cot watching as might a guardian angel. Also it took only Nature&rsquo;s
+      food since from the first Cicely would nurse it, so that she could not mix
+      any drug with its milk that would cause it to sleep itself away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So the days went on, bringing black wrath, despair almost, to the heart of
+      Mother Megges, till at length there came the chance she sought. One fine
+      evening, when the nuns were gathered at vespers, but as it happened not in
+      the chapel, because since the tale of the hauntings they shunned the place
+      after high noon, Cicely, whose strength was returning to her, asked Emlyn
+      to change her garments and remake her bed. Meanwhile, the babe was given
+      to Sister Bridget, who doted on it, with instructions to take it to walk
+      in the garden for a time, since the rain had passed off and the afternoon
+      was now very soft and pleasant. So she went, and there presently was met
+      by the Flounder, who was supposed to be asleep, but had followed her, a
+      person of whom the half-witted Bridget was much afraid.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What are you doing with my babe, old fool?&rdquo; she screeched at her,
+      thrusting her fat face to within an inch of the nun&rsquo;s. &ldquo;You&rsquo;ll let it fall
+      and I shall be blamed. Give me the angel or I will twist your nose for
+      you. Give it me, I say, and get you gone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In her fear and flurry old Bridget obeyed and departed at a run. Then,
+      recovering herself a little, or drawn by some instinct, she returned, hid
+      herself in a clump of lilac bushes and watched.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Presently she saw the Flounder, after glancing about to make sure that she
+      was alone, enter the chapel, carrying the child, and heard her bolt the
+      door after her. Now Bridget, as she said afterwards, grew very frightened,
+      she knew not why, and, acting on impulse, ran to the chancel window and,
+      climbing on to a wheelbarrow that stood there, looked through it. This is
+      what she saw.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mother Megges was kneeling in the chancel, as she thought at first, to say
+      her prayers, till she perceived, for a ray from the setting sun showed it
+      all, that on the paving before her lay the infant and that this she-devil
+      was thrusting her thick forefinger down its throat, for already it grew
+      black in the face, and as she thrust muttering savagely. So horror-struck
+      was Bridget that she could neither move nor cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, while she stood petrified, suddenly there appeared the figure of a
+      man in rusty armour. The Flounder looked up, saw him and, withdrawing her
+      finger from the mouth of the child, let out yell after yell. The man, who
+      said nothing, drew a sword and lifted it, whereon the murderess screamed&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The ghost! The ghost! Spare me, Sir John, I am poor and he paid me. Spare
+      me for Christ&rsquo;s sake!&rdquo; and so saying, she rolled on to the floor in a fit,
+      and there turned and twisted until she lay still.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then the man, or the ghost of a man, having looked at her, sheathed his
+      sword and lifting up the babe, which now drew its breath again and cried,
+      marched with it down the aisle. The next thing of which Bridget became
+      aware was that he stood before her, the infant in his arms, holding it out
+      to her. His face she could not see, for the vizor was down, but he spoke
+      in a hollow voice, saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This gift from Heaven to the Lady Harflete. Bid her fear nothing, for one
+      devil I have garnered and the others are ripe for reaping.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bridget took the child and sank down on to the ground, and at that moment
+      the nuns, alarmed by the awful yells, rushed through the side door, headed
+      by Mother Matilda. They too saw the figure, and knew the Foterell
+      cognizance upon its helm and shield. But it waited not to speak to them,
+      only passed behind some trees and vanished.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Their first care was for the infant, which they thought the man was
+      stealing; then, after they were sure that it had taken no real hurt, they
+      questioned old Bridget, but could get nothing from her, for all she did
+      was to gibber and point first to the barrow and next to the chancel
+      window. At length Mother Matilda understood and, climbing on to the
+      barrow, looked through the window as Bridget had done. She looked, she
+      saw, and fell back fainting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      An hour had gone by. The child, unhurt save for a little bruising of its
+      tender mouth, was asleep upon its mother&rsquo;s breast. Bridget, having
+      recovered, at length had told all her tale to every one of them save
+      Cicely, who as yet knew nothing, for she and Emlyn did not hear the
+      screams, their rooms being on the other side of the building. The Abbot
+      had been sent for, and, accompanied by monks, arrived in the midst of a
+      thunder-storm and pouring rain. He, too, had heard the tale, heard it with
+      a pale face while his monks crossed themselves. At length he asked of the
+      woman Megges. They replied that living or dead she was, as they supposed,
+      still in the chapel, which none of them had dared to enter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, let us see,&rdquo; said the Abbot, and they went there to find the door
+      locked as Bridget had said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Smiths were sent for and broke it in while all stood in the pouring rain
+      and watched. It was open at last, and they entered with torches and
+      tapers, for now the darkness was dense, the Abbot leading them. They came
+      to the chancel, where something lay upon the floor, and held down the
+      torches to look. Then they saw that which caused them all to turn and fly,
+      calling on the saints to protect them. In her life Mother Megges had not
+      been lovely, but in the death that had overtaken her&mdash;&mdash;!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was morning. The Lord Abbot and his monks were assembled in the
+      guest-chamber, and opposite to them were the Lady Prioress and her nuns,
+      and with them Emlyn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Witchcraft!&rdquo; shouted the Abbot, smiting his fist upon the table, &ldquo;black
+      witchcraft! Satan himself and his foulest demons walk the countryside and
+      have their home in this Nunnery. Last night they manifested themselves&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By saving a babe from a cruel death and bringing a hateful murderess to
+      doom,&rdquo; broke in Emlyn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Silence, Sorceress,&rdquo; shouted the Abbot. &ldquo;Get thee behind me, Satan. I
+      know you and your familiars,&rdquo; and he glared at the Prioress.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What may you mean, my Lord Abbot?&rdquo; asked Mother Matilda, bridling up. &ldquo;My
+      sisters and I do not understand. Emlyn Stower is right. Do you call that
+      witchcraft which works so good an end? The ghost of Sir John Foterell
+      appeared here&mdash;we admit it who saw that ghost. But what did the
+      spirit do? It slew the hellish woman whom you sent among us and it rescued
+      the blessed babe when her finger was down its throat to choke out its pure
+      life. If that be witchcraft I stand by it. Tell us what did the wretch
+      mean when she cried out to the spirit to spare her because she was poor
+      and had been bribed for her iniquity? Who bribed her, my Lord Abbot? None
+      in this house, I&rsquo;ll swear. And who changed Sir John Foterell from flesh to
+      spirit? Why is he a ghost to-day?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Am I here to answer riddles, woman, and who are you that you dare put
+      such questions to me? I depose you, I set your house under ban. The
+      judgment of the Church shall be pronounced against you all. Dare not to
+      leave your doors until the Court is composed to try you. Think not you
+      shall escape. Your English land is sick and heresy stalks abroad; but,&rdquo; he
+      added slowly, &ldquo;fire can still bite and there is store of faggots in the
+      woods. Prepare your souls for judgment. Now I go.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do as it pleases you,&rdquo; answered the enraged Mother Matilda. &ldquo;When you set
+      out your case we will answer it; but, meanwhile, we pray that you take
+      what is left of your dead hireling with you, for we find her ill company
+      and here she shall have no burial. My Lord Abbot, the charter of this
+      Nunnery is from the monarch of England, whatever authority you and those
+      that went before you have usurped. It was granted by the first Edward, and
+      the appointment of every prioress since his day has been signed by the
+      sovereign and no other. I hold mine under the manual of the eighth Henry.
+      You cannot depose me, for I appeal from the Abbot to the King. Fare you
+      well, my Lord,&rdquo; and, followed by her little train of aged nuns, she swept
+      from the room like an offended queen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After the terrible death of the child-murderess and the restoration of her
+      babe to her unharmed, Cicely&rsquo;s recovery was swift. Within a week she was
+      up and walking, and within ten days as strong, or stronger, than ever she
+      had been. Nothing more had been heard of the Abbot, and though all knew
+      that danger threatened them from this quarter they were content to enjoy
+      the present hour of peace and wait till it was at hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But in Cicely&rsquo;s awakened mind there arose a keen desire to learn more of
+      what her nurse had hinted to her when she lay upon the very edge of death.
+      Day by day she plied Emlyn with questions till at length she knew all;
+      namely, that the tidings came from Thomas Bolle, and that he, dressed in
+      her father&rsquo;s armour, was the ghost who had saved her boy from death. Now
+      nothing would serve her but that she must see Thomas herself, as she said,
+      to thank him, though truly, as Emlyn knew well, to draw from his own lips
+      every detail and circumstance that she could gather concerning
+      Christopher.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For a while Emlyn held out against her, for she knew the dangers of such a
+      meeting; but in the end, being able to refuse her lady nothing, she gave
+      way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At length at the appointed hour of sunset Emlyn and Cicely stood in the
+      chapel, whither the latter told the nuns she wished to go to return thanks
+      for her deliverance from many dangers. They knelt before the altar, and
+      while they made pretence to pray there heard knocks, which were the signal
+      of the presence of Thomas Bolle. Emlyn answered them with other knocks,
+      which told that all was safe, whereon the wooden image turned and Thomas
+      appeared, dressed as before in Sir John Foterell&rsquo;s armour. So like did he
+      seem to her dead father in this familiar mail that for a moment Cicely
+      thought it must be he, and her knees trembled until he knelt before her,
+      kissing her hand, asking after her health and that of the infant and
+      whether she were satisfied with his service.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed and indeed yes,&rdquo; she answered; &ldquo;and oh, friend! all that I have
+      henceforth is yours should I ever have anything again, who am but a
+      prisoned beggar. Meanwhile, my blessing and that of Heaven rest upon you,
+      you gallant man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank me not, Lady,&rdquo; answered the honest Thomas. &ldquo;To speak truth it was
+      Emlyn whom I served, for though monks parted us we have been friends for
+      many a year. As for the matter of the child and that spawn of hell, the
+      Flounder, be grateful to God, not to me, for it was by mere chance that I
+      came here that evening, which I had not intended to do. I was going about
+      my business with the cattle when something seemed to tell me to arm and
+      come. It was as though a hand pushed me, and the rest you know, and so I
+      think by now does Mother Megges,&rdquo; he added grimly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, yes, Thomas; and in truth I do thank God, Whose finger I see in all
+      this business, as I thank you, His instrument. But there are other things
+      whereof Emlyn has spoken to me. She said&mdash;ah! she said my husband,
+      whom I thought slain and buried, in truth was only wounded and not buried,
+      but shipped over-sea. Tell me that story, friend, omitting nothing, but
+      swiftly for our time is short. I thirst to hear it from your own lips.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So in his slow, wandering way he told her, word by word, all that he had
+      seen, all that he had learned, and the sum of it was that Sir Christopher
+      had been shipped abroad upon the <i>Great Yarmouth</i>, sorely wounded but
+      not dead, and that with him had sailed Jeffrey Stokes and the monk Martin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s ten months gone,&rdquo; said Cicely. &ldquo;Has naught been heard of this
+      ship? By now she should be home again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thomas hesitated, then answered&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No tidings came of her from Spain. Then, although I said nothing of it
+      even to Emlyn, she was reported lost with all hands at sea. Then came
+      another story&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! that other story?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lady, two of her crew reached the Wash. I did not see them, and they have
+      shipped again for Marseilles in France. But I spoke with a shepherd who is
+      half-brother to one of them, and he told me that from him he learned that
+      the <i>Great Yarmouth</i> was set upon by two Turkish pirates and captured
+      after a brave fight in which the captain Goody and others were killed.
+      This man and his comrade escaped in a boat and drifted to and fro till
+      they were picked up by a homeward-bound caravel which landed them at Hull.
+      That&rsquo;s all I know&mdash;save one thing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;One thing! Oh, what thing, Thomas? That my husband is dead?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, nay, the very opposite, that he is alive, or was, for these men saw
+      him and Jeffrey Stokes and Martin the priest, no craven as I know,
+      fighting like devils till the Turks overwhelmed them by numbers, and,
+      having bound their hands, carried them all three unwounded on board one of
+      their ships, wishing doubtless to make slaves of such brave fellows.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now, although Emlyn would have stopped her, still Cicely plied him with
+      questions, which he answered as best he could, till suddenly a sound
+      caught his ear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look at the window!&rdquo; he exclaimed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They looked, and saw a sight that froze their blood, for there staring at
+      them through the glass was the dark face of the Abbot, and with it other
+      faces.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Betray me not, or I shall burn,&rdquo; he whispered. &ldquo;Say only that I came to
+      haunt you,&rdquo; and silently as a shadow he glided to his niche and was gone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What now, Emlyn?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;One thing only&mdash;Thomas must be saved. A bold face and stand to it.
+      Is it our fault if your father&rsquo;s ghost should haunt this chapel? Remember,
+      your father&rsquo;s ghost, no other. Ah! here they come.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      As she spoke the door was thrown wide, and through it came the Abbot and
+      his rout of attendants. Within two paces of the women they halted, hanging
+      together like bees, for they were afraid, while a voice cried, &ldquo;Seize the
+      witches!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely&rsquo;s terror passed from her and she faced them boldly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What would you with us, my Lord Abbot?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We would know, Sorceress, what shape was that which spoke with you but
+      now, and whither has it gone?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The same that saved my child and called the Sword of God down upon the
+      murderess. It wore my father&rsquo;s armour, but its face I did not see. It has
+      gone whence it came, but where that is I know not. Discover if you can.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Woman, you trifle with us. What said the Thing?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It spoke of the slaughter of Sir John Foterell by King&rsquo;s Grave Mount and
+      of those who wrought it,&rdquo; and she looked at him steadily until his eyes
+      fell before hers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What else?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It told me that my husband is not dead. Neither did you bury him as you
+      put about, but shipped him hence to Spain, whence it prophesied he will
+      return again to be revenged upon you. It told me that he was captured by
+      the infidel Moors, and with him Jeffrey Stokes, my father&rsquo;s servant, and
+      the priest Martin, your secretary. Then it looked up and vanished, or
+      seemed to vanish, though perhaps it is among us now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye,&rdquo; answered the Abbot, &ldquo;Satan, with whom you hold converse, is always
+      among us. Cicely Foterell and Emlyn Stower, you are foul witches,
+      self-confessed. The world has borne your sorceries too long, and you shall
+      answer for them before God and man, as I, the Lord Abbot of Blossholme,
+      have right and authority to make you do. Seize these witches and let them
+      be kept fast in their chamber till I constitute the Court Ecclesiastic for
+      their trial.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So they took hold of Cicely and Emlyn and led them to the Nunnery. As they
+      crossed the garden they were met by Mother Matilda and the nuns, who, for
+      a second time within a month, ran out to see what was the tumult in the
+      chapel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is it now, Cicely?&rdquo; asked the Prioress.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now we are witches, Mother,&rdquo; she answered, with a sad smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye,&rdquo; broke in Emlyn, &ldquo;and the charge is that the ghost of the murdered
+      Sir John Foterell was seen speaking to us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, why?&rdquo; exclaimed the Prioress. &ldquo;If the spirit of a woman&rsquo;s father
+      appears to her is she therefore to be declared a witch? Then is poor
+      Sister Bridget a witch also, for this same spirit brought the child to
+      her?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye,&rdquo; said the Abbot, &ldquo;I had forgotten her. She is another of the crew,
+      let her be seized and shut up also. Greatly do I hope, when it comes to
+      the hour of trial, that there may not be found to be more of them,&rdquo; and he
+      glanced at the poor nuns with menace in his eye.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So Cicely and Emlyn were shut within their room and strictly guarded by
+      monks, but otherwise not ill-treated. Indeed, save for their confinement,
+      there was little change in their condition. The child was allowed to be
+      with Cicely, the nuns were allowed to visit her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Only over both of them hung the shadow of great trouble. They were aware,
+      and it seemed to them purposely suffered to be aware, that they were about
+      to be tried for their lives upon monstrous and obscene charges; namely,
+      that they had consorted with a dim and awful creature called the Enemy of
+      Mankind, whom, it was supposed, human beings had power to call to their
+      counsel and assistance. To them who knew well that this being was Thomas
+      Bolle, the thing seemed absurd. Yet it could not be denied that the said
+      Thomas at Emlyn&rsquo;s instigation had worked much evil on the monks of
+      Blossholme, paying them, or rather their Abbot, back in his own coin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yet what was to be done? To tell the facts would be to condemn Thomas to
+      some fearful fate which even then they would be called upon to share,
+      although possibly they might be cleared of the charge of witchcraft.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Emlyn set the matter before Cicely, urging neither one side nor the other,
+      and waited her judgment. It was swift and decisive.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This is a coil that we cannot untangle,&rdquo; said Cicely. &ldquo;Let us betray no
+      one, but put our trust in God. I am sure,&rdquo; she added, &ldquo;that God will help
+      us as He did when Mother Megges would have murdered my boy. I shall not
+      attempt to defend myself by wronging others. I leave everything to Him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Strange things have happened to many who trusted in God; to that the
+      whole evil world bears witness,&rdquo; said Emlyn doubtfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;May be,&rdquo; answered Cicely in her quiet fashion, &ldquo;perhaps because they did
+      not trust enough or rightly. At least there lies my path and I will walk
+      in it&mdash;to the fire if need be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There is some seed of greatness in you; to what will it grow, I wonder?&rdquo;
+       replied Emlyn, with a shrug of her shoulders.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the morrow this faith of Cicely&rsquo;s was put to a sharp test. The Abbot
+      came and spoke with Emlyn apart. This was the burden of his song&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Give me those jewels and all may yet be well with you and your mistress,
+      vile witches though you are. If not, you burn.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      As before she denied all knowledge of them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Find me the jewels or you burn,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;Would you pay your lives
+      for a few miserable gems?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now Emlyn weakened, not for her own sake, and said she would speak with
+      her mistress.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He bade her do so.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thought that those jewels were burned, Emlyn, do you then know where
+      they are?&rdquo; asked Cicely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, I have said nothing of it to you, but I know. Speak the word and I
+      give them up to save you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely thought a while and kissed her child, which she held in her arms,
+      then laughed aloud and answered&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not so. That Abbot shall never be richer for any gem of mine. I have told
+      you in what I trust, and it is not jewels. Whether I burn or whether I am
+      saved, he shall not have them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good,&rdquo; said Emlyn, &ldquo;that is my mind also, I only spoke for your sake,&rdquo;
+       and she went out and told the Abbot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He came into Cicely&rsquo;s chamber and raged at them. He said that they should
+      be excommunicated, then tortured and then burned; but Cicely, whom he had
+      thought to frighten, never winced.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If so, so let it be,&rdquo; she replied, &ldquo;and I will bear all as best I can. I
+      know nothing of these jewels, but if they still exist they are mine, not
+      yours, and I am innocent of any witchcraft. Do your work, for I am sure
+      that the end shall be far other than you think.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What!&rdquo; said the Abbot, &ldquo;has the foul fiend been with you again that you
+      talk thus certainly? Well, Sorceress, soon you will sing another tune,&rdquo;
+       and he went to the door and summoned the Prioress.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Put these women upon bread and water,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;and prepare them for the
+      rack, that they may discover their accomplices.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mother Matilda set her gentle face, and answered&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It shall not be done in this Nunnery, my Lord Abbot. I know the law, and
+      you have no such power. Moreover, if you move them hence, who are my
+      guests, I appeal to the King, and meanwhile raise the country on you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Said I not that they had accomplices?&rdquo; sneered the Abbot, and went his
+      way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But of the torture no more was heard, for that appeal to the King had an
+      ill sound in his ears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XI
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      DOOMED
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      It was the day of trial. From dawn Cicely and Emlyn had seen people
+      hurrying in and out of the gates of the Nunnery, and heard workmen making
+      preparation in the guest-hall below their chamber. About eight one of the
+      nuns brought them their breakfast. Her face was scared and white; she only
+      spoke in whispers, looking behind her continually as though she knew she
+      was being watched.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Emlyn asked who their judges were, and she answered&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Abbot, a strange, black-faced Prior, and the Old Bishop. Oh! God help
+      you, my sisters; God help us all!&rdquo; and she fled away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now for a moment Emlyn&rsquo;s heart failed her, since before such a tribunal
+      what chance had they? The Abbot was their bitter enemy and accuser; the
+      strange Prior, no doubt, one of his friends and kindred; while the
+      ecclesiastic spoken of as the &ldquo;Old Bishop&rdquo; was well known as perhaps the
+      cruelest man in England, a scourge of heretics&mdash;that is, before
+      heresy became the fashion&mdash;a hunter-out of witches and wizards, and a
+      time-server to boot. But to Cicely she said nothing, for what was the use,
+      seeing that soon she would learn all?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They ate their food, knowing both of them that they would need strength.
+      Then Cicely nursed her child, and, placing it in Emlyn&rsquo;s arms, knelt down
+      to pray. While she was still praying the door opened and a procession
+      appeared. First came two monks, then six armed men of the Abbot&rsquo;s guard,
+      then the Prioress and three of her nuns. At the sight of the beautiful
+      young woman kneeling at her prayers the guards, rough men though they
+      were, stopped, as if unwilling to disturb her, but one of the monks cried
+      brutally&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Seize the accursed hypocrite, and if she will not come, drag her with
+      you,&rdquo; at the same time stretching out his hand as though to grasp her arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Cicely rose and faced him, saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do not touch me; I follow. Emlyn, give me the child, and let us go.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So they went in the midst of the armed men, the monks preceding, the nuns,
+      with bowed heads, following after. Presently they entered the large hall,
+      but on its threshold were ordered to pause while way was made for them.
+      Cicely never forgot the sight of it as it appeared that day. The lofty,
+      arched roof of rich chestnut-wood, set there hundreds of years before by
+      hands that spared neither work nor timber, amongst the beams of which the
+      bright light of morning played so clearly that she could see the spiders&rsquo; 
+      webs, and in one of them a sleepy autumn wasp caught fast. The mob of
+      people gathered to watch her public trial&mdash;faces, many of them, that
+      she had known from childhood.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      How they stared at her as she stood there by the head of the steps, her
+      sleeping child held in her arms! They were a packed audience and had been
+      prepared to condemn her&mdash;that she could see and hear, for did not
+      some of them point and frown, and set up a cry of &ldquo;Witch!&rdquo; as they had
+      been told to do? But it died away. The sight of her, the daughter of one
+      of their great men and the widow of another, standing in her innocent
+      beauty, the slumbering babe upon her breast, seemed to quell them, till
+      the hardest faces grew pitiful&mdash;full of resentment, too, some of
+      them, but not against her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then the three judges on the bench behind the table, at which sat the
+      monkish secretaries; the hard-faced, hook-nosed &ldquo;Old Bishop&rdquo; in his
+      gorgeous robes and mitre, his crozier resting against the panelling behind
+      him, peering about him with beady eyes. The sullen, heavy-jawed Prior,
+      from some distant county, on his left, clad in a simple black gown with a
+      girdle about his waist. And on the right Clement Maldon, Abbot of
+      Blossholme and enemy of her house, suave, olive-faced, foreign-looking,
+      his black, uneasy eyes observing all, his keen ears catching every word
+      and murmur as he whispered something to the Bishop that caused him to
+      smile grimly. Lastly, placed already in the roped space and guarded by a
+      soldier, poor old Bridget, the half-witted, who was gabbling words to
+      which no one paid any heed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The path was clear now, and they were ordered to walk on. Half-way up the
+      hall something red attracted Cicely&rsquo;s attention, and, glancing round, she
+      saw that it was the beard of Thomas Bolle. Their eyes met, and his were
+      full of fear. In an instant she understood that he dreaded lest he should
+      be betrayed and given over to some awful doom.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fear nothing,&rdquo; she whispered as she passed, and he heard her, or perhaps
+      Emlyn&rsquo;s glance told him that he was safe. At least, a sign of relief broke
+      from him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now they had entered the roped space, and stood there.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your name?&rdquo; asked one of the secretaries, pointing to Cicely with the
+      feather of his quill.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All know it, it is Cicely Harflete,&rdquo; she answered gently, whereon the
+      clerk said roughly that she lied, and the old wrangle began again as to
+      the validity of her marriage, the Abbot maintaining that she was still
+      Cicely Foterell, the mother of a base-born child.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Into this argument the Bishop entered with some zest, asking many
+      questions, and seeming more or less to take her side, since, where matters
+      of religion were not concerned, he was a keen lawyer, and just enough. At
+      length, however, he swept the thing away, remarking brutally that if half
+      he had heard were true, soon the name by which she had last been called in
+      life would not concern her, and bade the clerks write her down as Cicely
+      Harflete or Foterell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Emlyn gave her name, and Sister Bridget&rsquo;s was written without
+      question. Next the charge against them was read. It was long and
+      technical, mixed up with Latin words and phrases, and all that Cicely made
+      out of it was that they were accused of many horrible crimes, and of
+      having called up the devil and consorted with him in the shape of a
+      monster with horns and hoofs, and of her father&rsquo;s ghost. When it was
+      finished they were commanded to answer, and pleaded Not Guilty, or rather
+      Cicely and Emlyn did, for Bridget broke into a long tale that could not be
+      followed. She was ordered to be silent, after which no one took any more
+      heed of what she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now the Bishop asked whether these women had been put to the question, and
+      when he was told No, said that it seemed a pity, as evidently they were
+      stubborn witches, and some discipline of the sort might have saved
+      trouble. Again he asked if the witch&rsquo;s marks had been found on them&mdash;that
+      is, the spot where the devil had sealed their bodies, on which, as was
+      well known, his chosen could feel no pain. He even suggested that the
+      trial should be adjourned until they had been pricked all over with a nail
+      to find this spot, but ultimately gave up the point to save time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A last question was raised by the beetle-browed Prior, who submitted that
+      the infant ought also to be accused, since he, too, was said to have
+      consorted with the devil, having, according to the story, been rescued
+      from death by him and afterwards been carried in his arms and given to the
+      nun Bridget, which was the only evidence against the said Bridget. If she
+      was guilty, why, then, was the infant innocent? Ought not they to burn
+      together, since a babe that had been nursed by the Evil One was obviously
+      damned?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The legal-minded Bishop found this argument interesting, but ultimately
+      decided that it was safer to overrule it on account of the tender age of
+      the criminal. He added that it did not matter, since doubtless the foul
+      fiend would claim his own ere long.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lastly, before the witnesses were called, Emlyn asked for an advocate to
+      defend them, but the Bishop replied, with a chuckle, that it was quite
+      unnecessary, since already they had the best of all advocates&mdash;Satan
+      himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;True, my Lord,&rdquo; said Cicely, looking up, &ldquo;we have the best of all
+      advocates, only you have mis-named him. The God of the innocent is our
+      advocate, and in Him I trust.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Blaspheme not, Sorceress,&rdquo; shouted the old man; and the evidence
+      commenced.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To follow it in detail is not necessary, and, indeed, would be long, for
+      it took many hours. First of all Emlyn&rsquo;s early life was set out, much
+      being made of the fact that her mother was a gypsy who had committed
+      suicide and that her father had fallen under the ban of the Inquisition,
+      an heretical work of his having been publicly burned. Then the Abbot
+      himself gave evidence, since, where the charge was sorcery, no one seemed
+      to think it strange that the same man should both act as judge and be the
+      principal witness for the prosecution. He told of Cicely&rsquo;s wild words
+      after the burning of Cranwell Towers, from which burning she and her
+      familiar, Emlyn, had evidently escaped by magic, without the aid of which
+      it was plain they could not have lived. He told of Emlyn&rsquo;s threats to him
+      after she had looked into the bowl of water; of all the dreadful things
+      that had been seen and done at Blossholme, which no doubt these witches
+      had brought about&mdash;here he was right&mdash;though how he knew not. He
+      told of the death of the midwife and of the appearance which she presented
+      afterwards&mdash;a tale that caused his audience to shudder; and, lastly,
+      he told of the vision of the ghost of Sir John Foterell holding converse
+      with the two accused in the chapel of the Nunnery, and its vanishing away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When at length he had finished Emlyn asked leave to cross-examine him, but
+      this was refused on the ground that persons accused of such crimes had no
+      right to cross-examine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then the Court adjourned for a while to eat, some food being brought for
+      the prisoners, who were forced to take it where they stood. Worse still,
+      Cicely was driven to nurse her child in the presence of all that audience,
+      who stared and gibed at her rudely, and were angry because Emlyn and some
+      of the nuns stood round her to form a living screen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the judges returned the evidence went on. Though most of it was
+      entirely irrelevant, its volume was so great that at length the Old Bishop
+      grew weary, and said he would hear no more. Then the judges went on to
+      put, first to Cicely and afterwards to Emlyn, a series of questions of a
+      nature so abominable that after denying the first of them indignantly,
+      they stood silent, refusing to answer&mdash;proof positive of their guilt,
+      as the black-browed Prior remarked in triumph. Lastly, these hideous
+      queries being exhausted, Cicely was asked if she had anything to say.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Somewhat,&rdquo; she answered; &ldquo;but I am weary, and must be brief. I am no
+      witch; I do not know what it means. The Abbot of Blossholme, who sits as
+      my judge, is my grievous enemy. He claimed my father&rsquo;s lands&mdash;which
+      lands I believe he now holds&mdash;and cruelly murdered my said father by
+      King&rsquo;s Grave Mount in the forest as he was riding to London to make
+      complaint of him and reveal his treachery to his Grace the King and his
+      Council&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is a lie, witch,&rdquo; broke in the Abbot, but, taking no heed, Cicely went
+      on&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Afterwards he and his hired soldiers attacked the house of my husband,
+      Sir Christopher Harflete, and burnt it, slaying, or striving to slay&mdash;I
+      know not which&mdash;my said husband, who has vanished away. Then he
+      imprisoned me and my servant, Emlyn Stower, in this Nunnery, and strove to
+      force me to sign papers conveying all my own and my child&rsquo;s property to
+      him. This I refused to do, and therefore it is that he puts me on my
+      trial, because, as I am told, those who are found guilty of witchcraft are
+      stripped of all their possessions, which those take who are strong enough
+      to keep them. Lastly, I deny the authority of this Court, and appeal to
+      the King, who soon or late will hear my cry and avenge my wrongs, and
+      maybe my murder, upon those who wrought them. Good people all, hear my
+      words. I appeal to the King, and to him under God above I entrust my
+      cause, and, should I die, the guardianship of my orphan son, whom the
+      Abbot sent his creature to murder&mdash;his vile creature, upon whose head
+      fell the Almighty&rsquo;s justice, as it will fall on yours, you slaughterers of
+      the innocent.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So spoke Cicely, and, having spoken, worn out with fatigue and misery,
+      sank to the floor&mdash;for all these hours there had been no stool for
+      her to sit on&mdash;and crouched there, still holding her child in her
+      arms&mdash;a piteous sight indeed, which touched even the superstitious
+      hearts of the crowd who watched her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now this appeal of hers to the King seemed to scare the fierce Old Bishop,
+      who turned and began to argue with the Abbot. Cicely, listening, caught
+      some of his words, such as&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;On your head be it, then. I judge only of the cause ecclesiastic, and
+      shall direct it to be so entered upon the records. Of the execution of the
+      sentence or the disposal of the property I wash my hands. See you to it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So spoke Pilate,&rdquo; broke in Cicely, lifting her head and looking him in
+      the eyes. Then she let it fall again, and was silent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now Emlyn opened her lips, and from them burst a fierce torrent of words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you know,&rdquo; she began, &ldquo;who and what is this Spanish priest who sits to
+      judge us of witchcraft? Well, I will tell you. Years ago he fled from
+      Spain because of hideous crimes that he had committed there. Ask him of
+      Isabella the nun, who was my father&rsquo;s cousin, and her end and that of her
+      companions. Ask him of&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At this point a monk, to whom the Abbot had whispered something, slipped
+      behind Emlyn and threw a cloth over her face. She tore it away with her
+      strong hands, and screamed out&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He is a murderer, he is a traitor. He plots to kill the King. I can prove
+      it, and that&rsquo;s why Foterell died&mdash;because he knew&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot shouted something, and again the monk, a stout fellow named
+      Ambrose, got the cloth over her mouth. Once more she wrenched herself
+      loose, and, turning towards the people, called&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have I never a friend, who have befriended so many? Is there no man in
+      Blossholme who will avenge me of this brute Ambrose? Aye, I see some.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then this Ambrose, and others aiding him, fell upon her, striking her on
+      the head and choking her, till at length she sank, half stunned and
+      gasping, to the ground.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now, after a hurried word or two with his colleagues, the Bishop sprang
+      up, and as darkness gathered in the hall&mdash;for the sun had set&mdash;pronounced
+      the sentence of the Court.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      First he declared the prisoners guilty of the foulest witchcraft. Next he
+      excommunicated them with much ceremony, delivering their souls to their
+      master, Satan. Then, incidentally, he condemned their bodies to be burnt,
+      without specifying when, how, or by whom. Out of the gloom a clear voice
+      spoke, saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You exceed your powers, Priest, and usurp those of the King. Beware!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A tumult followed, in which some cried &ldquo;Aye&rdquo; and some &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; and when at
+      length it died down the Bishop, or it may have been the Abbot&mdash;for
+      none could see who spoke&mdash;exclaimed&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Church guards her own rights; let the King see to his.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He will, he will,&rdquo; answered the same voice. &ldquo;The Pope is in his bag.
+      Monks, your day is done.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again there was tumult, a very great tumult. In truth the scene, or rather
+      the sounds, were strange. The Bishop shrieking with rage upon the bench,
+      like a hen that has been caught upon her perch at night, the black-browed
+      Prior bellowing like a bull, the populace surging and shouting this and
+      that, the secretary calling for candles, and when at length one was
+      brought, making a little star of light in that huge gloom, putting his
+      hand to his mouth and roaring&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What of this Bridget? Does she go free?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Bishop made no answer; it seemed as though he were frightened at the
+      forces which he had let loose; but the Abbot hallooed back&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Burn the hag with the others,&rdquo; and the secretary wrote it down upon his
+      brief.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then the guards seized the three of them to lead them away, and the
+      frightened babe set up a thin, piercing wail, while the Bishop and his
+      companions, preceded by one of the monks bearing the candle&mdash;it was
+      that Ambrose who had choked Emlyn&mdash;marched in procession down the
+      hall to gain the great door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ere ever they reached it the candle was dashed from the hand of Ambrose,
+      and a fearful tumult arose in the dense darkness, for now all light had
+      vanished. There were screams, and sounds of fighting, and cries for help.
+      These died away; the hall emptied by degrees, for it seemed that none
+      wished to stay there. Torches were lit, and showed a strange scene.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Bishop, the Abbot, and the foreign Prior lay here and there, buffeted,
+      bleeding, their robes torn off them, so that they were almost naked, while
+      by the Bishop was his crozier, broken in two, apparently across his own
+      head. Worst of all, the monk Ambrose leaned against a pillar; his feet
+      seemed to go forward but his face looked backward, for his neck was
+      twisted like that of a Michaelmas goose.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Bishop looked about him and felt his hurts; then he called to his
+      people&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bring me my cloak and a horse, for I have had enough of Blossholme and
+      its wizardries. Settle your own matters henceforth, Abbot Maldon, for in
+      them I find no luck,&rdquo; and he glanced at his broken staff.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus ended the great trial of the Blossholme witches.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely had sunk to sleep at last, and Emlyn watched her, for, since there
+      was nowhere else to put them, they were back in their own room, but
+      guarded by armed men, lest they should escape. Of this, as Emlyn knew
+      well, there was little chance, for even if they were once outside the
+      Priory walls, how could they get away without friends to help, or food to
+      eat, or horses to carry them? They would be run down within a mile.
+      Moreover, there was the child, which Cicely would never leave, and, after
+      all she had undergone, she herself was not fit to travel. Therefore it was
+      that Emlyn sat sleepless, full of bitter wrath and fear, for she could see
+      no hope. All was black as the night about them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The door opened, and was shut and locked again. Then, from behind the
+      curtain, appeared the tall figure of the Prioress, carrying a candle that
+      made a star of light upon the shadows. As she stood there holding it up
+      and looking about her, something came into Emlyn&rsquo;s mind. Perhaps she would
+      help, she who loved Cicely. Did she not look like a figure of hope, with
+      her sweet face and her taper in the gloom? Emlyn advanced to meet her, her
+      finger on her lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She sleeps; wake her not,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Have you come to tell us that we
+      burn to-morrow?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, Emlyn; the Old Bishop has commanded that it shall not be for a week.
+      He would have time to get across England first. Indeed, had it not been
+      for the beating of him in the dark and the twisting of the neck of Brother
+      Ambrose, I believe that he would not have suffered it at all, for fear of
+      trouble afterwards. But now he is full of rage, and swears that he was set
+      upon by evil spirits in the hall, and that those who loosed them shall not
+      live. Emlyn, <i>who</i> killed Father Ambrose? Was it men or&mdash;&mdash;?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Men, I think, Mother. The devil does not twist necks except in monkish
+      dreams. Is it wonderful that my lady&mdash;the greatest lady of all these
+      parts and the most foully treated&mdash;should have friends left to her?
+      Why, if they were not curs, ere now her people would have pulled that
+      Abbey stone from stone and cut the throat of every man within its walls.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Emlyn,&rdquo; said the Prioress again, &ldquo;in the name of Jesus and on your soul,
+      tell me true, is there witchcraft in all this business? And if not, what
+      is its meaning?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As much witchcraft as dwells in your gentle heart; no more. A man did
+      these things; I&rsquo;ll not give you his name, lest it should be wrung from
+      you. A man wore Foterell&rsquo;s armour, and came here by a secret hole to take
+      counsel with us in the chapel. A man burnt the Abbey dormers and the
+      stacks, and harried the beasts with a goatskin on his head, and dragged
+      the skull of drunken Andrew from his grave. Doubtless it was his hand also
+      that twisted Ambrose&rsquo;s neck because he struck me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The two women looked each other in the eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; said the Prioress. &ldquo;I think I can guess now; but, Emlyn, you choose
+      rough tools. Well, fear not; your secret is safe with me.&rdquo; She paused a
+      moment; then went on, &ldquo;Oh! I am glad, who feared lest the Fiend&rsquo;s finger
+      was in it all, as, in truth, they believe. Now I see my path clear, and
+      will follow it to the death. Yes, yes; I will save you all or die.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What path, Mother?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Emlyn, you have heard no tidings for these many months, but I have.
+      Listen; there is much afoot. The King, or the Lord Cromwell, or both, make
+      war upon the lesser Houses, dissolving them, seizing their goods, turning
+      the religious out of them upon the world to starve. His Grace sends Royal
+      Commissioners to visit them, and be judge and jury both. They were coming
+      here, but I have friends and some fortune of my own, who was not born
+      meanly or ill-dowered, and I found a way to buy them off. One of these
+      Commissioners, Thomas Legh, as I heard only to-day, makes inquisition at
+      the monastery of Bayfleet, in Yorkshire, some eighty miles away, of which
+      my cousin, Alfred Stukley, whose letter reached me this morning, is the
+      Prior. Emlyn, I&rsquo;ll go to this rough man&mdash;for rough he is, they say.
+      Old and feeble as I am, I&rsquo;ll seek him out and offer up the ancient House I
+      rule to save your life and Cicely&rsquo;s&mdash;yes, and Bridget&rsquo;s also.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will go, Mother! Oh! God&rsquo;s blessing be on you. But how will you go?
+      They will never suffer it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old nun drew herself up, and answered&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who has the right to say to the Prioress of Blossholme that she shall not
+      travel whither she will? No Spanish Abbot, I think. Why, but now that
+      proud priest&rsquo;s servants would have forbidden me to enter your chamber in
+      my own House, but I read them a lesson they will not forget. Also I have
+      horses at my command, but it is true I need an escort, who am not too
+      strong and little versed in the ways of the outside world, where I have
+      scarcely strayed for many years. Now I have bethought me of that
+      red-haired lay-brother, Thomas Bolle. I am told that though foolish, he is
+      a valiant man whom few care to face; moreover, that he understands horses
+      and knows all roads. Do you think, Emlyn Stower, that Thomas Bolle will be
+      my companion on this journey, with leave from the Abbot, or without it?&rdquo;
+       and again she looked her in the eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He might, he might; he is a venturous man, or so I remember him in my
+      youth,&rdquo; answered Emlyn. &ldquo;Moreover, his forefathers have served the
+      Harfletes and the Foterells for generations in peace and war, and
+      doubtless, therefore, he loves my lady yonder. But the trouble is to get
+      at him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No trouble at all, Emlyn; he is one of the watch outside the gate. But,
+      woman, what token?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Emlyn thought for a moment, then drew a ring off her finger in which was
+      set a cornelian heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Give him this,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;and say that the wearer bade him follow the
+      bearer to the death, for the sake of that wearer&rsquo;s life and another&rsquo;s. He
+      is a simple soul, and if the Abbot does not catch him first I believe that
+      he will go.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mother Matilda took the ring and set it on her own finger. Then she walked
+      to where Cicely lay sleeping, looked at her and the boy upon her breast.
+      Stretching out her thin hands, she called down the blessing and protection
+      of Almighty God upon them both, then turned to depart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Emlyn caught her by the robe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stay,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;You think I do not understand; but I do. You are giving
+      up everything for us. Even if you live through it, this House, which has
+      been your charge for many years, will be dissolved; your sheep will be
+      scattered to starve in their toothless age; the fold that has sheltered
+      them for four hundred years will become a home of wolves. I understand
+      full well, and she&rdquo;&mdash;pointing to the sleeping Cicely&mdash;&ldquo;will
+      understand also.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say nothing to her,&rdquo; murmured Mother Matilda; &ldquo;I may fail.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You may fail, or you may succeed. If you fail and we burn, God shall
+      reward you. If you succeed and we are saved, on her behalf I swear that
+      you shall not suffer. There is wealth hidden away&mdash;wealth worth many
+      priories; you and yours shall have your share of it, and that Commissioner
+      shall not go lacking. Tell him that there is some small store to pay him
+      for his trouble, and that the Abbot of Blossholme would rob him of it.
+      Now, my Lady Margaret&mdash;for that, I think, used to be your name, and
+      will be again when you have done with priests and nuns&mdash;bless me also
+      and begone, and know that, living or dead, I hold you great and holy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So the Prioress blessed her ere she glided thence in her stately fashion,
+      and the oaken door opened and shut behind her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Three days later the Abbot visited them alone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Foul and accursed witches,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I come to tell you that next Monday
+      at noon you burn upon the green in front of the Abbey gate, who, were it
+      not for the mercy of the Church, should have been tortured also till you
+      discovered your accomplices, of whom I think that you have many.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Show me the King&rsquo;s warrant for this slaughter,&rdquo; said Cicely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will show you nothing save the stake, witch. Repent, repent, ere it be
+      too late. Hell and its eternal fires yawn for you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do they yawn for my child also, my Lord Abbot?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your brat will be taken from you ere you enter the flames and laid upon
+      the ground, since it is baptized and too young to burn. If any have pity
+      on it, good; if not, where it lies, there it will be buried.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So be it,&rdquo; answered Cicely. &ldquo;God gave it; God save it. In God I put my
+      trust. Murderer, leave me to make my peace with Him,&rdquo; and she turned and
+      walked away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now the Abbot and Emlyn were face to face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do we really burn on Monday?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Without doubt, unless faggots will not take fire. Yet,&rdquo; he added slowly,
+      &ldquo;if certain jewels should chance to be found and handed over, the case
+      might be remitted to another Court.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And the torment prolonged. My Lord Abbot, I fear that those jewels will
+      never be found.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, then you burn&mdash;slowly, perhaps, for much rain has fallen of
+      late and the wood is green. They say the death is dreadful.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Doubtless one day you will find it so, Clement Maldonado, here or
+      hereafter. But of that we will talk together when all is done&mdash;of
+      that and many other things. I mean before the Judgment-seat of God. Nay,
+      nay, I do not threaten after your fashion&mdash;it shall be so. Meanwhile
+      I ask the boon of a dying woman. There are two whom I would see&mdash;the
+      Prioress Matilda, in whose charge I desire to leave a certain secret, and
+      Thomas Bolle, a lay-brother in your Abbey, a man who once engaged himself
+      to me in marriage. For your own sake, deny me not these favours.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They should be granted readily enough were it in my power, but it is
+      not,&rdquo; answered the Abbot, looking at her curiously, for he thought that to
+      them she might tell what she had refused to him&mdash;the hiding-place of
+      the jewels, which afterwards he could wring out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not, my Lord Abbot?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because the Prioress has gone hence, secretly, upon some journey of her
+      own, and Thomas Bolle has vanished away I know not where. If they, or
+      either of them, return ere Monday you shall see them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And if they do not return I shall see them afterwards,&rdquo; replied Emlyn,
+      with a shrug of her shoulders. &ldquo;What does it matter? Fare you well till we
+      meet at the fire, my Lord Abbot.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      On the Sunday&mdash;that is, the day before the burning&mdash;the Abbot
+      came again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Three days ago,&rdquo; he said, addressing them both, &ldquo;I offered you a chance
+      of life upon certain conditions, but, obstinate witches that you are, you
+      refused to listen. Now I offer you the last boon in my power&mdash;not
+      life, indeed; it is too late for that&mdash;but a merciful death. If you
+      will give me what I seek, the executioner shall dispatch you both before
+      the fire bites&mdash;never mind how. If not&mdash;well, as I have told
+      you, there has been much rain, and they say the faggots are somewhat
+      green.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely paled a little&mdash;who would not, even in those cruel days?&mdash;then
+      asked&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what is it that you seek, or that we can give? A confession of our
+      guilt, to cover up your crime in the eyes of the world? If so, you shall
+      never have it, though we burn by inches.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I seek that, but for your own sakes, not for mine, since those who
+      confess and repent may receive absolution. Also I seek more&mdash;the rich
+      jewels which you have in hiding, that they may be used for the purposes of
+      the Church.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then it was that Cicely showed the courage of her blood.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never, never!&rdquo; she cried, turning on him with eyes ablaze. &ldquo;Torture and
+      slay me if you will, but my wealth you shall not thieve. I know not where
+      these jewels are, but wherever they may be, there let them lie till my
+      heirs find them, or they rot.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot&rsquo;s face grew very evil.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is that your last word, Cicely Foterell?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She bowed her head, and he repeated the question to Emlyn, who answered&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What my mistress says, I say.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So be it!&rdquo; he exclaimed. &ldquo;Doubtless you sorceresses put your trust in the
+      devil. Well, we shall see if he will help you to-morrow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;God will help us,&rdquo; replied Cicely in a quiet voice. &ldquo;Remember my words
+      when the time comes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he went.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XII
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      THE STAKE
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      It was an awful night. Let those who have followed this history think of
+      the state of these two women, one of them still but a girl, who on the
+      morrow, amidst the jeers and curses of superstitious men, were to suffer
+      the cruelest of deaths for no crime at all, unless the traffickings of
+      Emlyn with Thomas Bolle, in which Cicely had small share, could be held a
+      crime. Well, thousands quite as blameless were called on to undergo that,
+      and even worse fates in the days which some name good and old, the days of
+      chivalry and gallant knights, when even little children were tormented and
+      burned by holy and learned folk who feared a visible or at least a
+      tangible devil and his works.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Doubtless their cruelty was that of terror. Doubtless, although he had
+      other ends to gain which to him were sacred, the Abbot Maldon did believe
+      that Cicely and Emlyn had practised horrible witchcraft; that they had
+      conversed with Satan in order to revenge themselves upon him, and
+      therefore were too foul to live. The &ldquo;Old Bishop&rdquo; believed it also, and so
+      did the black-browed Prior and the most of the ignorant people who lived
+      around and knew of the terrible things which had happened in Blossholme.
+      Had not some of them actually seen the fiend with horns and hoofs and tail
+      driving the Abbey cattle, and had not others met the ghost of Sir John
+      Foterell, which doubtless was but that fiend in another shape? Oh, these
+      women were guilty, without doubt they were guilty and deserved the stake!
+      What did it matter if the husband and father of one of them had been
+      murdered and the other had suffered grievous but forgotten wrongs?
+      Compared to witchcraft murder was but a light and homely crime, one that
+      would happen when men&rsquo;s passions and needs were involved, quite a familiar
+      thing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was an awful night. Sometimes Cicely slept a little, but the most of it
+      she spent in prayer. The fierce Emlyn neither slept nor prayed, except
+      once or twice that vengeance might fall upon the Abbot&rsquo;s head, for her
+      whole soul was up in arms and it galled her to think that she and her
+      beloved mistress must die shamefully while their enemy lived on triumphant
+      and in honour. Even the infant seemed nervous and disturbed, as though
+      some instinct warned it of terror at hand, for although it was well
+      enough, against its custom it woke continually and wailed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Emlyn,&rdquo; said Cicely towards morning, but before the light had come, after
+      at length she had soothed it to rest, &ldquo;do you think that Mother Matilda
+      will be able to help us?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no; put it from your mind, dearie. She is weak and old, the road is
+      rough and long, and mayhap she has never reached the place. It was a great
+      venture for her to try such a journey, and if she came there, why, perhaps
+      the Commissioner man had gone, or perhaps he will not listen, or perhaps
+      he cannot come. What would he care about the burning of two witches a
+      hundred miles away, this leech who is sucking himself full upon the
+      carcass of some fat monastery? No, no, never count on her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;At least she is brave and true, Emlyn, and has done her best, for which
+      may Heaven&rsquo;s blessing rest upon her always. Now, what of Thomas Bolle?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing, except that he is a red-headed jackass that can bray but daren&rsquo;t
+      kick,&rdquo; answered Emlyn viciously. &ldquo;Never speak to me of Thomas Bolle. Had
+      he been a man long ago he&rsquo;d have broken the neck of that rogue Abbot
+      instead of dressing himself up like a he-goat and hunting his cows.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If what they say is true he did break the neck of Father Ambrose,&rdquo;
+       replied Cicely, with a faint smile. &ldquo;Perhaps he made a mistake in the
+      dark.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If so it is like Thomas Bolle, who ever wished the right thing and did
+      the wrong. Talk no more of him, since I would not meet my end in a bad
+      spirit. Thomas Bolle, who lets us die for his elfish pranks! A pest on the
+      half-witted cur, say I. And after I had kissed him too!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely wondered vaguely to what she referred, then, thinking it well not
+      to inquire, said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not so, a blessing on him, say I, who saved my child from that hateful
+      hag.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then there was silence for a while, the matter of poor Thomas Bolle and
+      his conduct being exhausted between them, who indeed were in no mood for
+      argument about people whom they would never see again. At last Cicely
+      spoke once more through the darkness&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Emlyn, I will try to be brave; but once, do you remember, I burnt my hand
+      as a child when I stole the sweetmeats from the cooling pot, and ah! it
+      hurt me. I will try to die as those who went before me would have died,
+      but if I should break down think not the less of me, for the spirit is
+      willing though the flesh be weak.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Emlyn ground her teeth in silence, and Cicely went on&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But that is not the worst of it, Emlyn. A few minutes and it will be over
+      and I shall sleep, as I think, to awake elsewhere. Only if Christopher
+      should really live, how he will mourn when he learns&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I pray that he does,&rdquo; broke in Emlyn, &ldquo;for then ere long there will be a
+      Spanish priest the less on earth and one the more in hell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And the child, Emlyn, the child!&rdquo; she went on in a trembling voice, not
+      heeding the interruption. &ldquo;What will become of my son, the heir to so much
+      if he had his rights, and yet so friendless? They&rsquo;ll murder him also,
+      Emlyn, or let him die, which is the same thing, since how otherwise will
+      they get title to his lands and goods?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If so, his troubles will be done and he will be better with you in
+      heaven,&rdquo; Emlyn answered, with a dry sob. &ldquo;The boy and you in heaven midst
+      the blessed saints, and the Abbot and I in hell settling our score there
+      with the devil for company, that&rsquo;s all I ask. There, there, I blaspheme,
+      for injustice makes me mad; it clogs my heart and I throw it up in bitter
+      words, for your sake, dear, and his, not my own. Child, you are good and
+      gentle, to such as you the Ear of God is open. Call to him; ask for light,
+      He will not refuse. Do you remember in the fire at the Towers, when we
+      crouched in that vault and the walls crumbled overhead, you said you saw
+      His angel bending over us and heard his speech. Call to Him, Cicely, and
+      if He will not listen, hear me. I have a means of death about me. Ask not
+      what it is, but if at the end I turn on you and strike, blame me not here
+      or hereafter, for it will be love&rsquo;s blow, my last service.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It seemed as though Cicely did not understand those heavy words, at the
+      least she took no heed of them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll pray again,&rdquo; she whispered, &ldquo;though I fear that heaven&rsquo;s doors are
+      closed to me; no light comes through,&rdquo; and she knelt down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For long, long she prayed, till at length weariness overcame her, and
+      Emlyn heard her breathing softly like one asleep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let her sleep,&rdquo; she murmured to herself. &ldquo;Oh! if I were sure&mdash;she
+      should never wake again to see the dawn. I have half a mind to do it, but
+      there it is, I am not sure. If there is a God He will never suffer such a
+      thing. I&rsquo;d have paid the jewels, but what&rsquo;s the use? They would have
+      killed her all the same, for else where&rsquo;s their title? No, my heart bids
+      me wait.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely awoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Emlyn,&rdquo; she said in a low, thrilling voice, &ldquo;do you hear me, Emlyn? That
+      angel has been with me again. He spoke to me,&rdquo; and she paused.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, well, what did he say?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know, Emlyn,&rdquo; she answered, confused; &ldquo;it has gone from me. But,
+      Emlyn, have no fear, all is well with us, and not only with us but with
+      Christopher and the babe also. Oh, yes, with Christopher and the babe
+      also,&rdquo; and she let her fair head fall upon the couch and burst into a
+      flood of happy tears. Then, rising, she took up the child and kissed it,
+      laid herself down and slept sweetly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Just then the dawn broke, a glorious dawn, and Emlyn held out her arms to
+      it in an ecstasy of gratitude. For with that light her terror passed away
+      as the darkness passed. She believed that God had spoken to Cicely and for
+      a while her heart was at peace.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When about eight o&rsquo;clock that morning the door was opened to allow a nun
+      to bring them their food, she saw a sight which filled her with amazement.
+      Her own eyes, poor woman, were red with tears, for, like all in the
+      Priory, she loved Cicely, whom as a child she had nursed on her knee, and
+      with the other sisters had spent a sleepless night in prayer for her, for
+      Emlyn, and for Bridget, who was to be burned with them. She had expected
+      to find the victims prostrate and perhaps senseless with fear, but behold!
+      there they sat together in the window-place, dressed in their best
+      garments and talking quietly. Indeed, as she entered one of them&mdash;it
+      was Cicely&mdash;laughed a little at something that the other had said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good-morning to you, Sister Mary,&rdquo; said Cicely. &ldquo;Tell me now, has the
+      Prioress returned?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, nay, we know not where she is; no word has come from her. Well, at
+      least she will be spared a dreadful sight. Have you any message for her
+      ear? If so, give it swiftly ere the guard call me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thank you,&rdquo; said Cicely; &ldquo;but I think that I shall be the bearer of my
+      own messages.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What? Do you, then, mean that our Mother is dead? Must we suffer woe upon
+      woe? Oh! who could have told you these sorrowful tidings?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, sister, I think that she is alive and that I, yet living, shall talk
+      with her again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Sister Mary looked bewildered, for how, she wondered, could close
+      prisoners know these things? Staring round to see that she was not
+      observed, she thrust two little packets into Cicely&rsquo;s hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wear these at the last, both of you,&rdquo; she whispered. &ldquo;Whatever they say
+      we believe you innocent, and for your sake we have done a great crime.
+      Yes, we have opened the reliquary and taken from it our most precious
+      treasure, a fragment of the cord that bound St. Catherine to the wheel,
+      and divided it into three, one strand for each of you. Perhaps, if you are
+      really guiltless, it will work a miracle. Perhaps the fire will not burn
+      or the rain will extinguish it, or the Abbot may relent.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That last would be the greatest miracle of all,&rdquo; broke in Emlyn, with
+      grim humour. &ldquo;Still we thank you from our hearts and will wear the relics
+      if they do not take them from us. Hark! they are calling you. Farewell,
+      and all blessings be on your gentle heads.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again the loud voices of the guards called, and Sister Mary turned and
+      fled, wondering if these women were not witches, how it came about that
+      they could be so brave, so different from poor Bridget, who wailed and
+      moaned in her cell below.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely and Emlyn ate their food with good appetite, knowing that they
+      would need support that day, and when it was done sat themselves again by
+      the window-place, through which they could see hundreds of people, mounted
+      and on foot, passing up the slope that led to the green in front of the
+      Abbey, though this green they could not see because of a belt of trees.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Listen,&rdquo; said Emlyn presently. &ldquo;It is hard to say, but it may be that
+      your vision of the night was but a merciful dream, and, if so, within a
+      few hours we shall be dead. Now I have the secret of the hiding-place of
+      those jewels, which, without me, none can ever find; shall I pass it on,
+      if I get the chance, to one whom I can trust? Some good soul&mdash;the
+      nuns, perhaps&mdash;will surely shelter your boy, and he might need them
+      in days to come.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely thought a while, then answered&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not so, Emlyn. I believe that God has spoken to me by His angel, as He
+      spoke to Peter in the prison. To do this would be to tempt God, showing
+      that we have no trust in Him. Let that secret lie where it is, in your
+      breast.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Great is your faith,&rdquo; said Emlyn, looking at her with admiration. &ldquo;Well,
+      I will stand or fall by it, for I think there is enough for two.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Convent bell chimed ten, and they heard a sound of feet and voices
+      below.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They come for us,&rdquo; said Emlyn; &ldquo;the burning is set for eleven, that after
+      the sight folk may get away in comfort to their dinners. Now summon that
+      great Faith of yours and hold him fast for both our sakes, since mine
+      grows faint.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The door opened and through it came monks followed by guards, the officer
+      of whom bade them rise and follow. They obeyed without speaking, Cicely
+      throwing her cloak about her shoulders.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&rsquo;ll be warm enough without that, Witch,&rdquo; said the man, with a hideous
+      chuckle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; she answered, &ldquo;I shall need it to wrap my child in when we are
+      parted. Give me the babe, Emlyn. There, now we are ready; nay, no need to
+      lead us, we cannot escape and shall not vex you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;God&rsquo;s truth, the girl has spirit!&rdquo; muttered the officer to his
+      companions, but one of the priests shook his head and answered&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Witchcraft! Satan will leave them presently.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A few more minutes and, for the first time during all those weary months,
+      they passed the gate of the Priory. Here the third victim was waiting to
+      join them, poor, old, half-witted Bridget, clad in a kind of sheet, for
+      her habit had been stripped off. She was wild-eyed and her grey locks hung
+      loose about her shoulders, as she shook her ancient head and screamed
+      prayers for mercy. Cicely shivered at the sight of her, which indeed was
+      dreadful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Peace, good Bridget,&rdquo; she said as they passed, &ldquo;being innocent, what have
+      you to fear?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The fire, the fire!&rdquo; cried the poor creature. &ldquo;I dread the fire.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then they were led to their place in the procession and saw no more of
+      Bridget for a while, although they could not escape the sound of her
+      lamentations behind them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a great procession. First went the monks and choristers, singing a
+      melancholy Latin dirge. Then came the victims in the midst of a guard of
+      twelve armed men, and after these the nuns who were forced to be present,
+      while behind and about were all the folk for twenty miles round, a crowd
+      without number. They crossed the footbridge, where stood the Ford Inn for
+      which the Flounder had bargained as the price of murder. They walked up
+      the rise by the right of way, muddy now with the autumn rains, and through
+      the belt of trees where Thomas Bolle&rsquo;s secret passage had its exit, and so
+      came at last to the green in front of the towering Abbey portal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Here a dreadful sight awaited them, for on this green were planted three
+      fourteen-inch posts of new-felled oak six feet or more in height, such as
+      no fire would easily burn through, and around each of them a kind of bower
+      of faggots open to the front. Moreover, to the posts hung new wagon
+      chains, and near by stood the village blacksmith and his apprentice, who
+      carried a hand anvil and a sledge hammer for the cold welding of those
+      chains.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At a distance from these stakes the procession was halted. Then out from
+      the gate of the Abbey came the Abbot in his robes and mitre, preceded by
+      acolytes and followed by more monks. He advanced to where the condemned
+      women stood and halted, while a friar stepped forward and read their
+      sentence to them, of which, being in Latin or in crabbed, legal words,
+      they understood nothing at all. Then in sonorous tones he adjured them for
+      the sake of their sinful souls to make full confession of their guilt,
+      that they might receive pardon before they suffered in the flesh for their
+      hideous crime of sorcery.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To this invitation Cicely and Emlyn shook their heads, saying that being
+      innocent of any sorceries they had nothing to confess. But old Bridget
+      gave another answer. She declared in a high, screaming voice that she was
+      a witch, as her mother and grandmother had been before her. She described,
+      while the crowd listened with intense interest, how Emlyn Stower had
+      introduced her to the devil, who was clad in red hose and looked like a
+      black boy with a hump on his back and a tuft of red hair hanging from his
+      nose, also many unedifying details of her interviews with this same fiend.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Asked what he said to her, she answered that he told her to bewitch the
+      Abbot of Blossholme because he was such a holy man that God had need of
+      him and he did too much good upon the earth. Also he prevented Emlyn
+      Stower and Cicely Foterell from working his, the devil&rsquo;s, will, and
+      enabled them to keep alive the baby who would be a great wizard. He told
+      her moreover that midwife Megges was an angel (here the crowd laughed)
+      sent to kill the said infant, who really was his own child, as might be
+      seen by its black eyebrows and cleft tongue, also its webbed feet, and
+      that he would appear in the shape of the ghost of Sir John Foterell to
+      save it and give it to her, which he did, saying the Lord&rsquo;s Prayer
+      backwards, and that she must bring it up &ldquo;in the faith of the Pentagon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus the poor crazed thing raved on, while sentence by sentence a scribe
+      wrote down her gibberish, causing her at last to make her mark to it, all
+      of which took a very long time. At the end she begged that she might be
+      pardoned and not burnt, but this, she was informed, was impossible.
+      Thereon she became enraged and asked why then had she been led to tell so
+      many lies if after all she must burn, a question at which the crowd roared
+      with laughter. On hearing this the priest, who was about to absolve her,
+      changed his mind and ordered her to be fastened to her stake, which was
+      done by the blacksmith with the help of his apprentice and his portable
+      anvil.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Still, her &ldquo;confession&rdquo; was solemnly read over to Cicely and Emlyn, who
+      were asked whether, after hearing it, they still persisted in a denial of
+      their guilt. By way of answer Cicely lifted the hood from her boy&rsquo;s face
+      and showed that his eyebrows were not black, but light-coloured. Also she
+      bared his feet, passing her little finger between his toes, and asking
+      them if they were webbed. Some of them answered, &ldquo;No,&rdquo; but a monk roared,
+      &ldquo;What of that? Cannot Satan web and unweb?&rdquo; Then he snatched the infant
+      from Cicely&rsquo;s arms and laid it down upon the stump of an oak that had been
+      placed there to receive it, crying out&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let this child live or die as God pleases.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Some brute who stood by aimed a blow at it with a stick, yelling, &ldquo;Death
+      to the witch&rsquo;s brat!&rdquo; but a big man, whom Emlyn recognized as one of old
+      Sir John&rsquo;s tenants, caught the falling stick from his hand and dealt him
+      such a clout with it that he fell like a stone, and went for the rest of
+      his life with but one eye and the nose flattened on the side of his face.
+      Thenceforward no one tried to harm the babe, who, as all know, because of
+      what befell him on this day, went in after life by the nickname of
+      Christopher Oak-stump.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot&rsquo;s men stepped forward to tie Cicely to her stake, but ere they
+      laid hands on her she took off her wool-lined cloak and threw it to the
+      yeoman who had struck down the fellow with his own stick, saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Friend, wrap my boy in this and guard him till I ask him from you again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, Lady,&rdquo; answered the great man, bending his knee; &ldquo;I have served the
+      grandsire and the sire, and so I&rsquo;ll serve the son,&rdquo; and throwing aside the
+      stick he drew a sword and set himself in front of the oak boll where the
+      infant lay. Nor did any venture to meddle with him, for they saw other men
+      of a like sort ranging themselves about him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now slowly enough the smith began to rivet the chain round Cicely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Man,&rdquo; she said to him, &ldquo;I have seen you shoe many of my father&rsquo;s nags.
+      Who could have thought that you would live to use your honest skill upon
+      his daughter!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      On hearing these words the fellow burst into tears, cast down his tools
+      and fled away, cursing the Abbot. His apprentice would have followed, but
+      him they caught and forced to complete the task. Then Emlyn was chained up
+      also, so that at length all was ready for the last terrible act of the
+      drama.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now the head executioner&mdash;he was the Abbey cook&mdash;placed some
+      pine splinters to light in a brazier that stood near by, and while waiting
+      for the word of command, remarked audibly to his mate that there was a
+      good wind and that the witches would burn briskly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The spectators were ordered back out of earshot, and went at last, some of
+      them muttering sullenly to each other. For here the company could not be
+      picked as it had been at the trial, and the Abbot noted anxiously that
+      among them the victims had many friends. It was time the deed was done ere
+      their smouldering love and pity flowed out into bloody tumult, he thought
+      to himself. So, advancing quickly, he stood in front of Emlyn and asked
+      her in a low voice if she still refused to give up the secret of the
+      jewels, seeing that there was yet time for him to command that they should
+      die mercifully and not by the fire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let the mistress judge, not the maid,&rdquo; answered Emlyn in a steady voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He turned and repeated the question to Cicely, who replied&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have I not told you&mdash;never. Get you behind me, O evil man, and go,
+      repent your sins ere it be too late.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot stared at her, feeling that such constancy and courage were
+      almost superhuman. He had an acute, imaginative mind which could fancy
+      himself in like case and what his state would be. Though he was in such
+      haste a great curiosity entered into him to know whence she drew her
+      strength, which even then he tried to satisfy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you mad or drugged, Cicely Foterell?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;Do you not know how
+      fire will feel when it eats up that delicate flesh of yours?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do not know and I shall never know,&rdquo; she answered quietly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you mean that you will die before it touches you, building on some
+      promise of your master, Satan?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I shall die before the fire touches me; but not here and now, and I
+      build upon a promise from the Master of us all in heaven.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He laughed, a shrill, nervous laugh, and called out loud to the people
+      around&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This witch says that she will not burn, for Heaven has promised it to
+      her. Do you not, Witch?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I say so; bear witness to my words, good people all,&rdquo; replied Cicely
+      in clear and ringing tones.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, we&rsquo;ll see,&rdquo; shouted the Abbot. &ldquo;Man, bring flame, and let Heaven&mdash;or
+      hell&mdash;help her if it can!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The cook-executioner blew at his brands, but he was nervous, or clumsy,
+      and a minute or more went by before they flamed. At length one was fit for
+      the task, and unwillingly enough he stooped to lift it up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then it was that in the midst of the intense silence, for of all that
+      multitude none seemed even to breathe, and old Bridget, who had fainted,
+      cried no more, a bull&rsquo;s voice was heard beyond the brow of the hill,
+      roaring&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>In the King&rsquo;s name, stay! In the King&rsquo;s name, stay!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      All turned to look, and there between the trees appeared a white horse,
+      its sides streaked with blood, that staggered rather than galloped towards
+      them, and on the horse a huge, red-bearded man, clad in mail and holding
+      in his hand a woodman&rsquo;s axe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fire the faggots!&rdquo; shouted the Abbot, but the cook, who was not by nature
+      brave, had already let fall his torch, which went out on the damp ground.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      By now the horse was rushing through them, treading them under foot. With
+      great, convulsive bounds it reached the ring and, as the rider leapt from
+      its back, rolled over and lay there panting, for its strength was done.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is Thomas Bolle!&rdquo; exclaimed a voice, while the Abbot cried again&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fire the faggots! Fire the faggots!&rdquo; and a soldier ran to fetch another
+      brand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Thomas was before him. Snatching up the brazier by its legs he smote
+      downwards with it so that the burning charcoal fell all about the soldier
+      and the iron cage remained fixed upon his head, shouting as he smote&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You sought fire&mdash;take it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The man rolled upon the ground screaming in pain and terror till some one
+      dragged the cage off his head, leaving his face barred like a grilled
+      herring. None took further heed of what became of him, for now Thomas
+      Bolle stood in front of the stakes waving his great axe, and repeating,
+      &ldquo;In the King&rsquo;s name, stay! In the King&rsquo;s name, stay!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What mean you, knave?&rdquo; exclaimed the furious Abbot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What I say, Priest. One step nearer and I&rsquo;ll split your crown.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot fell back and Thomas went on&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A Foterell! A Foterell! A Harflete! A Harflete! O ye who have eaten their
+      bread, come, scatter these faggots and save their flesh. Who&rsquo;ll stand with
+      me against Maldon and his butchers?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I,&rdquo; answered voices, &ldquo;and I, and I, and I!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I too,&rdquo; hallooed the yeoman by the oak stump, &ldquo;only I watch the
+      child. Nay, by God I&rsquo;ll bring it with me!&rdquo; and, snatching up the screaming
+      babe under his left arm, he ran to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On came the others also, hurling the faggots this way and that.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Break the chains,&rdquo; roared Bolle again, and somehow those strong hands did
+      it; indeed, the only hurt that Cicely took that day was from their hacking
+      at these chains. They were loose. Cicely snatched the child from the
+      yeoman, who was glad enough to be rid of it, having other work to do, for
+      now the Abbot&rsquo;s men-at-arms were coming on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ring the women round,&rdquo; roared Bolle, &ldquo;and strike home for Foterell,
+      strike home for Harflete! Ah, priest&rsquo;s dog, in the King&rsquo;s name&mdash;this!&rdquo;
+       and the axe sank up to the haft into the breast of the captain who had
+      told Cicely that she would be warm enough that day without her cloak.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then there began a great fight. The party of Foterell, of whom there may
+      have been a score, captained by Bolle, made a circle round the three green
+      oak stakes, within which stood Cicely and Emlyn and old Bridget, still
+      tied to her post, for no one had thought or found time to cut her loose.
+      These were attacked by the Abbot&rsquo;s guard, thirty or more of them, urged on
+      by Maldon himself, who was maddened by the rescue of his victims and full
+      of fear lest Cicely&rsquo;s words should be fulfilled and she herself set down
+      henceforth, not as a witch, but as a prophetess favoured by God.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On came the soldiers and were beaten back. Thrice they came on and thrice
+      they were beaten back with loss, for Bolle&rsquo;s axe was terrible to face and,
+      now that they had found a leader and their courage, the yeoman lads who
+      stood with him were sturdy fighters. Also tumult broke out among the
+      hundreds who watched, some of them taking one side and some the other, so
+      that they fell upon each other with sticks and stones and fists, even the
+      women joining in the fray, biting and tearing like bagged cats. The scene
+      was hideous and the sounds those of a sacked city, for many were hurt and
+      all gave tongue, while shrill and clear above this hateful music rose the
+      yells of Bridget, who had awakened from her faint and imagined all was
+      over and that she fathomed hell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thrice the attackers were rolled back, but of those who defended a third
+      were down, and now the Abbot took another counsel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bring bows,&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;and shoot them, for they have none!&rdquo; and men ran
+      off to do his bidding.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then it was that Emlyn&rsquo;s wit came to their aid, for when Bolle shook his
+      red head and gasped out that he feared they were lost, since how could
+      they fight against arrows, she answered&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If so, why stand here to be spitted, fool? Come, let us cut our way
+      through ere the shafts begin to fly, and take refuge among the trees or in
+      the Nunnery.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Women&rsquo;s counsel is good sometimes,&rdquo; said Bolle. &ldquo;Form up, Foterells, and
+      march.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; broke in Cicely, &ldquo;loose Bridget first, lest they should burn her
+      after all; I&rsquo;ll not stir else.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So Bridget was hacked free, and together with the wounded men, of whom
+      there were several, dragged and supported thence. Then began a running
+      fight, but one in which they still held their own. Yet they would have
+      been overwhelmed at last, for the women and the wounded hampered them, had
+      not help come. For as they hewed their path towards the belt of trees with
+      the Abbot&rsquo;s fierce fellows, some of whom were French or Spanish, hanging
+      on their flanks, suddenly, in the gap where the roadway ran, appeared a
+      horse galloping and on it a woman, who clung to its mane with both hands,
+      and after her many armed men.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look, Emlyn, look!&rdquo; exclaimed Cicely. &ldquo;Who is that?&rdquo; for she could not
+      believe her eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who but Mother Matilda,&rdquo; answered Emlyn; &ldquo;and by the saints, she is a
+      strange sight!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A strange sight she was indeed, for her hood was gone, her hair, that was
+      ever so neat, flew loose, her robe was ruckled up about her knees, the
+      rosary and crucifix she wore streamed on the air behind her and beat
+      against her back, and her garb had burst open at the front; in short,
+      never was holy, aged Prioress seen in such a state before. Down she came
+      on them like a whirlwind, for her frightened horse scented its Blossholme
+      stable, clinging grimly to her unaccustomed seat, and crying as she sped&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For God&rsquo;s love, stop this mad beast!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bolle caught it by the bridle and threw it to its haunches so that, its
+      rider speeding on, flew over its head on to the broad breast of the yeoman
+      who had watched the child, and there rested thankfully. For, as Mother
+      Matilda said afterwards with her gentle smile, never before did she know
+      what comfort there was to be found in man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When at length she loosed her arms from about his neck the yeoman stood
+      her on her feet, saying that this was worse than the baby, and her
+      wandering eyes fell upon Cicely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So I am in time! Oh! never more will I revile that horse,&rdquo; she exclaimed,
+      and sinking to her knees then and there she gasped out some prayer of
+      thankfulness. Meanwhile, those who followed her had reined up in front,
+      and the Abbot&rsquo;s soldiers with the accompanying crowd had halted behind,
+      not knowing what to make of these strangers, so that Bolle and his party
+      with the women were now between the two.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From among the new-comers rode out a fat, coarse man, with a pompous air
+      as of one who is accustomed to be obeyed, who inquired in a laboured
+      voice, for he was breathless from hard riding, what all this turmoil
+      meant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ask the Abbot of Blossholme,&rdquo; said some one, &ldquo;for it is his work.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Abbot of Blossholme? That&rsquo;s the man I want,&rdquo; puffed the fat stranger.
+      &ldquo;Appear, Abbot of Blossholme, and give account of these doings. And you
+      fellows,&rdquo; he added to his escort, &ldquo;range up and be ready, lest this said
+      priest should prove contumacious.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now the Abbot stepped forward with some of his monks and, looking the
+      horseman up and down, said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who may it be that demands account so roughly of a consecrated Abbot?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A consecrated Abbot? A consecrated peacock, a tumultuous, turbulent,
+      traitorous priest, a Spanish rogue ruffler who, I am told, keeps about him
+      a band of bloody mercenaries to break the King&rsquo;s peace and slay loyal
+      English folk. Well, consecrated Abbot, I&rsquo;ll tell you who I am. I am Thomas
+      Legh, his Grace&rsquo;s Visitor and Royal Commissioner to inspect the Houses
+      called religious, and I am come hither upon complaint made by yonder
+      Prioress of Blossholme Nunnery, as to your dealings with certain of his
+      Highness&rsquo;s subjects whom, she says, you have accused of witchcraft for
+      purposes of revenge and unlawful gain. That is who I am, my fine fowl of
+      an Abbot.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now when he heard this pompous speech the rage in Maldon&rsquo;s face was
+      replaced by fear, for he knew of this Doctor Legh and his mission, and
+      understood what Thomas Bolle had meant by his cry of, &ldquo;In the King&rsquo;s
+      name!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XIII
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      THE MESSENGER
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who makes all this tumult?&rdquo; shouted the Commissioner. &ldquo;Why do I see blood
+      and wounds and dead men? And how were you about to handle these women, one
+      of whom by her mien is of no low degree?&rdquo; and he stared at Cicely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The tumult,&rdquo; answered the Abbot, &ldquo;was caused by yonder fool, Thomas
+      Bolle, a lay-brother of my monastery, who rushed among us armed and
+      shouting &lsquo;In the King&rsquo;s name, stay.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then why did you not stay, Sir Abbot? Is the King&rsquo;s name one to be mocked
+      at? Know that I sent on the man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He had no warrant, Sir Commissioner, unless his bull&rsquo;s voice and great
+      axe are a warrant, and I did not stay because we were doing justice upon
+      the three foulest witches in the realm.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Doing justice? Whose justice and what justice? Say, had you a warrant for
+      your justice? If so, show it me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;These witches have been condemned by a Court Ecclesiastic, the judges
+      being a bishop, a prior and myself, and in pursuance of that judgment were
+      about to suffer for their sins by fire,&rdquo; replied Maldon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A Court Ecclesiastic!&rdquo; roared Dr. Legh. &ldquo;Can Courts Ecclesiastic, then,
+      toast free English folk to death? If you would not stand your trial for
+      attempted murder, show me your warrant signed by his Grace the King, or by
+      his Justices of Assize. What! You do not answer. Have you none? I thought
+      as much. Oho, Clement Maldon, you hang-faced Spanish dog, learn that eyes
+      have been on you for long, and now it seems that you would usurp the
+      King&rsquo;s prerogative besides&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; and he checked himself, then
+      went on, &ldquo;Seize that priest, and keep him fast while I make inquiry of
+      this business.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now some of the Commissioner&rsquo;s guard surrounded Maldon, nor did his own
+      men venture to interfere with them, for they had enough of fighting and
+      were frightened by this talk about the King&rsquo;s warrant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then the Commissioner turned to Cicely, and said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are Sir John Foterell&rsquo;s only child, are you not, who allege yourself
+      to be wife to Sir Christopher Harflete, or so says yonder Prioress? Now,
+      what was about to happen to you, and why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; answered Cicely, &ldquo;I and my waiting-woman and the old sister,
+      Bridget, were condemned to die by fire at those stakes upon a charge of
+      sorcery. Although it is true,&rdquo; she added, &ldquo;that I knew we should not
+      perish thus.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How did you know that, Lady? By all tokens your bodies and hot flame were
+      near enough together,&rdquo; and he glanced towards the stakes and the scattered
+      faggots.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir, I knew it because of a vision that God sent to me in my sleep last
+      night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, she swore that at the stake,&rdquo; exclaimed a voice, &ldquo;and we thought her
+      mad.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now can you deny that she is a witch?&rdquo; broke in Maldon. &ldquo;If she were not
+      one of Satan&rsquo;s own, how could she see visions and prophesy her own
+      deliverance?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If visions and prophecies are proof of witchcraft, then, Priest, all Holy
+      Writ is but a seething pot of sorcery,&rdquo; answered Legh. &ldquo;Then the Blessed
+      Virgin and St. Elizabeth were witches, and Paul and John should have been
+      burnt as wizards. Continue, Lady, leaving out your dreams until a more
+      convenient time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; went on Cicely, &ldquo;we have worked no sorcery, and my crime is that I
+      will not name my child a bastard and sign away my lands and goods to
+      yonder Abbot, the murderer of my father and perhaps of my husband. Oh!
+      listen, listen, you and all folk here, and briefly as I may I will tell my
+      tale. Have I your leave to speak?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Commissioner nodded, and she set out her story from the beginning, so
+      sweetly, so simply and with such truth and earnestness, that the concourse
+      of people packed close about her, hung upon her every word, and even Dr.
+      Legh&rsquo;s coarse face softened as he heard. For the half of an hour or more
+      she spoke, telling of her father&rsquo;s death, of her flight and marriage, of
+      the burning of Cranwell Towers, and her widowing, if such it were; of her
+      imprisonment in the Priory and the Abbot&rsquo;s dealings with her and Emlyn; of
+      the birth of her child and its attempted murder by the midwife, his
+      creature; of their trial and condemnation, they being innocent, and of all
+      they had endured that day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you are innocent,&rdquo; shouted a priest as she paused for breath, &ldquo;what
+      was that Thing dressed in the livery of Satan which worked evil at
+      Blossholme? Did we not see it with our eyes?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Just then some one uttered an exclamation and pointed to the shadow of the
+      trees where a strange form was moving. Another moment and it came out into
+      the light. One more and all that multitude scattered like frightened
+      sheep, rushing this way and that; yes, even the horses took the bits
+      between their teeth and bolted. For there, visible to all, Satan himself
+      strolled towards them. On his head were horns, behind his back hung down a
+      tail, his body was shaggy like a beast&rsquo;s, and his face hideous and of many
+      colours, while in his hand he held a pronged fork with a long handle. This
+      way and that rushed the throng, only the Commissioner, who had dismounted,
+      stood still, perhaps because he was too afraid to stir, and with him the
+      women and some of the nuns, including the Prioress, who fell upon their
+      knees and began to utter prayers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On came the dreadful thing till it reached the King&rsquo;s Visitor, bowing to
+      him and bellowing like a bull, then very deliberately untied some strings
+      and let its horrid garb fall off, revealing the person of Thomas Bolle!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What means this mummery, knave?&rdquo; gasped Dr. Legh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mummery do you call it, sir?&rdquo; answered Thomas with a grin. &ldquo;Well, if so,
+      &lsquo;tis on the faith of such mummery that priests burn women in merry
+      England. Come, good people, come,&rdquo; he roared in his great voice, &ldquo;come,
+      see Satan in the flesh. Here are his horns,&rdquo; and he held them up, &ldquo;once
+      they grew upon the head of Widow Johnson&rsquo;s billy-goat. Here&rsquo;s his tail,
+      many a fly has it flicked off the belly of an Abbey cow. Here&rsquo;s his ugly
+      mug, begotten of parchment and the paint-box. Here&rsquo;s his dreadful fork
+      that drives the damned to some hotter corner; it has been death to whole
+      stones of eels down in the marsh-fleet yonder. I have some hell-fire too
+      among the bag of tricks; you&rsquo;ll make the best of brimstone and a little
+      oil dried out upon the hearth. Come, see the devil all complete and naught
+      to pay.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Back trooped the crowd a little fearfully, taking the properties which he
+      held, and handling them, till first one and then all of them began to
+      laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Laugh not,&rdquo; shouted Bolle. &ldquo;Is it a matter of laughter that noble ladies
+      and others whose lives are as dear to some,&rdquo; and he glanced at Emlyn,
+      &ldquo;should grill like herrings because a poor fool walks about clad in skins
+      to keep out the cold and frighten villains? Hark you, I played this trick.
+      I am Beelzebub, also the ghost of Sir John Foterell. I entered the Priory
+      chapel by a passage that I know, and saved yonder babe from murder and
+      scared the murderess down to hell; yes, from the sham devil to the true.
+      Why did I do it? Well, to protect the innocent and scourge the wicked in
+      his pride. But the wicked seized the innocent and the innocent said
+      nothing, fearing lest I should suffer with them, and&mdash;&mdash;O God,
+      you know the rest!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was a near thing, a very near thing, but I&rsquo;m not the half-wit I&rsquo;ve
+      feigned to be for years. Moreover, I had a good horse and a heavy axe, and
+      there are still true hearts round Blossholme; the dead men that lie yonder
+      show it. Heaven has still its angels on the earth, though they wear
+      strange shapes. There stands one of them, and there another,&rdquo; and he
+      pointed first to the fat and pompous Visitor, and next to the dishevelled
+      Prioress, adding: &ldquo;And now, Sir Commissioner, for all that I have done in
+      the cause of justice I ask pardon of you who wear the King&rsquo;s grace and
+      majesty as I wore old Nick&rsquo;s horns and hoofs, since otherwise the Abbot
+      and his hired butchers, who hold themselves masters of King and people,
+      will murder me for this as they have done by better men. Therefore pardon,
+      your Mightiness, pardon,&rdquo; and he kneeled down before him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have it, Bolle; in the King&rsquo;s name you have it,&rdquo; replied Legh, who
+      was more flattered by the titles and attributes poured upon him by the
+      cunning Thomas than a closer consideration might have warranted. &ldquo;For all
+      that you have done, or left undone, I, the Commissioner of his Grace,
+      declare that you shall go scot free and that no action criminal or civil
+      shall lie against you, and this my secretary shall give to you in writing.
+      Now, good fellow, rise, but steal Satan&rsquo;s plumes no more lest you should
+      feel his claws and beak, for he is an ill fowl to mock. Bring hither that
+      Spaniard Maldon. I have somewhat to say to him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now they looked this way and that, but no Abbot could they see. The guards
+      swore that they had never taken eye off him, even when they all ran before
+      the devil, yet certainly he was gone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The knave has given us the slip,&rdquo; bellowed the Commissioner, who was
+      purple with rage. &ldquo;Search for him! Seize him, for which my command shall
+      be your warrant. Draw the wood. I&rsquo;ll to the Abbey, where perchance the fox
+      has gone to earth. Five golden crowns to the man who nets the slimy
+      traitor.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now every one, burning with zeal to show their loyalty and to win the
+      crowns, scattered on the search, so that presently the three &ldquo;witches,&rdquo;
+       Thomas Bolle, Mother Matilda, and the nuns, were left standing almost
+      alone and staring at each other and the dead and wounded men who lay
+      about.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let us to the Priory,&rdquo; said Mother Matilda, &ldquo;for by the sun I judge that
+      it is time for evening prayer, and there seem to be none to hinder us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thomas went to her horse, which grazed close at hand, and led it up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, good friend,&rdquo; she exclaimed, with energy, &ldquo;while I live no more of
+      that evil beast for me. Henceforth I&rsquo;ll walk till I am carried. Keep it,
+      Thomas, as a gift; it is bought and paid for. Sister, your arm.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have I done well, Emlyn?&rdquo; Bolle asked, as he tightened the girths.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know,&rdquo; she answered, looking at him sideways. &ldquo;You played the cur
+      at first, leaving us to burn for your sins, but afterwards, well, you
+      found the wits you say you never lost. Also your manners mended, and
+      yonder captain knave learned that you can handle an axe, so we&rsquo;ll say no
+      more about it, lad, for doubtless that Abbot and his spies were sore
+      task-masters and broke your spirit with their penances and talk of hell to
+      come. Here, lift my lady on to this horse, for she is spent, and let me
+      lean upon your shoulder, Thomas. It&rsquo;s weary work standing at a stake.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely&rsquo;s recollections of the remainder of that day were always shadowy
+      and tangled. She remembered a prayer of thanksgiving in which she took
+      small part with her lips, she whose heart was one great thanksgiving. She
+      remembered the good sister who had given them the relics of St. Catherine
+      assuring her, as she received them back with care, that these and these
+      alone had worked the miracle and saved their lives. She remembered eating
+      food and straining her boy to her breast, and then she remembered no more
+      till she woke to see the morning sun streaming into that same room whence
+      on the previous day they had been led out to suffer the most horrible of
+      deaths.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yes, she woke, and see, near by was Emlyn making ready her garments, as
+      she had done these many years, and at her side lay the boy crowing in the
+      sunlight and waving his little arms, the blessed boy who knew not the
+      terrors he had passed. At first she thought that she had dreamed a very
+      evil dream, till by degrees all the truth came back to her, and she
+      shivered at its memory, yes, even as the weight of it rolled off her heart
+      she shivered and whitened like an aspen in the wind. Then she rose and
+      thanked God for His mercies, which were great.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Oh, if the strength of that horse of Thomas Bolle&rsquo;s had failed one short
+      five minutes sooner, she, in whom the red blood still ran so healthily,
+      would have been but a handful of charred bones. Or if her faith had left
+      her so that she had yielded to the Abbot and shortened all his talk at the
+      place of burning, then Bolle would have come too late. But it proved
+      sufficient to her need, and for this also truly she should be thankful to
+      its Giver.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After they had eaten, a message came to them from the Prioress, who
+      desired to see them in her chamber. Thither they went, rejoiced to find
+      that they were no longer prisoners but had liberty to come and go, and
+      found her seated in a tall chair, for she was too stiff to walk. Cicely
+      ran to her, knelt down and kissed her, and she laid her left hand upon her
+      head in blessing, for the right was cut with the chafing of the reins.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Surely, Cicely,&rdquo; she said, smiling, &ldquo;it is I who should kneel to you,
+      were I in any state to do so. For now I have heard all the tale, and it
+      seems that we have a prophetess among us, one favoured with visions from
+      on high, which visions have been most marvellously fulfilled.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is so, Mother,&rdquo; she answered briefly, for this was a matter of which
+      she would never talk at length, either then or thereafter, &ldquo;but the
+      fulfilment came through you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My daughter, I was but the minister, you were the chosen seer, still let
+      the holy business lie a while. Perhaps you will tell me of it afterwards,
+      and meantime the world and its affairs press us hard. Your deliverance has
+      been bought at no small cost, my daughter, for know that yonder coarse and
+      ungodly man, the King&rsquo;s Visitor, told me as we rode that this Nunnery must
+      be dissolved, its house and revenues seized, and I and my sisters turned
+      out to starve in our old age. Indeed, to bring him here at all I was
+      forced to petition that it might be so in a writing that I signed. See,
+      then, how great is my love for you, dear Cicely.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mother,&rdquo; she answered, &ldquo;it cannot be, it shall not be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alas! child, how will you prevent it? These Visitors, and those who
+      commission them, are hungry folk. I hear they take the lands and goods of
+      poor religious such as we are, and if these are fortunate, give one or two
+      of them a little pittance to get bread. Once I had moneys of my own, but I
+      spent them to buy back the Valley Farm which the Abbot had seized, and of
+      late to satisfy his extortions,&rdquo; and she wept a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mother, listen. I have wealth hidden away, I know not where exactly, but
+      Emlyn knows. It is my very own, the Carfax jewels that came to me from my
+      mother. It was because of these that we were brought to the stake, since
+      the Abbot offered us life in return for them, and when it was too late to
+      save us, a more merciful death than that by fire. But I forbade Emlyn to
+      yield the secret; something in my heart told me to do so, now I know why.
+      Mother, the price of those gems shall buy back your lands, and mayhap buy
+      also permission from his Grace the King for the continuance of your house,
+      where you and yours shall worship as those who went before you have done
+      for many generations. I swear it in my own name and in that of my child
+      and of my husband also&mdash;if he lives.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your husband if he lives might need this wealth, sweet Cicely.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then, Mother, except to save his life, or liberty or honour, I tell you I
+      will refuse it to him, who, when he learns what you have done for me and
+      our son, would give it you and all else he has besides&mdash;nay, would
+      pay it as an honourable debt.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, Cicely, in God&rsquo;s name and my own I thank you, and we&rsquo;ll see, we&rsquo;ll
+      see! Only be advised, lest Dr. Legh should learn of this treasure. But
+      where is it, Emlyn? Fear not to tell me who can be secret, for it is well
+      that more than one should know, and I think that your danger is past.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, speak, Emlyn,&rdquo; said Cicely, &ldquo;for though I never asked before,
+      fearing my own weakness, I am curious. None can hear us here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then, Mistress, I will tell you. You remember that on the day of the
+      burning of Cranwell we sought refuge on the central tower, whence I
+      carried you senseless to the vault. Now in that vault we lay all night,
+      and while you swooned I searched with my fingers till I found a stone that
+      time and damp had loosened, behind which was a hollow. In that hollow I
+      hid the jewels that I carried wrapt in silk in the bosom of my robe. Then
+      I filled up the hole with dust scraped from the floor, and replaced the
+      stone, wedging it tight with bits of mortar. It is the third stone
+      counting from the eastern angle in the second course above the floor line.
+      There I set them, and there doubtless they lie to this day, for unless the
+      tower is pulled down to its foundations none will ever find them in that
+      masonry.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At this moment there came a knocking on the door. When it was opened by
+      Emlyn a nun entered, saying that the King&rsquo;s Visitor demanded to speak with
+      the Prioress.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Show him here since I cannot come to him,&rdquo; said Mother Matilda, &ldquo;and you,
+      Cicely and Emlyn, bide with me, for in such company it is well to have
+      witnesses.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A minute later Dr. Legh appeared accompanied by his secretaries,
+      gorgeously attired and puffing from the stairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To business, to business,&rdquo; he said, scarcely stopping to acknowledge the
+      greetings of the Prioress. &ldquo;Your convent is sequestrated upon your own
+      petition, Madam, therefore I need not stop to make the usual inquiries,
+      and indeed I will admit that from all I hear it has a good repute, for
+      none allege scandal against you, perhaps because you are all too old for
+      such follies. Produce now your deeds, your terrier of lands and your
+      rent-rolls, that I may take them over in due form and dissolve the
+      sisterhood.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will send for them, Sir,&rdquo; answered the Prioress humbly; &ldquo;but,
+      meanwhile, tell us what we poor religious are to do? I am turned sixty
+      years of age, and have dwelt in this house for forty of them; none of my
+      sisters are young, and some of them are older than myself. Whither shall
+      we go?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Into the world, Madam, which you will find a fine, large place. Cease
+      snuffling prayers and from all vulgar superstitions&mdash;by the way,
+      forget not to hand over any reliquaries of value, or any papistical
+      emblems in precious metals that you may possess, including images, of
+      which my secretaries will take account&mdash;and go out into the world.
+      Marry there if you can find husbands, follow useful trades there. Do what
+      you will there, and thank the King who frees you from the incumbrance of
+      silly vows and from the circle of a convent&rsquo;s walls.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To give us liberty to starve outside of them. Sir, do you understand your
+      work? For hundreds of years we have sat at Blossholme, and during all
+      those generations have prayed to God for the souls of men and ministered
+      to their bodies. We have done no harm to any creature, and what wealth
+      came to us from the earth or from the benefactions of the pious we have
+      dispensed with a liberal hand, taking nothing for ourselves. The poor by
+      multitudes have fed at our gates, their sick we have nursed, their
+      children we have taught; often we have gone hungry that they might be
+      full. Now you drive us forth in our age to perish. If that is the will of
+      God, so be it, but what must chance to England&rsquo;s poor?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is England&rsquo;s business, Madam, and the poor&rsquo;s. Meanwhile I have told
+      you that I have no time to waste, since I must away to London to make
+      report concerning this Abbot of yours, a veritable rogue, of whose
+      villainous plots I have discovered many things. I pray you send a
+      messenger to bid them hurry with the deeds.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Just then a nun entered bearing a tray, on which were cakes and wine.
+      Emlyn took it from her, and pouring the wine into cups offered them to the
+      Visitor and his secretaries.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good wine,&rdquo; he said, after he had drunk, &ldquo;a very generous wine. You nuns
+      know the best in liquor; be careful, I pray you, to include it in your
+      inventory. Why, woman, are you not one of those whom that Abbot would have
+      burnt? Yes, and there is your mistress, Dame Foterell, or Dame Harflete,
+      with whom I desire a word.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am at your service, Sir,&rdquo; said Cicely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, Madam, you and your servant have escaped the stake to which, as
+      near as I can judge, you were sentenced upon no evidence at all. Still,
+      you were condemned by a competent ecclesiastical Court, and under that
+      condemnation you must therefore remain until or unless the King pardons
+      you. My judgment is, then, that you stay here awaiting his command.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Sir,&rdquo; said Cicely, &ldquo;if the good nuns who have befriended me are to
+      be driven forth, how can I dwell on in their house alone? Yet you say I
+      must not leave it, and indeed if I could, whither should I go? My
+      husband&rsquo;s hall is burnt, my own the Abbot holds. Moreover, if I bide here,
+      in this way or in that he will have my life.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The knave has fled away,&rdquo; said Dr. Legh, rubbing his fat chin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, but he will come back again, or his people will, and, Sir, you know
+      these Spaniards are good haters, and I have defied him long. Oh, Sir, I
+      crave the protection of the King for my child&rsquo;s sake and my own, and for
+      Emlyn Stower also.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Commissioner went on rubbing his chin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You can give much evidence against this Maldon, can you not?&rdquo; he asked at
+      length.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye,&rdquo; broke in Emlyn, &ldquo;enough to hang him ten times over, and so can I.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you have large estates which he has seized, have you not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have, Sir, who am of no mean birth and station.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lady,&rdquo; he said, with more deference in his voice, &ldquo;step aside with me, I
+      would speak with you privately,&rdquo; and he walked to the window, where she
+      followed him. &ldquo;Now tell me, what was the value of these properties of
+      yours?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know not rightly, Sir, but I have heard my father say about £300 a
+      year.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His manner became more deferential still, since for those days such wealth
+      was great.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed, my Lady. A large sum, a very comfortable fortune if you can get
+      it back. Now I will be frank with you. The King&rsquo;s Commissioners are not
+      well paid and their costs are great. If I so arrange your matters that you
+      come to your own again and that the judgment of witchcraft pronounced
+      against you and your servant is annulled, will you promise to pay me one
+      year&rsquo;s rent of these estates to meet the various expenses I must incur on
+      your behalf?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now it was Cicely&rsquo;s turn to think.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Surely,&rdquo; she answered at length, &ldquo;if you will add a condition&mdash;that
+      these good sisters shall be left undisturbed in their Nunnery.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He shook his fat head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is not possible now. The thing is too public. Why, the Lord Cromwell
+      would say I had been bribed, and I might lose my office.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, then,&rdquo; went on Cicely, &ldquo;if you will promise that one year of grace
+      shall be given to them to make arrangements for their future.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That I can do,&rdquo; he answered, nodding, &ldquo;on the ground that they are of
+      blameless life, and have protected you from the King&rsquo;s enemy. But this is
+      an uncertain world; I must ask you to sign an indenture, and its form will
+      be that you acknowledge to have received from me a loan of £300 to be
+      repaid with interest when you recover your estates.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Draw it up and I will sign, Sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good, Madam; and now that we may get this business through, you will
+      accompany me to London, where you will be safe from harm. We&rsquo;ll not ride
+      to-day, but to-morrow morning at the light.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then my servant Emlyn must come also, Sir, to help me with the babe, and
+      Thomas Bolle too, for he can prove that the witchcraft upon which we were
+      condemned was but his trickery.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, yes; but the costs of travel for so many will be great. Have you,
+      perchance, any money?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Sir, about £50 in gold that is sewn up in one of Emlyn&rsquo;s robes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! A sufficient sum. Too much indeed to be risked upon your persons in
+      these rough times. You will let me take charge of half of it for you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;With pleasure, Sir, trusting you as I do. Keep to your bargain and I will
+      keep to mine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good. When Thomas Legh is fairly dealt with, Thomas Legh deals fairly, no
+      man can say otherwise. This afternoon I will bring the deed, and you&rsquo;ll
+      give me that £25 in charge.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, followed by Cicely, he returned to where the Prioress sat, and said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mother Matilda, for so I understand you are called in religion, the Lady
+      Harflete has been pleading with me for you, and because you have dealt so
+      well by her I have promised in the King&rsquo;s name that you and your nuns
+      shall live on here undisturbed for one year from this day, after which you
+      must yield up peaceable possession to his Majesty, whom I will beg that
+      you shall be pensioned.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thank you, Sir,&rdquo; the Prioress answered. &ldquo;When one is old a year of
+      grace is much, and in a year many things may happen&mdash;for instance, my
+      death.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank me not&mdash;a plain man who but follows after justice and duty.
+      The documents for your signature shall be ready this afternoon, and by the
+      way, the Lady Harflete and her servant, also that stout, shrewd fellow,
+      Thomas Bolle, ride with me to London to-morrow. She will explain all. At
+      three of the clock I wait upon you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Visitor and his secretaries bustled out of the room as pompously as
+      they had entered, and when they had gone Cicely explained to Mother
+      Matilda and Emlyn what had passed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think that you have done wisely,&rdquo; said the Prioress, when she had
+      listened. &ldquo;That man is a shark, but better give him your little finger
+      than your whole body. Certainly, you have bargained well for us, for what
+      may not happen in a year? Also, dear Cicely, you will be safer in London
+      than at Blossholme, since with the great sum of £300 to gain that
+      Commissioner will watch you like the apple of his eye and push your
+      cause.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Unless some one promises him the greater sum of £1000 to scotch it,&rdquo;
+       interrupted Emlyn. &ldquo;Well, there was but one road to take, and paper
+      promises are little, though I grudge the good £25 in gold. Meanwhile,
+      Mother, we have much to make ready. I pray you send some one to find
+      Thomas Bolle, who will not be far away, for since we are no longer
+      prisoners I wish to go out walking with him on an errand of my own that
+      perchance you can guess. Wealth may be useful in London town for all our
+      sakes. Also horses and a packbeast must be got, and other things.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In due course Thomas Bolle was found fast asleep in a neighbour&rsquo;s house,
+      for after his adventures and triumph he had drunk hard and rested long.
+      When she discovered the truth Emlyn rated him well, calling him a beer-tub
+      and not a man, and many other hard names, till at last she provoked him to
+      answer, that had it not been for the said beer-tub she would be but
+      ash-dust this day. Thereon she turned the talk and told them their needs,
+      and that he must ride with them to London. To this he replied that good
+      horses should be saddled by the dawn, for he knew where to lay hands on
+      them, since some were left in the Abbot&rsquo;s stables that wanted exercise;
+      further, that he would be glad to leave Blossholme for a while, where he
+      had made enemies on the yesterday, whose friends yet lay wounded or
+      unburied. After this Emlyn whispered something in his ear, to which he
+      nodded assent, saying that he would bustle round and be ready.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That afternoon Emlyn went out riding with Thomas Bolle, who was fully
+      armed, as she said, to try two of the horses that should carry them on the
+      morrow, and it was late when she returned out of the dark night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you got them?&rdquo; asked Cicely, when they were together in their room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye,&rdquo; she answered, &ldquo;every one; but some stones have fallen, and it was
+      hard to win an entrance to that vault. Indeed, had it not been for Thomas
+      Bolle, who has the strength of a bull, I could never have done it.
+      Moreover, the Abbot has been there before us and dug over every inch of
+      the floor. But the fool never thought of the wall, so all&rsquo;s well. I&rsquo;ll sew
+      half of them into my petticoat and half into yours, to share the risk. In
+      case of thieves, the money that hungry Visitor has left to us, for I paid
+      him over half when you signed the deeds, we will carry openly in pouches
+      upon our girdles. They&rsquo;ll not search further. Oh, I forgot, I&rsquo;ve something
+      more besides the jewels, here it is,&rdquo; and she produced a packet from her
+      bosom and laid it on the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What&rsquo;s this?&rdquo; asked Cicely, looking suspiciously at the worn sail-cloth
+      in which it was wrapped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How can I tell? Cut it and see. All I know is that when I stood at the
+      Nunnery door as Thomas led away the horses, a man crept on me out of the
+      rain swathed in a great cloak and asked if I were not Emlyn Stower. I said
+      Yea, whereon he thrust this into my hand, bidding me not fail to give it
+      to the Lady Harflete, and was gone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It has an over-seas look about it,&rdquo; murmured Cicely, as with eager,
+      trembling fingers she cut the stitches. At length they were undone and a
+      sealed inner wrapping also, revealing, amongst other documents, a little
+      packet of parchments covered with crabbed, unreadable writing, on the back
+      of which, however, they could decipher the names of Shefton and Blossholme
+      by reason of the larger letters in which they were engrossed. Also there
+      was a writing in the scrawling hand of Sir John Foterell, and at the foot
+      of it his name and, amongst others, those of Father Necton and of Jeffrey
+      Stokes. Cicely stared at the deeds, then said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Emlyn, I know these parchments. They are those that my father took with
+      him when he rode for London to disprove the Abbot&rsquo;s claim, and with them
+      the evidence of the traitorous words he spoke last year at Shefton. Yes,
+      this inner wrapping is my own; I took it from the store of worn linen in
+      the passage-cupboard. But how come they here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Emlyn made no answer, only lifted the wrappings and shook them, whereon a
+      strip of paper that they had not seen fell to the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This may tell us,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Read, if you can; it has words on its inner
+      side.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely snatched at it, and as the writing was clear and clerkly, read with
+      ease save for the chokings of her throat. It ran&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My Lady Harflete,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;These are the papers that Jeffrey Stokes saved when your father fell.
+      They were given for safekeeping to the writer of these words, far away
+      across the sea, and he hands them on unopened. Your husband lives and is
+      well again, also Jeffrey Stokes, and though they have been hindered on
+      their journey, doubtless he will find his way back to England, whither,
+      believing you to be dead, as I did, he has not hurried. There are reasons
+      why I, his friend and yours, cannot see you or write more, since my duty
+      calls me hence. When it is finished I will seek you out if I still live.
+      If not, wait in peace until your joy finds you, as I think it will.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;One who loves your lord well, and for his sake you also.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely laid down the paper and burst into a flood of weeping.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, cruel, cruel!&rdquo; she sobbed, &ldquo;to tell so much and yet so little. Nay,
+      what an ungrateful wretch am I, since Christopher truly lives, and I also
+      live to learn it, I, whom he deems dead.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By my soul,&rdquo; said Emlyn, when she had calmed her, &ldquo;that cloaked man is a
+      prince of messengers. Oh, had I but known what he bore I&rsquo;d have had all
+      the story, if I must cling to him like Potiphar&rsquo;s wife to Joseph. Well,
+      well, Joseph got away and half a herring is better than no fish, also this
+      is good herring. Moreover, you have got the deeds when you most wanted
+      them and what is better, a written testimony that will bring the traitor
+      Maldon to the scaffold.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XIV
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      JACOB AND THE JEWELS
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      Cicely&rsquo;s journey to London was strange enough to her, who never before had
+      travelled farther than fifty miles from her home, and but once as a child
+      spent a month in a town when visiting an aunt at Lincoln. She went in
+      ease, it is true, for Commissioner Legh did not love hard travelling, and
+      for this reason they started late and halted early, either at some good
+      inn, if in those days any such places could be called good, or perhaps in
+      a monastery where he claimed of the best that the frightened monks had to
+      offer. Indeed, as she observed, his treatment of these poor folk was
+      cruel, for he blustered and threatened and inquired, accusing them of
+      crimes that they had not committed, and finally, although he had no
+      mission to them at the time, extracted great gifts, saying that if these
+      were not forthcoming he would make a note and return later. Also he got
+      hold of tale-bearers, and wrote down all their scandalous and lying
+      stories told against those whose bread they ate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus, long before they saw Charing Cross, Cicely came to hate this proud,
+      avaricious and overbearing man, who hid a savage nature under a cloak of
+      virtue, and whilst serving his own ends, mouthed great words about God and
+      the King. Still, she who was schooled in adversity, learned to hide her
+      heart, fearing to make an enemy of one who could ruin her, and forced
+      Emlyn, much against her will, to do the same. Moreover, there were worse
+      things than that since, being beautiful, some of his companions talked to
+      her in a way she could not misunderstand, till at length Thomas Bolle,
+      coming on one of them, thrashed him as he had never been thrashed before,
+      after which there was trouble that was only appeased by a gift.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yet on the whole things went well. No one molested the King&rsquo;s Visitor or
+      those with him, the autumn weather held fine, the baby boy kept his
+      health, and the country through which they passed was new to her and full
+      of interest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At last one evening they rode from Barnet into the great city, which she
+      thought a most marvellous place, who had never seen such a multitude of
+      houses or of men running to and fro about their business up and down the
+      narrow streets that at night were lit with lamps. Now there had been a
+      great discussion where they were to lodge, Dr. Legh saying that he knew of
+      a house suitable to them. But Emlyn would not hear of this place, where
+      she was sure they would be robbed, for the wealth that they carried
+      secretly in jewels bore heavily on her mind. Remembering a cousin of her
+      mother&rsquo;s of the name of Smith, a goldsmith, who till within a year or two
+      before was alive and dwelling in Cheapside, she said that they would seek
+      him out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thither then they rode, guided by one of the Visitor&rsquo;s clerks, not he whom
+      Bolle had beaten, but another, and at last, after some search, found a
+      dingy house in a court and over it a sign on which were painted three
+      balls and the name of Jacob Smith. Emlyn dismounted and, the door being
+      open, entered, to be greeted by an old, white-bearded man with horn
+      spectacles thrust up over his forehead and dark eyes like her own, since
+      the same gypsy blood ran strong in both of them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What passed between them Cicely did not hear, but presently the old man
+      came out with Emlyn, and looked her and Bolle up and down sharply for a
+      long while as though to take their measures. At length he said that he
+      understood from his cousin, whom he now saw for the first time for over
+      thirty years, that the two of them and their man desired lodgings, which,
+      as he had empty rooms, he would be pleased to give them if they would pay
+      the price.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely asked how much this might be, and on his naming a sum, ten silver
+      shillings a week for the three of them and their horses, that would be
+      stabled close by, told Emlyn to pay him a pound on account. This he took,
+      biting the gold to see that it was good, but bidding them in to inspect
+      the rooms before he pouched it. They did so, and finding them clean and
+      commodious if somewhat dark, closed the bargain with him, after which they
+      dismissed the clerk to take their address to Dr. Legh, who had promised to
+      advise them so soon as he could put their business forward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When he was gone and Thomas Bolle, conducted by Smith&rsquo;s apprentice, had
+      led off the three horses and the packbeast, the old man changed his
+      manner, and conducting them into a parlour at the back of his shop, sent
+      his housekeeper, a middle-aged woman with a pleasant face, to make ready
+      food for them while he produced cordials from squat Dutch bottles which he
+      made them drink. Indeed he was all kindness to them, being, as he
+      explained, rejoiced to see one of his own blood, for he had no relations
+      living, his wife and their two children having died in one of the London
+      sicknesses. Also he was Blossholme born, though he had left that place
+      fifty years before, and had known Cicely&rsquo;s grandfather and played with her
+      father when he was a boy. So he plied them with question after question,
+      some of which they thought it wise not to answer, for he was a merry and
+      talkative old man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aha!&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;you would prove me before you trust me, and who can blame
+      you in this naughty world? But perhaps I know more about you all than you
+      think, since in this trade my business is to learn many things. For
+      instance, I have heard that there was a great trying of witches down at
+      Blossholme lately, whereat a certain Abbot came off worst, also that the
+      famous Carfax jewels had been lost, which vexed the said holy Abbot. They
+      were jewels indeed, or so I have heard, for among them were two pink
+      pearls worth a king&rsquo;s ransom&mdash;or so I have heard. Great pity that
+      they should be lost, since my Lady there would own them otherwise, and
+      much should I have liked, who am a little man in that trade, to set my old
+      eyes upon them. Well, well, perhaps I shall, perhaps I shall yet, for that
+      which is lost is sometimes found again. Now here comes your dinner; eat,
+      eat, we&rsquo;ll talk afterwards.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This was the first of many pleasant meals which they shared with their
+      host, Jacob Smith. Soon Emlyn found from inquiries that she made among his
+      neighbours without seeming to do so, that this cousin of hers bore an
+      excellent name and was trusted by all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then why should we not trust him also?&rdquo; asked Cicely, &ldquo;who must find
+      friends and put faith in some one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Even with the jewels, Mistress?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Even with the jewels, for such things are his business, and they would be
+      safer in his strong chest than tacked into our garments, where the thought
+      of them haunts me night and day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let us wait a while,&rdquo; said Emlyn, &ldquo;for once they were in that box how do
+      we know if we should get them out again?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      On the morrow of this talk the Visitor Legh came to see them, and had no
+      cheerful tale to tell. According to him the Lord Cromwell declared that as
+      the Abbot of Blossholme claimed these Shefton estates, the King stood, or
+      would soon stand, in the shoes of the said Abbot of Blossholme, and
+      therefore the King claimed them and could not surrender them. Moreover,
+      money was so wanted at Court just then, and here Legh looked hard at them,
+      &ldquo;that there could be no talk of parting with anything of value except in
+      return for a consideration,&rdquo; and he looked at them harder still.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And how can my Lady give that,&rdquo; broke in Emlyn sharply, for she feared
+      lest Cicely should commit herself. &ldquo;To-day she is but a homeless pauper,
+      save for a few pounds in gold, and even if she should come to her own
+      again, as your Worship knows, her first year&rsquo;s profits are all promised.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; said the Doctor sadly, &ldquo;doubtless the case is hard. Only,&rdquo; he added,
+      with cunning emphasis, &ldquo;a tale has just reached me that the Lady Harflete
+      has wealth hidden away which came to her from her mother; trinkets of
+      value and such things.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now Cicely coloured, for the man&rsquo;s little eyes pierced her like gimlets,
+      and her powers of deceit were very small. But this was not so with Emlyn,
+      who, as she said, could play thief to catch a thief.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Listen, Sir,&rdquo; she said, with a secret air, &ldquo;you have heard true. There
+      were some things of value&mdash;why should we hide it from you, our good
+      friend? But, alas! that greedy rogue, the Abbot of Blossholme, has them.
+      He has stripped my poor Lady as bare as a fowl for roasting. Get them back
+      from him, Sir, and on her behalf I say she&rsquo;ll give you half of them, will
+      you not, my Lady?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Surely,&rdquo; said Cicely. &ldquo;The Doctor, to whom we owe so much, will be most
+      welcome to the half of any movables of mine that he can recover from the
+      Abbot Maldon,&rdquo; and she paused, for the fib stuck in her throat. Moreover,
+      she knew herself to be the colour of a peony.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Happily the Commissioner did not notice her blushes, or if he did, he put
+      them down to grief and anger.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Abbot Maldon,&rdquo; he grumbled, &ldquo;always the Abbot Maldon. Oh! what a
+      wicked thief must be that high-stomached Spaniard who does not scruple
+      first to make orphans and then to rob them? A black-hearted traitor, too.
+      Do you know that at this moment he stirs up rebellion in the north? Well,
+      I&rsquo;ll see him on the rack before I have done. Have you a list of those
+      movables, Madam?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely said no, and Emlyn added that one should be made from memory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good; I&rsquo;ll see you again to-morrow or the next day, and meanwhile fear
+      not, I&rsquo;ll be as active in your business as a cat after a sparrow. Oh, my
+      rat of a Spanish Abbot, you wait till I get my claws into your fat back.
+      Farewell, my Lady Harflete, farewell. Mistress Stower, I must away to deal
+      with other priests almost as wicked,&rdquo; and he departed, still muttering
+      objurgations on the Abbot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, I think the time has come to trust Jacob Smith,&rdquo; said Emlyn, when
+      the door closed behind him, &ldquo;for he may be honest, whereas this Doctor is
+      certainly a villain; also, the man has heard something and suspects us.
+      Ah! there you are, Cousin Smith, come in, if you please, since we desire
+      to talk with you for a minute. Come in, and be so good as to lock the door
+      behind you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Five minutes later all the jewels, whereof not one was wanting, lay on the
+      table before old Jacob, who stared at them with round eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Carfax gems,&rdquo; he muttered, &ldquo;the Carfax gems of which I have so often
+      heard; those that the old Crusader brought from the East, having sacked
+      them from a Sultan; from the East, where they talk of them still. A
+      sultan&rsquo;s wealth, unless, indeed, they came straight from the New Jerusalem
+      and were an angel&rsquo;s gauds. And do you say that you two women have carried
+      these priceless things tacked in your cloaks, which, as I have seen, you
+      throw down here and there and leave behind you? Oh, fools, fools, even
+      among women incomparable fools! Fellow-travellers with Dr. Legh also, who
+      would rob a baby of its bauble.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fools or no,&rdquo; exclaimed Emlyn tartly, &ldquo;we have got them safe enough after
+      they have run some risks, as I pray that you may keep them, Cousin Smith.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Jacob threw a cloth over the gems, and slowly transferred them to his
+      pocket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This is an upper floor,&rdquo; he explained, &ldquo;and the door is locked, yet some
+      one might put a ladder up to the window. Were I in the street I should
+      know by the glitter in the light that there were precious things here.
+      Stay, they are not safe in my pocket even for an hour,&rdquo; and going to the
+      wall he did something to a panel in the wainscot causing it to open and
+      reveal a space behind it where lay sundry wrapped-up parcels, among which
+      he placed, not all, but a portion of the gems. Then he went to other
+      panels that opened likewise, showing more parcels, and in the holes behind
+      these he distributed the rest of the treasure.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, foolish women,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;since you have trusted me, I will trust
+      you. You have seen my big strong-boxes in my office, and doubtless thought
+      I keep all my little wares there. Well, so does every thief in London, for
+      they have searched them twice and gained some store of pewter; I remember
+      that some of it was discovered again in the King&rsquo;s household. But behind
+      these panels all is safe, though no woman would ever have thought of a
+      device so simple and so sure.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For a moment Emlyn could find no answer, perhaps because of her
+      indignation, but Cicely asked sweetly&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you ever have fires in London, Master Smith? It seems to me that I
+      have heard of such things, and then&mdash;in a hurry, you know&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Smith thrust up his horned spectacles and looked at her in mild
+      astonishment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To think,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;that I should live to learn wisdom out of the mouth
+      of babes and sucklers&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sucklings,&rdquo; suggested Cicely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sucklers or sucklings, it means the same thing&mdash;women,&rdquo; he replied
+      testily; then added, with a chuckle, &ldquo;Well, well, my Lady, you are right.
+      You have caught out Jacob at his own game. I never thought of fire, though
+      it is true we had one next door last year, when I ran out with my bed and
+      forgot all about the gold and stones. I&rsquo;ll have new hiding-places made in
+      the masonry of the cellar, where no fire would hurt. Ah! you women would
+      never have thought of that, who carry treasure sewn up in a nightshift.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now Emlyn could bear it no longer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And how would you have us carry it, Cousin Smith?&rdquo; she asked indignantly.
+      &ldquo;Tied about our necks, or hanging from our heels? Well do I remember my
+      mother telling me that you were always a simple youth, and that your saint
+      must have been a very strong one who brought you safe to London and showed
+      you how to earn a living there, or else that you had married a woman of
+      excellent intelligence&mdash;though it is plain now she has long been
+      dead. Well, well,&rdquo; she added, with a laugh, &ldquo;cling to your man&rsquo;s vanities,
+      you son of a woman, and since you are so clever, give us of your wisdom,
+      for we need it. But first let me tell you that I have rescued those very
+      jewels from a fire, and by hiding them in masonry in a vault.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is the fashion of the female to wrangle when she has the worst of the
+      case,&rdquo; said Jacob, with a twinkle in his eye. &ldquo;So, daughter of man, set
+      out your trouble. Perchance the wisdom that I have inherited from my
+      mothers straight back to Eve may help that which your mothers lacked. Now,
+      have you done with jests. I listen, if it pleases you to tell me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So, having first invoked the curse of Heaven on him if ever he should
+      breathe a word, Emlyn, with the help of Cicely, repeated the whole matter
+      from the beginning, and the candles were lighted ere ever her tale was
+      done. All this while Jacob Smith sat opposite to them, saying little, save
+      now and again to ask a shrewd question. At length, when they had finished,
+      he exclaimed&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Truly women are fools!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We have heard that before, Master Smith,&rdquo; replied Cicely; &ldquo;but this time&mdash;why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not to have unbosomed to me before, which would have saved you a week of
+      time, although, as it happens, I knew more of your story than you chose to
+      tell, and therefore the days have not been altogether wasted. Well, to be
+      brief, this Dr. Legh is a ravenous rogue.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;O Solomon, to have discovered that!&rdquo; exclaimed Emlyn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;One whose only aim is to line his nest with your feathers, some of which
+      you have promised him, as, indeed, you were right to do. Now he has got
+      wind of these jewels, which is not wonderful, seeing that such things
+      cannot be hid. If you buried them in a coffin, six foot underground, still
+      they would shine through the solid earth and declare themselves. This is
+      his plan&mdash;to strip you of everything ere his master, Cromwell, gets a
+      hold of you; and if you go to him empty-handed, what chance has your suit
+      with Vicar-General Cromwell, the hungriest shark of all&mdash;save one?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We understand,&rdquo; said Emlyn; &ldquo;but what is your plan, Cousin Smith?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mine? I don&rsquo;t know that I have one. Still, here is that which might do.
+      Though I seem so small and humble, I am remembered at Court&mdash;when
+      money is wanted, and just now much money is wanted, for soon they will be
+      in arms in Yorkshire&mdash;and therefore I am much remembered. Now, if you
+      care to give Dr. Legh the go-by and leave your cause to me, perhaps I
+      might serve you as cheaply as another.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;At what charge?&rdquo; blurted out Emlyn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man turned on her indignantly, asking&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cousin, how have I defrauded you or your mistress, that you should insult
+      me to my face? Go to! you do not trust me. Go to, with your jewels, and
+      seek some other helper!&rdquo; and he went to the panelling as though to collect
+      them again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, nay, Master Smith,&rdquo; said Cicely, catching him by the arm; &ldquo;be not
+      angry with Emlyn. Remember that of late we have learned in a hard school,
+      with Abbot Maldon and Dr. Legh for masters. At least I trust you, so
+      forsake me not, who have no other to whom to turn in all my troubles,
+      which are many,&rdquo; and as she spoke the great tears that had gathered in her
+      blue eyes fell upon the child&rsquo;s face, and woke him, so that she must turn
+      aside to quiet him, which she was glad to do.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Grieve not,&rdquo; said the kind-hearted old man, in distress; &ldquo;&rsquo;tis I should
+      grieve, whose brutal words have made you weep. Moreover, Emlyn is right;
+      even foolish women should not trust the first Jack with whom they take a
+      lodging. Still, since you swear that you do in your kindness, I&rsquo;ll try to
+      show myself not all unworthy, my Lady Harflete. Now, what is it you want
+      from the King? Justice on the Abbot? That you&rsquo;ll get for nothing, if his
+      Grace can give it, for this same Abbot stirs up rebellion against him. No
+      need, therefore, to set out his past misdeeds. A clean title to your large
+      inheritance, which the Abbot claims? That will be more difficult, since
+      the King claims through him. At best, money must be paid for it. A
+      declaration that your marriage is good and your boy born in lawful
+      wedlock? Not so hard, but will cost something. The annulment of the
+      sentence of witchcraft on you both? Easy, for the Abbot passed it. Is
+      there aught more?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Master Smith; the good nuns who befriended me&mdash;I would save
+      their house and lands to them. Those jewels are pledged to do it, if it
+      can be done.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A matter of money, Lady&mdash;a mere matter of money. You will have to
+      buy the property, that is all. Now, let us see what it will cost, if
+      fortune goes with me,&rdquo; and he took pen and paper and began to write down
+      figures.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Finally he rose, sighing and shaking his head. &ldquo;Two thousand pounds,&rdquo; he
+      groaned; &ldquo;a vast sum, but I can&rsquo;t lessen it by a shilling&mdash;there are
+      so many to be bought. Yes; £1000 in gifts and £1000 as loan to his
+      Majesty, who does not repay.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Two thousand pounds!&rdquo; exclaimed Cicely in dismay; &ldquo;oh! how shall I find
+      so much, whose first year&rsquo;s rents are already pledged?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Know you the worth of those jewels?&rdquo; asked Jacob, looking at her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay; the half of that, perhaps.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let us say double that, and then right cheap.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, if so,&rdquo; replied Cicely, with a gasp, &ldquo;where shall we sell them? Who
+      has so much money?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll try to find it, or what is needful. Now, Cousin Emlyn,&rdquo; he added
+      sarcastically, &ldquo;you see where my profit lies. I buy the gems at half their
+      value, and the rest I keep.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In your own words: go to!&rdquo; said Emlyn, &ldquo;and keep your gibes until we have
+      more leisure.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man thought a while, and said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It grows late, but the evening is pleasant, and I think I need some air.
+      That crack-brained, red-haired fellow of yours will watch you while I am
+      gone, and for mercy&rsquo;s sake be careful with those candles. Nay, nay; you
+      must have no fire, you must go cold. After what you said to me, I can
+      think of naught but fire. It is for this night only. By to-morrow evening
+      I&rsquo;ll prepare a place where Abbot Maldon himself might sit unscorched in
+      the midst of hell. But till then make out with clothes. I have some furs
+      in pledge that I will send up to you. It is your own fault, and in my
+      youth we did not need a fire on an autumn day. No more, no more,&rdquo; and he
+      was gone, nor did they see him again that night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the following morning, as they sat at their breakfast, Jacob Smith
+      appeared, and began to talk of many things, such as the badness of the
+      weather&mdash;for it rained&mdash;the toughness of the ham, which he said
+      was not to be compared to those they cured at Blossholme in his youth, and
+      the likeness of the baby boy to his mother.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed, no,&rdquo; broke in Cicely, who felt that he was playing with them; &ldquo;he
+      is his father&rsquo;s self; there is no look of me in him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; answered Jacob; &ldquo;well, I&rsquo;ll give my judgment when I see the father.
+      By the way, let me read that note again which the cloaked man brought to
+      Emlyn.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely gave it to him, and he studied it carefully; then said, in an
+      indifferent voice&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The other day I saw a list of Christian captives said to have been
+      recovered from the Turks by the Emperor Charles at Tunis, and among them
+      was one &lsquo;Huflit,&rsquo; described as an English señor, and his servant. I wonder
+      now&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely sprang upon him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! cruel wretch,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;to have known this so long and not to have
+      told me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Peace, Lady,&rdquo; he said, retreating before her; &ldquo;I only learned it at
+      eleven of the clock last night, when you were fast asleep. Yesterday is
+      not this same day, and therefore &rsquo;tis the other day, is it not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Surely you might have woke me. But, swift, where is he now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How can I know? Not here, at least. But the writing said&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, what did the writing say?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am trying to think&mdash;my memory fails me at times; perhaps you will
+      find the same thing when you have my years, should it please Heaven&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! that it might please Heaven to make you speak! What said the
+      writing?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! I have it now. It said, in a note appended amidst other news, for&mdash;did
+      I tell you this was a letter from his Grace&rsquo;s ambassador in Spain? and,
+      oh! his is the vilest scrawl to read. Nay, hurry me not&mdash;it said that
+      this &lsquo;Sir Huflit&rsquo;&mdash;the ambassador has put a query against his name&mdash;and
+      his servant&mdash;yes, yes, I am sure it said his servant too&mdash;well,
+      that they both of them, being angry at the treatment they had met with
+      from the infidel Turks&mdash;no, I forgot to add there were three of them,
+      one a priest, who did otherwise. Well, as I said, being angry, they
+      stopped there to serve with the Spaniards against the Turks till the end
+      of that campaign. There, that is all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How little is your all!&rdquo; exclaimed Cicely. &ldquo;Yet, &lsquo;tis something. Oh! why
+      should a married man stop across the seas to be revenged on poor ignorant
+      Turks?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why should he not?&rdquo; interrupted Emlyn, &ldquo;when he deems himself a widower,
+      as does your lord?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I forgot; he thinks me dead, who doubtless himself will be dead, if
+      he is not so already, seeing that those wicked, murderous Turks will kill
+      him,&rdquo; and she began to weep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should have added,&rdquo; said Jacob hastily, &ldquo;that in a second letter, of
+      later date, the ambassador declares that the Emperor&rsquo;s war against the
+      Turks is finished for this season, and that the Englishmen who were with
+      him fought with great honour and were all escaped unharmed, though this
+      time he gives no names.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All escaped! If my husband were dead, who could not die meanly or without
+      fame, how could he say that they were all escaped? Nay, nay; he lives,
+      though who knows if he will return? Perchance he will wander off
+      elsewhere, or stay and wed again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Impossible,&rdquo; said old Jacob, bowing to her; &ldquo;having called you wife&mdash;impossible.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Impossible,&rdquo; echoed Emlyn, &ldquo;having such a score to settle with yonder
+      Maldon! A man may forget his love, especially if he deems her buried. But
+      as he stayed foreign to fight the Turk, who wronged him, so he&rsquo;ll come
+      home to fight the Abbot, who ruined him and slew his bride.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There followed a silence, which the goldsmith, who felt it somewhat
+      painful, hastened to break, saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, doubtless he will come home; for aught we know he may be here
+      already. But meanwhile we also have our score against this Abbot, a bad
+      one, though think not for his sake that all Abbots are bad, for I have
+      known some who might be counted angels upon earth, and, having gone to
+      martyrdom, doubtless to-day are angels in heaven. Now, my Lady, I will
+      tell you what I have done, hoping that it will please you better than it
+      does me. Last night I saw the Lord Cromwell, with whom I have many
+      dealings, at his house in Austin Friars, and told him the case, of which,
+      as I thought, that false villain Legh had said nothing to him, purposing
+      to pick the plums out of the pudding ere he handed on the suet to his
+      master. He read your deeds and hunted up some petition from the Abbot,
+      with which he compared them; then made a note of my demands and asked
+      straight out&mdash;How much?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I told him £1000 on loan to the King, which would not be asked for back
+      again, the said loan to be discharged by the grant to me&mdash;that is, to
+      you&mdash;of all the Abbey lands, in addition to your own, when the said
+      Abbey lands are sequestered, as they will be shortly. To this he agreed,
+      on behalf of his Grace, who needs money much, but inquired as to himself.
+      I replied £500 for him and his jackals, including Dr. Legh, of which no
+      account would be asked. He told me it was not enough, for after the
+      jackals had their pickings nothing would be left for him but the bones; I,
+      who asked so much, must offer more, and he made as though to dismiss me.
+      At the door I turned and said I had a wonderful pink pearl that he, who
+      loved jewels, might like to see&mdash;a pink pearl worth many abbeys. He
+      said, &lsquo;Show it;&rsquo; and, oh! he gloated over it like a maid over her first
+      love-letter. &lsquo;If there were two of these, now!&rsquo; he whispered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Two, my Lord!&rsquo; I answered; &lsquo;there&rsquo;s no fellow to that pearl in the whole
+      world,&rsquo; though it is true that as I said the words, the setting of its
+      twin, that was pinned to my inner shirt, pricked me sorely, as if in
+      anger. Then I took it up again, and for the second time began to bow
+      myself out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Jacob,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;you are an old friend, and I&rsquo;ll stretch my duty for
+      you. Leave the pearl&mdash;his Grace needs that £1000 so sorely that I
+      must keep it against my will,&rsquo; and he put out his hand to take it, only to
+      find that I had covered it with my own.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;First the writing, then its price, my Lord. Here is a memorandum of it
+      set out fair, to save you trouble, if it pleases you to sign.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He read it through, then, taking a pen, scored out the clause as regards
+      acquittal of the witchcraft, which, he said, must be looked into by the
+      King in person or by his officers, but all the rest he signed, undertaking
+      to hand over the proper deeds under the great seal and royal hand upon
+      payment of £1000. Being able to do no better, I said that would serve, and
+      left him your pearl, he promising, on his part, to move his Majesty to
+      receive you, which I doubt not he will do quickly for the sake of the
+      £1000. Have I done well?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed, yes,&rdquo; exclaimed Cicely. &ldquo;Who else could have done half so well&mdash;&mdash;?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      As the words left her lips there came a loud knocking at the door of the
+      house, and Jacob ran down to open it. Presently he returned with a
+      messenger in a splendid coat, who bowed to Cicely and asked if she were
+      the Lady Harflete. On her replying that such was her name, he said that he
+      bore to her the command of his Grace the King to attend upon him at three
+      o&rsquo;clock of that afternoon at his Palace of Whitehall, together with Emlyn
+      Stower and Thomas Bolle, there to make answer to his Majesty concerning a
+      certain charge of witchcraft that had been laid against her and them,
+      which summons she would neglect at her peril.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir, I will be there,&rdquo; answered Cicely; &ldquo;but tell me, do I come as a
+      prisoner?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; replied the herald, &ldquo;since Master Jacob Smith, in whom his Grace
+      has trust, has consented to be answerable for you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And for the £1000,&rdquo; muttered Jacob, as, with many salutations, he showed
+      the royal messenger to the door, not neglecting to thrust a gold piece
+      into his hand that he waved behind him in farewell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XV
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      THE DEVIL AT COURT
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      It was half-past two of the clock when Cicely, who carried her boy in her
+      arms, accompanied by Emlyn, Thomas Bolle and Jacob Smith, found herself in
+      the great courtyard of the Palace of Whitehall. The place was full of
+      people waiting there upon one business or another, through whom messengers
+      and armed men thrust their way continually, crying, &ldquo;Way! In the King&rsquo;s
+      name, way!&rdquo; So great was the press, indeed, that for some time even Jacob
+      could command no attention, till at length he caught sight of the herald
+      who had visited his house in the morning, and beckoned to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was looking for you, Master Smith, and for the Lady Harflete,&rdquo; the man
+      said, bowing to her. &ldquo;You have an appointment with his Grace, have you
+      not? but God knows if it can be kept. The ante-chambers are full of folk
+      bringing news about the rebellion in the north, and of great lords and
+      councillors who wait for commands or money, most of them for money. In
+      short the King has given order that all appointments are cancelled; he can
+      see no one to-day. The Lord Cromwell told me so himself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jacob took a golden angel from his pouch and began to play with it between
+      his fingers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I understand, noble herald,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Still, do you think that you could
+      find me a messenger to the Lord Cromwell? If so, this trifle&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll try, Master Smith,&rdquo; he answered, stretching out his hand for the
+      piece of money. &ldquo;But what is the message?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, say that Pink Pearl would learn from his Lordship where he can lay
+      hands upon £1000 without interest.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A strange message, to which I will hazard an answer&mdash;nowhere,&rdquo; said
+      the herald, &ldquo;yet I&rsquo;ll find some one to deliver it. Step within this
+      archway and wait out of the rain. Fear not, I will be back presently.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They did as he bid them, gladly enough, for it had begun to drizzle and
+      Cicely was afraid lest her boy, with whom London did not agree too well,
+      should take cold. Here, then, they stood amusing themselves in watching
+      the motley throng that came and went. Bolle, to whom the scene was
+      strange, gaped at them with his mouth open; Emlyn took note of every one
+      with her quick eyes, while old Jacob Smith whispered tales concerning
+      individuals as they passed, most of which were little to their credit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As for Cicely, soon her thoughts were far away. She knew that she was at a
+      crisis of her fortune; that if things went well with her this day she
+      might look to be avenged upon her enemies, and to spend the rest of her
+      life in wealth and honour. But it was not of such matters that she
+      dreamed, whose heart was set on Christopher, without whom naught availed.
+      Where was he, she wondered. If Jacob&rsquo;s tale were true, after passing many
+      dangers, but a little while ago he lived and had his health. Yet in those
+      times death came quickly, leaping like the lightning from unexpected
+      clouds or even out of a clear sky, and who could say? Besides, he believed
+      her gone, and that being so would be careless of himself, or perchance,
+      worst thought of all, would take some other wife, as was but right and
+      natural. Oh! then indeed&mdash;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At this moment a sound of altercation woke her to the world again, and she
+      looked up to see that Thomas Bolle was bringing trouble on them. A coarse
+      fat lout with a fiery and a knotted nose, being somewhat in liquor, had
+      amused himself by making mock of his country looks and red hair, and
+      asking whether they used him for a scarecrow in his native fields.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thomas bore it for a while, only answering with another question: whether
+      he, the fat fellow, hired out his nose to London housewives to light their
+      fires. The man, feeling that the laugh was against him, and noticing the
+      child in Cicely&rsquo;s arms pointed it out to his friends, inquiring whether
+      they did not think it was exactly like its dad. Then Thomas&rsquo;s rage burnt
+      up, although the jest was silly and aimless enough.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You low, London gutter-hound!&rdquo; he exclaimed; &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll learn you to insult
+      the Lady Harflete with your ribald japes,&rdquo; and stretching out his big fist
+      he seized his enemy&rsquo;s purple nose in a grip of iron and began to twist it
+      till the sot roared with pain. Thereon guards ran up and would have
+      arrested Bolle for breaking the peace in the King&rsquo;s palace. Indeed,
+      arrested he must have been, notwithstanding all Jacob Smith could do to
+      save him, had not at that moment a man appeared at whose coming the crowd
+      that had gathered, separated, bowing; a man of middle age with a quick,
+      clever face, who wore rich clothes and a fur-trimmed velvet cap and gown.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely knew him at once for Cromwell, the greatest man in England after
+      the King, and marked him well, knowing that he held her fate and that of
+      her child in the hollow of his hand. She noted the thin-lipped mouth,
+      small as a woman&rsquo;s, the sharp nose, the little brownish eyes set close
+      together and surrounded by wrinkled skin that gave them a cunning look,
+      and noting was afraid. Before her stood a man who, though at present he
+      seemed to be her friend, if he chanced to become her enemy, as once he had
+      been bribed to be her father&rsquo;s, would show her no more pity than the
+      spider shows a fly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Indeed she was right, for many were the flies that had been snared and
+      sucked in the web of Cromwell, who, in his full tide of power and pomp,
+      forgot the fate of his master, Wolsey, in his day a greater spider still.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What passes here?&rdquo; Cromwell said in a sharp voice. &ldquo;Men, is this the
+      place to brawl beneath his Grace&rsquo;s very windows? Ah! Master Smith, is it
+      you? Explain.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My Lord,&rdquo; answered Jacob, bowing, &ldquo;this is Lady Harflete&rsquo;s servant and he
+      is not to blame. That fat knave insulted her and, being quick-tempered,
+      her man, Bolle, wrang his nose.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I see that he wrang it. Look, he is wringing it still. Friend Bolle,
+      leave go, or presently you will have in your hand that which is of no
+      value to you. Guard, take this beer-tub and hold his head beneath the pump
+      for five minutes by the clock to wash him, and if he comes back again set
+      him in the stocks. Nay, no words, fellow, you are well served. Master
+      Smith, follow me with your party.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again the crowd parted as they walked after Cromwell to a side door that
+      was near at hand, to find themselves alone with him in a small chamber.
+      Here he stopped and, turning, surveyed them all narrowly, especially
+      Cicely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose, Master Smith,&rdquo; he said, pointing to Bolle, who was wiping his
+      hands clean with the rushes from the floor, &ldquo;this is the man that you told
+      me played the devil yonder at Blossholme. Well, he can play the fool also.
+      In another minute there would have been a tumult and you would have lost
+      your chance of seeing his Grace, for months perhaps, since he has
+      determined to ride from London to-morrow morning northwards, though it is
+      true he may change his mind ere then. This rebellion troubles him much,
+      and were it not for the loan you promise, when loans are needed, small
+      hope would you have had of audience. Now come quickly and be careful that
+      you do not cross the King&rsquo;s temper, for it is tetchy to-day. Indeed, had
+      it not been for the Queen, who is with him and minded to see this Lady
+      Harflete, that they would have burnt as a witch, you must have waited till
+      a more convenient season which may never come. Stay, what is in that great
+      sack you carry, Bolle?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The devil&rsquo;s livery, may it please your Lordship.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The devil&rsquo;s livery, many wear that in London. Still, bring the gear, it
+      may make his Grace laugh, and if so I&rsquo;ll give you a gold piece, who have
+      had enough of oaths and scoldings, aye,&rdquo; he added, with a sour grin, &ldquo;and
+      of blows too. Now follow me into the Presence, and speak only when you are
+      spoken to, nor dare to answer if he rates you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They went from the room down a passage and through another door, where the
+      guards on duty looked suspiciously at Bolle and his sack, but at a word
+      from Cromwell let them through into a large room in which a fire burned
+      upon the hearth. At the end of this room stood a huge, proud-looking man
+      with a flat and cruel face, broad as an ox&rsquo;s skull, as Thomas Bolle said
+      afterwards, who was dressed in some rich, sombre stuff and wore a velvet
+      cap upon his head. He held a parchment in his hand, and before him on the
+      other side of an oak table sat an officer of state in a black robe, who
+      wrote upon another parchment, whereof there were many scattered about on
+      the table and the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Knave,&rdquo; shouted the King, for they guessed that it was he, &ldquo;you have cast
+      up these figures wrong. Oh, that it should be my lot to be served by none
+      but fools!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pardon, your Grace,&rdquo; said the secretary in a trembling voice, &ldquo;thrice
+      have I checked them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Would you gainsay me, you lying lawyer,&rdquo; bellowed the King again. &ldquo;I tell
+      you they must be wrong, since otherwise the sum is short by £1100 of that
+      which I was promised. Where are the £1100? You must have stolen them,
+      thief.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I steal, oh, your Grace, I steal!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, why not, since your betters do. Only you are clumsy, you lack skill.
+      Ask my Lord Cromwell there to give you lessons. He learned under the best
+      of masters, and is a merchant by trade to boot. Oh, get you gone and take
+      your scribblings with you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The poor officer hastened to avail himself of this invitation. Hurriedly
+      collecting his parchments he bowed himself from the presence of his irate
+      Sovereign. At the door, about twelve feet away, however, he turned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My gracious Liege,&rdquo; he began, &ldquo;the casting of the count is right. Upon my
+      honour as a Christian soul I can look your Majesty in the face with truth
+      in my eye&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now on the table there was a massive inkstand made from the horn of a ram
+      mounted with silver feet. This Henry seized and hurled with all his
+      strength. The aim was good, for the heavy horn struck the wretched scribe
+      upon the nose so that the ink squirted all over his face, and felled him
+      to the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now there is more in your eye than truth,&rdquo; shouted the King. &ldquo;Be off, ere
+      the stool follows the inkpot.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Two ladies who stood by the fire talking together and taking no heed, for
+      to such rude scenes they seemed to be accustomed, looked up and laughed a
+      little, then went on talking, while Cromwell smiled and shrugged his
+      shoulders. Then in the midst of the silence which followed Thomas Bolle,
+      who had been watching open-mouthed, ejaculated in his great voice&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A bull&rsquo;s eye! A noble bull! Myself cannot throw straighter.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Silence, fool,&rdquo; hissed Emlyn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who spoke?&rdquo; asked the king, looking towards them sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Please, my Liege, it was I, Thomas Bolle.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thomas Bolle! Can you sling a stone, Thomas Bolle, whoever you may be?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, Sire, but not better than you, I think. That was a gallant shot.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thomas Bolle, you are right. Seeing the hurry and the unhandiness of the
+      missile, it was excellent. Let the knave stand up again and I&rsquo;ll bet you a
+      gold noble to a brass nail that you&rsquo;ll not do as well within an inch. Why,
+      the fellow&rsquo;s gone! Will you try on my Lord Cromwell? Nay, this is no time
+      for fooling. What&rsquo;s your business, Thomas Bolle, and who are those women
+      with you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now Cromwell stepped forward, and with cringing gestures began to explain
+      something to the King in a low voice. Meanwhile, the two ladies became
+      suddenly interested in Cicely, and one of them, a pale but pretty woman,
+      splendidly dressed, stepped forward to her, saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you the Lady Harflete of whom we have heard, she who was to have been
+      burnt as a witch? Yes? And is that your child? Oh! what a beautiful child.
+      A boy, I&rsquo;ll swear. Come to me, sweet, and in after years you can tell that
+      a queen has nursed you,&rdquo; and she stretched out her arms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As good fortune would have it the child was awake, and attracted by the
+      Queen&rsquo;s pleasant voice, or perhaps by the necklace of bright gems that she
+      wore, he held out his little hands towards her and went quite contentedly
+      to her breast. Jane Seymour, for it was she, began to fondle him with
+      delight, then, followed by her lady, ran to the King, saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;See, Harry, see what a beautiful boy, and how he loves me. God send us
+      such a son as this!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The King glanced at the child, then answered&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, he would do well enow. Well, it rests with you, Jane. Nurse him,
+      nurse him, perhaps the sex is catching. I and all England would see you
+      brought to bed of that sickness, Sweet. What said you, Cromwell?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The great minister went on with his explanations, till the King, wearying
+      of him, called out&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come here, Master Smith.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jacob advanced, bowing, and stood still.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, Master Smith, the Lord Cromwell tells me that if I sign these
+      papers, you, on behalf of the Lady Harflete, will loan me £1000 without
+      interest, which as it chances I need. Where, then, is this £1000?&mdash;for
+      I will have no promises, not even from you, who are known to keep them,
+      Master Smith.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jacob thrust his hand beneath his robe, and from various inner pockets
+      drew out bags of gold, which he set in a row upon the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here they are, your Grace,&rdquo; he said quietly. &ldquo;If you should wish for them
+      they can be weighed and counted.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;God&rsquo;s truth! I think I had better keep them, lest some accident should
+      happen to you on the way home, Master Smith. You might fall into the
+      Thames and sink.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your Grace is right, the parchments will be lighter to carry, even,&rdquo; he
+      added meaningly, &ldquo;with your Highness&rsquo;s name added.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can&rsquo;t sign,&rdquo; said the King doubtfully, &ldquo;all the ink is spilt.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jacob produced a small ink-horn, which like most merchants of the day he
+      carried hung to his girdle, drew out the stopper and with a bow set it on
+      the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In truth you are a good man of business, Master Smith, too good for a
+      mere king. Such readiness makes me pause. Perhaps we had better meet again
+      at a more leisured season.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jacob bowed once more, and stretching out his hand slowly lifted the first
+      of the bags of gold as though to replace it in his pocket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cromwell, come hither,&rdquo; said the King, whereon Jacob, as though in
+      forgetfulness, laid the bag back upon the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Repeat the heads of this matter, Cromwell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My Liege, the Lady Harflete seeks justice on the Spaniard Maldon, Abbot
+      of Blossholme, who is said to have murdered her father, Sir John Foterell,
+      and her husband, Sir Christopher Harflete, though rumour has it that the
+      latter escaped his clutches and is now in Spain. Item: the said Abbot has
+      seized the lands which this Dame Cicely should have inherited from her
+      father, and demands their restitution.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By God&rsquo;s wounds! justice she shall have and for nothing if we can give it
+      her,&rdquo; answered the King, letting his heavy fist fall upon the table. &ldquo;No
+      need to waste time in setting out her wrongs. Why, &lsquo;tis the same Spanish
+      knave Maldon who stirs up all this hell&rsquo;s broth in the north. Well, he
+      shall boil in his own pot, for against him our score is long. What more?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A declaration, Sire, of the validity of the marriage between Christopher
+      Harflete and Cicely Foterell, which without doubt is good and lawful
+      although the Abbot disputes it for his own ends; and an indemnity for the
+      deaths of certain men who fell when the said Abbot attacked and burnt the
+      house of the said Christopher Harflete.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It should have been granted the more readily if Maldon had fallen also,
+      but let that pass. What more?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The promise, your Grace, of the lands of the Abbey of Blossholme and of
+      the Priory of Blossholme in consideration of the loan of £1000 advanced to
+      your Grace by the agent of Cicely Harflete, Jacob Smith.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A large demand, my Lord. Have these lands been valued?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, Sire, by your Commissioner, who reports it doubtful if with all
+      their tenements and timber they would fetch £1000 in gold.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Our Commissioner? A fig for his valuing, doubtless he has been bribed.
+      Still, if we repay the money we can hold the land, and since this Dame
+      Harflete and her husband have suffered sorely at the hands of Maldon and
+      his armed ruffians, why, let it pass also. Now, is that all? I weary of so
+      much talk.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But one thing more, your Grace,&rdquo; put in Cromwell hastily, for Henry was
+      already rising from his chair. &ldquo;Dame Cicely Harflete, her servant, Emlyn
+      Stower, and a certain crazed old nun were condemned of sorcery by a Court
+      Ecclesiastic whereof the Abbot Maldon was a member, the said Abbot
+      alleging that they had bewitched him and his goods.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then he was pleader and judge in one?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is so, your Grace. Already without the royal warrant they were bound
+      to the stake for burning, the said Maldon having usurped the prerogative
+      of the Crown, when your Commissioner, Legh, arrived and loosed them, but
+      not without fighting, for certain men were killed and wounded. Now they
+      humbly crave your Majesty&rsquo;s royal pardon for their share in this
+      man-slaying, if any, as also does Thomas Bolle yonder, who seems to have
+      done the slaying&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well can I believe it,&rdquo; muttered the King.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And a declaration of the invalidity of their trial and condemning, and of
+      their innocence of the foul charge laid against them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Innocence!&rdquo; exclaimed Henry, growing impatient and fixing on the last
+      point. &ldquo;How do we know they were innocent, though it is true that if Dame
+      Harflete is a witch she is the prettiest that ever we have heard of or
+      seen. You ask too much, after your fashion, Cromwell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I crave your Grace&rsquo;s patience for one short minute. There is a man here
+      who can prove that they were innocent; yonder red-haired Bolle.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What? He who praised our shooting? Well, Bolle, since you are so good a
+      sportsman, we will listen to you. Prove and be brief.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now all is finished,&rdquo; murmured Emlyn to Cicely, &ldquo;for assuredly fool
+      Thomas will land us in the mire.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your Grace,&rdquo; said Bolle in his big voice, &ldquo;I obey in four words&mdash;I
+      was the devil.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The devil you were, Thomas Bolle. Now, your meaning?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your Grace, Blossholme was haunted, I haunted it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How could you do otherwise if you lived there?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll show your Grace,&rdquo; and without more ado, to the horror of Cicely,
+      Thomas tumbled from his sack all his hellish garb and set to work to
+      clothe himself. In a minute, for he was practised at the game, the hideous
+      mask was on his head, and with it the horns and skin of the widow&rsquo;s
+      billy-goat; the tail and painted hides were tied about him, and in his
+      hand he waved the eel spear, short-handled now. Thus arrayed he capered
+      before the astonished King and Queen, shaking the tail that had a wire in
+      it and clattering his hoofs upon the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, good devil! Most excellent devil!&rdquo; exclaimed his Majesty, clapping
+      his hands. &ldquo;If I had met thee I&rsquo;d have run like a hare. Stay, Jane, peep
+      you through yonder door and tell me who are gathered there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Queen obeyed and, returned, said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There be a bishop and a priest, I cannot see which, for it grows dark,
+      with chaplains and sundry of the lords of Council waiting audience.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good. Then we&rsquo;ll try the devil on these devil-tamers. Friend Satan, go
+      you to that door, slip through it softly and rush upon them roaring,
+      driving them through this chamber so that we may see which of them will be
+      bold enough to try to lay you. Dost understand, Beelzebub?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thomas nodded his horns and departed silently as a cat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now open the door and stand on one side,&rdquo; said the King.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cromwell obeyed, nor had they long to wait. Presently from the hall beyond
+      there rose a most fearful clamour. Then through the door shot the bishop
+      panting, after him came lords, chaplains, and secretaries, and last of all
+      the priest, who, being very fat and hampered by his gown, could not run so
+      fast, although at his back Satan leapt and bellowed. No heed did they take
+      of the King&rsquo;s Majesty or of aught else, whose only thought was flight as
+      they tore down the chamber to the farther door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, noble, noble!&rdquo; hallooed the King, who was shaking with laughter.
+      &ldquo;Give him your fork, devil, give him your fork,&rdquo; and having the royal
+      command Bolle obeyed with zeal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In thirty seconds it was all over; the rout had come and gone, only Thomas
+      in his hideous attire stood bowing before the King, who exclaimed&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thank thee, Thomas Bolle, thou hast made me laugh as I have not laughed
+      for years. Little wonder that thy mistress was condemned for witchcraft.
+      Now,&rdquo; he added, changing his tone, &ldquo;off with that mummery, and, Cromwell,
+      go, catch one of those fools and tell them the truth ere tales fly round
+      the palace. Jane, cease from merriment, there is a time for all things.
+      Come hither, Lady Harflete, I would speak with you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely approached and curtseyed, leaving her boy in the Queen&rsquo;s arms,
+      where he had gone to sleep, for she did not seem minded to part with him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are asking much of us,&rdquo; he said suddenly, searching her with a shrewd
+      glance, &ldquo;relying, doubtless, on your wrongs, which are deep, or your face,
+      which is sweet, or both. Well, these things move Kings mayhap more than
+      others, also I knew old Sir John, your father, a loyal man and a brave, he
+      fought well at Flodden; and young Harflete, your husband, if he still
+      lives, had a good name like his forebears. Moreover your enemy, Maldon, is
+      ours, a treacherous foreign snake such as England hates, for he would set
+      her beneath the heel of Spain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, Dame Harflete, doubtless when you go hence you will bear away
+      strange stories of King Harry and his doings. You will say he plays the
+      fool, pelting his servants with inkpots when he is wrath, as God knows he
+      has often cause to be, and scaring his bishops with sham Satans, as after
+      all why should he not since it is a dull world? You&rsquo;ll say, too, that he
+      takes his teaching from his ministers, and signs what these lay before him
+      with small search as to the truth or falsity. Well, that&rsquo;s the lot of
+      monarchs who have but one man&rsquo;s brain and one man&rsquo;s time; who needs must
+      trust their slaves until these become their masters, and there is naught
+      left,&rdquo; here his face grew fierce, &ldquo;save to kill them, and find more and
+      worse. New servants, new wives,&rdquo; and he glanced at Jane, who was not
+      listening, &ldquo;new friends, false, false, all three of them, new foes, and at
+      the last old Death to round it off. Such has been the lot of kings from
+      David down, and such I think it shall always be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He paused a while, brooding heavily, then looked up and went on, &ldquo;I know
+      not why I should speak thus to a chit like you, except it be, that young
+      though you are, you also have known trouble and the feel of a sick heart.
+      Well, well, I have heard more of you and your affairs than you might
+      think, and I forget nothing&mdash;that&rsquo;s my gift. Dame Harflete, you are
+      richer than you have been advised to say, and I repeat you ask much of me.
+      Justice is your due from your Sovereign, and you shall have it; but these
+      wide Abbey lands, this Priory of Blossholme, whose nuns have befriended
+      you and whom you desire to save, this embracing pardon for others who had
+      shed blood, this cancelling outside of the form of law of a sentence
+      passed by a Court duly constituted, if unjust, all in return for a loan of
+      a pitiful £1000? You huckster well, Lady Harflete, one would think that
+      your father had been a chapman, not rough John Foterell, you who can drive
+      so shrewd a bargain with your King&rsquo;s necessities.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sire, Sire,&rdquo; broke in Cicely in confusion, &ldquo;I have no more, my lands are
+      wasted by Abbot Maldon, my husband&rsquo;s hall is burnt by his soldiers, my
+      first year&rsquo;s rents, if ever I should receive them, are promised&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To whom?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She hesitated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To whom?&rdquo; he thundered. &ldquo;Answer, Madam.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To your Royal Commissioner, Dr. Legh.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! I thought as much, though when he spoke of you he did not tell it,
+      the snuffling rogue.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The jewels that came to me from my mother are in pawn for that £1000, and
+      I have no more.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A palpable lie, Dame Harflete, for if so, how have you paid Cromwell? He
+      did not bring you here for nothing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, my Liege, my Liege,&rdquo; said Cicely, sinking to her knees, &ldquo;ask not a
+      helpless woman to betray those who have befriended her in her most sore
+      and honest need. I said I have nothing, unless those gems are worth more
+      than I know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I believe you, Dame Harflete. We have plucked you bare between us,
+      have we not? Still, perchance, you will be no loser in the end. Now,
+      Master Smith, there, does not work for love alone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sire,&rdquo; said Jacob, &ldquo;that is true, I copy my masters. I have this lady&rsquo;s
+      jewels in pledge, and I hope to make a profit on them. Still, Sire, there
+      is among them a pink pearl of great beauty that it might please the Queen
+      to wear. Here it is,&rdquo; and he laid it upon the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, what a lovely thing,&rdquo; said Jane; &ldquo;never have I seen its like.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then study it well, Wife, for you look your last upon it. When we cannot
+      pay our soldiers to keep our crown upon our head, and preserve the
+      liberties of England against the Spaniard and the Pope of Rome, it is no
+      time to give you gems that I have not bought. Take that gaud and sell it,
+      Master Smith, for whatever it will fetch among the Jews, and add the price
+      to the £1000, lessened by one tenth for your trouble. Now, Dame Harflete,
+      you have bought the favour of your King, for whoever else may, I&rsquo;ll not
+      lie. Ah! here comes Cromwell. My Lord, you have been long.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your Grace, yonder priest is in a fit from fright, and thinks himself in
+      hell. I had to tarry with him till the doctor came.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Doubtless he&rsquo;ll get better now that you are gone. Poor man, if a sham
+      devil frights him so, what will he do at last? Now, Cromwell, I have made
+      examination of this business and I will sign your papers, all of them.
+      Dame Harflete here tells me how hard you have worked for her, all for
+      nothing, Cromwell, and that pleases me, who at times have wondered how you
+      grew so rich, as your learner, Wolsey, did before you. <i>He</i> took
+      bribes, Cromwell!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My Liege,&rdquo; he answered in a low voice, &ldquo;this case was cruel, it moved my
+      pity&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As it has ours, leaving us the richer by £1000 and the price of a pearl.
+      There, five, are they all signed? Take them, Master Smith, as the Lady
+      Harflete is your client, and study them to-night. If aught be wrong or
+      omitted, you have our royal word that we will set it straight. This is our
+      command&mdash;note it, Cromwell&mdash;that all things be done quickly as
+      occasion shall arise to give effect to these precepts, pardons and patents
+      which you, Cromwell, shall countersign ere they leave this room. Also,
+      that no further fee, secret or declared, shall be taken from the Lady
+      Harflete, whom henceforth, in token of our special favour, we create and
+      name the Lady of Blossholme, from her husband or her child, as to any of
+      these matters, and that Commissioner Legh, on receipt thereof, shall pay
+      into our treasury any sum or sums that Dame Harflete may have promised to
+      him. Write it down, my Lord Cromwell, and see that our words are carried
+      out, lest it be the worse for you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Vicar-General hastened to obey, for there was something in the King&rsquo;s
+      eye that frightened him. Meanwhile the Queen, after she had seen the
+      coveted pearl disappear into Jacob&rsquo;s pocket, thrust back the child into
+      Cicely&rsquo;s arms, and without any word of adieu or reverence to the King,
+      followed by her lady, departed from the room, slamming the door behind
+      her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Her Grace is cross because that gem&mdash;your gem, Lady Harflete&mdash;was
+      refused to her,&rdquo; said Henry, then added in an angry growl, &ldquo;&lsquo;Fore God!
+      does she dare to play off her tempers upon me, and so soon, when I am
+      troubled about big matters? Oho! Jane Seymour is the Queen to-day, and
+      she&rsquo;d let the world know it. Well, what makes a queen? A king&rsquo;s fancy and
+      a crown of gold, which the hand that set it on can take off again, head
+      and all, if it stick too tight. And then where&rsquo;s your queen? Pest upon
+      women and the whims that make us seek their company! Dame Harflete, you&rsquo;d
+      not treat your lord so, would you? You have never been to Court, I think,
+      or I should have known your eyes again. Well, perhaps it is well for you,
+      and that&rsquo;s why you are gentle and loving.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If I am gentle, Sire, it is trouble that has gentled me, who have
+      suffered so much, and know not even now whether after one week of marriage
+      I am wife or widow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Widow? Should that be so, come to me and I will find you another and a
+      nobler spouse. With your face and possessions it will not be difficult.
+      Nay, do not weep, for your sake I trust that this lucky man may live to
+      comfort you and serve his King. At least he&rsquo;ll be no Spaniard&rsquo;s tool and
+      Pope&rsquo;s plotter.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well will he serve your Grace if God gives him the chance, as my murdered
+      father did.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We know it, Lady. Cromwell, will you never have finished with those
+      writings? The Council waits us, and so does supper, and a word or two with
+      her Grace ere bedtime. You, Thomas Bolle, you are no fool and can hold a
+      sword; tell me, shall I go up north to fight the rebels, or bide here and
+      let others do it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bide here, your Grace,&rdquo; answered Thomas promptly. &ldquo;&lsquo;Twixt Wash and Humber
+      is a wild land in winter and arrows fly about there like ducks at night,
+      none knowing whence they come. Also your Grace is over-heavy for a horse
+      on forest roads and moorland, and if aught should chance, why, they&rsquo;d
+      laugh in Spain and Rome, or nearer, and who would rule England with a girl
+      child on its throne?&rdquo; and he stared hard at Cromwell&rsquo;s back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Truth at last, and out of the lips of a red-haired bumpkin,&rdquo; muttered the
+      King, also staring at the unconscious Cromwell, who was engaged on his
+      writing and either feigned deafness or did not hear. &ldquo;Thomas Bolle, I said
+      that you were no fool, although some may have thought you so, is there
+      aught you would have in payment for your counsel&mdash;save money, for
+      that we have none?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, Sire, freedom from my oath as a lay-brother of the Abbey of
+      Blossholme, and leave to marry.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To marry whom?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Her, Sire,&rdquo; and he pointed to Emlyn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What! The other handsome witch? See you not that she has a temper? Nay,
+      woman, be silent, it is written in your face. Well, take your freedom and
+      her with it, but, Thomas Bolle, why did you not ask otherwise when the
+      chance came your way? I thought better of you. Like the rest of us, you
+      are but a fool after all. Farewell to you, Fool Thomas, and to you also,
+      my fair Lady of Blossholme.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XVI
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      THE VOICE IN THE FOREST
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      The four were back safe in their lodging in Cheapside, whither, after the
+      deeds had been sealed, three soldiers escorted them by command.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have we done well, have we done well?&rdquo; asked Jacob, rubbing his hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It would seem so, Master Smith,&rdquo; replied Cicely, &ldquo;thanks to you; that is,
+      if all the King said is really in those writings.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is there sure enough,&rdquo; said Jacob; &ldquo;for know, that with the aid of a
+      lawyer and three scriveners, I drafted them myself in the Lord Cromwell&rsquo;s
+      office this morning, and oh, I drew them wide. Hard, hard we worked with
+      no time for dinner, and that was why I was ten minutes late by the clock,
+      for which Emlyn here chided me so sharply. Still, I&rsquo;ll read them through
+      again, and if aught is left out we will have it righted, though these are
+      the same parchments, for I set a secret mark upon them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, nay,&rdquo; said Cicely, &ldquo;leave well alone. His Grace&rsquo;s mood may change,
+      or the Queen&mdash;that matter of the pearl.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, the pearl, it grieved me to part with that beautiful pearl. But there
+      was no way out, it must be sold and the money handed over, our honour is
+      on it. Had I refused, who knows? Yes, we may thank God, for if the most of
+      your jewels are gone, the wide Abbey lands have come and other things.
+      Nothing is forgot. Bolle is unfrocked and may wed; Cousin Stower has got a
+      husband&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Emlyn, who until now had been strangely silent, burst out in wrath&mdash;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Am I, then, a beast that I should be given to this man like a heriot at
+      yonder King&rsquo;s bidding?&rdquo; she exclaimed, pointing with her finger at Bolle,
+      who stood in the corner. &ldquo;Who gave you the right, Thomas, to demand me in
+      marriage?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, since you ask me, Emlyn, it was you yourself; once, many years ago,
+      down in the mead by the water, and more lately in the chapel of Blossholme
+      Priory before I began to play the devil.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Play the devil! Aye, you have played the devil with me. There in the
+      King&rsquo;s presence I must stand for an hour or more while all talked and
+      never let a word slip between my lips, and at last hear myself called by
+      his Grace a woman of temper and you a fool for wishing to marry me. Oh, if
+      ever we do marry, I&rsquo;ll prove his words.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then perhaps, Emlyn, we who have got on a long while apart, had best stay
+      so,&rdquo; answered Thomas calmly. &ldquo;Yet, why you should fret because you must
+      keep your tongue in its case for an hour, or because I asked leave to
+      marry you in all honour, I do not know. I have worked my best for you and
+      your mistress at some hazard, and things have not gone so ill, seeing that
+      now we are quit of blame and in a fair way to peace and comfort. If you
+      are not content, why then, the King was right, and I&rsquo;m a fool, and so
+      good-bye, I&rsquo;ll trouble you no more in fair weather or in foul. I have
+      leave to marry, and there are other women in the world should I need one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tread on their tails and even worms will turn,&rdquo; soliloquized Jacob, while
+      Emlyn burst into tears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely ran to console her, and Bolle made as though he would leave the
+      room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Just then there came a great knocking on the street door, and the sound of
+      a voice crying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In the King&rsquo;s name! In the King&rsquo;s name, open!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s Commissioner Legh,&rdquo; said Thomas. &ldquo;I learned the cry from him, and
+      it is a good one at a pinch, as some of you may remember.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Emlyn dried her tears with her sleeve; Cicely sat down and Jacob shovelled
+      the parchments into his big pockets. Then in burst the Commissioner, to
+      whom some one had opened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What&rsquo;s this I hear?&rdquo; he cried, addressing Cicely, his face as red as a
+      turkey cock&rsquo;s. &ldquo;That you have been working behind my back; that you have
+      told falsehoods of me to his Grace, who called me knave and thief; that I
+      am commanded to pay my fees into the Treasury? Oh, ungrateful wench, would
+      to God that I had let you burn ere you disgraced me thus.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you bring so much heat into my poor house, learned Doctor, surely all
+      of us will soon burn,&rdquo; said Jacob suavely. &ldquo;The Lady Harflete said nothing
+      that his Highness did not force her to say, as I know who was present, and
+      among so many pickings cannot you spare a single dole? Come, come, drink a
+      cup of wine and be calm.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Dr. Legh, who had already drunk several cups of wine, would not be
+      calm. He reviled first one of them and then the other, but especially
+      Emlyn, whom he conceived to be the cause of all his woes, till at length
+      he called her by a very ill name. Then came forward Thomas Bolle, who all
+      this while had been standing in the corner, and took him by the neck.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In the King&rsquo;s name!&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;nay, complain not, &lsquo;tis your own cry and I
+      have warrant for it,&rdquo; and he knocked Legh&rsquo;s head against the door-post.
+      &ldquo;In the King&rsquo;s name, get out of this,&rdquo; and he gave him such a kick as
+      never Royal Commissioner had felt before, shooting him down the passage.
+      &ldquo;For the third time in the King&rsquo;s name!&rdquo; and he hurled him out in a heap
+      into the courtyard. &ldquo;Begone, and know if ever I see your pudding face
+      again, in the King&rsquo;s name, I&rsquo;ll break your neck!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus did Visitor Legh depart out of the life of Cicely, though in due
+      course she paid him her first year&rsquo;s rent, nor ever asked who took the
+      benefit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thomas,&rdquo; said Emlyn, when he returned smiling at the memory of that
+      farewell kick, &ldquo;the King was right, I am quick-tempered at times, no ill
+      thing for it has helped me more than once. Forget, and so will I,&rdquo; and she
+      gave him her hand, which he kissed, then went to see about the supper.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      While they ate, which they did heartily who needed food, there came
+      another knock.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go, Thomas,&rdquo; said Jacob, &ldquo;and say we see none to-night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So Thomas went and they heard talk. Then he re-entered followed by a
+      cloaked man, saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here is a visitor whom I dare not deny,&rdquo; whereon they all rose, thinking
+      in their folly that it was the King himself, and not one almost as mighty
+      in England for a while&mdash;the Lord Cromwell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pardon me,&rdquo; said Cromwell, bowing in his courteous manner, &ldquo;and if you
+      will, let me be seated with you, and give me a bite and a sup, for I need
+      them, who have been hard-worked to-day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So he sat down among them, and ate and drank, talking pleasantly of many
+      things, and telling them that the King had changed his mind at the
+      Council, as he thought, because of the words of Thomas Bolle, which he
+      believed had stuck there, and would not go north to fight the rebels after
+      all, but would send the Duke of Norfolk and other lords. Then when he had
+      done he pushed away his cup and platter, looked at his hosts and said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now to business. My Lady Harflete, fortune has been your friend this day,
+      for all you asked has been granted to you, which, as his Grace&rsquo;s temper
+      has been of late, is a wondrous thing. Moreover, I thank you that you did
+      not answer a certain question as to myself which I learn he put to you
+      urgently.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My Lord,&rdquo; said Cicely, &ldquo;you have befriended me. Still, had he pressed me
+      further, God knows. Commissioner Legh did not thank me to-night,&rdquo; and she
+      told him of the visit they had just received, and of its ending.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A rough man and a greedy, who doubtless henceforth will be your enemy,&rdquo;
+       replied Cromwell. &ldquo;Still you were not to blame, for who can reason with a
+      bull in his own yard? Well, while I have power I&rsquo;ll not forget your
+      faithfulness, though in truth, my Lady of Blossholme, I sit upon a
+      slippery height, and beneath waits a gulf that has swallowed some as
+      great, and greater. Therefore I will not deny it, I lay by while I may,
+      not knowing who will gather.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He brooded a while, then went on, with a sigh&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The times are uncertain; thus, you who have the promise of wealth may yet
+      die a beggar. The lands of Blossholme Abbey, on which you hold a bond that
+      will never be redeemed, are not yet in the King&rsquo;s hands to give. A black
+      storm is bursting in the north and, I say this in secret, the fury of it
+      may sweep Henry from the throne. If it should be so, away with you to any
+      land where you are not known, for then after this day&rsquo;s work here a rope
+      will be your only heritage. More, this Queen, unlike Anne who is gone, is
+      a friend to the party of the Church, and though she affects to care little
+      for such things, is bitter about that pearl, and therefore against you,
+      its owner. Have you no jewel left that you could spare which I might take
+      to her? As for the pearl itself, which Master Smith here swore to me was
+      not to be found in the whole world when he showed me its fellow, it must
+      be sold as the King commanded,&rdquo; and he looked at Jacob somewhat sourly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now Cicely spoke with Jacob, who went away and returned presently with a
+      brooch in which was set a large white diamond surrounded by five small
+      rubies.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Take her this with my duty, my Lord,&rdquo; said Cicely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will, I will. Oh! fear not, it shall reach her for my own sake as well
+      as yours. You are a wise giver, Lady Harflete, who know when and where to
+      cast your bread upon the waters. And now I have a gift for you that
+      perchance will please you more than gems. Your husband, Christopher
+      Harflete, accompanied by a servant, has landed in the north safe and
+      well.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, my Lord,&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;then where is he now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alas! the rest of the tale is not so pleasing, for as he journeyed, from
+      Hull I think, he was taken prisoner by the rebels, who have him fast at
+      Lincoln, wishing to make him, whose name is of account, one of their
+      company. But he being a wise and loyal man, contrived to send a letter to
+      the King&rsquo;s captain in those parts, which has reached me this night. Here
+      it is, do you know the writing?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, aye,&rdquo; gasped Cicely, staring at the scrawl that was ill writ and
+      worse spelt, for Christopher was no scholar.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I&rsquo;ll read it to you, and afterwards certify a copy to multiply the
+      evidence.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To the Captain of the King&rsquo;s Forces outside Lincoln.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This to give notice to you, his Grace, and his ministers and all others,
+      that we, Christopher Harflete, Knight, and Jeffrey Stokes, his servant,
+      when journeying from the seaport whither we had come from Spain, were
+      taken by rebels in arms against the King and brought here to Lincoln.
+      These men would win me to their party because the name of Harflete is
+      still strong and known. So violent were they that we have taken some kind
+      of oath. Yet this writing advises you that so I only did to save my life,
+      having no heart that way who am a loyal man and understand little of their
+      quarrel. Life, in sooth, is of small value to me who have lost wife, lands
+      and all. Yet ere I die I would be avenged upon the murderous Abbot of
+      Blossholme, and therefore I seek to keep my breath in me and to escape.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I learn that the said Abbot is afoot with a great following within fifty
+      miles of here. Pray God he does not get his claws in me again, but if so,
+      say to the King, that Harflete died faithful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Christopher Harflete.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jeffrey Stokes, X his mark.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My Lord,&rdquo; said Cicely, &ldquo;what shall I do, my Lord?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There is naught to be done, save trust in God and hope for the best.
+      Doubtless he will escape, and at least his Grace shall see this letter
+      to-morrow morning and send orders to help him if may be. Copy it, Master
+      Smith.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jacob took the letter and began to write swiftly, while Cromwell thought.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Listen,&rdquo; he said presently. &ldquo;Round Blossholme there are no rebels, all of
+      that colour have drawn off north. Now Foterell and Harflete are good names
+      yonder, cannot you journey thither and raise a company?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, aye, that I can do,&rdquo; broke in Bolle. &ldquo;In a week I will have a
+      hundred men at my back. Give commission and money to my Lady there and
+      name me captain and you&rsquo;ll see.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The commission and the captaincy under the privy signet shall be at this
+      house by nine of the clock to-morrow,&rdquo; answered Cromwell. &ldquo;The money you
+      must find, for there is none outside the coffers of Jacob Smith. Yet
+      pause, Lady Harflete, there is risk and here you are safe.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know the risk,&rdquo; she answered, &ldquo;but what do I care for risks who have
+      taken so many, when my husband is yonder and I may serve him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;An excellent spirit, let us trust that it comes from on high,&rdquo; remarked
+      Cromwell; but old Jacob, as he wrote <i>vera copia</i> for his Lordship&rsquo;s
+      signature at the foot of the transcript of Christopher&rsquo;s letter, shook his
+      head sadly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In another minute Cromwell had signed without troubling to compare the
+      two, and with some gentle words of farewell was gone, having bigger
+      matters waiting his attention.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely never saw him again, indeed with the exception of Jacob Smith she
+      never saw any of those folk again, including the King, who had been
+      concerned in this crisis of her life. Yet, notwithstanding his cunning and
+      his extortion, she grieved for Cromwell when some four years later the
+      Duke of Suffolk and the Earl of Southampton rudely tore the Garter and his
+      other decorations off his person and he was haled from the Council to the
+      Tower, and thence after abject supplications for mercy, to perish a
+      criminal upon the block. At least he had served her well, for he kept all
+      his promises to the letter. One of his last acts also was to send her back
+      the pink pearl which he had received as a bribe from Jacob Smith, with a
+      message to the effect that he was sure it would become her more than it
+      had him, and that he hoped it would bring her a better fortune.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Cromwell had gone Jacob turned to Cicely and inquired if she were
+      leaving his house upon the morrow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have I not said so?&rdquo; she asked, with impatience. &ldquo;Knowing what I know how
+      could I stay in London? Why do you ask?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because I must balance our account. I think you owe me a matter of twenty
+      marks for rent and board. Also it is probable that we shall need money for
+      our journey, and this day has left me somewhat bare of coin.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Our journey?&rdquo; said Cicely. &ldquo;Do you, then, accompany us, Master Smith?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;With your leave I think so, Lady. Times are bad here, I have no shilling
+      left to lend, yet if I do not lend I shall never be forgiven. Also I need
+      a holiday, and ere I die would once again see Blossholme, where I was
+      born, should we live to reach it. But if we start to-morrow I have much to
+      do this night. For instance, your jewels which I hold in pawn must be set
+      in a place of safety; also these deeds, whereof copies should be made, and
+      that pearl must be left in trusty hands for sale. So at what hour do we
+      ride on this mad errand?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;At eleven of the clock,&rdquo; answered Cicely, &ldquo;if the King&rsquo;s safe-conduct and
+      commission have come by then.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So be it. Then I bid you good-night. Come with me, worthy Bolle, for
+      there&rsquo;ll be no sleep for us. I go to call my clerks and you must go to the
+      stable. Lady Harflete and you, Cousin Emlyn, get you to bed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      On the following morning Cicely rose with the dawn, nor was she sorry to
+      do so, who had spent but a troubled night. For long sleep would not come
+      to her, and when it did at length, she was tossed upon a sea of dreams,
+      dreams of the King, who threatened her with his great voice; of Cromwell,
+      who took everything she had down to her cloak; of Commissioner Legh, who
+      dragged her back to the stake because he had lost his bribe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But most of all she dreamed of Christopher, her beloved husband, who was
+      so near and yet as far away as he had ever been, a prisoner in the hands
+      of the rebels; her husband who deemed her dead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From all these phantasies she awoke weeping and oppressed by fears. Could
+      it be that when at length the cup of joy was so near her lips fate waited
+      to dash it down again? She knew not, who had naught but faith to lean on,
+      that faith which in the past had served her well. Meanwhile, she was sure
+      that if Christopher lived he would make his way to Cranwell or to
+      Blossholme, and, whatever the risk, thither she would go also as fast as
+      horses could carry her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Hurry as they would, midday was an hour gone ere they rode out of
+      Cheapside. There was so much to do, and even then things were left undone.
+      The four of them travelled humbly clad, giving out that they were a party
+      of merchant folk returning to Cambridge after a visit to London as to an
+      inheritance in which they were interested, especially Cicely, who posed as
+      a widow named Johnson. This was their story, which they varied from time
+      to time according to circumstances. In some ways their minds were more at
+      ease than when they travelled to the great city, for now at least they
+      were clear of the horrid company of Commissioner Legh and his people, nor
+      were they haunted by the knowledge that they had about them jewels of
+      great price. All these jewels were left behind in safe keeping, as were
+      also the writings under the King&rsquo;s hand and seal, of which they only took
+      attested copies, and with them the commission that Cromwell had duly sent
+      to Cicely addressed to her husband and herself, and Bolle&rsquo;s certificate of
+      captaincy. These they hid in their boots or the linings of their vests,
+      together with such money as was necessary for the costs of travel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus riding hard, for their horses were good and fresh, they came
+      unmolested to Cambridge on the night of the second day and slept there.
+      Beyond Cambridge, they were told, the country was so disturbed that it
+      would not be safe for them to journey. But just when they were in despair,
+      for even Bolle said that they must not go on, a troop of the King&rsquo;s horse
+      arrived on their way to join the Duke of Norfolk wherever he might lie in
+      Lincolnshire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To their captain, one Jeffreys, Jacob showed the King&rsquo;s commission,
+      revealing who they were. Seeing that it commanded all his Grace&rsquo;s officers
+      and servants to do them service, this Captain Jeffreys said that he would
+      give them escort until their roads separated. So next day they went on
+      again. The company was not pleasant, for the men, of whom there were about
+      a hundred, proved rough fellows, still, having been warned that he who
+      insulted or laid a finger on them should be hanged, they did them no harm.
+      It was well, indeed, that they had their protection, for they found the
+      country through which they passed up in arms, and were more than once
+      threatened by mobs of peasants, led by priests, who would have attacked
+      them had they dared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For two days they travelled thus with Captain Jeffreys, coming on the
+      evening of the second to Peterborough, where they found lodgings at an
+      inn. When they rose the next morning, however, it was to discover that
+      Jeffreys and his men had already gone, leaving a message to say that he
+      had received urgent orders to push on to Lincoln.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now once more they told their old tale, declaring that they were citizens
+      of Boston, and having learned that the Fens were peaceful, perhaps because
+      so few people lived in them, started forward by themselves under the
+      guidance of Bolle, who had often journeyed through that country, buying or
+      selling cattle for the monks. An ill land was it to travel in also in that
+      wet autumn, seeing that in many places the floods were out and the tracks
+      were like a quagmire. The first night they spent in a marshman&rsquo;s hut,
+      listening to the pouring rain and fearing fever and ague, especially for
+      the boy. The next day, by good fortune, they reached higher land and slept
+      at a tavern.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Here they were visited by rude men, who, being of the party of rebellion,
+      sought to know their business. For a while things were dangerous, but
+      Bolle, who could talk their own dialect, showed that they were scarcely to
+      be feared who travelled with two women and a babe, adding that he was a
+      lay-brother of Blossholme Abbey disguised as a serving-man for dread of
+      the King&rsquo;s party. Jacob Smith also called for ale and drank with them to
+      the success of the Pilgrimage of Grace, as their revolt was named.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In this way they disarmed suspicion with one tale and another. Moreover,
+      they heard that as yet the country round Blossholme remained undisturbed,
+      although it was said that the Abbot had fortified the Abbey and stored it
+      with provisions. He himself was with the leaders of the revolt in the
+      neighbourhood of Lincoln, but he had done this that he might have a strong
+      place to fall back on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So in the end the men went away full of strong beer, and that danger
+      passed by.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Next morning they started forward early, hoping to reach Blossholme by
+      sunset though the days were shortening much. This, however, was not to be,
+      for as it chanced they were badly bogged in a quagmire that lay about two
+      miles off their inn, and when at length they scrambled out had to ride
+      many miles round to escape the swamp. So it happened that it was already
+      well on in the afternoon when they came to that stretch of forest in which
+      the Abbot had murdered Sir John Foterell. Following the woodland road,
+      towards sunset they passed the mere where he had fallen. Weary as she was,
+      Cicely looked at the spot and found it familiar.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know this place,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Where have I seen it? Oh, in the ill dream
+      I had on that day I lost my father.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is not wonderful,&rdquo; answered Emlyn, who rode beside her carrying the
+      child, &ldquo;seeing that Thomas says it was just here they butchered him. Look,
+      yonder lie the bones of Meg, his mare; I know them by her black mane.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, Lady,&rdquo; broke in Bolle, &ldquo;and there he lies also where he fell; they
+      buried him with never a Christian prayer,&rdquo; and he pointed to a little
+      careless mound between two willows.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jesus, have mercy on his soul!&rdquo; said Cicely, crossing herself. &ldquo;Now, if I
+      live, I swear that I will move his bones to the chancel of Blossholme
+      church and build a fair monument to his memory.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This, as all visitors to the place know, she did, for that monument
+      remains to this day, representing the old knight lying in the snow, with
+      the arrow in his throat, between the two murderers whom he slew, while
+      round the corner of the tomb Jeffrey Stokes gallops away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      While Cicely stared back at this desolate grave, muttering a prayer for
+      the departed, Thomas Bolle heard something which caused him to prick his
+      ears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is it?&rdquo; asked Jacob Smith, who saw the change in his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Horses galloping&mdash;many horses, master,&rdquo; he answered; &ldquo;yes, and
+      riders on them. Listen.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They did so, and now they also heard the thud of horse&rsquo;s hoofs and the
+      shouts of men.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quick, quick,&rdquo; said Bolle, &ldquo;follow me. I know where we may hide,&rdquo; and he
+      led them off to a dense thicket of thorn and beech scrub which grew about
+      two hundred yards away under a group of oaks at a place where four tracks
+      crossed. Owing to the beech leaves, which, when the trees are young, as
+      every gardener knows, cling to the twigs through autumn and winter, this
+      place was very close, and hid them completely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Scarcely had they taken up their stand there, when, in the red light of
+      the sunset, they saw a strange sight. Along, not that road they had
+      followed, but another, which led round the farther side of King&rsquo;s Grave
+      Mount, now seen and now hidden by the forest trees, a tall man in armour
+      mounted on a grey horse, accompanied by another man in a leathern jerkin
+      mounted on a black horse, galloped towards them, whilst, at a distance of
+      not more than a hundred yards behind them, appeared a motley mob of
+      pursuers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Escaped prisoners being run down,&rdquo; muttered Bolle, but Cicely took no
+      heed. There was something about the appearance of the rider of the grey
+      horse that seemed to draw her heart out of her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She leaned forward on her beast&rsquo;s neck, staring with all her eyes. Now the
+      two men were almost opposite the thicket, and the man in mail turned his
+      face to his companion and called cheerily&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We gain! We&rsquo;ll slip them yet, Jeffrey.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely saw the face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Christopher!&rdquo; she cried; &ldquo;<i>Christopher!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Another moment and they had swept past, but Christopher&mdash;for it was
+      he&mdash;had caught the sound of that remembered voice. With eyes made
+      quick by love and fear she saw him pulling on his rein. She heard him
+      shout to Jeffrey, and Jeffrey shout back to him in tones of remonstrance.
+      They halted confusedly in the open space beyond. He tried to turn, then
+      perceived his pursuers drawing nearer, and, when they were already at his
+      heels, with an exclamation, pulled round again to gallop away. Too late!
+      Up the slope they sped for another hundred yards or so. Now they were
+      surrounded, and now, at the crest of it, they fought, for swords flashed
+      in the red light. The pursuers closed in on them like hounds on an outrun
+      fox. They went down&mdash;they vanished.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely strove to gallop after them, for she was crazed, but the others
+      held her back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At length there was silence, and Thomas Bolle, dismounting, crept out to
+      look. Ten minutes later he returned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All have gone,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! he is dead!&rdquo; wailed Cicely. &ldquo;This fatal place has robbed me of father
+      and of husband.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think not,&rdquo; answered Bolle. &ldquo;I see no bloodstains, nor any signs of a
+      man being carried. He went living on his horse. Still, would to Heaven
+      that women could learn when to keep silent!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XVII
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      BETWEEN DOOM AND HONOUR
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      The day was about to break when at last, utterly worn out in body and
+      mind, Cicely and her party rode their stumbling horses up to the gates of
+      Blossholme Priory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pray God the nuns are still here,&rdquo; said Emlyn, who held the child, &ldquo;for
+      if they have been driven out and my mistress must go farther, I think that
+      she will die. Knock hard, Thomas, that old gardener is deaf as a wall.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bolle obeyed with good will, till presently the grille in the door was
+      opened and a trembling woman&rsquo;s voice asked who was there.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s Mother Matilda,&rdquo; said Emlyn, and slipping from her horse, she ran
+      to the bars and began to talk to her through them. Then other nuns came,
+      and between them they opened one of the large gates, for the gardener
+      either could not or would not be aroused, and passed through it into the
+      courtyard where, when it was understood that Cicely had really come again,
+      there was a great welcoming. But now she could hardly speak, so they made
+      her swallow a bowl of milk and took her to her old room, where sleep of
+      some kind overcame her. When she awoke it was nine of the clock. Emlyn,
+      looking little the worse, was already up and stood talking with Mother
+      Matilda.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; cried Cicely, as memory came back to her, &ldquo;has aught been heard of
+      my husband?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They shook their heads, and the Prioress said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;First you must eat, Sweet, and then we will tell you all we know, which
+      is little.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So she ate who needed food sadly, and while Emlyn helped her to dress
+      herself, hearkened to the news. It was of no great account, only
+      confirming that which they had learnt from the Fenmen; that the Abbey was
+      fortified and guarded by strange soldiers, rebellious men from the north
+      or foreigners, and the Abbot supposed to be away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bolle, who had been out, reported also that a man he met declared that he
+      had heard a troop of horsemen pass through the village in the night, but
+      of this no proof was forthcoming, since if they had done so the heavy rain
+      that was still falling had washed out all traces of them. Moreover, in
+      those times people were always moving to and fro in the dark, and none
+      could know if this troop had anything to do with the band they had seen in
+      the forest, which might have gone some other way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Cicely was ready they went downstairs, and in Mother Matilda&rsquo;s
+      private room found Jacob Smith and Thomas Bolle awaiting them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lady Harflete,&rdquo; said Jacob, with the air of a man who has no time to
+      lose, &ldquo;things stand thus. As yet none know that you are here, for we have
+      the gardener and his wife under ward. But as soon as they learn it at the
+      Abbey there will be risk of an attack, and this place is not defensible.
+      Now at your hall of Shefton it is otherwise, for there it seems is a deep
+      moat with a drawbridge and the rest. To Shefton, therefore, you must go at
+      once, unobserved if may be. Indeed, Thomas has been there already, and
+      spoken to certain of your tenants whom he can trust, who are now hard at
+      work preparing and victualling the place, and passing on the word to
+      others. By nightfall he hopes to have thirty strong men to defend it, and
+      within three days a hundred, when your commission and his captaincy are
+      made known. Come, then, for there is no time to tarry and the horses are
+      saddled.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So Cicely kissed Mother Matilda, who blessed and thanked her for all she
+      had done, or tried to do on behalf of the sisterhood, and within five
+      minutes once more they were on the backs of their weary beasts and riding
+      through the rain to Shefton, which happily was but three miles away.
+      Keeping under the lee of the woods they left the Priory unobserved, for in
+      that wet few were stirring, and the sentinels at the Abbey, if there were
+      any, had taken shelter in the guard-house. So thankfully enough they came
+      unmolested to walled and wooded Shefton, which Cicely had last seen when
+      she fled thence to Cranwell on the day of her marriage, oh, years and
+      years ago, or so it seemed to her tormented heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a strange and a sad home-coming, she thought, as they rode over the
+      drawbridge and through the sodden and weed-smothered pleasaunce to the
+      familiar door. Yet it might have been worse, for the tenants whom Bolle
+      had warned had not been idle. For two hours past and more a dozen willing
+      women had swept and cleaned; the fires had been lit, and there was
+      plenteous food of a sort in the kitchen and the store-room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Moreover, in all the big hall were gathered about a score of her people,
+      who welcomed her by raising their bonnets and even tried to cheer. To
+      these at once Jacob read the King&rsquo;s commission, showing them the signet
+      and the seal, and that other commission which named Thomas Bolle a captain
+      with wide powers, the sight and hearing of which writings seemed to put a
+      great heart into them who so long had lacked a leader and the support of
+      authority. One and all they swore to stand by the King and their lady,
+      Cicely Harflete, and her lord, Sir Christopher, or if he were dead, his
+      child. Then about half of them took horse and rode off, this way and that,
+      to gather men in the King&rsquo;s name, while the rest stayed to guard the Hall
+      and work at its defences.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      By sunset men were riding up from all sides, some of them driving carts
+      loaded with provisions, arms and fodder, or sheep and beasts that could be
+      killed for sustenance, while as they came Jacob enrolled their names upon
+      a paper and by virtue of his commission Thomas Bolle swore them in. Indeed
+      that night they had forty men quartered there, and the promise of many
+      more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      By now, however, the secret was out, for the story had gone round and the
+      smoke from the Shefton chimneys told its own tale. First a single spy
+      appeared on the opposite rise, watching. Then he galloped away, to return
+      an hour later with ten armed and mounted men, one of whom carried a banner
+      on which were embroidered the emblems of the Pilgrimage of Grace. These
+      men rode to within a hundred paces of Shefton Hall, apparently with the
+      object of attacking it, then seeing that the drawbridge was up and that
+      archers with bent bows stood on either side, halted and sent forward one
+      of their number with a white flag to parley.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who holds Shefton,&rdquo; shouted this man, &ldquo;and for what cause?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Lady Harflete, its owner, and Captain Thomas Bolle, for the cause of
+      the King,&rdquo; called old Jacob Smith back to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By what warrant?&rdquo; asked the man. &ldquo;The Abbot of Blossholme is lord of
+      Shefton, and Thomas Bolle is but a lay-brother of his monastery.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By warrant of the King&rsquo;s Grace,&rdquo; said Jacob, and then and there at the
+      top of his voice he read to him the Royal Commission, which when the envoy
+      had heard, he went back to consult with his companions. For a while they
+      hesitated, apparently still meditating attack, but in the end rode away
+      and were seen no more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bolle wished to follow and fall on them with such men as he had, but the
+      cautious Jacob Smith forbade it, fearing lest he should tumble into some
+      ambush and be killed or captured with his people, leaving the place
+      defenceless.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So the afternoon went by, and ere evening closed in they had so much
+      strength that there was no more cause for fear of an attack from the
+      Abbey, whose garrison they learned amounted to not over fifty men and a
+      few monks, for most of these had fled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That night Cicely with Emlyn and old Jacob were seated in the long upper
+      room where her father, Sir John Foterell, had once surprised Christopher
+      paying his court to her, when Bolle entered, followed by a man with a
+      hang-dog look who was wrapped in a sheepskin coat which seemed to become
+      him very ill.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who is this, friend?&rdquo; asked Jacob.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;An old companion of mine, your worship, a monk of Blossholme who is weary
+      of Grace and its pilgrimages, and seeks the King&rsquo;s comfort and pardon,
+      which I have made bold to promise to him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good,&rdquo; said Jacob, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll enter his name, and if he remains faithful your
+      promise shall be kept. But why do you bring him here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because he bears tidings.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now something in Bolle&rsquo;s voice caused Cicely, who was brooding apart, to
+      look up sharply and say&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Speak, and be swift.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My Lady,&rdquo; began the man in a slow voice, &ldquo;I, who am named Basil in
+      religion, have fled the Abbey because, although a monk, I am true to the
+      King, and moreover have suffered much from the Abbot, who has just
+      returned raging, having met with some reverse out Lincoln way, I know not
+      what. My news is that your lord, Sir Christopher Harflete, and his servant
+      Jeffrey Stokes are prisoners in the Abbey dungeons, whither they were
+      brought last night by a company of the rebels who had captured them and
+      afterwards rode on.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Prisoners!&rdquo; exclaimed Cicely. &ldquo;Then he is not dead or wounded? At least
+      he is whole and safe?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, my Lady, whole and safe as a mouse in the paws of a cat before it is
+      eaten.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The blood left Cicely&rsquo;s cheeks. In her mind&rsquo;s eye she saw Abbot Maldon
+      turned into a great cat with a monk&rsquo;s head and patting Christopher with
+      his claws.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My fault, my fault!&rdquo; she said in a heavy voice. &ldquo;Oh, if I had not called
+      him he would have escaped. Would that I had been stricken dumb!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t think so,&rdquo; answered Brother Basil. &ldquo;There were others watching
+      for him ahead who, when he was taken, went away and that is how you came
+      to get through so neatly. At least there he lies, and if you would save
+      him, you had best gather what strength you can and strike at once.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Does he know that I live?&rdquo; asked Cicely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How can I tell, Lady? The Abbey dungeons are no good place for news. Yet
+      the monk who took him his food this morning said that Sir Christopher told
+      him that he had been undone by some ghost which called to him with the
+      voice of his dead wife as he rode near King&rsquo;s Grave Mount.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now when Cicely heard this she rose and left the room accompanied by
+      Emlyn, for she could bear no more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Jacob Smith and Bolle remained questioning the man closely upon many
+      matters, and, having learned all he could tell them, sent him away under
+      guard and sat there till midnight consulting and making up their plans
+      with the farmers and yeomen whom they called to them from time to time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Next morning early they sought out Cicely and told her that to them it
+      seemed wise that the Abbey should be attacked without delay.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But my husband lies there,&rdquo; she answered in distress, &ldquo;and then they will
+      kill him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So I fear they may if we do not attack,&rdquo; replied Jacob. &ldquo;Moreover, Lady,
+      to tell the truth, there are other things to be thought of. For instance,
+      the King&rsquo;s cause and honour, which we are bound to forward, and the lives
+      and goods of all those who through us have declared themselves for him. If
+      we lie idle Abbot Maldon will send messengers to the north and within a
+      few days bring down thousands upon us, against whom we cannot hope to
+      stand. Indeed, it is probable that he has already sent. But if they hear
+      that the Abbey has fallen the rebels will scarcely come for revenge alone.
+      Lastly, if we sit with folded hands, our own people may grow cold with
+      doubts and fears and melt away, who now are hot as fire.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If it must be, so let it be. In God&rsquo;s hands I leave his life,&rdquo; said
+      Cicely in a heavy voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That day the King&rsquo;s men, under the captaincy of Bolle, advanced and
+      invested the Abbey, setting their camp in Blossholme village. Cicely, who
+      would not be left behind, came with them and once more took up her
+      quarters in the Priory, which on a formal summons opened its gates to her,
+      its only guard, the deaf gardener, surrendering at discretion. He was set
+      to work as a camp servant, and never in his life did he labour so hard
+      before, since Emlyn, who owed him many a grudge, saw to it that he did not
+      lack for tasks that were mean and heavy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now that day Thomas and others spied out the Abbey and returned shaking
+      their heads, for without cannon&mdash;and as yet they had none&mdash;the
+      great building of hewn stone seemed almost impregnable. At but one spot
+      indeed was attack possible, from the back where once stood the dormers and
+      farm steadings which Emlyn had egged on Thomas to burn. These had been
+      built up to the inner edge of the moat, making, as it were, part of the
+      Abbey wall, but the fierce fire had so cracked and crumbled their masonry
+      that several rods of it had fallen forward into the water.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For purposes of defence the gap this formed was now closed by a double
+      palisade of stout stakes, filled in with faggots, the charred beams of the
+      old buildings and other rubbish. Yet to carry this palisade, protected as
+      it was by the broad and deep moat and commanded from the windows and the
+      corner tower, was more than they dared try, since if it could be done at
+      all it would certainly cost them very many lives. One thing they had
+      learned, however, from the monk Basil and others, that in the Abbey there
+      was but small store of food to feed so many: three days&rsquo; supply, said
+      Basil, and none put it at over four.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That evening, then, they held another council, at which it was determined
+      to starve the place out and only attempt an onslaught if their spies
+      reported to them that the rebels were marching to its relief.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But,&rdquo; urged Cicely, &ldquo;then my lord and Jeffrey Stokes will starve also,&rdquo;
+       whereon they went away sadly, saying there was no choice, seeing that they
+      were but two men and the lives of many lay at stake.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The siege began, just such a siege as Cicely had suffered at Cranwell
+      Towers. The first day the garrison of the Abbey scoffed at them from the
+      walls. The second day they scoffed no longer, noting that the force of the
+      besiegers increased, which it did hourly. The third day suddenly they let
+      down the drawbridge and poured out on to it as though for a sortie, but
+      when they perceived the scores of Bolle&rsquo;s men waiting bow in hand and
+      arrow on string, changed their minds and drew the bridge up again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They grow hungry and desperate,&rdquo; said the shrewd Jacob. &ldquo;Soon we shall
+      have some message from them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was right, since just before sunset a postern gate was opened and a
+      man, holding a white flag above his head, was seen swimming across the
+      moat. He scrambled out on the farther side, shook himself like a dog, and
+      advanced slowly to where Bolle and the women stood upon the Abbey green
+      out of arrow-shot from the walls. Indeed, Cicely, who was weak with dread
+      and wretchedness, leaned against the oaken stake that had never been
+      removed, to which once she was tied to be burned for witchcraft.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who is that man?&rdquo; said Emlyn to her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely scanned the gaunt, bearded figure who walked haltingly like one
+      that is sick.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know not&mdash;yes, yes, he puts me in mind of Jeffrey Stokes!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jeffrey it is and no other,&rdquo; said Emlyn, nodding her head. &ldquo;Now what news
+      does he bear, I wonder?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely made no reply, only clung to her stake and waited, with just such a
+      heart as once she had waited there while the Abbey cook blew up his brands
+      to fire her faggots. Jeffrey was opposite to her now; his sunken eyes fell
+      upon her, and at the sight his bearded chin dropped, making his face look
+      even more long and hollow than it had before.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; he said, speaking to himself, &ldquo;many wars and journeyings, months in
+      an infidel galley, three days with not enough food to feed a rat and a
+      bath in November water! Well, such things, to say nothing of a worse, turn
+      men&rsquo;s brains. Yet to think that I should live to see a daylight ghost in
+      homely Blossholme, who never met with one before.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Still staring he shook the water from his beard, then added, &ldquo;Lay-brother
+      or Captain Thomas Bolle, whichever you may be now-a-days, if you&rsquo;re not a
+      ghost also, give me a quart of strong ale and a loaf of bread, for I&rsquo;m
+      empty as a gutted herring, and floating heavenward, so to speak, who would
+      stick upon this scurvy earth.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jeffrey, Jeffrey,&rdquo; broke in Cicely, &ldquo;what news of your master? Emlyn,
+      tell him that we still live. He does not understand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, you still live, do you?&rdquo; he added slowly. &ldquo;So the fire could not burn
+      you after all, or Emlyn either. Well, then, there&rsquo;s hope for every one,
+      and perhaps hunger and Abbot Maldon&rsquo;s knives cannot kill Christopher
+      Harflete.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He lives, then, and is well?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He lives and is as well as a man may be after a three days&rsquo; fast in a
+      black dungeon that is somewhat damp. Here&rsquo;s a writing on the matter for
+      the captain of this company,&rdquo; and, taking a letter from the folds of the
+      white flag in which it had been fastened, he handed it to Bolle, who, as
+      he could not read, passed it on to Jacob Smith. Just then a lad brought
+      the ale for which Jeffrey had asked, and with it a platter of cold meat
+      and bread, on which he fell like a famished hound, drinking in great gulps
+      and devouring the food almost without chewing it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By the saints, you are starved, Jeffrey,&rdquo; said a yeoman who stood by.
+      &ldquo;Come with me and shift those wet clothes of yours, or you will take
+      harm,&rdquo; and he led him off, still eating, to a tent that stood near by.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Meanwhile, Jacob, having studied the letter with bent and anxious brows,
+      read it aloud. It ran thus&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To the Captain of the King&rsquo;s men, from Clement, Abbot of Blossholme.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By what warrant I know not you besiege us here, threatening this Abbey
+      and its Religious with fire and sword. I am told that Cicely Foterell is
+      your leader. Say, then, to that escaped witch that I hold the man she
+      calls her husband, and who is the father of her base-born child, a
+      prisoner. Unless this night she disperses her troop and sends me a writing
+      signed and witnessed, promising indemnity on behalf of the King for me and
+      those with me for all that we may have done against him and his laws, or
+      privately against her, and freedom to go where we will without pursuit or
+      hindrance or loss of land or chattels, know that to-morrow at the dawn we
+      put to death Christopher Harflete, Knight, in punishment of the murders
+      and other crimes that he has committed against us, and in proof thereof
+      his body shall be hung from the Abbey tower. If otherwise we will leave
+      him unharmed here where you shall find him after we have gone. For the
+      rest, ask his servant, Jeffrey Stokes, whom we send to you with this
+      letter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Clement, Abbot.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jacob finished reading and a silence fell upon all who listened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let us go to some private place and consider this matter,&rdquo; said Emlyn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; broke in Cicely, &ldquo;it is I, who in my lord&rsquo;s absence, hold the
+      King&rsquo;s commission and I will be heard. Thomas Bolle, first send a man
+      under flag to the Abbot, saying, that if aught of harm befalls Sir
+      Christopher Harflete I&rsquo;ll put every living soul within the Abbey walls to
+      death by sword or rope, and stand answerable for it to the King. Set it in
+      writing, Master Smith, and send with it copy of the King&rsquo;s commission for
+      my warrant. At once, let it be done at once.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So they went to a cottage near by, which Bolle used as a guard-house,
+      where this stern message was written down, copied out fair, signed by
+      Cicely and by Bolle, as captain, with Jacob Smith for witness. This paper,
+      together with a copy of the King&rsquo;s commissions, Cicely with her own hand
+      gave to a bold and trusty man, charged to ask an answer, who departed,
+      carrying the white flag and wearing a steel shirt beneath his doublet, for
+      fear of treachery.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When he had gone they sent for Jeffrey, who arrived clad in dry garments
+      and still eating, for his hunger was that of a wolf.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell us all,&rdquo; said Cicely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It will be a long story if I begin at the beginning, Lady. When your
+      worshipful father, Sir John, and I rode away from Shefton on the day of
+      his murder&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, nay,&rdquo; interrupted Cicely, &ldquo;that may stand, we have no time. My lord
+      and you escaped from Lincoln, did you not, and, as we saw, were taken in
+      the forest?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, Lady. Some tricksy spirit called out with your voice and he heard
+      and pulled rein, and so they came on to us and overwhelmed us, though
+      without hurt as it chanced. Then they brought us to the Abbey and thrust
+      us into that accursed dungeon, where, save for a little bread and water,
+      we have starved for three days in the dark. That is all the tale.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How, then, did you come out, Jeffrey?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thus, my Lady. Something over an hour ago a monk and three guards
+      unlocked the dungeon door. While we blinked at his lantern, like owls in
+      the sunlight, the monk said that the Abbot purposed to send me to the camp
+      of the King&rsquo;s party to offer Christopher Harflete&rsquo;s life against the lives
+      of all of them. He told him, Harflete, also, that he had brought ink and
+      paper and that if he wished to save himself he would do well to write a
+      letter praying that this offer might be accepted, since otherwise he would
+      certainly die at dawn.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what said my husband?&rdquo; asked Cicely, leaning forward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What said he? Why, he laughed in their faces and told them that first he
+      would cut off his hand. On this they haled me out of the dungeon roughly
+      enough, for I would have stayed there with him to the end. But as the door
+      closed he shouted after me, &lsquo;Tell the King&rsquo;s officers to burn this rats&rsquo; 
+      nest and take no heed of Christopher Harflete, who desires to die!&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why does he desire to die?&rdquo; asked Cicely again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because he thinks his wife dead, Mistress, as I did, and believes that in
+      the forest he heard her voice calling him to join her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh God! oh God!&rdquo; moaned Cicely; &ldquo;I shall be his death.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not so,&rdquo; answered Jeffrey. &ldquo;Do you know so little of Christopher Harflete
+      that you think he would sell the King&rsquo;s cause to gain his own life? Why,
+      if you yourself came and pleaded with him he would thrust you away,
+      saying, &lsquo;Get thee behind me, Satan!&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I believe it, and I am proud,&rdquo; muttered Cicely. &ldquo;If need be, let Harflete
+      die, we&rsquo;ll keep his honour and our own lest he should live to curse us. Go
+      on.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, they led me to the Abbot, who gave me that letter which you have,
+      and bade me take it and tell the case to whoever commanded here. Then he
+      lifted up his hand and, laying it on the crucifix about his neck, swore
+      that this was no idle threat, but that unless his terms were taken,
+      Harflete should hang from the tower top at to-morrow&rsquo;s dawn, adding,
+      though I knew not what he meant, &lsquo;I think you&rsquo;ll find one yonder who will
+      listen to that reasoning.&rsquo; Now he was dismissing me when a soldier said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Is it wise to free this Stokes? You forget, my Lord Abbot, that he is
+      alleged to have witnessed a certain slaying yonder in the forest and will
+      bear evidence.&rsquo; &lsquo;Aye,&rsquo; answered Maldon, &lsquo;I had forgotten who in this press
+      remembered only that no other man would be believed. Still, perhaps it
+      would be best to choose a different messenger and to silence this fellow
+      at once. Write down that Jeffrey Stokes, a prisoner, strove to escape and
+      was killed by the guards in self-defence. Take him hence and let me hear
+      no more.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now my blood went cold, although I strove to look as careless as a man
+      may on an empty stomach after three days in the dark, and cursed him
+      prettily in Spanish to his face. Then, as they were haling me off, Brother
+      Martin&mdash;do you remember him? he was our companion in some troubles
+      over-seas&mdash;stepped forward out of the shadow and said, &lsquo;Of what use
+      is it, Abbot, to stain your soul with so foul a murder? Since John
+      Foterell died the King has many things to lay to your account, and any one
+      of them will hang you. Should you fall into his hands, he&rsquo;ll not hark back
+      to Foterell&rsquo;s death, if, indeed, you were to blame in that matter.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;You speak roughly, Brother,&rsquo; answered the Abbot; &lsquo;and acts of war are
+      not murder, though perchance afterwards you might say they were, to save
+      your own skin, or others might. Well, if so, there&rsquo;s wisdom in your words.
+      Touch not the man. Give him the letter and thrust him into the moat to
+      swim it. His lies can make no odds in the count against us.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, they did so, and I came here, as you saw, to find you living, and
+      now I understand why Maldon thought that Harflete&rsquo;s life is worth so
+      much,&rdquo; and, having done his tale, once more Jeffrey began to eat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely looked at him, they all looked at him&mdash;this gaunt, fierce man
+      who, after many other sorrows and strivings, had spent three days in a
+      black dungeon with the rats, fed upon water and a few fingers of black
+      bread. Yes; with the crawling rats and another man so dear to one of them,
+      who still sat in that horrid hole, waiting to be hung like a felon at the
+      dawn. The silence, with only Jeffrey&rsquo;s munching to break it, grew painful,
+      so that all were glad when the door opened and the messenger whom they had
+      sent to the Abbey appeared. He was breathless, having run fast, and
+      somewhat disturbed, perhaps because two arrows were sticking in his back,
+      or rather in his jerkin, for the mail beneath had stopped them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Speak,&rdquo; said old Jacob Smith; &ldquo;what is your answer?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look behind me, master, and you will find it,&rdquo; replied the man. &ldquo;They set
+      a ladder across the moat and a board on that, over which a priest tripped
+      to take my writing. I waited a while, till presently I heard a voice hail
+      me from the gateway tower, and, looking up, saw Abbot Maldon standing
+      there, with a face like that of a black devil.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Hark you, knave,&rsquo; he said to me, &lsquo;get you gone to the witch, Cicely
+      Foterell, and to the recreant monk, Bolle, whom I curse and excommunicate
+      from the fellowship of Holy Church, and tell them to watch for the first
+      light of dawn, for by it, somewhat high up, they&rsquo;ll see Christopher
+      Harflete hanging black against the morning sky!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;On hearing this I lost my caution, and hallooed back&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;If so, ere to-morrow&rsquo;s nightfall you shall keep him company, every one
+      of you, black against the evening sky, except those who go to be quartered
+      at Tower Hill and Tyburn.&rsquo; Then I ran and they shot at me, hitting once or
+      twice, but, though old, the mail was good, and here am I, unhurt except
+      for bruises.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A while later Cicely, Jacob Smith, Thomas Bolle, Jeffrey Stokes, and Emlyn
+      Stower sat together taking counsel&mdash;very earnest counsel, for the
+      case was desperate. Plan after plan was brought forward and set aside for
+      this reason or for that, till at length they stared at each other emptily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Emlyn,&rdquo; exclaimed Cicely at last, &ldquo;in past days you were wont to be full
+      of comfortable words; have you never a one in this extreme?&rdquo; for all the
+      while Emlyn had sat silent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thomas,&rdquo; said Emlyn, looking up, &ldquo;do you remember when we were children
+      where we used to catch the big carp in the Abbey moat?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, woman,&rdquo; he answered; &ldquo;but what time is this for fishing stories of
+      many years ago? As I was saying, of that tunnel underground there is no
+      hope. Beyond the grove it is utterly caved in and blocked&mdash;I&rsquo;ve tried
+      it. If we had a week, perhaps&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let her be,&rdquo; broke in Jacob; &ldquo;she has something to tell us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And do you remember,&rdquo; went on Emlyn, &ldquo;that you told me that there the
+      carp were so big and fat because just at this place &lsquo;neath the drawbridge
+      the Abbey sewer&mdash;the big Abbey sewer down which all foul things are
+      poured&mdash;empties itself into the moat, and that therefore I would eat
+      none of those fish, even in Lent?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, I remember. What of it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thomas, did I hear you say that the powder you sent for had come?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, an hour ago; six kegs, by the carrier&rsquo;s van, of a hundredweight
+      each. Not so much as we hoped for, but something, though, as the cannon
+      has not come&mdash;for the King&rsquo;s folk had none&mdash;it is of no use.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A dark night, a ladder with a plank on it, a brick arched drain, two
+      hundredweight, or better still, four of powder set beneath the gate, a
+      slow-match and a brave man to fire it&mdash;taken together with God&rsquo;s
+      blessing, these things might do much,&rdquo; mused Emlyn, as though to herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now at length they took her point.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They&rsquo;d be listening like a cat for a mouse,&rdquo; said Bolle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think the wind rises,&rdquo; she answered; &ldquo;I hear it in the trees. I think
+      presently it will blow a gale. Also, lanterns might be shown at the back
+      where the breach is, and men might shout there, as though preparing to
+      attack. That would draw them off. Meanwhile Jeffrey Stokes and I would try
+      our luck with the ladder and the kegs of powder&mdash;he to roll and I to
+      fire when the time came, for being, as you have heard, a witch, I
+      understand how to humour brimstone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ten minutes later, and their plans were fixed. Two hours later, and, in
+      the midst of a raving gale, hidden by the pitchy darkness and the towering
+      screen of the lifted drawbridge, Emlyn and the strong Jeffrey rolled the
+      kegs of powder over planks laid across the moat, into the mouth of the big
+      drain and twenty feet down it, till they lay under the gateway towers!
+      Then, lying there in the stinking filth, they drew the spigots out of
+      holes that they had made in them, and in their place set the slow-matches.
+      Jeffrey struck a flint, blew the tinder to a glow, and handed it to Emlyn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now get you gone,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;I follow. At this job one is better than
+      two.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A minute later she joined him on the farther bank of the moat. &ldquo;Run!&rdquo; she
+      said. &ldquo;Run for your life; there&rsquo;s death behind!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He obeyed, but Emlyn turned and screamed, till, hearing her through the
+      gale, all the guard hurried up the towers, flashing lanterns, to see what
+      passed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Storm! storm!</i>&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;<i>Up with the ladders! For the King and
+      Harflete! Storm! storm!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then she too turned and fled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XVIII
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      OUT OF THE SHADOWS
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      Through the black night sudden and red there shot a sheet of fire
+      illumining all things as lightning does. Above the roaring of the gale
+      there echoed a dull and heavy noise like to that of muffled thunder. Then
+      after a moment&rsquo;s pause and silence the sky rained stones, and with them
+      the limbs of men.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The gateway&rsquo;s gone,&rdquo; shouted a great voice, it was that of Bolle. &ldquo;Out
+      with the ladders!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Men who were waiting ran up with them and thrust them, four in all,
+      athwart the moat. By the planks that were lashed along their staves they
+      scrambled across and over the piles of shattered masonry into the
+      courtyard beyond where none waited them, for all who watched here were
+      dead or maimed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Light the lanterns,&rdquo; shouted Bolle again, &ldquo;for it will be dark in
+      yonder,&rdquo; and a man who followed with a torch obeyed him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then they rushed across the courtyard to the door of the refectory, which
+      stood open. Here in the wide, high-roofed hall they met the mass of
+      Maldon&rsquo;s people pouring back from the faggoted breach, where they had been
+      gathered, expecting attack, some of them also bearing lanterns. For a
+      moment the two parties stood staring at each other; then followed a wild
+      and savage scene. With shouts and oaths and battle-cries they fought
+      furiously. The massive, oaken tables were overthrown, by the red flicker
+      of the pole-borne lanterns men grappled and fell and slew each other upon
+      the floor. A priest struck down a yeoman with a brazen crucifix, and next
+      moment himself was brained with its broken shaft.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For God and Grace!&rdquo; shouted some; &ldquo;For the King and Harflete!&rdquo; answered
+      others.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Keep line! Keep line!&rdquo; roared Bolle, &ldquo;and sweep them out.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The lanterns were dashed down and extinguished till but one remained, a
+      red and wavering star. Hoarse voices shouted for light, for none knew
+      friend from foe. It came; some one had fired the tapestries and the blaze
+      ran up them to the roof. Then fearing lest they should be roasted, the
+      Abbot&rsquo;s folk gave way and fled to the farther door, followed by their
+      foes. Here it was that most of them fell, for they jammed in the doorway
+      and were cut down there or on the stair beyond.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      While Bolle still plied his axe fiercely, some one caught his arm and
+      screamed into his ear&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let be! Let be! The wretch is sped.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In his red wrath he turned to strike the speaker, and saw by the flare
+      that it was Cicely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you here?&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;Get gone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fool,&rdquo; she answered in a low, fierce voice, &ldquo;I seek my husband. Show me
+      the path ere it be too late, you know it alone. Come, Jeffrey Stokes, a
+      lantern, a lantern!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jeffrey appeared, sword in one hand and lantern in the other, and with him
+      Emlyn, who also held a sword which she had plucked from a fallen man,
+      Emlyn still foul with the filth of the sewer and the mud of the moat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I may not leave,&rdquo; muttered Thomas Bolle. &ldquo;I seek Maldon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;On to the dungeons,&rdquo; shrieked Emlyn, &ldquo;or I will stab you. I heard them
+      give word to kill Harflete.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he snatched the light from Jeffrey&rsquo;s hand, and crying &ldquo;Follow me,&rdquo;
+       rushed along a passage till they came to an open door and beyond it to
+      stairs. They descended the stairs and passed other passages which ran
+      underground, till a sudden turn to the right brought them to a little
+      walled-in place with a vaulted roof. Two torches flared in iron holders in
+      the masonry, and by the light of them they saw a strange and fearful
+      sight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the end of the open place a heavy, nail-studded door stood wide,
+      revealing a cell, or rather a little cave beyond&mdash;those who are
+      curious can see it to this day. Fastened by a chain to the wall of this
+      dungeon was a man, who held in his hand a three-legged stool and tugged at
+      his chain like a maddened beast. In front of him, holding the doorway,
+      stood a tall, lank priest, his robe tucked up into his girdle. He was
+      wounded, for blood poured from his shaven crown and he plied a great sword
+      with both hands, striking savagely at four men who tried to cut him down.
+      As Bolle and his party appeared, one of these men fell beneath the
+      priest&rsquo;s blows, and another took his place, shouting&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Out of the way, traitor. We would kill Harflete, not you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We die or live together, murderers,&rdquo; answered the priest in a thick,
+      gasping voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At this moment one of them, it was he who had spoken, heard the sound of
+      the rescuers&rsquo; footsteps and glanced back. In an instant he turned and was
+      running past them like a hare. As he went the light from the lantern fell
+      upon his face, and Emlyn knew it for that of the Abbot. She struck at him
+      with the sword she held, but the steel glanced from his mail. He also
+      struck, but at the lantern, dashing it to the ground.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Seize him,&rdquo; screamed Emlyn. &ldquo;Seize Maldon, Jeffrey,&rdquo; and at the words
+      Stokes bounded away, only to return presently, having lost him in the dark
+      passages. Then with a roar Bolle leaped upon the two remaining men-at-arms
+      as they faced about, and very soon between his axe and the sword of the
+      priest behind, they sank to the ground and died still fighting, who knew
+      they had no hope of quarter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was over and done and dreadful silence fell upon the place, the silence
+      of the dead broken only by the heavy breathing of those who remained
+      alive. There the wounded monk leaned against the door-post, his red sword
+      drooping to the floor. There Harflete, the stool still lifted, rested his
+      weight against the chain and peered forward in amazement, swaying as
+      though from weakness. And lastly there lay the three slain men, one of
+      whom still moved a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely crept forward; over the dead she went and past the priest till she
+      stood face to face with the prisoner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come nearer and I will dash out your brains,&rdquo; he said in a hoarse voice,
+      for such light as there was came from behind her whom he thought to be but
+      another of the murderers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then at length she found her voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Christopher!&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;Christopher!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He hearkened, and the stool fell from his hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Voice again,&rdquo; he muttered. &ldquo;Well, &lsquo;tis time. Tarry a while, Wife, I
+      come, I come!&rdquo; and he fell back against the wall shutting his eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She leapt to him, and throwing her arms about him kissed his lips, his
+      poor, bloodless lips. The shut eyes opened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Death might be worse,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;but so I knew that we would meet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now Emlyn, seeing some change in his face, snatched one of the torches
+      from its iron and ran forward, holding it so that the light fell full on
+      Cicely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Christopher,&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;I am no ghost, but your living wife.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He heard, he stared, he stared again, then lifted his thin hand and
+      stroked her hair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh God,&rdquo; he exclaimed, &ldquo;the dead live!&rdquo; and down he fell in a heap at her
+      feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They thrust Cicely aside, Cicely who stood there shivering, she who
+      thought he had gone again and this time for ever. With difficulty they
+      broke the chain whereby he had been held like a kennelled hound, and bore
+      him, still senseless, up the long passages, Bolle going ahead as guard and
+      Jeffrey Stokes following after. Behind them came Emlyn supporting the
+      wounded monk Martin, for it was he and no other who had saved the life of
+      Christopher.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As they went up towards the stairs they heard a roaring noise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fire!&rdquo; said Cicely, who knew that sound well, and next instant the light
+      of it burst upon them and its smoke wrapped them round. The Abbey was
+      ablaze, and its wide hall in front looked like the mouth of hell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did I not prophesy that it would be so&mdash;yonder at Cranwell burning?&rdquo;
+       asked Emlyn, with a fierce laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Follow me!&rdquo; shouted Bolle. &ldquo;Be swift now ere the roof falls and traps
+      us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      On they went desperately, leaving the hall on their left, and well for
+      them was it that Thomas knew the way. One little chamber through which
+      they passed had already caught, for flakes of fire fell among them from
+      above and here the smoke was very thick. They were through it, who even a
+      minute later could never have walked that path and lived. They were
+      through it and out into the open air by the cloister door, which those who
+      fled before them had left wide. They reached the moat just where the
+      breach had been mended with faggots, and mounting on them Bolle shouted
+      till one of his own men heard him and dropped the bow that he had raised
+      to shoot him as a rebel. Then planks and ladders were brought, and at last
+      they escaped from danger and the intolerable heat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus it was that Cicely who lost her love in fire, in fire found him once
+      again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For Christopher was not dead as at first they feared. They carried him to
+      the Priory, and there Emlyn, having felt his heart and found that it still
+      beat, though faintly, sent Mother Matilda to fetch some of that Portugal
+      wine of hers which Commissioner Legh had praised. Spoonful by spoonful she
+      poured it down his throat, till at length he opened his eyes, though only
+      to shut them again in natural sleep, for the wine had taken a hold of his
+      starved body and weakened brain. For hour after hour Cicely sat by him,
+      only rising from time to time to watch the burning of the great Abbey
+      church, as once she had watched that of its dormers and farm-steading.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      About three in the morning the lead ceased to pour down in a silvery
+      molten shower, its roofs fell in, and by dawn it was nothing but a
+      fire-blackened shell much as it remains to-day. Just before daybreak Emlyn
+      came to her, saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There is one who would speak with you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I cannot see him,&rdquo; she answered, &ldquo;I bide by my husband.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yet you should,&rdquo; said Emlyn, &ldquo;since but for him you would now have no
+      husband. The monk Martin, who held off the murderers, is dying and desires
+      to bid you farewell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Cicely went to find the man still conscious, but fading away with the
+      flow of his own blood, which could not be stayed by any skill they had.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have come to thank you,&rdquo; she murmured, who knew not what else to say.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank me not,&rdquo; he answered faintly, pausing often between his words, &ldquo;who
+      did but strive to repay part of a great debt. Last winter I shared in
+      awful sin, in obedience, not to my heart, but to my vows. I who was set to
+      watch the body of your husband found that he lived, and by my help he was
+      borne away upon a ship. That ship was taken by the Infidels, and
+      afterwards he and I and Jeffrey served together upon their galleys. There
+      I fell sick, and your husband nursed me back to life. It was I who brought
+      you the deeds and wrote the letter which I gave to Emlyn Stower. My vows
+      still held me fast, and I did no more. This night I broke their bonds, for
+      when I heard the order given that he should be slain I ran down before the
+      murderers and fought my best, forgetting that I was a priest, till at
+      length you came. Let this atone my crimes against my Country, my King and
+      you that I died for my friend at last, as I am glad to do who find this
+      world&mdash;too difficult.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will tell him if he lives,&rdquo; sobbed Cicely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He opened his eyes, which had shut, and answered&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, he&rsquo;ll live, he&rsquo;ll live. You have had many troubles, but, save for the
+      creep of age and death, they are over. I can see and know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again he shut his eyes and the watchers thought that all was done, till of
+      a sudden once more he opened them and added in broken tones&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Abbot&mdash;show him mercy&mdash;if you can. He is wicked and cruel,
+      but I have been his confessor and know his heart. He strove for a good end&mdash;by
+      an evil road. Queen Catherine was the King&rsquo;s lawful wife. To seize the
+      monasteries is shameless theft. Also his blood is not English; he sees
+      otherwise, and serves the Pope as I do, and Spain, as I do not. As I have
+      helped you, help him. Judge not, that ye be not judged. Promise!&rdquo; and he
+      raised himself a little on the bed and looked at her earnestly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I promise,&rdquo; answered Cicely, and as she spoke Martin smiled. Then his
+      face turned quite grey, all the light went out of his eyes and a moment
+      later Emlyn threw a linen cloth over his head. It was finished.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely returned to Christopher to find him sitting up in bed drinking a
+      bowl of broth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, my husband, my husband,&rdquo; she said, casting her arms about him. Then
+      she took her son and laid him upon his father&rsquo;s breast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Three days had gone by and Christopher and Cicely were walking in the
+      shrubbery of Shefton Hall. By now, although still weak, he was almost
+      recovered, whose only sickness had been grief and famine, for which joy
+      and plenty are wonderful medicines. It was evening, a pleasant and
+      beautiful early winter evening just fading into night. Seated on a bench
+      he had been telling her his adventures, and they were a moving tale
+      worthy, as Cicely wrote afterwards in a letter to old Jacob Smith that is
+      still extant in her fine, quaint handwriting, to be recorded in a book,
+      though this it would seem was never done.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He told her of the great fight on the ship <i>Great Yarmouth</i>, when
+      they were taken by the two Turkish pirates, and of how bravely Father
+      Martin bore himself. Afterwards when they came to the galleys, by good
+      fortune Martin, Jeffrey and he served on the same bench. Then Martin fell
+      sick of some Southern fever, and being in port at Tunis at the time, where
+      they could get fruit, they nursed him back to life and strength. Four
+      months later the Emperor Charles attacked Tunis, and when it fell, through
+      God&rsquo;s mercy, they were rescued with the other Christian slaves, after
+      which Martin returned to England taking old Sir John&rsquo;s writings to be
+      delivered to his next heir, for they all believed Cicely to be dead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Christopher and Jeffrey, having nothing to seek at home, stayed to
+      fight with the Spaniards against the Turks, who had oppressed them so
+      sorely. When that war was over they made their way back to England, not
+      knowing where else to go and having a score to settle against the Spanish
+      Abbot of Blossholme, and&mdash;well, she knew the rest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aye, answered Cicely, she knew it and never would forget it, but it was
+      chill for him sitting on that bench, he must come in. Christopher laughed
+      at her, and answered&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sweetheart, if you could have seen the bench on which it was my lot to
+      sit yonder off the coast of Africa, but new recovered from the wound which
+      I had of Maldon&rsquo;s men at Cranwell Towers, you would not be anxious for me
+      here. There for six long months chained to Jeffrey and to Father Martin,
+      for it pleased those heathen devils to keep the three of us together,
+      perhaps that they might watch us better, through the hot days that
+      scorched us, and the chill, wet nights, we laboured at our oars, while
+      infidel overseers ran up and down the boards and thrashed us with their
+      whips of hide. Yes,&rdquo; he added slowly, &ldquo;they thrashed us as though we were
+      oxen in a yoke. You have seen the scars upon my back.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, God! to think of it,&rdquo; she murmured; &ldquo;you, a noble Englishman, beaten
+      by those savage wretches like a brute? How did you bear it, Christopher?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know not, Wife. I think that had it not been for that angel in man&rsquo;s
+      form, the priest Martin&mdash;peace be to his noble soul&mdash;that angel
+      who thrice at least has saved my life, I should have dashed out my brains
+      against the thwarts, or starved myself to death, or provoked the Moors to
+      kill me; I, who, thinking you dead, had no hope to live for. But Martin
+      taught me otherwise; he preached patience and submission, saying that I
+      did not suffer for nothing&mdash;of his own miseries he never spoke&mdash;and
+      that he was sure that fearful as was my lot, all things worked together
+      for good to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And therefore it was that you lived on, Husband? Oh! I&rsquo;ll build a shrine
+      to that saint Martin.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not altogether, dear. I&rsquo;ll tell you true; I lived for vengeance&mdash;vengeance
+      on Clement Maldon, the man, or the devil, who wrought me all this ill,
+      and, being yet young, made me old with grief and pain,&rdquo; and he pointed to
+      his scarred forehead and the hair above, that was now grizzled with white,
+      &ldquo;and vengeance, too, upon those worshippers of Mohammed, my masters. Yes;
+      though Martin reproved me when I made confession to him, I think it was
+      for that I lived, and the saints know,&rdquo; he added grimly, &ldquo;afterwards at
+      the sack, and elsewhere, I took it on the Turks. Oh! you should have seen
+      the last meeting of Jeffrey and myself with the captain of that galley and
+      his officers who had so often beaten us. No, I am glad you did not see it,
+      for it was fierce and bloody; even the hard-hearted Spaniards stared.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He paused, and perhaps to change the current of his mind&mdash;for during
+      all his after-life, when Christopher brooded on these things he grew
+      gloomy for hours, and even days&mdash;Cicely said hurriedly&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wonder what has chanced to our enemy, the Abbot. The search has been
+      close, the roads are watched, and we know that he had none with him, for
+      all his foreign soldiers are slain or taken. I think he must be dead in
+      the fire, Christopher.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A devil does not die in fire. He is away somewhere, to plot fresh murders&mdash;perhaps
+      our own and our boy&rsquo;s. Oh!&rdquo; he added savagely, &ldquo;till my hands are about
+      his throat and my dagger is in his heart there&rsquo;s no peace for me, who have
+      a score to pay and you both to guard.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely knew not what to answer; indeed, when this mood was on him it was
+      hard to reason with Christopher, who had suffered so fearfully, and, like
+      herself, been saved but by a miracle or the mandate of Heaven.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of a sudden a hush fell upon the place. The blackbirds ceased their winter
+      chatter in the laurels; it grew so still that they heard a dead leaf drop
+      to the ground. The night was at hand. One last red ray from the set sun
+      struck across the frosty sky and was reflected to the earth. In the light
+      of that ray Christopher&rsquo;s trained eyes caught the gleam of something white
+      that moved in the shadow of the beech tree where they sat. Like a tiger he
+      sprang at it, and the next moment haled out a man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look,&rdquo; he said, twisting the head of his captive so that the glow fell on
+      it. &ldquo;Look; I have the snake. Ah! Wife, you saw nothing, but I saw him, and
+      here he is at last&mdash;at last!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Abbot!&rdquo; gasped Cicely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot it was indeed, but oh! how changed. His plump, olive-coloured
+      countenance had shrunk to that of a skeleton still covered by yellow skin,
+      in which the dark eyes rolled bloodshot and unnaturally large. His tonsure
+      and jaws showed a growth of stubbly grey hair, his frame had become weak
+      and small, his soft and delicate hands resembled those of a woman dead of
+      some wasting disease, and, like his garments, were clogged with dirt. The
+      mail shirt he wore hung loose upon him; one of his shoes was gone, and the
+      toes peeped through his stockinged foot. He was but a living misery.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Deliver your arms,&rdquo; growled Christopher, shaking him as a terrier shakes
+      a rat, &ldquo;or you die. Do you yield? Answer!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How can he,&rdquo; broke in Cicely, &ldquo;when you have him by the throat?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Christopher loosed his grip of the man&rsquo;s windpipe, and instead seized his
+      wrists, whereon the Abbot drew a great breath, for he was almost choked,
+      and fell to his knees, in weakness, not in supplication.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I came to you for mercy,&rdquo; he said presently, &ldquo;but, having overheard your
+      talk, know that I can hope for none. Indeed, why should I, who showed
+      none, and whose great cause seems dead, that cause for which I fought and
+      lived? Let me die with it. I ask no more. Still, you are a gentleman, and
+      therefore I beg a favour of you. Do not hand me over to be drawn, hanged
+      and quartered by your brute-king. Kill me now. You can say that I attacked
+      you, and that you did it in self-defence. I have no arms, but you may set
+      a dagger in my hand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Christopher looked down at the poor creature huddled at his feet and
+      laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who would believe me?&rdquo; he asked; &ldquo;though, indeed, who would question,
+      seeing that your life is forfeit to me or any who can take it? Yet that is
+      a matter of which the King&rsquo;s Justices shall judge.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Maldon shivered. &ldquo;Drawn, hanged and quartered,&rdquo; he repeated beneath his
+      breath. &ldquo;Drawn, hanged and quartered as a traitor to one I never served!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not?&rdquo; asked Christopher. &ldquo;You have played a cruel game, and lost.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He made no answer; indeed, it was Cicely who spoke, saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How came you in such a case? We thought you fled.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lady,&rdquo; he answered, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve starved for three days and nights in a hole in
+      the ground like an earthed-up fox; a culvert in your garden hid me. At
+      last I crept out to see the light and die, and heard you talking, and
+      thought that I would ask for mercy, since mortal extremity has no honour.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mercy!&rdquo; said Cicely. &ldquo;Of your treasons I say nothing, for you are not
+      English, and serve your own king, who years ago sent you here to plot
+      against England. But look on this man, my husband. Did he not starve for
+      three days and nights in your strong dungeon ere you came thither to
+      massacre him? Did you not strive to burn him in his Hall, and ship him
+      wounded across the seas to doom? Did you not send your assassin to kill my
+      babe, who stood between you and the wealth you needed for your plots, and
+      bind me, the mother, to the stake&mdash;a food for fire? Did you not shoot
+      down my father in the wood, fearing lest he should prove you traitor, and
+      after rob me of my heritage? Did you not compel your monks to work evil
+      and bring some of them to their deaths? Oh! have done! Worm dressed up as
+      God&rsquo;s priest, how can you writhe there and ask for mercy?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I said I <i>came</i> to seek for mercy because the agony of sleepless
+      hunger drove me, who <i>now</i> seek only death. Insult not the fallen,
+      Cicely Foterell, but take the vengeance that is your due, and kill,&rdquo;
+       replied the Abbot, looking up at her with his hollow eyes, adding, with a
+      laugh that sounded like a groan, &ldquo;Come, Sir Christopher; you have got a
+      sword, and it is time you went to supper. The air is cold; your wife&mdash;if
+      such she be&mdash;said it but now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cicely,&rdquo; said Christopher, &ldquo;go to the Hall and summon Jeffrey Stokes.
+      Emlyn will know where to find him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Emlyn!&rdquo; groaned the Abbot. &ldquo;Give me not over to Emlyn. She&rsquo;d torture me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; said Christopher, &ldquo;this is not Blossholme Abbey; though what may
+      chance in London I know not. Go now, Wife.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Cicely did not stir; she only stared at the wretched creature at her
+      feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I bid you go,&rdquo; repeated Christopher.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I&rsquo;ll not obey,&rdquo; she answered. &ldquo;Do you remember what I promised Martin
+      ere he died?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Martin dead! Is Martin, who saved your husband, dead?&rdquo; exclaimed the
+      Abbot, lifting his face and letting it fall again. &ldquo;Happy Martin, to be
+      dead.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was not there, and I am not bound by your promises, Cicely.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I am, and you and I are one. I vowed mercy to this man if he should
+      fall into our power, and mercy he shall have.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then you spare him to destroy us. The wheels go round quick in England,
+      Wife.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So be it. What I vowed, I vowed. With God be the rest. He has watched us
+      well heretofore, and I think,&rdquo; she added, with one of her bursts of
+      triumphant faith, &ldquo;will do so to the end. Abbot Maldon, sinful, fallen
+      Abbot Maldon, you are as you were made, and Martin, the saint, said that
+      there is good in your heart, though you have shown none of it to me or
+      mine. Now, look you; yonder is a wooden summer-house, thatched and warm.
+      Get you there, and I&rsquo;ll send you food and wine and new clothing by one who
+      will not talk; also a pass to Lincoln. By to-morrow&rsquo;s dawn you will be
+      refreshed, and then you will find a good horse tied to yonder tree, and so
+      away to sanctuary at Lincoln, and, if aught of ill befalls you afterwards,
+      know it is not our doing, but that of some other enemy, or of God, with
+      Whom I pray you make your peace. May He forgive you, as I do, Who knows
+      all hearts, which I do not. Now, farewell. Nay, say nothing. There is
+      nothing to be said. Come, Christopher, for this once you obey me, not I
+      you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So they went, and the wretched man raised himself upon his hands and
+      looked after them, but what passed in his heart at that moment none will
+      ever learn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Some months had gone by and Blossholme, with all the country round, was
+      once more at peace. The tide of trouble had rolled away northward, whence
+      came rumours of renewed rebellion. Abbot Maldon had been seen no more, and
+      for a while it was believed that although he never took sanctuary at
+      Lincoln, he had done a wiser thing and fled to Spain. Then Emlyn, who
+      heard everything, got news that this was not so, but that he was foremost
+      among those who stirred up sedition and war along the Scottish border.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can well believe it,&rdquo; said Cicely. &ldquo;The sow must to its wallowing in
+      the mire. Nature made him a plotter, and he will follow his heart to the
+      end.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ere long he may find it hard to follow his head,&rdquo; answered Emlyn grimly.
+      &ldquo;Oh, to think that you had that wolf caged and turned him loose again to
+      prey on England and on us!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did but show mercy to the fallen, Nurse.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mercy? I call it madness. Why, when Jeffrey and Thomas heard of it I
+      thought they would burst with rage, especially Jeffrey, who loved your
+      father well and loved not the infidel galleys,&rdquo; answered the fierce Emlyn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord,&rdquo; murmured Cicely in a
+      gentle voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Lord also said that whoso sheddeth man&rsquo;s blood by man shall his blood
+      be shed. Why, I&rsquo;ve heard this Maldon quote it to your husband at Cranwell
+      Towers.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So will it be, Emlyn, if so it is to be, only let others shed that cruel
+      blood. I would not have it on my hands or on those of any of my house, for
+      after all he is an ordained priest of my own faith. Moreover, I had
+      promised. Still, talk not of the matter lest it should bring trouble on us
+      all, who had no right to loose him. Also these are ill thoughts for your
+      wedding day. Go, deck yourself in those fine clothes which Jacob Smith has
+      sent from London, since the clergyman will be at Blossholme church by
+      four, and I think that Thomas has waited long enough for you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Emlyn smiled a little, and shrugged her broad shoulders, muttering
+      something that would have angered Thomas if he could have heard it, as
+      Cicely went off to join Christopher, who called to her from another room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She found him adding up figures on paper, a very different Christopher to
+      the broken man they had rescued from the dungeon, though still much aged
+      by the terrors of the past year and just now looking rueful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;See, Sweet,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;we should give a marriage portion to Emlyn, who
+      has earned it if ever woman did, but where it is to come from I know not.
+      Those Abbey lands Jacob Smith bought from the King are not yours yet, nor
+      Henry&rsquo;s either, though doubtless he will have them soon. Neither have any
+      rents been paid to you from your own estates, and when they come they are
+      promised up in London, while the Abbot&rsquo;s razor has shaved my own poor
+      parsimony bare as a churchyard skull. Also Mother Matilda and her nuns
+      must be kept till we can endow them with their lands again. One day we, or
+      our boy yonder, may be rich, but till it comes there are hard times for
+      all of us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not so hard as some we have known, Husband,&rdquo; she answered, laughing, &ldquo;for
+      at least we are free and have food to eat, and for the rest we will borrow
+      from Jacob Smith on the jewels that remain over. Indeed, I have written to
+      him and he will not refuse.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, but how about Thomas and Emlyn?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They must do as their betters do. Though there is little stock on it,
+      Thomas has the Manor Farm at low rent, which he may pay when he can, while
+      Jacob put a present in the pocket of Emlyn&rsquo;s wedding dress. What&rsquo;s more, I
+      think he will make her his heir, and if so she will be rich indeed, so
+      rich that I shall have to curtsey to her. Now, go make ready for this
+      marriage, and as you have no fine doublet, bid Jeffrey put on your mail,
+      for you look best in that, or so at least I think, who to my mind look
+      best in anything you chance to wear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then while he demurred, saying that there was now no need to bear arms in
+      Blossholme, also that Jeffrey was away settling himself as landlord of the
+      Ford Inn, the same that the Abbot had once promised to Flounder Megges,
+      she kissed him, and seizing her boy, who lay crowing in the sunlight,
+      danced with him from the room. For oh, Cicely&rsquo;s heart was merry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There were many folk at the marriage of Emlyn Stower and Thomas Bolle, for
+      of late Blossholme had been but a sorry place, and this wedding came to it
+      like the breath of spring to the woods and meads around, a hint of
+      happiness after the miseries of winter. The story of the pair had got
+      about also. How they had been pledged in youth and separated by scheming
+      men for their own purposes. How Emlyn had been married off against her
+      will to an aged partner whom she hated, and Thomas, who was set down as a
+      fool, forced to serve the monastery as a lay-brother, a strong hind
+      skilled in the management of cattle and such matters, but half crazy, as
+      indeed it had suited him to feign himself to be.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      People knew the end of the thing also; that Emlyn had cursed the Abbot,
+      and that her curse had been fulfilled. That Thomas Bolle had shaken off
+      his superstitious fears and risen up against him and at last been given
+      the commission of the King, and, as his Grace&rsquo;s officer, shown himself no
+      fool but a man of mettle who had taken the Abbey by storm and rescued Sir
+      Christopher Harflete from its dungeons. Emlyn also, like her mistress, had
+      been bound to the stake as a witch, and saved from burning by this same
+      Thomas, who with her had been concerned in many remarkable events whereof
+      the countryside was full of tales, true or false. Now at last after all
+      these adventures they came together to be wed, and who was there for ten
+      miles round that would not see it done?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The monks being gone Father Roger Necton, the old vicar of Cranwell, he
+      who had united Christopher and his wife Cicely in strange circumstances,
+      and for that deed been obliged to fly for his life when the last Abbot of
+      Blossholme burned Cranwell Towers, came to tie the knot before his great
+      congregation. Notwithstanding that they were both of middle age, Emlyn in
+      her grand gown and the brawny, red-haired Thomas in his yeoman&rsquo;s garb of
+      green, such as he had worn when he wooed her many years before he put on
+      the monk&rsquo;s russet robe, made a fine and handsome pair at the altar. Or so
+      folk thought, though some friend of the monks, remembering Bolle&rsquo;s devil&rsquo;s
+      livery and Emlyn&rsquo;s repute as a sorceress, cried out from the shadow that
+      Satan was marrying a witch, and for his pains got his head broken by
+      Jeffrey Stokes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So the white-haired and gentle Father Necton, having first read the King&rsquo;s
+      order releasing Thomas from his vows, tied them fast according to the
+      ancient rites and blessed them both. At length it was finished, and the
+      pair walked from the old church to the Manor Farm, where they were to
+      dwell, followed, as was the custom, by a company of their friends and
+      well-wishers. As they went they passed through a little stretch of
+      woodland by the stream, where on this spring day the wild daffodils and
+      lilies of the valley were abloom making sweet the air. Here Emlyn paused a
+      moment and said to her husband, Captain Bolle&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you remember this place?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, Wife,&rdquo; he answered, &ldquo;it was here that we plighted our troth in
+      youth, and looked up to see Maldon passing us just beyond that same oak,
+      and felt the shadow of him strike cold to our hearts. You spoke of it
+      yonder in the Priory chapel when I came up by the secret way, and its
+      memory made me mad.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Thomas, I spoke of it,&rdquo; answered Emlyn in a rich and gentle voice, a
+      new voice to him. &ldquo;Well, now let its memory make you happy, as,
+      notwithstanding all my faults, I will if I can,&rdquo; and swiftly she bent
+      towards him and kissed him, adding, &ldquo;Come on, Husband, they press behind
+      us and I hope that we have done with perils and plottings.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Amen,&rdquo; answered Bolle, and as he spoke certain strange men who wore the
+      King&rsquo;s colours and carried a long ladder went by them at a distance.
+      Wondering what was their business at Blossholme, the pair passed through
+      the last of the woodland and reached the rise whence they could see the
+      gaunt skeleton of the burnt-out Abbey that appeared within fifty paces of
+      them. At this they paused to look, and presently were joined there by
+      Christopher and Cicely, Mother Matilda and her good nuns, Jeffrey Stokes,
+      and others. The place seemed grim and desolate in the evening light, and
+      all of them stood staring at it filled with their separate thoughts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is that?&rdquo; said Cicely, with a start, pointing to a round black
+      object new set over the ruin of the gateway tower.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Just then a red ray from the sunset struck upon the thing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was the severed head of Clement Maldon the Spaniard.
+    </p>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LADY OF BLOSSHOLME ***</div>
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Lady Of Blossholme, by H. Rider Haggard
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Lady Of Blossholme
+
+Author: H. Rider Haggard
+
+Release Date: April 13, 2006 [EBook #3813]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LADY OF BLOSSHOLME ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by John Bickers; Dagny; David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+THE LADY OF BLOSSHOLME
+
+By H. Rider Haggard
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+SIR JOHN FOTERELL
+
+Who that has ever seen them can forget the ruins of Blossholme Abbey,
+set upon their mount between the great waters of the tidal estuary to
+the north, the rich lands and grazing marshes that, backed with woods,
+border it east and south, and to the west by the rolling uplands,
+merging at last into purple moor, and, far away, the sombre eternal
+hills! Probably the scene has not changed very much since the days of
+Henry VIII, when those things happened of which we have to tell, for
+here no large town has arisen, nor have mines been dug or factories
+built to affront the earth and defile the air with their hideousness and
+smoke.
+
+The village of Blossholme we know has scarcely varied in its population,
+for the old records tell us this, and as there is no railway here its
+aspect must be much the same. Houses built of the local grey stone do
+not readily fall down. The folk of that generation walked in and out of
+the doorways of many of them, although the roofs for the most part are
+now covered with tiles or rough slates in place of reeds from the dike.
+The parish wells also, fitted with iron pumps that have superseded the
+old rollers and buckets, still serve the place with drinking-water
+as they have done since the days of the first Edward, and perhaps for
+centuries before.
+
+Although their use, if not their necessity, has passed away, not far
+from the Abbey gate the stocks and whipping-post, the latter arranged
+with three sets of iron loops fixed at different heights and of varying
+diameters to accommodate the wrists of man, woman, and child, may still
+be found in the middle of the Priests' Green. These stand, it will be
+remembered, under a quaint old roof supported on rough, oaken pillars,
+and surmounted by a weathercock which the monkish fancy has fashioned
+to the shape of the archangel blowing the last trump. His clarion
+or coach-horn, or whatever instrument of music it was he blew, has
+vanished. The parish book records that in the time of George I a boy
+broke it off, melted it down, and was publicly flogged in consequence,
+the last time, apparently, that the whipping-post was used. But Gabriel
+still twists about as manfully as he did when old Peter, the famous
+smith, fashioned and set him up with his own hand in the last year of
+King Henry VIII, as it is said to commemorate the fact that on this spot
+stood the stakes to which Cicely Harflete, Lady of Blossholme, and her
+foster-mother, Emlyn, were chained to be burned as witches.
+
+So it is with everything at Blossholme, a place that Time has touched
+but lightly. The fields, or many of them, bear the same names and remain
+identical in their shape and outline. The old farmsteads and the few
+halls in which reside the gentry of the district, stand where they
+always stood. The glorious tower of the Abbey still points upwards to
+the sky, although bells and roof are gone, while half-a-mile away the
+parish church that was there before it--having been rebuilt indeed
+upon Saxon foundations in the days of William Rufus--yet lies among its
+ancient elms. Farther on, situate upon the slope of a vale down which
+runs a brook through meadows, is the stark ruin of the old Nunnery that
+was subservient to the proud Abbey on the hill, some of it now roofed in
+with galvanised iron sheets and used as cow-sheds.
+
+It is of this Abbey and this Nunnery and of those who dwelt around them
+in a day bygone, and especially of that fair and persecuted woman who
+came to be known as the Lady of Blossholme, that our story has to tell.
+
+
+
+It was dead winter in the year 1535--the 31st of December, indeed. Old
+Sir John Foterell, a white-bearded, red-faced man of about sixty years
+of age, was seated before the log fire in the dining-hall of his great
+house at Shefton, spelling through a letter which had just been brought
+to him from Blossholme Abbey. He mastered it at length, and when it was
+done any one who had been there to look might have seen a knight and
+gentleman of large estate in a rage remarkable even for the time of the
+eighth Henry. He dashed the document to the ground; he drank three cups
+of strong ale, of which he had already had enough, in quick succession;
+he swore a number of the best oaths of the period, and finally, in
+the most expressive language, he consigned the body of the Abbot of
+Blossholme to the gallows and his soul to hell.
+
+"He claims my lands, does he?" he exclaimed, shaking his fist in the
+direction of Blossholme. "What does the rogue say? That the abbot
+who went before him parted with them to my grandfather for no good
+consideration, but under fear and threats. Now, writes he, this
+Secretary Cromwell, whom they call Vicar-General, has declared that the
+said transfer was without the law, and that I must hand over the said
+lands to the Abbey of Blossholme on or before Candlemas! What was
+Cromwell paid to sign that order with no inquiry made, I wonder?"
+
+Sir John poured out and drank a fourth cup of ale, then set to walking
+up and down the hall. Presently he halted in front of the fire and
+addressed it as though it were his enemy.
+
+"You are a clever fellow, Clement Maldon; they tell me that all
+Spaniards are, and you were taught your craft at Rome and sent here for
+a purpose. You began as nothing, and now you are Abbot of Blossholme,
+and, if the King had not faced the Pope, would be more. But you forget
+yourself at times, for the Southern blood is hot, and when the wine is
+in, the truth is out. There were certain words you spoke not a year
+ago before me and other witnesses of which I will remind you presently.
+Perhaps when Secretary Cromwell learns them he will cancel his gift of
+my lands, and mayhap lift that plotting head of yours up higher. I'll go
+remind you of them."
+
+Sir John strode to the door and shouted; it would not be too much to say
+that he bellowed like a bull. It opened after a while, and a serving-man
+appeared, a bow-legged, sturdy-looking fellow with a shock of black
+hair.
+
+"Why are you not quicker, Jeffrey Stokes?" he asked. "Must I wait your
+pleasure from noon to night?"
+
+"I came as fast as I could, master. Why, then, do you rate me?"
+
+"Would you argue with me, fellow? Do it again and I will have you tied
+to a post and lashed."
+
+"Lash yourself, master, and let out the choler and good ale, which you
+need to do," replied Jeffrey in his gruff voice. "There be some men who
+never know when they are well served, and such are apt to come to ill
+and lonely ends. What is your pleasure? I'll do it if I can, and if not,
+do it yourself."
+
+Sir John lifted his hand as though to strike him, then let it fall
+again.
+
+"I like one who braves me to my teeth," he said more gently, "and that
+was ever your nature. Take it not ill, man; I was angered, and have
+cause to be."
+
+"The anger I see, but not the cause, though, as a monk came from the
+Abbey but now, perhaps I can hazard a guess."
+
+"Aye, that's it, that's it, Jeffrey. Hark; I ride to yonder
+crows'-nest, and at once. Saddle me a horse."
+
+"Good, master. I'll saddle two horses."
+
+"Two? I said one. Fool, can I ride a pair at once, like a mountebank?"
+
+"I know not, but you can ride one and I another. When the Abbot of
+Blossholme visits Sir John Foterell of Shefton he comes with hawk on
+wrist, with chaplains and pages, and ten stout men-at-arms, of whom he
+keeps more of late than a priest would seem to need about him. When Sir
+John Foterell visits the Abbot of Blossholme, at least he should have
+one serving-man at his back to hold his nag and bear him witness."
+
+Sir John looked at him shrewdly.
+
+"I called you fool," he said, "but you are none except in looks. Do as
+you will, Jeffrey, but be swift. Stop. Where is my daughter?"
+
+"The Lady Cicely sits in her parlour. I saw her sweet face at the window
+but now staring out at the snow as though she thought to see a ghost in
+it."
+
+"Um," grunted Sir John, "the ghost she thinks to see rides a grand grey
+mare, stands over six feet high, has a jolly face, and a pair of arms
+well made for sword and shield, or to clip a girl in. Yet that ghost
+must be laid, Jeffrey."
+
+"Pity if so, master. Moreover, you may find it hard. Ghost-laying is a
+priest's job, and when maids' waists are willing, men's arms reach far."
+
+"Be off, sirrah," roared Sir John, and Jeffrey went.
+
+Ten minutes later they were riding for the Abbey, three miles away,
+and within half-an-hour Sir John was knocking, not gently, at its gate,
+while the monks within ran to and fro like startled ants, for the times
+were rough, and they were not sure who threatened them. When they knew
+their visitor at last they set to work to unbar the great doors and let
+down the drawbridge, that had been hoist up at sunset.
+
+Presently Sir John stood in the Abbot's chamber, warming himself at the
+great fire, and behind him stood his serving-man, Jeffrey, carrying his
+long cloak. It was a fine room, with a noble roof of carved chestnut
+wood and stone walls hung with costly tapestry, whereon were worked
+scenes from the Scriptures. The floor was hid with rich carpets made of
+coloured Eastern wools. The furniture also was rich and foreign-looking,
+being inlaid with ivory and silver, while on the table stood a golden
+crucifix, a miracle of art, and upon an easel, so that the light from a
+hanging silver lamp fell on it, a life-sized picture of the Magdalene
+by some great Italian painter, turning her beauteous eyes to heaven and
+beating her fair breast.
+
+Sir John looked about him and sniffed.
+
+"Now, Jeffrey, would you think that you were in a monk's cell or in some
+great dame's bower? Hunt under the table, man; sure, you will find her
+lute and needlework. Whose portrait is that, think you?" and he pointed
+to the Magdalene.
+
+"A sinner turning saint, I think, master. Good company for laymen when
+she was sinner, and good for priests now that she is saint. For the
+rest, I could snore well here after a cup of yon red wine," and he
+jerked his thumb towards a long-necked bottle on a sideboard. "Also,
+the fire burns bright, which is not to be wondered at, seeing that it is
+made of dry oak from your Sticksley Wood."
+
+"How know you that, Jeffrey?" asked Sir John.
+
+"By the grain of it, master--by the grain of it. I have hewn too many
+a timber there not to know. There's that in the Sticksley clays which
+makes the rings grow wavy and darker at the heart. See there."
+
+Sir John looked, and swore an angry oath.
+
+"You are right, man; and now I come to think of it, when I was a little
+lad my old grandsire bade me note this very thing about the Sticksley
+oaks. These cursed monks waste my woods beneath my nose. My forester is
+a rogue. They have scared or bribed him, and he shall hang for it."
+
+"First prove the crime, master, which won't be easy; then talk of
+hanging, which only kings and abbots, 'with right of gallows,' can do at
+will. Ah! you speak truth," he added in a changed voice; "it is a lovely
+chamber, though not good enough for the holy man who dwells in it,
+since such a saint should have a silver shrine like him before the altar
+yonder, as doubtless he will do when ere long he is old bones," and,
+as though by chance, he trod upon his lord's foot, which was somewhat
+gouty.
+
+Round came Sir John like the Blossholme weathercock on a gusty day.
+
+"Clumsy toad!" he yelled, then paused, for there within the arras, that
+had been lifted silently, stood a tall, tonsured figure clothed in rich
+furs, and behind him two other figures, also tonsured, in simple black
+robes. It was the Abbot with his chaplains.
+
+"Benedicite!" said the Abbot in his soft, foreign voice, lifting the two
+fingers of his right hand in blessing.
+
+"Good-day," answered Sir John, while his retainer bowed his head and
+crossed himself. "Why do you steal upon a man like a thief in the night,
+holy Father?" he added irritably.
+
+"That is how we are told judgment shall come, my son," answered the
+Abbot, smiling; "and in truth there seems some need of it. We heard loud
+quarrelling and talk of hanging men. What is your argument?"
+
+"A hard one of oak," answered old Sir John sullenly. "My servant here
+said those logs upon your fire came from my Sticksley Wood, and I
+answered him that if so they were stolen, and my reeve should hang for
+it."
+
+"The worthy man is right, my son, and yet your forester deserves no
+punishment. I bought our scanty store of firing from him, and, to tell
+truth, the count has not yet been paid. The money that should have
+discharged it has gone to London, so I asked him to let it stand
+until the summer rents come in. Blame him not, Sir John, if, out of
+friendship, knowing it was naught to you, he has not bared the nakedness
+of our poor house."
+
+"Is it the nakedness of your poor house"--and he glanced round the
+sumptuous chamber--"that caused you to send me this letter saying that
+you have Cromwell's writ to seize my lands?" asked Sir John, rushing at
+his grievance like a bull, and casting down the document upon the table;
+"or do you also mean to make payment for them--when your summer rents
+come in?"
+
+"Nay, son. In that matter duty led me. For twenty years we have disputed
+of those estates which, as you know, your grandsire took from us in
+a time of trouble, thus cutting the Abbey lands in twain, against the
+protest of him who was Abbot in those days. Therefore, at last I laid
+the matter before the Vicar-General, who, I hear, has been pleased to
+decide the suit in favour of this Abbey."
+
+"To decide a suit of which the defendant had no notice!" exclaimed Sir
+John. "My Lord Abbot, this is not justice; it is roguery that I will
+never bear. Did you decide aught else, pray you?"
+
+"Since you ask it--something, my son. To save costs I laid before him
+the sundry points at issue between us, and in sum this is the judgment:
+Your title to all your Blossholme lands and those contiguous, totalling
+eight thousand acres, is not voided, yet it is held to be tainted and
+doubtful."
+
+"God's blood! Why?" asked Sir John.
+
+"My son, I will tell you," replied the Abbot gently. "Because within
+a hundred years they belonged to this Abbey by gift of the Crown, and
+there is no record that the Crown consented to their alienation."
+
+"No record," exclaimed Sir John, "when I have the indentured deed in my
+strong-box, signed by my great-grandfather and the Abbot Frank Ingham!
+No record, when my said forefather gave you other lands in place of them
+which you now hold? But go on, holy priest."
+
+"My son, I obey you. Your title, though pronounced so doubtful, is not
+utterly voided; yet it is held that you have all these lands as tenant
+of this Abbey, to which, should you die without issue, they will
+relapse. Or should you die with issue under age, such issue will be ward
+to the Abbot of Blossholme for the time being, and failing him, that is,
+if there were no Abbot and no Abbey, of the Crown."
+
+Sir John listened, then sank back into a chair, while his face went
+white as ashes.
+
+"Show me that judgment," he said slowly.
+
+"It is not yet engrossed, my son. Within ten days or so I hope----But
+you seem faint. The warmth of this room after the cold outer air,
+perhaps. Drink a cup of our poor wine," and at a motion of his hand
+one of the chaplains stepped to the sideboard, filled a goblet from the
+long-necked flask that stood there, and brought it to Sir John.
+
+He took it as one that knows not what he does, then suddenly threw the
+silver cup and its contents into the fire, whence a chaplain recovered
+it with the wood-tongs.
+
+"It seems that you priests are my heirs," said Sir John in a new, quiet
+voice, "or so you say; and, if that is so, my life is likely to be
+short. I'll not drink your wine, lest it should be poisoned. Hearken
+now, Sir Abbot. I believe little of this tale, though doubtless by
+bribes and other means you have done your best to harm me behind my back
+up yonder in London. Well, to-morrow at the dawn, come fair weather or
+come foul, I ride through the snows to London, where I too have friends,
+and we will see, we will see. You are a clever man, Abbot Maldon, and
+I know that you need money, or its worth, to pay your men-at-arms and
+satisfy the great costs at which you live--and there are our famous
+jewels--yes, yes, the old Crusader jewels. Therefore you have sought to
+rob me, whom you ever hated, and perchance Cromwell has listened to your
+tale. Perchance, fool priest," he added slowly, "he had it in his mind
+to fat this Church goose of yours with my meal before he wrings its neck
+and cooks it."
+
+At these words the Abbot started for the first time, and even the two
+impassive chaplains glanced at each other.
+
+"Ah! does that touch you?" asked Sir John Foterell. "Well, then, here is
+what shall make you smart. You think yourself in favour at the Court, do
+you not? because you took the oath of succession which braver men, like
+the brethren of the Charterhouse, refused, and died for it. But you
+forget the words you said to me when the wine you love had a hold of you
+in my hall----"
+
+"Silence! For your own sake, silence, Sir John Foterell!" broke in the
+Abbot. "You go too far."
+
+"Not so far as you shall go, my Lord Abbot, ere I have done with you.
+Not so far as Tower Hill or Tyburn, thither to be hung and quartered as
+a traitor to his Grace. I tell you, you forget the words you spoke, but
+I will remind you of them. Did you not say to me when the guests had
+gone, that King Henry was a heretic, a tyrant, and an infidel whom the
+Pope would do well to excommunicate and depose? Did you not, when I led
+you on, ask me if I could not bring about a rising of the common people
+in these parts, among whom I have great power, and of those gentry who
+know and love me, to overthrow him, and in his place set up a certain
+Cardinal Pole, and for the deed promise me the pardon and absolution
+of the Pope, and much advancement in his name and that of the Spanish
+Emperor?"
+
+"Never," answered the Abbot.
+
+"And did I not," went on Sir John, taking no note of his denial, "did
+I not refuse to listen to you and tell you that your words were
+traitorous, and that had they been spoken otherwhere than in my house,
+I, as in duty bound by my office, would make report of them? Aye, and
+have you not from that hour striven to undo me, whom you fear?"
+
+"I deny it all," said the Abbot again. "These be but empty lies bred of
+your malice, Sir John Foterell."
+
+"Empty words, are they, my Lord Abbot! Well, I tell you that they are
+all written down and signed in due form. I tell you I had witnesses you
+knew naught of who heard them with their ears. Here stands one of them
+behind my chair. Is it not so, Jeffrey?"
+
+"Aye, master," answered the serving-man. "I chanced to be in the little
+chamber beyond the wainscot with others waiting to escort the Abbot
+home, and heard them all, and afterward I and they put our marks upon
+the writing. As I am a Christian man that is so, though, master, this is
+not the place that I should have chosen to speak of it, however much I
+might be wronged."
+
+"It will serve my turn," said the enraged knight, "though it is true
+that I will speak of it louder elsewhere, namely, before the King's
+Council. To-morrow, my Lord Abbot, this paper and I go to London, and
+then you shall learn how well it pays you to try to pluck a Foterell of
+his own."
+
+Now it was the Abbot's turn to be frightened. His smooth, olive-coloured
+cheeks sank in and went white, as though already he felt the cord about
+his throat. His jewelled hand shook, and he caught the arm of one of his
+chaplains and hung to it.
+
+"Man," he hissed, "do you think that you can utter such false threats
+and go hence to ruin me, a consecrated abbot? I have dungeons here; I
+have power. It will be said that you attacked me, and that I did but
+strive to defend myself. Others can bring witness besides you, Sir
+John," and he whispered some words in Latin or Spanish into the ear of
+one of his chaplains, whereon that priest turned to leave the room.
+
+"Now it seems that we are getting to business," said Jeffrey Stokes, as,
+lying his hand upon the knife at his girdle, he slipped between the monk
+and the door.
+
+"That's it, Jeffrey," cried Sir John. "Stop the rat's hole. Look you,
+Spaniard, I have a sword. Show me to your gate, or, by virtue of the
+King's commission that I hold, I do instant justice on you as a traitor,
+and afterward answer for it if I win out."
+
+The Abbot considered a moment, taking the measure of the fierce old
+knight before him. Then he said slowly--
+
+"Go as you came, in peace, O man of wrath and evil, but know that the
+curse of the Church shall follow you. I say that you stand near to ill."
+
+Sir John looked at him. The anger went out of his face, and, instead,
+upon it appeared something strange--a breath of foresight, an
+inspiration, call it what you will.
+
+"By heaven and all its saints! I think you are right, Clement Maldon,"
+he muttered. "Beneath that black dress of yours you are a man like the
+rest of us, are you not? You have a heart, you have members, you have
+a brain to think with; you are a fiddle for God to play on, and however
+much your superstitions mask and alter it, out of those strings now and
+again will come some squeak of truth. Well, I am another fiddle, of a
+more honest sort, mayhap, though I do not lift two fingers of my right
+hand and say, 'Benedicite, my son,' and 'Your sins are forgiven you';
+and just now the God of both of us plays His tune in me, and I will tell
+you what it is. I stand near to death, but you stand not far from the
+gallows. I'll die an honest man; you will die like a dog, false to
+everything, and afterwards let your beads and your masses and your
+saints help you if they can. We'll talk it over when we meet again
+elsewhere. And now, my Lord Abbot, lead me to your gate, remembering
+that I follow with my sword. Jeffrey, set those carrion crow in front of
+you, and watch them well. My Lord Abbot, I am your servant; march!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+THE MURDER BY THE MERE
+
+For a while Sir John and his retainer rode in silence. Then he laughed
+loudly.
+
+"Jeffrey," he called, "that was a near touch. Sir Priest was minded to
+stick his Spanish pick-tooth between our ribs, and shrive us afterwards,
+as we lay dying, to salve his conscience."
+
+"Yes, master; only, being reasonable, he remembered that English swords
+have a longer reach, and that his bullies are in the Ford ale-house
+seeing the Old Year out, and so put it off. Master, I have always told
+you that old October of yours is too strong to drink at noon. It should
+be saved till bed-time."
+
+"What do you mean, man?"
+
+"I mean that ale spoke yonder, not wisdom. You have showed your hand and
+played the fool."
+
+"Who are you to teach me?" asked Sir John angrily. "I meant that he
+should hear the truth for once, the slimy traitor."
+
+"Perhaps, perhaps; but these be bad days for Truth and those who court
+her. Was it needful to tell him that to-morrow you journey to London
+upon a certain errand?"
+
+"Why not? I'll be there before him."
+
+"Will you ever be there, master? The road runs past the Abbey, and that
+priest has good ruffians in his pay who can hold their tongues."
+
+"Do you mean that he will waylay me? I say he dare not. Still, to please
+you, we will take the longer path through the forest."
+
+"A rough one, master; but who goes with you on this business? Most of
+us are away with the wains, and others make holiday. There are but three
+serving-men at the hall, and you cannot leave the Lady Cicely without a
+guard, or take her with you through this cold. Remember there's
+wealth yonder which some may need more even than your lands," he added
+meaningly. "Wait a while, then, till your people return or you can call
+up your tenants, and go to London as one of your quality should, with
+twenty good men at your back."
+
+"And so give our friend the Abbot time to get Cromwell's ear, and
+through him that of the King. No, no; I ride to-morrow at the dawn with
+you, or, if you are afraid, without you, as I have done before and taken
+no harm."
+
+"None shall say that Jeffrey Stokes is afraid of man or priest or
+devil," answered the old soldier, colouring. "Your road has been good
+enough for me this thirty years, and it is good enough now. If I warned
+you it was not for my own sake, who care little what comes, but for
+yours and that of your house."
+
+"I know it," said Sir John more kindly. "Take not my words ill, my
+temper is up to-day. Thank the saints! here is the hall at last. Why!
+whose horse has passed the gates before us?"
+
+Jeffrey glanced at the tracks which the moonlight showed very clearly in
+the new-fallen snow.
+
+"Sir Christopher Harflete's grey mare," he said. "I know the shoeing and
+the round shape of the hoof. Doubtless he is visiting Mistress Cicely."
+
+"Whom I have forbidden to him," grumbled Sir John, swinging himself from
+the saddle.
+
+"Forbid him not," answered Jeffrey, as he took his horse. "Christopher
+Harflete may yet be a good friend to a maid in need, and I think that
+need is nigh."
+
+"Mind your business, knave," shouted Sir John. "Am I to be set at naught
+in my own house by a chit of a girl and a gallant who would mend his
+broken fortunes?"
+
+"If you ask me, I think so," replied the imperturbable Jeffrey, as he
+led away the horses.
+
+Sir John strode into the house by the backway, which opened on to the
+stable-yard. Taking the lantern that stood by the door, he went along
+galleries and upstairs to the sitting-chamber above the hall, which,
+since her mother's death, his daughter had used as her own, for here
+he guessed that he would find her. Setting down the lantern upon the
+passage table, he pushed open the door, which was not latched, and
+entered.
+
+The room was large, and, being lighted only by the great fire that
+burned upon the hearth and two candles, all this end of it was hid in
+shadow. Near to the deep window-place the shadow ceased, however, and
+here, seated in a high-backed oak chair, with the light of the blazing
+fire falling full upon her, was Cicely Foterell, Sir John's only
+surviving child. She was a tall and graceful maiden, blue-eyed,
+brown-haired, fair-skinned, with a round and child-like face which
+most people thought beautiful to look upon. Just now this face, that
+generally was so arch and cheerful, seemed somewhat troubled. For this
+there might be a reason, since, seated upon a stool at her side, was a
+young man talking to her earnestly.
+
+He was a stalwart young man, very broad about the shoulders, clean-cut
+in feature, with a long, straight nose, black hair, and merry black
+eyes. Also, as such a gallant should do, he appeared to be making love
+with much vigour and directness, for his face was upturned pleading with
+the girl, who leaned back in her chair answering him nothing. At this
+moment, indeed, his copious flow of words came to an end, perhaps from
+exhaustion, perhaps for other reasons, and was succeeded by a more
+effective method of attack. Suddenly sinking from the stool to his
+knees, he took the unresisting hand of Cicely and kissed it several
+times; then, emboldened by his success, threw his long arms about her,
+and before Sir John, choked with indignation, could find words to stop
+him, drew her towards him and treated her red lips as he had treated her
+fingers. This rude proceeding seemed to break the spell that bound her,
+for she pushed back the chair and, escaping from his grasp, rose, saying
+in a broken voice----
+
+"Oh! Christopher, dear Christopher, this is most wrong."
+
+"May be," he answered. "So long as you love me I care not what it is."
+
+"That you have known these two years, Christopher. I love you well,
+but, alas! my father will have none of you. Get you hence now, ere
+he returns, or we both shall pay for it, and I, perhaps, be sent to a
+nunnery where no man may come."
+
+"Nay, sweet, I am here to ask his consent to my suit----"
+
+Then at last Sir John broke out.
+
+"To ask my consent to your suit, you dishonest knave!" he roared from
+the darkness; whereat Cicely sank back into her chair looking as though
+she would faint, and the strong Christopher staggered like a man pierced
+by an arrow. "First to take my girl and hug her before my very eyes, and
+then, when the mischief is done, to ask my consent to your suit!" and he
+rushed at them like a charging bull.
+
+Cicely rose to fly, then, seeing no escape, took refuge in her lover's
+arms. Her infuriated father seized the first part of her that came to
+his hand, which chanced to be one of her long brown plaits of hair, and
+tugged at it till she cried out with pain, purposing to tear her away,
+at which sight and sound Christopher lost his temper also.
+
+"Leave go of the maid, sir," he said in a low, fierce voice, "or, by
+God! I'll make you."
+
+"Leave go of the maid?" gasped Sir John. "Why, who holds her tightest,
+you or I? Do you leave go of her."
+
+"Yes, yes, Christopher," she whispered, "ere I am pulled in two."
+
+Then he obeyed, lifting her into the chair, but her father still kept
+his hold of the brown tress.
+
+"Now, Sir Christopher," he said, "I am minded to put my sword through
+you."
+
+"And pierce your daughter's heart as well as mine. Well, do it if you
+will, and when we are dead and you are childless, weep yourself and go
+to the grave."
+
+"Oh! father, father," broke in Cicely, who knew the old man's temper,
+and feared the worst, "in justice and in pity, listen to me. All my
+heart is Christopher's, and has been from a child. With him I shall have
+happiness, without him black despair; and that is his case too, or so
+he swears. Why, then, should you part us? Is he not a proper man and of
+good lineage, and name unstained? Until of late did you not ever favour
+him much and let us be together day by day? And now, when it is too
+late, you deny him. Oh! why, why?"
+
+"You know why well enough, girl? Because I have chosen another husband
+for you. The Lord Despard is taken with your baby face, and would marry
+you. But this morning I had it under his own hand."
+
+"The Lord Despard?" gasped Cicely. "Why, he only buried his second
+wife last month! Father, he is as old as you are, and drunken, and has
+grandchildren of well-nigh my age. I would obey you in all things, but
+never will I go to him alive."
+
+"And never shall he live to take you," muttered Christopher.
+
+"What matter his years, daughter? He is a sound man, and has no son,
+and should one be born to him, his will be the greatest heritage within
+three shires. Moreover, I need his friendship, who have bitter enemies.
+But enough of this. Get you gone, Christopher, before worse befall you."
+
+"So be it, sir, I will go; but first, as an honest man and my father's
+friend, and, as I thought, my own, answer me one question. Why have you
+changed your tune to me of late? Am I not the same Christopher Harflete
+I was a year or two ago? And have I done aught to lower me in the
+world's eye or in yours?"
+
+"No, lad," answered the old knight bluntly; "but since you will have it,
+here it is. Within that year or two your uncle whose heir you were has
+married and bred a son, and now you are but a gentleman of good name,
+and little to float it on. That big house of yours must go to the
+hammer, Christopher. You'll never stow a bride in it."
+
+"Ah! I thought as much. Christopher Harflete with the promise of the
+Lesborough lands was one man; Christopher Harflete without them is
+another--in your eyes. Yet, sir, I hold you foolish. I love your
+daughter and she loves me, and those lands and more may come back, or
+I, who am no fool, will win others. Soon there will be plenty going up
+there at Court, where I am known. Further, I tell you this: I believe
+that I shall marry Cicely, and earlier than you think, and I would have
+had your blessing with her."
+
+"What! Will you steal the girl away?" asked Sir John furiously.
+
+"By no means, sir. But this is a strange world of ours, in which from
+hour to hour top becomes bottom, and bottom top, and there--I think I
+shall marry her. At least I am sure that Despard the sot never will,
+for I'll kill him first, if I hang for it. Sir, sir, surely you will not
+throw your pearl upon that muckheap. Better crush it beneath your heel
+at once. Look, and say you cannot do it," and he pointed to the pathetic
+figure of Cicely, who stood by them with clasped hands, panting breast,
+and a face of agony.
+
+The old knight glanced at her out of the corners of his eyes, and saw
+something that moved him to pity, for at bottom his heart was honest,
+and though he treated her so roughly, as was the fashion of the times,
+he loved his daughter more than all the world.
+
+"Who are you, that would teach me my duty to my bone and blood?" he
+grumbled. Then he thought a while, and added, "Hear me, now, Christopher
+Harflete. To-morrow at the dawn I ride to London with Jeffrey Stokes on
+a somewhat risky business."
+
+"What business, sir?"
+
+"If you would know--that of a quarrel with yonder Spanish rogue of an
+Abbot, who claims the best part of my lands, and has poisoned the ear
+of that upstart, the Vicar-General Cromwell. I go to take the deeds and
+prove him a liar and a traitor also, which Cromwell does not know. Now,
+is my nest safe from you while I am away? Give me your word, and I'll
+believe you, for at least you are an honest gentleman, and if you have
+poached a kiss or two, that may be forgiven. Others have done the same
+before you were born. Give me your word, or I must drag the girl through
+the snows to London at my heels."
+
+"You have it, sir," answered Christopher. "If she needs my company she
+must come for it to Cranwell Towers, for I'll not seek hers while you
+are away."
+
+"Good. Then one gift for another. I'll not answer my Lord of Despard's
+letter till I get back again--not to please you, but because I hate
+writing. It is a labour to me, and I have no time to spare to-night.
+Now, have a cup of drink and be off with you. Love-making is thirsty
+work."
+
+"Aye, gladly, sir, but hear me, hear me. Ride not to London with such
+slight attendance after a quarrel with Abbot Maldon. Let me wait on you.
+Although my fortunes be so low I can bring a man or two--six or eight,
+indeed--while yours are away with the wains."
+
+"Never, Christopher. My own hand has guarded my head these sixty years,
+and can do so still. Also," he added, with a flash of insight, "as you
+say, the journey is dangerous, and who knows? If aught went wrong, you
+might be wanted nearer home. Christopher, you shall never have my girl;
+she's not for you. Yet, perhaps, if need were, you would strike a blow
+for her even if it made you excommunicate. Get hence, wench. Why do you
+stand there gaping on us, like an owl in sunlight? And remember, if
+I catch you at more such tricks, you'll spend your days mumbling at
+prayers in a nunnery, and much good may they do you."
+
+"At least I should find peace there, and gentle words," answered Cicely
+with spirit, for she knew her father, and the worst of her fear had
+departed. "Only, sir, I did not know that you wished to swell the wealth
+of the Abbots of Blossholme."
+
+"Swell their wealth!" roared her father. "Nay, I'll stretch their necks.
+Get you to your chamber, and send up Jeffrey with the liquor."
+
+Then, having no choice, Cicely curtseyed, first to her father and next
+to Christopher, to whom she sent a message with her eyes that she
+dared not utter with her lips, and so vanished into the shadows, where
+presently she was heard stumbling against some article of furniture.
+
+"Show the maid a light, Christopher," said Sir John, who, lost in his
+own thoughts, was now gazing into the fire.
+
+Seizing one of the two candles, Christopher sprang after her like a
+hound after a hare, and presently the pair of them passed through the
+door and down the long passage beyond. At a turn in it they halted, and
+once more, without word spoken, she found her way into those long arms.
+
+"You will not forget me, even if we must part?" sobbed Cicely.
+
+"Nay, sweet," he answered. "Moreover, keep a brave heart; we do not part
+for long, for God has given us to each other. Your father does not mean
+all he says, and his temper, which has been stirred to-day, will soften.
+If not, we must look to ourselves. I keep a swift horse or two, Cicely.
+Could you ride one if need were?"
+
+"I have ever loved riding," she said meaningly.
+
+"Good. Then you shall never go to that fat hog's sty, for I'll stick him
+first. And I have friends both in Scotland and in France. Which like you
+best?"
+
+"They say the air of France is softer. Now, away from me, or one will
+come to seek us," and they tore themselves apart.
+
+"Emlyn, your foster-mother, is to be trusted," he said rapidly; "also
+she loves me well. If there be need, let me hear of you through her."
+
+"Aye," she answered, "without fail," and glided from him like a ghost.
+
+"Have you been waiting to see the moon rise?" asked Sir John, glancing
+at Christopher from beneath his shaggy eyebrows as he returned.
+
+"Nay, sir, but the passages in this old house of yours are most wondrous
+long, and I took a wrong turn in threading them."
+
+"Oh!" said Sir John. "Well, you have a talent for wrong turns, and
+such partings are hard. Now, do you understand that this is the last of
+them?"
+
+"I understand that you may say so, sir."
+
+"And that I mean it, too, I hope. Listen, Christopher," he added, with
+earnestness, but in a kindly voice. "Believe me, I like you well, and
+would not give you pain, or the maid yonder, if I could help it. Yet I
+have no choice. I am threatened on all sides by priest and king, and you
+have lost your heritage. She is the only jewel that I can pawn, and for
+your own safety's sake and her children's sake, must marry well. Yonder
+Despard will not live long, he drinks too hard; and then your day may
+come, if you still care for his leavings--perhaps in two years, perhaps
+in less, for she will soon see him out. Now, let us talk no more of
+the matter, but if aught befalls me, be a friend to her. Here comes the
+liquor--drink it up and be off. Though I seem rough with you, my hope is
+that you may quaff many another cup at Shefton."
+
+
+
+It was seven o'clock of the next morning, and Sir John, having eaten
+his breakfast, was girding on his sword--for Jeffrey had already gone
+to fetch the horses--when the door opened and his daughter entered the
+great hall, candle in hand, wrapped in a fur cloak, over which her long
+hair fell. Glancing at her, Sir John noted that her eyes were wide and
+frightened.
+
+"What is it now, girl?" he asked. "You'll take your death of cold among
+these draughts."
+
+"Oh! father," she said, kissing him, "I came to bid you farewell,
+and--and--to pray you not to start."
+
+"Not to start? And why?"
+
+"Because, father, I have dreamed a bad dream. At first last night I
+could not sleep, and when at length I did I dreamed that dream thrice,"
+and she paused.
+
+"Go on, Cicely; I am not afraid of dreams, which are but
+foolishness--coming from the stomach."
+
+"Mayhap; yet, father, it was so plain and clear I can scarcely bear to
+tell it to you. I stood in a dark place amidst black things that I knew
+to be trees. Then the red dawn broke upon the snow, and I saw a little
+pool with brown rushes frozen in its ice. And there--there, at the edge
+of the pool, by a pollard willow with one white limb, you lay, your bare
+sword in your hand and an arrow in your neck, shot from behind, while in
+the trunk of the willow were other arrows, and lying near you two slain.
+Then cloaked men came as though to carry them away, and I awoke. I say I
+dreamed it thrice."
+
+"A jolly good morrow indeed," said Sir John, turning a shade paler. "And
+now, daughter, what do you make of this business?"
+
+"I? Oh! I make that you should stop at home and send some one else to do
+your business. Sir Christopher, for instance."
+
+"Why, then I should baulk your dream, which is either true or false.
+If true, I have no choice, it must be fulfilled; if false, why should I
+heed it? Cicely, I am a plain man and take no note of such fancies. Yet
+I have enemies, and it may well chance that my day is done. If so, use
+your mother wit, girl; beware of Maldon, look to yourself, and as for
+your mother's jewels, hide them," and he turned to go.
+
+She clasped him by the arm.
+
+"In that sad case what should I do, father?" she asked eagerly.
+
+He stopped and stared at her up and down.
+
+"I see that you believe in your dream," he said, "and therefore,
+although it shall not stay a Foterell, I begin to believe in it too. In
+that case you have a lover whom I have forbid to you. Yet he is a man
+after my own heart, who would deal well by you. If I die, my game is
+played. Set your own anew, sweet Cicely, and set it soon, ere that Abbot
+is at your heels. Rough as I may have been, remember me with kindness,
+and God's blessing and mine be on you. Hark! Jeffrey calls, and if they
+stand, the horses will take cold. There, fare you well. Fear not for me,
+I wear a chain shirt beneath my cloak. Get back to bed and warm you,"
+and he kissed her on the brow, thrust her from him and was gone.
+
+Thus did Cicely and her father part--for ever.
+
+
+
+All that day Sir John and Jeffrey, his serving-man, trotted forward
+through the snow--that is, when they were not obliged to walk because
+of the depth of the drifts. Their plan was to reach a certain farm in a
+glade of the woodland within two hours of sundown, and sleep there, for
+they had taken the forest path, leaving again for the Fens and Cambridge
+at the dawn. This, however, proved not possible because of the exceeding
+badness of the road. So it came about that when the darkness closed in
+on them a little before five o'clock, bringing with it a cold,
+moaning wind and a scurry of snow, they were obliged to shelter in a
+faggot-built woodman's hut, waiting for the moon to appear among the
+clouds. Here they fed the horses with corn that they had brought with
+them, and themselves also from their store of dried meat and barley
+cakes, which Jeffrey carried on his shoulder in a bag. It was a poor
+meal eaten thus in the darkness, but served to stay their stomachs and
+pass away the time.
+
+At length a ray of light pierced the doorway of the hut.
+
+"She's up," said Sir John, "let us be going ere the nags grow stiff."
+
+Making no answer, Jeffrey slipped the bits back into the horses' mouths
+and led them out. Now the full moon had appeared like a great white eye
+between two black banks of cloud and turned the world to silver. It was
+a dreary scene on which she shone; a dazzling plain of snow, broken by
+patches of hawthorns, and here and there by the gaunt shape of a pollard
+oak, since this being the outskirt of the forest, folk came hither to
+lop the tops of the trees for firing. A hundred and fifty yards away
+or so, at the crest of a slope, was a round-shaped hill, made, not by
+Nature, but by man. None knew what that hill might be, but tradition
+said that once, hundreds or thousands of years before, a big battle
+had been fought around it in which a king was killed, and that his
+victorious army had raised this mound above his bones to be a memorial
+for ever.
+
+The story was indeed that, being a sea-king, they had built a boat or
+dragged it thither from the river shore and set him in it with all the
+slain for rowers; also that he might be seen at nights seated on his
+horse in armour, and staring about him, as when he directed the battle.
+At least it is true that the mount was called King's Grave, and that
+people feared to pass it after sundown.
+
+As Jeffrey Stokes was holding his master's stirrup for him to mount,
+he uttered an exclamation and pointed. Following the line of his
+outstretched hand, in the clear moonlight Sir John saw a man, who sat,
+still as any statue, upon a horse on the very point of King's Grave.
+He appeared to be covered with a long cloak, but above it his helmet
+glittered like silver. Next moment a fringe of black cloud hid the face
+of the moon, and when it passed away the man and horse were gone.
+
+"What did that fellow there?" asked Sir John.
+
+"Fellow?" answered Jeffrey in a shaken voice, "I saw none. That was the
+Ghost of the Grave. My grandfather met him ere he came to his end in the
+forest, none know how, for the wolves, of which there were plenty in
+his day, picked his bones clean, and so have many others for hundreds of
+years; always just before their doom. He is an ill fowl, that Ghost
+of the Grave, and those who clap eyes on him do wisely to turn their
+horses' heads homewards, as I would to-night if I had my way, master."
+
+"What use, Jeffrey? If the sight of him means death, death will come.
+Moreover, I believe nothing of the tale. Your ghost was some forest
+reeve or herdsman."
+
+"A forest reeve or herdsman who wanders about in a steel helm on a fine
+horse in snow-time when there are no trees to cut or cattle to mind!
+Well, have it as you will, master; only God save me from such reeves and
+herdmen, for I think they hail from hell."
+
+"Then he was a spy watching whither we go," answered Sir John angrily.
+
+"If so, who sent him? The Abbot of Blossholme? In that case I would
+sooner meet the devil, for this means mischief. I say that we had better
+ride back to Shefton."
+
+"Then do so, Jeffrey, if you are scared, and I will go on alone, who,
+being on an honest business, fear not Satan or an abbot, either."
+
+"Nay, master. Many a year ago, when we were younger, I stood by you on
+Flodden Field when Sir Edward, Christopher Harflete's father, was killed
+at our side, and those red-bearded Scotch bare-breeks pressed us hard,
+yet I never itched to turn my back, even after that great fellow with an
+axe got you down, and we thought that all was lost. Then shall I do
+so now?--though it is true that I fear yon goblin more than all the
+Highlanders beyond the Tweed. Ride on; man can die but once, and for my
+part I care not when it comes, who have little to lose in an ill world."
+
+So without more words they started forward, peering about them as they
+went. Soon the forest thickened, and the track they followed wound its
+way round great trunks of primeval oaks, or the edges of bog-holes, or
+through brakes of thorns. Hard enough it was to find it at times, since
+the snow made it one with the bordering ground, and the gloom of the
+oaks was great. But Jeffrey was a woodman born, and from his childhood
+had known the shape of every tree in that waste, so that they held
+safely to their road. Well would it have been for them if they had not!
+
+They came to a place where three other tracks crossed that which they
+rode upon, and here Jeffrey Stokes, who was ahead, held up his hand.
+
+"What is it?" asked Sir John.
+
+"It is the marks of ten or a dozen shod horses passed within two hours,
+since the last snow fell. And who be they, I wonder?"
+
+"Doubtless travellers like ourselves. Ride on, man; that farm is not a
+mile ahead."
+
+Then Jeffrey broke out.
+
+"Master, I like it not," he said. "Battle-horses have gone by here, not
+chapmen's or farmers' nags, and I think I know their breed. I say that
+we had best turn about if we would not walk into some snare."
+
+"Turn you, then," grumbled Sir John indifferently. "I am cold and weary,
+and seek my rest."
+
+"Pray God that you may not find it when you are colder," muttered
+Jeffrey, spurring his horse.
+
+They went on through the dead winter silence, that was broken only by
+the hoots of a flitting owl hungry for the food that it could not find,
+and the swish of the feet of a galloping fox as it looped past them
+through the snow. Presently they came to an open place ringed in by
+forest, so wet that only marsh-trees would grow there. To their right
+lay a little ice-covered mere, with sere, brown reeds standing here and
+there upon its face, and at the end of it a group of stark pollarded
+willows, whereof the tops had been cut for poles by those who dwelt in
+the forest farm near by. Sir John looked at the place and shivered a
+little--perhaps because the frost bit him. Or was it that he remembered
+his daughter's dream, which told of such a spot? At any rate, he set his
+teeth, and his right hand sought the hilt of his sword. His weary horse
+sniffed the air and neighed, and the neigh was answered from close at
+hand.
+
+"Thank the saints! we are nearer to that farm than I thought," said Sir
+John.
+
+As he spoke the words a number of men appeared galloping down on them
+from out of the shelter of a thorn-brake, and the moonlight shone on the
+bared weapons in their hands.
+
+"Thieves!" shouted Sir John. "At them now, Jeffrey, and win through to
+the farm."
+
+The man hesitated, for he saw that their foes were many and no common
+robbers, but his master drew his sword and spurred his beast, so he
+must do likewise. In twenty seconds they were among them, and some one
+commanded them to yield. Sir John rushed at the fellow, and, rising in
+his stirrups, cut him down. He fell all of a heap and lay still in the
+snow, which grew crimson about him. One came at Jeffrey, who turned his
+horse so that the blow missed, then took his weight upon the point of
+his sword, so that this man, too, fell down and lay in the snow, moving
+feebly.
+
+The rest, thinking this greeting too warm for them, swung round and
+vanished again among the thorns.
+
+"Now ride for it," said Jeffrey.
+
+"I cannot," answered Sir John. "One of those knaves has hurt my mare,"
+and he pointed to blood that ran from a great gash in the beast's
+foreleg, which it held up piteously.
+
+"Take mine," said Jeffrey; "I'll dodge them afoot."
+
+"Never, man! To the willows; we will hold our own there;" and, springing
+from the wounded beast, which tried to hobble after them, but could not,
+for its sinews were cut, he ran to the shelter of the trees, followed by
+Jeffrey on his horse.
+
+"Who are these rogues?" he asked.
+
+"The Abbot's men-at-arms," answered Jeffrey. "I saw the face of him I
+spitted."
+
+Now Sir John's jaw dropped.
+
+"Then we are sped, friend, for they dare not let us go. Cicely dreams
+well."
+
+As he spoke an arrow whistled by them.
+
+"Jeffrey," he went on, "I have papers on me that should not be lost,
+for with them might go my girl's heritage. Take them," and he thrust
+a packet into his hand, "and this purse also. There's plenty in it.
+Away--anywhere, and lie hid out of reach a while, or they'll still your
+tongue. Then I charge you on your soul, come back with help and hang
+that knave Abbot--for your Lady's sake, Jeffrey. She'll reward you, and
+so will God above."
+
+The man thrust away purse and deeds in some deep pocket.
+
+"How can I leave you to be butchered?" he muttered, grinding his teeth.
+
+As the words left his lips he heard his master utter a gurgling sound,
+and saw that an arrow, shot from behind, had pierced him through the
+throat; saw, too, he who was skilled in war, that the wound was mortal.
+Then he hesitated no longer.
+
+"Christ rest you!" he said. "I'll do your bidding or die;" and, turning
+his horse, he drove the rowels into its sides, causing it to bound away
+like a deer.
+
+For a moment the stricken Sir John watched him go. Then he ran out of
+his cover, shaking his sword above his head--ran into the open moonlight
+to draw the arrows. They came fast enough, but ere ever he fell, for
+that steel shirt of his was strong, Jeffrey, lying low on his horse's
+neck, was safe away, and though the murderers followed hard they never
+caught him.
+
+Nor, though they searched for days, could they find him at Shefton or
+elsewhere, for Jeffrey, who knew that all roads were blocked, and who
+dared not venture home, doubling like a hare across country, had won
+down to the water, where a ship lay foreign bound, and by dawn was on
+the sea.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+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. Then there were merry voices about the house
+where now was silence, and she alone, with naught bout a spaniel dog for
+company. Also most of the men were away with the wains laden with the
+year's clip of wool, which her father had held until the price had
+heightened, nor in this snow would they be back for another week, or
+perhaps longer.
+
+Oh! her heart was heavy as the winter clouds without, and young and fair
+as she might be, almost she wished that she had gone when her brothers
+went, and found her peace.
+
+To cheer her spirits she drank from a cup of spiced ale, that the
+manservant had placed beside her covered with a napkin, and was glad
+of its warmth and comfort. Just then the door opened, and her
+foster-mother, Mrs. Stower, entered. She was still a handsome woman in
+her prime, for her husband had been carried off by a fever when she was
+but nineteen, and her baby with him, whereon she had been brought to
+the Hall to nurse Cicely, whose mother was very ill after her birth.
+Moreover, she was tall and dark, with black and flashing eyes, for her
+father had been a Spaniard of gentle birth, and, it was said, gypsy
+blood ran in her mother's veins.
+
+There were but two people in the world for whom Emlyn Stower
+cared--Cicely, her foster-child, and a certain playmate of hers, one
+Thomas Bolle, now a lay-brother at the Abbey who had charge of the
+cattle. The tale was that in their early youth he had courted her, not
+against her will, and that when, after her parents' tragic deaths, as a
+ward of the former Abbot of Blossholme, she was married to her husband,
+not with her will, this Thomas put on the robe of a monk of the lowest
+degree, being but a yeoman of good stock though of little learning.
+
+Something in the woman's manner attracted Cicely's attention, and gave a
+hint of tragedy. She paused at the door, fumbling with its latch,
+which was not her way, then turned and stood upright against it, like a
+picture in its frame.
+
+"What is it, Nurse?" asked Cicely in a shaken voice. "From your look you
+bear tidings."
+
+Emlyn Stower walked forward, rested one hand upon the oak table and
+answered--
+
+"Aye, evil tidings if they be true. Prepare your heart, my sweet."
+
+"Quick with them, Emlyn," gasped Cicely. "Who is dead? Christopher?"
+
+She shook her head, and Cicely sighed in relief, adding--
+
+"Who, then? Oh! was that dream true?"
+
+"Aye, dear; you are an orphan."
+
+The girl's head fell forward. Then she lifted it, and asked--
+
+"Who told you? Give me all the truth or I shall die."
+
+"A friend of mine who has to do with the Abbey yonder; ask not his
+name."
+
+"I know it, Emlyn; Thomas Bolle," she whispered back.
+
+"A friend of mine," repeated the tall, dark woman, "told me that Sir
+John Foterell, your sire, was murdered last night in the forest by a
+gang of armed men, of whom he slew two."
+
+"From the Abbey?" queried Cicely in the same whisper.
+
+"Who knows? I think it. They say that the arrow in his throat was such
+as they make there. Jeffrey Stokes was hunted, but escaped on to some
+ship that had her anchor up."
+
+"I'll have his life for it, the coward!" exclaimed Cicely.
+
+"Blame him not yet. He met another friend of mine, and sent a message.
+It was that he did but obey his master's last orders, and, as he had
+seen too much and to linger here was certain death, if he lived, he
+would return from over-seas with the papers when the times are safer. He
+prayed that you would not doubt him."
+
+"The papers! What papers, Emlyn?"
+
+She shrugged her broad shoulders.
+
+"How should I know? Doubtless some that your father was taking to London
+and did not desire to lose. His iron chest stands open in his chamber."
+
+Now poor Cicely remembered that her father had spoken of certain "deeds"
+which he must take with him, and began to sob.
+
+"Weep not, darling," said her foster-mother, smoothing Cicely's brown
+hair with her strong hand. "These things are decreed of God, and done
+with. Now you must look to yourself. Your father is gone, but one
+remains."
+
+Cicely lifted her tear-stained face.
+
+"Yes, I have you," she said.
+
+"Me!" she answered, with a quick smile. "Nay, of what use am I? Your
+nursing days are over. What did you tell me your father said to you
+before he rode--about Sir Christopher? Hush! there's no time to talk;
+you must away to Cranwell Towers."
+
+"Why?" asked Cicely. "He cannot bring my father back to life, and it
+would be thought strange indeed that at such a time I should visit a man
+in his own house. Send and tell him the tidings. I bide here to bury my
+father, and," she added proudly, "to avenge him."
+
+"If so, sweet, you bide here to be buried yourself in yonder Nunnery.
+Hark, I have not told you all my news. The Abbot Maldon claims the
+Blossholme lands under some trick of law. It was as to them that your
+father quarrelled with him the other night; and with the land goes your
+wardship, as once mine went under this monk's charter. Before sunset the
+Abbot rides here with his men-at-arms to take them, and to set you for
+safe-keeping in the Nunnery, where you will find a husband called Holy
+Church."
+
+"Name of God! is it so?" said Cicely, springing up; "and the most of the
+men are away! I cannot hold the Hall against that foreign Abbot and his
+hirelings, and an orphaned heiress is but a chattel to be sold. Oh!
+now I understand what my father meant. Order horses. I'll off to
+Christopher. Yet, stay, Nurse. What will he do with me? It may seem
+shameless, and will vex him."
+
+"I think he will marry you. I think to-night you will be a wife. If not,
+I'll know the reason why," she added viciously.
+
+"A wife! To-night!" exclaimed the girl, turning crimson to her hair.
+"And my father but just dead! How can it be?"
+
+"We'll talk of that with Harflete. Mayhap, like you, he'll wish to wait
+and ask the banns, or to lay the case before a London lawyer. Meanwhile,
+I have ordered horses and sent a message to the Abbot to say you come
+to learn the meaning of these rumours, which will keep him still till
+nightfall; and another to Cranwell Towers, that we may find food and
+lodging there. Quick, now, and get your cloak and hood. I have the
+jewels in their case, for Maldon seeks them more even than your lands,
+and with them all the money I can find. Also I have bid the sewing-girl
+make a pack of some garments. Come now, come, for that Abbot is hungry
+and will be stirring. There is no time for talk."
+
+
+
+Three hours later in the red glow of the sunset Christopher Harflete,
+watching at his door, saw two women riding towards him across the snow,
+and knew them while they were yet far off.
+
+"It is true, then," he said to Father Roger Necton, the old clergyman of
+Cranwell, whom he had summoned from the vicarage. "I thought that fool
+of a messenger must be drunk. What can have chanced, Father?"
+
+"Death, I think, my son, for sure naught else would bring the Lady
+Cicely here unaccompanied save by a waiting-woman. The question is--what
+will happen now?" and he glanced sideways at him.
+
+"I know well if I can get my way," answered Christopher, with a merry
+laugh. "Say now, Father, if it should so be that this lady were willing,
+could you marry us?"
+
+"Without a doubt, my son, with the consent of the parents;" and again he
+looked at him.
+
+"And if there were no parents?"
+
+"Then with the consent of the guardian, the bride being under age."
+
+"And if no guardian had been declared or admitted?"
+
+"Then such a marriage duly solemnized, being a sacrament of the Church,
+would hold fast until the crack of doom unless the Pope annulled it,
+and, as you know, the Pope is out of favour in this realm on this very
+matter of marriage. Let me explain the law to you, ecclesiastic and
+civil----"
+
+But Christopher was already running towards the gate, so the old
+parson's lecture remained undelivered.
+
+The two met in the snow, Emlyn Stower riding on ahead and leaving them
+together.
+
+"What is it, sweetest?" he asked. "What is it?"
+
+"Oh! Christopher," she answered, weeping, "my poor father is
+dead--murdered, or so says Emlyn."
+
+"Murdered! By whom?"
+
+"By the Abbot of Blossholme's soldiers--so says Emlyn, yonder in the
+forest last eve. And the Abbot is coming to Shefton to declare me his
+ward and thrust me into the Nunnery--that was Emlyn's tale. And so,
+although it is a strange thing to do, having none to protect me, I have
+fled to you--because Emlyn said I ought."
+
+"She is a wise woman, Emlyn," broke in Christopher; "I always thought
+well of her judgment. But did you only come to me because Emlyn told
+you?"
+
+"Not altogether, Christopher. I came because I am distraught, and you
+are a better friend than none at all, and--where else should I go? Also
+my poor father with his last words to me, although he was so angry with
+you, bade me seek your help if there were need--and--oh! Christopher, I
+came because you swore you loved me, and, therefore, it seemed right.
+If I had gone to the Nunnery, although the Prioress, Mother Matilda, is
+good, and my friend, who knows, she might not have let me out again, for
+the Abbot is her master, and _not_ my friend. It is our lands he loves,
+and the famous jewels--Emlyn has them with her."
+
+By now they were across the moat and at the steps of the house, so,
+without answering, Christopher lifted her tenderly from the saddle,
+pressing her to his breast as he did so, for that seemed his best
+answer. A groom came to lead away the horses, touching his bonnet, and
+staring at them curiously; and, leaning on her lover's shoulder, Cicely
+passed through the arched doorway of Cranwell Towers into the hall,
+where a great fire burned. Before this fire, warming his thin hands,
+stood Father Necton, engaged in eager conversation with Emlyn Stower. As
+the pair advanced this talk ceased, evidently because it was of them.
+
+"Mistress Cicely," said the kindly-faced old man, speaking in a nervous
+fashion, "I fear that you visit us in sad case," and he paused, not
+knowing what to add.
+
+"Yes, indeed," she answered, "if all I hear is true. They say that
+my father is killed by cruel men--I know not for certain why or by
+whom--and that the Abbot of Blossholme comes to claim me as his ward and
+immure me in Blossholme Priory, whither I would not go. I have fled here
+to escape him, having no other refuge, though you may think ill of me
+for this deed."
+
+"Not I, my child. I should not speak against yonder Abbot, for he is my
+superior in the Church, though, mind you, I owe him no allegiance, since
+this benefice is not in his gift, nor am I a Benedictine. Therefore I
+will tell you the truth. I hold the man not honest. All is provender
+that comes to his maw; moreover, he is no Englishman, but a Spaniard,
+one sent here to work against the welfare of this realm; to suck its
+wealth, stir up rebellion, and make report of all that passes in it, for
+the benefit of England's enemies."
+
+"Yet he has friends at Court, or so said my father."
+
+"Aye, aye, such folks have ever friends--their money buys them; though
+mayhap an ill day is at hand for him and his likes. Well, your poor
+father is gone, God knows how, though I thought for long that would be
+his end, who ever spoke his mind, or more; and you with your wealth are
+the morsel that tempts Maldon's appetite. And now what is to be done?
+This is a hard case. Would you refuge in some other Nunnery?"
+
+"Nay," answered Cicely, glancing sideways at her lover.
+
+"Then what's to be done?"
+
+"Oh! I know not," she said, bursting into a fit of weeping. "How can
+I tell you, who am mazed with grief and doubt? I had but a single
+friend--my father, though at times he was a rough one. Yet he loved me
+in his way, and I have obeyed his last counsel;" and, all her courage
+gone, she sank into a chair and rocked herself to and fro, her head
+resting on her hands.
+
+"That is not true," said Emlyn in her bold voice. "Am I who suckled you
+no friend, and is Father Necton here no friend, and is Sir Christopher
+no friend? Well, if you have lost your judgment, I have kept mine, and
+here it is. Yonder, not two bowshots away, stands a church, and before
+me I see a priest and a pair who would serve for bride and bridegroom.
+Also we can rake up witnesses and a cup of wine to drink your health;
+and after that let the Abbot of Blossholme do his worst. What say you,
+Sir Christopher?"
+
+"You know my mind, Nurse Emlyn; but what says Cicely? Oh! Cicely, what
+say _you_?" and he bent over her.
+
+She raised herself, still weeping, and, throwing her arms about his
+neck, laid her head upon his shoulder.
+
+"I think it is the will of God," she whispered, "and why should I fight
+against it, who am His servant?--and yours, Chris."
+
+"And now, Father, what say you?" asked Emlyn, pointing to the pair.
+
+"I do not think there is much to say," answered the old clergyman,
+turning his head aside, "save that if it should please you to come to
+the church in ten minutes' time you will find a candle on the altar, and
+a priest within the rails, and a clerk to hold the book. More we cannot
+do at such short notice."
+
+Then he paused for a while, and, hearing no dissent, walked down the
+hall and out of the door.
+
+Emlyn took Cicely by the hand, led her to a room that was shown to them,
+and there made her ready for her bridal as best she might. She had no
+fine dress in which to clothe her, nor, indeed, would there have been
+time to don it. But she combed out her beautiful brown hair, and,
+opening that box of Eastern jewels which were the great pride of
+the Foterells--being the rarest and the most ancient in all the
+countryside--she decked her with them. On her broad brow she set a
+circlet from which hung sparkling diamonds that had been brought, the
+story said, by her mother's ancestor, a Carfax, from the Holy Land,
+where once they were the peculiar treasure of a paynim queen, and upon
+her bosom a necklet of large pearls. Brooches and rings also she found
+for her breast and fingers, and for her waist a jewelled girdle with
+a golden clasp, while to her ears she hung the finest gems of all--two
+great pearls pink like the hawthorn-bloom when it begins to turn. Lastly
+she flung over her head a veil of lace most curiously wrought, and stood
+back with pride to look at her.
+
+Now Cicely, who all this while had been silent and unresisting, spoke
+for the first time, saying--
+
+"How came this here, Nurse?"
+
+"Your mother wore it at her bridal, and her mother too, so I have been
+told. Also once before I wrapped it about you--when you were christened,
+sweet."
+
+"Mayhap; but how came it here?"
+
+"In the bosom of my robe. Not knowing when we should get home again, I
+brought it, thinking that perhaps one day you might marry, when it would
+be useful. And now, strangely enough, the marriage has come."
+
+"Emlyn, Emlyn, I believe that you planned all this business, whereof God
+alone knows the end."
+
+"That is why He makes a beginning, dear, that His end may be fulfilled
+in due season."
+
+"Aye, but what is that end? Mayhap this is my shroud you wrap about me.
+In truth, I feel as though death were near."
+
+"He is ever that," replied Emlyn unconcernedly. "But so long as he
+doesn't touch, what does it matter? Now hark you, sweetest, I've
+Spanish and gypsy blood in me with which go gifts, and so I'll tell you
+something for your comfort. However oft he snatches, Death will not lay
+his bony hand on you for many a long year--not till you are well-nigh
+as thin with age as he is. Oh! you'll have your troubles like all of us,
+worse than many, mayhap, but you are Luck's own child, who lived when
+the rest were taken, and you'll win through and take others on your
+back, as a whale does barnacles. So snap your fingers at death, as I
+do," and she suited the action to the word, "and be happy while you may,
+and when you're not happy, wait till your turn comes round again. Now
+follow me and, though your father is murdered, smile as you should in
+such an hour, for what man wants a sad-faced bride?"
+
+They walked down the broad oaken stairs into the hall where Christopher
+stood waiting for them. Glancing at him shyly, Cicely saw that he was
+clad in mail beneath his cloak, and that his sword was girded at his
+side, also that some men with him were armed. For a moment he stared at
+her glittering beauty confused, then said--
+
+"Fear not this hint of war in love's own hour," and he touched his
+shining armour. "Cicely, these nuptials are strange as they are happy,
+and some might try to break in upon them. Come now, my sweet lady;" and
+bowing before her he took her by the hand and led her from the house,
+Emlyn walking behind them and the men with torches going before and
+following after.
+
+Outside it was freezing sharply, so that the snow crunched beneath their
+feet. In the west the last red glow of sunset still lingered on the
+steely sky, and over against it the great moon rose above the round edge
+of the world. In the bushes of the garden, and the tall poplars that
+bordered the moat, blackbirds and fieldfares chattered their winter
+evening song, while about the grey tower of the neighbouring church the
+daws still wheeled.
+
+The picture of that scene whereof at the time she seemed to take no
+note, always remained fixed in the mind of Cicely: the cold expanse of
+snow, the inky trees, the hard sky, the lambent beams of the moon, the
+dull glow of the torches caught and reflected by her jewels and her
+lover's mail, the midwinter sound of birds, the barking of a distant
+hound, the black porch of the church that drew nearer, the little oblong
+mounds which hid the bones of hundreds who in their day had passed it as
+infants, as bridegrooms and as brides, and at last as cold, white things
+that had been men and women.
+
+Now they were in the nave of the old fane where the cold struck them
+like a sword. The dim lights of the torches showed them that, short
+as had been the time, the news of this marvellous marriage had spread
+about, for at least a score of people were standing here and there in
+knots, or a few of them seated on the oak benches near the chancel. All
+these turned to stare at them eagerly as they walked towards the altar
+where stood the priest in his robes, and since his sight was dim, behind
+him the old clerk with a stable-lantern held on high to enable him to
+read from his book.
+
+They reached the carven rood-screen, and at a sign kneeled down. In a
+clear voice the clergyman began the service; presently, at another sign,
+the pair rose, advanced to the altar-rails and again knelt down. The
+moonlight, flowing through the eastern window, fell full on both of
+them, turning them to cold, white statues, such as those that knelt in
+marble upon the tomb at their side.
+
+All through the holy office Cicely watched these statues with fascinated
+eyes, and it seemed to her that they and the old crusaders, Harfletes
+of a long-past day who lay near by, were watching her with a wistful and
+kindly interest. She made certain answers, a ring that was somewhat too
+small was thrust upon her finger--all the rest of her life that ring
+hurt her at times, but she would have never it moved, and then some
+one was kissing her. At first she thought it must be her father, and
+remembering, nearly wept till she heard Christopher's voice calling her
+wife, and knew that she was wed.
+
+Father Roger, the old clerk still holding the lantern behind him,
+writing something in a little vellum book, asking her the date of
+her birth and her full name, which, as he had been present at her
+christening, she thought strange. Then her husband signed the book,
+using the altar as a table, not very easily for he was no great scholar,
+and she signed also in her maiden name for the last time, and the priest
+signed, and at his bidding Emlyn Stower, who could write well, signed
+too. Next, as though by an afterthought, Father Roger called several of
+the congregation, who rather unwillingly made their marks as witnesses.
+While they did so he explained to them that, as the circumstances
+were uncommon, it was well that there should be evidence, and that
+he intended to send copies of this entry to sundry dignities, not
+forgetting the holy Father at Rome.
+
+On learning this they appeared to be sorry that they had anything to do
+with the matter, and one and all of them melted into the darkness of the
+nave and out of Cicely's mind.
+
+So it was done at last.
+
+Father Necton blew on his little book till the ink was dry, then hid
+it away in his robe. The old clerk, having pocketed a handsome fee from
+Christopher, lit the pair down the nave to the porch, where he locked
+the oaken door behind them, extinguished his lantern and trudged off
+through the snow to the ale-house, there to discuss these nuptials and
+hot beer. Escorted by their torch-bearers Cicely and Christopher walked
+silently arm-in-arm back to the Towers, whither Emlyn, after embracing
+the bride, had already gone on ahead. So having added one more ceremony
+to its countless record, perhaps the strangest of them all, the ancient
+church behind them grew silent as the dead within its graves.
+
+The Towers reached, the new-wed pair, with Father Roger and Emlyn, sat
+down to the best meal that could be prepared for them at such short
+notice; a very curious wedding feast. Still, though the company was so
+small it did not lack for heartiness, since the old clergyman proposed
+their health in a speech full of Latin words which they did not
+understand, and every member of the household who had assembled to hear
+him drank to it in cups of wine. This done, the beautiful bride, now
+blushing and now pale, was led away to the best chamber, which had been
+hastily prepared for her. But Emlyn remained behind a while, for she had
+words to speak.
+
+"Sir Christopher," she said, "you are fast wed to the sweetest lady that
+ever sun or moon shone on, and in that may hold yourself a lucky man.
+Yet such deep joys seldom come without their pain, and I think that this
+is near at hand. There are those who will envy you your fortune, Sir
+Christopher."
+
+"Yet they cannot change it, Emlyn," he answered anxiously. "The knot
+that was tied to-night may not be unloosed."
+
+"Never," broke in Father Roger. "Though the suddenness and the
+circumstances of it may be unusual, this marriage is a sacrament
+celebrated in the face of the world with the full consent of both
+parties and of the Holy Church. Moreover, before the dawn I'll send the
+record of it to the bishop's registry and elsewhere, that it may not be
+questioned in days to come, giving copies of the same to you and your
+lady's foster-mother, who is her nearest friend at hand."
+
+"It may not be loosed on earth or in heaven," replied Emlyn solemnly,
+"yet perchance the sword can cut it. Sir Christopher, I think that we
+should all do well to travel as soon as may be."
+
+"Not to-night, surely, Nurse!" he exclaimed.
+
+"No, not to-night," she answered, with a faint smile. "Your wife has had
+a weary day, and could not. Moreover, preparation must be made which is
+impossible at this hour. But to-morrow, if the roads are open to you,
+I think we should start for London, where she may make complaint of her
+father's slaying and claim her heritage and the protection of the law."
+
+"That is good counsel," said the vicar, and Christopher, with whom words
+seemed to be few, nodded his head.
+
+"Meanwhile," went on Emlyn, "you have six men in this house and others
+round it. Send out a messenger and summon them all here at dawn, bidding
+them bring provision with them, and what bows and arms they have. Set
+a watch also, and after the Father and the messenger have gone, command
+that the drawbridge be triced."
+
+"What do you fear?" he asked, waking from his dream.
+
+"I fear the Abbot of Blossholme and his hired ruffians, who reck little
+of the laws, as the soul of dead Sir John knows now, or can use them
+as a cover to evil deeds. He'll not let such a prize slip between his
+fingers if he can help it, and the times are turbulent."
+
+"Alas! alas! it is true," said Father Roger, "and that Abbot is a
+relentless man who sticks at nothing, having much wealth and many
+friends both here and beyond the seas. Yet surely he would never
+dare----"
+
+"That we shall learn," interrupted Emlyn. "Meanwhile, Sir Christopher,
+rouse yourself and give the orders."
+
+So Christopher summoned his men and spoke words to them at which they
+looked very grave, but being true-hearted fellows who loved him, said
+they would do his bidding.
+
+A while later, having written out a copy of the marriage lines and
+witnessed it, Father Roger departed with the messenger. The drawbridge
+was hoisted above the moat, the doors were barred, and a man set to
+watch in the gateway tower, while Christopher, forgetful of all else,
+even of the danger in which they were, sought the company of her who
+waited for him.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+THE ABBOT'S OATH
+
+On the following morning, shortly after it was light, Christopher was
+called from his chamber by Emlyn, who gave him a letter.
+
+"Whence came this?" he asked, turning it over suspiciously.
+
+"A messenger has brought it from Blossholme Abbey," she answered.
+
+"Wife Cicely," he called through the door, "come hither if you will."
+
+Presently she appeared, looking quaint and lovely in her long fur cloak,
+and, having embraced her foster-mother, asked what was the matter.
+
+"This, my darling," he answered, handing her the paper. "I never loved
+book-learnings over-much, and this morn I seem to hate them; read, you
+who are more scholarly."
+
+"I mistrust me of that great seal; it bodes us no good, Chris," she
+replied doubtfully, and paling a little.
+
+"The message within is no medlar to soften by keeping," said Emlyn.
+"Give it me. I was schooled in a nunnery, and can read their scrawls."
+
+So, nothing loth, Cicely handed her the paper, which she took in her
+strong fingers, broke the seal, snapped the silk, unfolded, and read. It
+ran thus--
+
+
+"To Sir Christopher Harflete, to Mistress Cicely Foterell, to Emlyn
+Stower, the waiting-woman, and to all others whom it may concern.
+
+"I, Clement Maldon, Abbot of Blossholme, having heard of the death of
+Sir John Foterell, Knt., at the cruel hands of the forest thieves
+and outlaws, sent last night to serve the declaration of my wardship,
+according to my prerogative established by law and custom, over the
+person and property of you, Cicely, his only child surviving. My
+messengers returned saying that you had fled from your home of Shefton
+Hall. They said further that it was rumoured that you had ridden with
+your foster-mother, Emlyn Stower, to Cranwell Towers, the house of Sir
+Christopher Harflete. If this be so, for the sake of your good name it
+is needful that you should remove from such company at once, as there
+is talk about you and the said Sir Christopher Harflete. I purpose,
+therefore, God permitting me, to ride this day to Cranwell Towers, and
+if you be there, as your lawful guardian and ghostly father, to command
+you, being an infant under age, to accompany me thence to the Nunnery
+of Blossholme. There I have determined, in the exercise of my authority,
+you shall abide until a fitting husband is found for you, unless,
+indeed, God should move your heart to remain within its walls as one of
+the brides of Christ.
+
+"Clement, Abbot."
+
+
+Now when the reading of this letter was finished, the three of them
+stood a little while staring at each other, knowing well that it meant
+trouble for them all, till Cicely said--
+
+"Bring me ink and paper, Nurse. I will answer this Abbot."
+
+So they were brought, and Cicely wrote in her round, girlish hand--
+
+
+"My Lord Abbot,
+
+"In answer to your letter, I would have you know that as my noble father
+(whose cruel death must be inquired of and avenged) bade me with his
+last words, I, fearing that a like fate would overtake me at the hands
+of his murderers, did, as you suppose, seek refuge at this house. Here,
+yesterday, I was married in the face of God and man in the church of
+Cranwell, as you may learn from the paper sent herewith. It is not,
+therefore, needful that you should seek a husband for me, since my dear
+lord, Sir Christopher Harflete, and I are one till death do part us. Nor
+do I admit that now, or at any time, you had or have right of wardship
+over my person or the lands and goods which I hold and inherit. "Your
+humble servant,
+
+"Cicely Harflete."
+
+
+This letter Cicely copied out fair and sealed, and presently it was
+given to the Abbot's messenger, who placed it in his pouch and rode off
+as fast as the snow would let him.
+
+They watched him go from a window.
+
+"Now," said Christopher, turning to his wife, "I think, dear, we shall
+do well to ride also as soon as may be. Yonder Abbot is sharp-set, and I
+doubt whether letters will satisfy his appetite."
+
+"I think so also," said Emlyn. "Make ready and eat, both of you. I go to
+see that the horses are saddled."
+
+An hour later everything was prepared. Three horses stood before the
+door, and with them an escort of four mounted men, who were all having
+arms and beasts to ride that Christopher could gather at such short
+notice, though others of his tenants and servants had already assembled
+at the Towers in answer to his summons, to the number of twelve, indeed.
+Without the snow was falling fast, and although she tried to look brave
+and happy, Cicely shivered a little as she saw it through the open door.
+
+"We go on a strange honeymoon, my sweet," said Christopher uneasily.
+
+"What matter, so long as we go together?" she answered in a gay voice
+that yet seemed to ring untrue, "although," she added, with a little
+choke of the throat, "I would that we could have stayed here until I had
+found and buried my father. It haunts me to think of him lying somewhere
+in the snows like a perished ox."
+
+"It is his murderers that I wish to bury," exclaimed Christopher; "and,
+by God's name, I swear I'll do it ere all is done. Think not, dear, that
+I forget your griefs because I do not speak much of them, but bridals
+and buryings are strange company. So while we may, let us take what
+joy we can, since the ill that goes before ofttimes follows after also.
+Come, let us mount and away to London to find friends and justice."
+
+Then, having spoken a few words to his house-people, he lifted Cicely to
+her horse, and they rode out into the softly-falling snow, thinking that
+they had seen their last of the Towers for many a day. But this was not
+to be. For as they passed along the Blossholme highway, purposing to
+leave the Abbey on their left, when they were about three miles from
+Cranwell, suddenly a tall fellow, who wore a great sheepskin coat with
+a monk's hood to it and carried a thick staff in his hand, burst through
+the fence and stood in front of them.
+
+"Who are you?" asked Christopher, laying his hand upon his sword.
+
+"You'd know me well enough if my hood were back," he answered in a deep
+voice; "but if you want my name, it's Thomas Bolle, cattle-reeve to the
+Abbey yonder."
+
+"Your voice proves you," said Christopher, laughing. "And now what is
+your business, lay-brother Bolle?"
+
+"To get up a bunch of yearling steers that have been running on the
+forest-edge, living, like the rest of us, on what they can find, as the
+weather is coming on hard enough to starve them. That's my business, Sir
+Christopher. But as I see an old friend of mine there," and he nodded
+towards Emlyn, who was watching him from her horse, "with your leave
+I'll ask her if she has any confession to make, since she seems to be on
+a dangerous journey."
+
+Now Christopher made as though he would push on, for he was in no mood
+to chat with cattle-reeves. But Emlyn, who had been eyeing the man,
+called out--
+
+"Come here, Thomas, and I will answer you myself, who always have a few
+sins to spare for a priest's wallet, and need a blessing or two to warm
+me."
+
+He strode forward, and, taking her horse by the bridle, led it a little
+way apart, and as soon as they were out of earshot fell into an eager
+conversation with its rider. A minute or so later Cicely, looking
+round--for they had ridden forward at a slow pace--saw Thomas Bolle
+leap through the other fence of the roadway and vanish at a run into the
+falling snow, while Emlyn spurred her horse after them.
+
+"Stop," she said to Christopher; "I have tidings for you. The Abbot,
+with all his men-at-arms and servants, to the number of forty or more,
+waits for us under shelter of Blossholme Grove yonder, purposing to take
+the Lady Cicely by force. Some spy has told him of this journey."
+
+"I see no one," said Christopher, staring at the Grove, which lay below
+them about a quarter of a mile away, for they were on the top of a rise.
+"Still, the matter is not hard to prove," and he called to the two best
+mounted of his men and bade them ride forward and make report if any
+lurked behind that wood.
+
+So the men went off, while they remained where they were, silent, but
+anxious enough. Ten minutes or so later, before they could see them, for
+the snow was now falling quickly, they heard the sound of many horses
+galloping. Then the two men appeared, calling out as they came--
+
+"The Abbot and all his folk are after us. Back to Cranwell, ere you be
+taken!"
+
+Christopher thought for a moment, then, remembering that with but four
+men and cumbered by two women it was not possible to cut his way through
+so great a force, and admonished by that sound of advancing hoofs, he
+gave a sudden order. They turned about, and not too soon, for as they
+did so, scarce two hundred yards away, the first of the Abbot's horsemen
+appeared plunging towards them up the slope. Then the race began, and
+well for them was it that their horses were good and fresh, since before
+ever they came in sight of Cranwell Towers the pursuers were not ninety
+yards behind. But here on the flat their beasts, scenting home, answered
+nobly to whip and spur, and drew ahead a little. Moreover, those who
+watched within the house saw them, and ran to the drawbridge. When they
+were within fifty yards of the moat Cicely's horse stumbled, slipped,
+and fell, throwing her into the snow, then recovered itself and galloped
+on alone. Christopher reined up alongside of her, and, as she rose,
+frightened but unharmed, put out his long arm, and, lifting her to the
+saddle in front of him, plunged forward, while those behind shouted
+"Yield!"
+
+Under this double burden his horse went but slowly. Still they reached
+the bridge before any could lay hands upon them, and thundered over it.
+
+"Wind up," shouted Christopher, and all there, even the womenfolk, laid
+hands upon the cranks. The bridge began to rise, but now five or six of
+the Abbot's folk, dismounting, sprang at it, catching the end of it with
+their hands when it was about six feet in the air, and holding on so
+that it could not be lifted, but remained, moving neither up nor down.
+
+"Leave go, you knaves," shouted Christopher; but by way of answer one
+of them, with the help of his fellows, scrambled on to the end of the
+bridge, and stood there, hanging to the chains.
+
+Then Christopher snatched a bow from the hand of a serving-man, and the
+arrow being already on the string, again shouted--
+
+"Get off at your peril!"
+
+In answer the man called out something about the commands of the Lord
+Abbot.
+
+Christopher, looking past him, saw that others of the company had
+dismounted and were running towards the bridge. If they reached it he
+knew well that the game was played. So he hesitated no longer, but,
+aiming swiftly, drew and loosed the bow. At that distance he could
+not miss. The arrow struck the man where his steel cap joined the mail
+beneath, and pierced him through the throat, so that he fell back dead.
+The others, scared by his fate, loosed their hold, so that now the
+bridge, relieved of the weight upon it, instantly rose up beyond their
+reach, and presently came home and was made fast.
+
+As they afterwards discovered, this man, it may here be said, was a
+captain of the Abbot's guard. Moreover, it was he who had shot the arrow
+that killed Sir John Foterell some forty hours before, striking him
+through the throat, as it was fated that he himself should be struck.
+Thus, then, one of that good knight's murderers reaped his just reward.
+
+Now the men ran back out of range, for they feared more arrows, while
+Christopher watched them go in silence. Cicely, who stood by his side,
+her hands held before her face to shut out the sight of death, let them
+fall suddenly, and, turning to her husband, said, as she pointed to the
+corpse that lay upon the blood-stained snow of the roadway--
+
+"How many more will follow him, I wonder? I think that is but the first
+throw of a long game, husband."
+
+"Nay, sweet," he answered, "the second; the first was cast two nights
+gone by King's Grave Mount in the forest yonder, and blood ever calls
+for blood."
+
+"Aye," she answered, "blood calls for blood." Then, remembering that
+she was orphaned and what sort of a honeymoon hers was like to be, she
+turned and sought her chamber, weeping.
+
+Now, while Christopher still stood irresolute, for he was oppressed by
+the sense of this man-slaying, and knew not what he should do next, he
+saw three men separate from the knot of soldiers and ride towards
+the Towers, one of whom held a white cloth above his head in token
+of parley. Then Christopher went up into the little gateway turret,
+followed by Emlyn, who crouched down behind the brick battlement, so
+that she could see and hear without being seen. Having reached the
+further side of the moat, he who held the white cloth threw back the
+hood of his long cape, and they saw that it was the Abbot of Blossholme
+himself, also that his dark eyes flashed and that his olive-hued face
+was almost white with rage.
+
+"Why do you hunt me across my own park and come knocking so rudely at my
+doors, my Lord Abbot?" asked Christopher, leaning on the parapet of the
+gateway.
+
+"Why do you work murder on my servant, Christopher Harflete?" answered
+the Abbot, pointing to the dead man in the snow. "Know you not that
+whoso sheds blood, by man shall his blood be shed, and that under our
+ancient charters, here I have the right to execute justice on you, as,
+by God's holy Name, I swear that I will do?" he added in a choked voice.
+
+"Aye," repeated Christopher reflectively, "by man shall his blood be
+shed. Perhaps that is why this fellow died. Tell me, Abbot, was he not
+one of those who rode by moonlight round King's Grave lately, and there
+chanced to meet Sir John Foterell?"
+
+The shot was a random one, yet it seemed that it went home; at least,
+the Abbot's jaw dropped, and some words that were on his lips never
+passed them.
+
+"I know naught of the meaning of your talk," he said presently in a
+quieter voice, "or of how my late friend and neighbour, Sir John--may
+God rest his soul--came to his end. Yet it is of him, or rather of his,
+that we must speak. It seems that you have stolen his daughter, a woman
+under age, and by pretence of a false marriage, as I fear, brought her
+to shame--a crime even fouler than this murder."
+
+"Nay, by means of a true marriage I have brought her to such small
+honour as may be the share of Christopher Harflete's lawful wife. If
+there be any virtue in the rites of Holy Church, then God's own hand has
+bound us fast as man can be tied to woman, and death is the only pope
+who can loose that knot."
+
+"Death!" repeated the Abbot in a slow voice, looking up at him very
+curiously. For a little while he was silent, then went on, "Well, his
+court is always open, and he has many shrewd and instant messengers,
+such as this," and he pointed to the arrow in the neck of the slain
+soldier. "Yet I am a man of peace, and although you have murdered my
+servant, I would settle our cause more gently if I may. Listen now,
+Sir Christopher; here is my offer. Yield up to me the person of Cicely
+Foterell----"
+
+"Of Cicely Harflete," interrupted Christopher.
+
+"Of Cicely Foterell, and I swear to you that no violence shall be
+done to her, nor shall she be given to a husband till the King or his
+Vicar-General, or whatever court he may appoint, has passed judgment in
+this matter and declared this mock marriage of yours null and void."
+
+"What!" broke in Christopher scoffingly; "does the Abbot of Blossholme
+announce that the powers temporal of this realm have right of divorce?
+Ere now I have heard him argue differently, and so have others, when the
+case of Queen Catherine was in question."
+
+The Abbot bit his lip, but continued, taking no heed--
+
+"Nor will I lay any complaint against you as to the death of my servant
+here, for which otherwise you should hang. That I will write down as
+an accident, and, further, compensate his family. Now you have my
+offer--answer."
+
+"And what if I refuse this same generous offer to surrender her whom I
+hold dearer than a thousand lives?"
+
+"Then, by virtue of my rights and authority, I will take her by force,
+Christopher Harflete, and if harm should happen to come to you, now or
+hereafter, on your own head be it."
+
+At this Christopher's rage broke out.
+
+"Do you dare to threaten me, a loyal Englishman, you false priest and
+foreign traitor," he shouted, "whom all men know to be in the pay of
+Spain, and using the cover of a monk's dress to plot against the land on
+which you fatten like a horse-leech? Why was John Foterell murdered in
+the forest two nights gone? You won't answer? Then I will. Because
+he rode to Court to prove the truth about you and your treachery, and
+therefore you butchered him. Why do you claim my wife as your ward?
+Because you wish to steal her lands and goods to feed your plots and
+luxury. You think you have bought friends at Court, and that for money's
+sake those in power there will turn a blind eye to your crimes. So it
+may be for a while; but wait, wait. All eyes are not blind yonder, nor
+all ears deaf. That head of yours shall yet be lifted higher than you
+think--so high that it sticks upon the top of Blossholme Towers, a
+warning to all who would sell England to her enemies. John Foterell lies
+dead with your knave's arrow in his throat, but Jeffrey Stokes is away
+with the writings. And now do your worst, Clement Maldon. If you want my
+wife, come take her."
+
+The Abbot listened, listened intently, drinking in every ominous word.
+His swarthy face went white with fear, then turned black with rage. The
+veins upon his forehead gathered into knots; even from that distance
+Christopher could see them. He looked so evil that his countenance
+became twisted and ridiculous, and Christopher, noting it, burst into
+one of his hearty laughs.
+
+The Abbot, who was not accustomed to mockery, whispered something to the
+two men who were with him, whereon they lifted the crossbows which they
+carried and pulled trigger. One quarel went wide and hit the wall of the
+house behind, where it stuck fast in the joints of the stud-work. But
+the other, better aimed, smote Christopher above the heart, causing him
+to stagger, but being shot from below and turned by the mail he wore
+glanced upwards over his left shoulder. The men, seeing that he was
+unhurt, pulled their horses round and galloped off, but Christopher,
+setting another arrow to the string of the bow he carried, drew it to
+his ear, covering the Abbot.
+
+"Loose, and make an end of him," muttered Emlyn from her shelter behind
+the parapet. But Christopher thought a moment, then cried--
+
+"Stay a while, Sir Abbot; I have more to say to you."
+
+He took no heed who was also turning about.
+
+"Stay!" thundered Christopher, "or I will kill that fine nag of yours;"
+then, as the Abbot still dragged upon the reins, he let the arrow fly.
+The aim was true enough. Right through the arch of the neck it sped,
+cutting the cord between the bones, so that the poor beast reared
+straight up and fell in a heap, tumbling its rider off into the snow.
+
+"Now, Clement Maldon," cried Christopher, "will you listen, or will you
+bide with your horse and servant and hear no more till Judgment Day? If
+you do not guess it, learn that I have practised archery from my youth.
+Should you doubt, hold up your hand and I'll send a shaft between your
+fingers."
+
+The Abbot, who was shaken but unhurt, rose slowly and stood there, the
+dead horse on one side and the dead man on the other.
+
+"Speak," he said in a muffled voice.
+
+"My Lord Abbot," went on Christopher, "a minute ago you tried to murder
+me, and, had not my mail been good, would have succeeded. Now your life
+is in my hand, for, as you have seen, I do not miss. Those servants
+of yours are coming to your help. Call to them to halt, or----" and he
+lifted the bow.
+
+The Abbot obeyed, and the men, understanding, stayed where they were, at
+a distance, but within earshot.
+
+"You have a crucifix upon your breast," continued Christopher. "Take it
+in your right hand now and swear an oath."
+
+Again the Abbot obeyed.
+
+"Swear thus," he said, Emlyn, who was crouched beneath the parapet,
+prompting him from time to time; "I, Clement Maldon, Abbot of
+Blossholme, in the presence of Almighty God in heaven, and of
+Christopher Harflete and others upon earth," and he jerked his head
+backwards towards the windows of the house, where all therein were
+gathered, listening, "make oath upon the symbol of the Rood. I swear
+that I abandon all claim of wardship over the body of Cicely Harflete,
+born Cicely Foterell, the lawful wife of Christopher Harflete, and
+all claim to the lands and goods that she may possess, or that were
+possessed by her father, John Foterell, Knight, or by her mother, Dame
+Foterell, deceased. I swear that I will raise no suit in any court,
+spiritual or temporal, of this or other realms against the said Cicely
+Harflete or against the said Christopher Harflete, her husband, nor seek
+to work injury to their bodies or their souls, or to the bodies or the
+souls of any who cling to them, and that henceforth they may live and
+die in peace from me or any whom I control. Set your lips to the Rood
+and swear thus now, Clement Maldon."
+
+The Abbot hearkened, and so great was his rage, for he had no meek
+heart, that he seemed to swell like an angry toad.
+
+"Who gave you authority to administer oaths to me?" he asked at length.
+"I'll not swear," and he cast the crucifix down upon the snow.
+
+"Then I'll shoot," answered Christopher. "Come, pick up that cross."
+
+But Maldon stood silent, his arms folded on his breast. Christopher
+aimed and loosed, and so great was his skill--for there were few archers
+in England like to him--that the arrow pierced Maldon's fur cap and
+carried it away without touching the shaven head beneath.
+
+"The next shall be two inches lower," he said, as he set another on the
+string. "I waste no more good shafts."
+
+Then, very slowly, to save his life, which he loved well enough, Maldon
+bent down, and, lifting the crucifix from the snow, held it to his lips
+and kissed it, muttering--
+
+"I swear." But the oath he swore was very different to that which
+Christopher had repeated to him, for, like a hunted fox, he knew how to
+meet guile with guile.
+
+"Now that I, a consecrated abbot, deeming it right that I should live on
+to fulfil my work on earth, have done your bidding, have I leave to go
+about my business, Christopher Harflete?" he asked, with bitter irony.
+
+"Why not?" asked Christopher. "Only be pleased henceforth not to meddle
+with me and my business. To-morrow I wish to ride to London with my
+lady, and we do not seek your company on the road."
+
+Then, having found his cap, the Abbot turned and walked back towards his
+own men, drawing the arrow from it as he went, and presently all of them
+rode away over the rise towards Blossholme.
+
+"Now that is well finished, and I have an oath that he will scarcely
+dare to break," said Christopher presently. "What say you, Nurse?"
+
+"I say that you are even a bigger simpleton than I took you to be,"
+answered Emlyn angrily, as she rose and stretched herself, for her limbs
+were cramped. "The oath, pshaw! By now he is absolved from it as given
+under fear. Did you not hear me whisper to you to put an arrow through
+his heart, instead of playing boy's pranks with his cap?"
+
+"I did not wish to kill an abbot, Nurse."
+
+"Foolish man, what is the difference in such a matter between him and
+one of his servants? Moreover, he will only say that you tried to slay
+him, and missed, and produce the cap and arrow in evidence against you.
+Well, my talk serves nothing to mend a bad matter, and soon you will
+hear it straighter from himself. Go now and make your house ready for
+attack, and never dare to set a foot without its doors, for death waits
+you there."
+
+Emlyn was right. Within three hours an unarmed monk trudged up to
+Cranwell Towers through the falling snow and cast across the moat a
+letter that was tied to a stone. Then he nailed a writing to one of the
+oak posts of the outer gate, and, without a word, departed as he had
+come. In the presence of Christopher and Cicely, Emlyn opened and read
+this second letter, as she had read the first. It was short, and ran--
+
+
+"Take notice, Sir Christopher Harflete, and all others whom it may
+concern, that the oath which I, Clement Maldon, Abbot of Blossholme,
+swore to you this day, is utterly void and of none effect, having been
+wrung from me under the threat of instant death. Take notice, further,
+that a report of the murder which you have done has been forwarded to
+the King's grace and to the Sheriff and other officers of this county,
+and that by virtue of my rights and authority, ecclesiastical and civil,
+I shall proceed to possess myself of the person of Cicely Foterell, my
+ward, and of the lands and other property held by her father, Sir John
+Foterell, deceased, upon the former of which I have already entered on
+her behalf, and by exercise of such force as may be needful to seize
+you, Christopher Harflete, and to hand you over to justice. Further, by
+means of notice sent herewith, I warn all that cling to you and abet
+you in your crimes that they will do so at the peril of their souls and
+bodies.
+
+"Clement Maldon, Abbot of Blossholme."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+WHAT PASSED AT CRANWELL
+
+A week had gone by. For the first three days of that time little of note
+had happened at Cranwell Towers; that is, no assault was delivered.
+Only Christopher and his dozen or so of house-servants and small tenants
+discovered that they were quite surrounded. Once or twice some of them
+rode out a little way, to be hunted back again by a much superior force,
+which emerged from the copses near by or from cottages in the village,
+and even from the porch of the church. With these men they never came
+to close quarters, so that no lives were lost. In a fashion this was
+a disadvantage to them, since they lacked the excitement of actual
+fighting, the dread of which was ever present, but not its joy.
+
+Meanwhile in other ways things went ill with them. Thus, first of all
+their beer gave out, and then such other cordials as they had, so that
+they were reduced to water to drink. Next their fuel became exhausted,
+for nearly all the stock of it was kept at the farmstead about a quarter
+of a mile away, and on the second day of the siege this stead was fired
+and burned with its contents, the cattle and horses being driven off,
+they knew not where.
+
+So it came about at length they could keep only one fire, in the
+kitchen, and that but small, which in the end they were obliged to feed
+with the doors of the outhouses, and even with the floorings torn out of
+the attics, in order that they might cook their food. Nor was there
+much of this; only a store of salt meat and some pickled pork and smoked
+bacon, together with a certain amount of oatmeal and flour, that they
+made into cakes and bread.
+
+On the fourth day, however, these gave out, so that they were reduced to
+a scanty diet of hung flesh, with a few apples by way of vegetables, and
+hot water to drink to warm them. At length, too, there was nothing more
+to burn, and therefore they must eat their meat raw, and grew sick on
+it. Moreover, a cold thaw set in, and the house grew icy, so that they
+moved about it with chattering teeth, and at night, ill-nurtured as they
+were, could scarce keep the life in them beneath all the coverings which
+they had.
+
+Ah! how long were those nights, with never a blaze upon the hearth or so
+much as a candle to light them. At four o'clock the darkness came down,
+which did not lessen, for the moon grew low and the mists were thick,
+until day broke about seven on the following morning. And all this time,
+fearing attack, they must keep watch and ward through the gloom, so that
+even sleep was denied them.
+
+For a while they bore up bravely, even the tenants, though news was
+shouted to these that their steads had been harried, and their wives and
+children hunted off to seek shelter where they might.
+
+Cicely and Emlyn never murmured. Indeed, this new-made wife kept her
+dreadful honeymoon with a cheerful face, trudging through the black
+hours around the circle of the moat at her husband's side, or from
+window-place to window-place in the empty rooms, till at length they
+cast themselves down upon some bed to sleep a while, giving over the
+watch to others. Only Emlyn never seemed to sleep. But at length their
+companions did begin to murmur.
+
+One morning at the dawn, after a very bitter night, they waited upon
+Christopher and told him that they were willing to fight for his sake
+and his lady's, but that, as there was no hope of help, they could no
+longer freeze and starve; in short, that they must either escape from
+the house or surrender. He listened to them patiently, knowing that
+what they said was true, and then consulted for a while with Cicely and
+Emlyn.
+
+"Our case is desperate, dear wife. Now what shall we do, who have no
+chance of succour, since none know of our plight? Yield, or strive to
+escape through the darkness?"
+
+"Not yield, I think," answered Cicely, choking back a sob. "If we yield
+certainly they will separate us, and that merciless Abbot will bring you
+to your death and me to a nunnery."
+
+"That may happen in any case," muttered Christopher, turning his head
+aside. "But what say you, Nurse?"
+
+"I say fight for it," answered Emlyn boldly. "It is certain that we
+cannot stay here, for, to be plain, Sir Christopher, there are some
+among us whom I do not trust. What wonder? Their stomachs are empty,
+their hands are blue, their wives and children are they know not where,
+and the heavy curse of the Church hangs over them, all of which things
+may be mended if they play you false. Let us take what horses remain and
+slip away at dead of night if we can; or if we cannot, then let us die,
+as many better folk have done before."
+
+So they agreed to try their fortune, thinking that it was so bad it
+could not be worse, and spent the rest of that day in getting ready
+as best they could. The seven horses still stood in the stable, and
+although they were stiff from want of exercise, had been hay-fed and
+watered. On these they proposed to ride, but first they must tell the
+truth to those who had stood by them. So about three o'clock of the
+afternoon Christopher called all the men together beneath the gateway
+and sorrowfully set out his tale. Here, he showed them, they could bide
+no longer, and to surrender meant that his new-wed wife would soon be
+made a widow. Therefore they must fly, taking with them as many as there
+were horses for them to ride, if they cared to risk such a journey. If
+not, he and the two women would go alone.
+
+Now four of the stoutest-hearted of them, men who had served him and
+his father for many years, stepped forward, saying that, evil as these
+seemed to be, they would follow his fortunes to the last. He thanked
+them shortly, whereon one of the others asked what they were to do, and
+if he proposed to desert them after leading them into this plight.
+
+"God knows I would rather die," he replied, with a swelling heart; "but,
+my friends, consider the case. If I bide here, what of my wife? Alas! it
+has come to this: that you must choose whether you will slip out with us
+and scatter in the woods, where I think you will not be followed, since
+yonder Abbot has no quarrel against you; or whether you will wait here,
+and to-morrow at the dawn, surrender. In either event you can say that
+I compelled you to stand by us, and that you have shed no man's blood;
+also I will give you a writing."
+
+So they talked together gloomily, and at last announced that when he and
+their lady went they would go also and get off as best they could. But
+there was a man among them, a small farmer named Jonathan Dicksey, who
+thought otherwise. This Jonathan, who held his land under Christopher,
+had been forced to this business of the defence of Cranwell Towers
+somewhat against his will, namely, by the pressure of Christopher's
+largest tenant, to whose daughter he was affianced. He was a sly young
+man, and even during the siege, by means that need not be described, he
+had contrived to convey a message to the Abbot of Blossholme, telling
+him that had it been in his power he would gladly be in any other place.
+Therefore, as he knew well, whatever had happened to others, his farm
+remained unharried. Now he determined to be out of a bad business as
+soon as he might, for Jonathan was one of those who liked to stand upon
+the winning side.
+
+Therefore, although he said "Aye, aye," more loudly than his comrades,
+as soon as the dusk had fallen, while the others were making ready the
+horses and mounting guard, Jonathan thrust a ladder across the moat at
+the back of the stable, and clambered along its rungs into the shelter
+of a cattle-shed in the meadow, and so away.
+
+Half-an-hour later he stood before the Abbot in the cottage where he had
+taken up his quarters, having contrived to blunder among his people and
+be captured. To him at first Jonathan would say nothing, but when at
+length they threatened to take him out and hang him, to save his life,
+as he said, he found his tongue and told all.
+
+"So, so," said the Abbot when he had finished. "Now God is good to
+us. We have these birds in our net, and I shall keep St. Hilary's at
+Blossholme after all. For your services, Master Dicksey, you shall be my
+reeve at Cranwell Towers when they are in my hands."
+
+But here it may be said that in the end things went otherwise, since, so
+far from getting the stewardship of Cranwell, when the truth came to be
+known, Jonathan's maiden would have no more to do with him, and the folk
+in those parts sacked his farm and hunted him out of the country, so
+that he was never heard of among them again.
+
+Meanwhile, all being ready, Christopher at the Towers was closeted with
+Cicely, taking his farewell of her in the dark, for no light was left to
+them.
+
+"This is a desperate venture," he said to her, "nor can I tell how it
+will end, or if ever I shall see your sweet face again. Yet, dearest, we
+have been happy together for some few hours, and if I fall and you live
+on I am sure that you will always remember me till, as we are taught,
+we meet again where no enemy has the power to torment us, and cold and
+hunger and darkness are not. Cicely, if that should be so and any child
+should come to you, teach it to love the father whom it never saw."
+
+Now she threw her arms about him and wept, and wept, and wept.
+
+"If you die," she sobbed, "surely I will do so also, for although I am
+but young I find this world a very evil place, and now that my father is
+gone, without you, husband, it would be a hell."
+
+"Nay, nay," he answered; "live on while you may; for who knows? Often
+out of the worst comes the best. At least we have had our joy. Swear it
+now, sweet."
+
+"Aye, if you will swear it also, for I may be taken and you left. In the
+dark swords do not choose. Let us promise that we will both endure our
+lives, together or separate, until God calls us."
+
+So they swore there in the icy gloom, and sealed the oath with kisses.
+
+Now the time was come at last, and they crept their way to the courtyard
+hand in hand, taking some comfort because the night was very favourable
+to their project. The snow had melted, and a great gale blew from the
+sou'-west, boisterous but not cold, which caused the tall elms that
+stood about to screech and groan like things alive. In such a wind as
+this they were sure that they would not be heard, nor could they be seen
+beneath that murky, starless sky, while the rain which fell between the
+gusts would wash out the footprints of their horses.
+
+They mounted silently, and with the four men--for by now all the
+rest had gone--rode across the drawbridge, which had been lowered in
+preparation for their flight. Three hundred yards or so away their road
+ran through an ancient marl-pit worked out generations before, in which
+self-sown trees grew on either side of the path. As they drew near this
+place suddenly, in the silence of the night, a horse neighed ahead of
+them, and one of their beasts answered to the neigh.
+
+"Halt!" whispered Cicely, whose ears were made sharp by fear. "I hear
+men moving."
+
+They pulled rein and listened. Yes; between the gusts of wind there was
+a faint sound as of the clanking of armour. They strained their eyes
+in the darkness, but could see nothing. Again the horse neighed and was
+answered. One of their servants cursed the beast beneath his breath and
+struck it savagely with the flat of his sword, whereon, being fresh,
+it took the bit between its teeth and bolted. Another minute and there
+arose a great clamour from the marl-pit in front of them--a noise of
+shoutings, of sword-strokes, and then a heavy groan as from the lips of
+a dying man.
+
+"An ambush!" exclaimed Christopher.
+
+"Can we get round?" asked Cicely, and there was terror in her voice.
+
+"Nay," he answered, "the stream is in flood; we should be bogged. Hark!
+they charge us. Back to the Towers--there is no other way."
+
+So they turned and fled, followed by shouts and the thunder of many
+horses galloping. In two minutes they were there and across the
+bridge--the women, Christopher, and the three men who were left.
+
+"Up with the bridge!" cried Christopher, and they leapt from their
+saddles and fumbled for the cranks; too late, for already the Abbot's
+horsemen pressed it down.
+
+Then a fight began. The horses of the enemy shrank back from the
+trembling bridge, so their riders, dismounting, rushed forward, to be
+met by Christopher and his three remaining men, who in that narrow
+place were as good as a hundred. Wild, random blows were struck in the
+darkness, and, as it chanced, two of the Abbot's people fell, whereon a
+deep voice cried--
+
+"Come back and wait for light."
+
+When they had gone, dragging off their wounded with them, Christopher
+and his servants again strove to wind up the bridge, only to find that
+it would not stir.
+
+"Some traitor has fouled the chains," he said in the quiet voice of
+despair. "Cicely and Emlyn, get you into the house. I, and any who will
+bide with me, stay here to see this business out. When I am down, yield
+yourself. Afterwards I think that the King will give you justice, if you
+can come to him."
+
+"I'll not go," she wailed; "I'll die with you."
+
+"Nay, you shall go," he said, stamping his foot, and, as he spoke,
+an arrow hissed between them. "Emlyn, drag her hence ere she is shot.
+Swift, I say, swift, or God's curse and mine rest on you. Unclasp your
+arms, wife; how can I fight while you hang about my neck? What! Must I
+strike you? Then, there and there!"
+
+She loosed her grasp, and, groaning, fell back upon the breast of Emlyn,
+who half led, half carried her across the courtyard, where their scared
+horses galloped loose.
+
+"Whither go we?" sobbed Cicely.
+
+"To the central tower," answered Emlyn; "it seems safest there."
+
+To this tower, whence the place took its name, they groped their way.
+Unlike the rest of the house, which for the most part was of wood, it
+was built of stone, being part of an older fabric dating from the Norman
+days. Slowly they stumbled up the steps till at length they reached the
+roof, for some instinct prompted them to find a spot whence they
+could see, should the stars break out. Here, on this lofty perch, they
+crouched them down and waited the end, whatever it might be--waited in
+silence.
+
+A while passed--they never knew how long--till at length a sudden flame
+shot up above the roof of the kitchens at the rear, which the wind
+caught and blew on to the timbers of the main building, so that
+presently this began to blaze also. The house had been fired, by whom
+was never known, though it was said that the traitor, Jonathan Dicksey,
+had returned and done it, either for a bribe or that his own sin might
+be forgotten in this great catastrophe.
+
+"The house burns," said Emlyn in her quiet voice. "Now, if you would
+save your life, follow me. Beneath this tower is a vault where no flame
+can touch us."
+
+But Cicely would not stir, for by the fierce and ever-growing light she
+could see what passed beneath, and, as it chanced, the wind blew the
+smoke away from them. There, beyond the drawbridge, were gathered the
+Abbey guards, and there in the gateway stood Christopher and his three
+men with drawn swords, while in the courtyard the horses galloped madly,
+screaming in their fear. A soldier looked up and saw the two women
+standing on the top of the tower, then called out something to the
+Abbot, who sat on horseback near to him. He looked and saw also.
+
+"Yield, Sir Christopher," he shouted; "the Lady Cicely burns. Yield,
+that we may save her."
+
+Christopher turned and saw also. For a moment he hesitated, then wheeled
+round to run across the courtyard. Too late, for as he came the flames
+burst through the main roof of the house, and the timber front of it,
+blazing furiously, fell outwards, blocking the doorway, so that the
+place became a furnace into which none might enter and live.
+
+Now a madness seemed to take hold of him. For a moment he stared up at
+the figures of the two women standing high above the rolling smoke and
+wrapping flame. Then, with his three men, he charged with a roar into
+the crowd of soldiers who had followed him into the courtyard, striving,
+it would seem, to cut his way to the Abbot, who lurked behind. It was
+a dreadful sight, for he and those with him fought furiously, and many
+went down. Presently, of the four only Christopher was left upon his
+feet. Swords and spears smote upon his armour, but he did not fall;
+it was those in front of him who fell. A great fellow with an axe
+got behind him and struck with all his might upon his helm. The sword
+dropped from Harflete's hand; slowly he turned about, looked upward,
+then stretched out his arms and fell heavily to earth.
+
+The Abbot leapt from his horse and ran to him, kneeling at his side.
+
+"Dead!" he cried, and began to shrive his passing soul, or so it seemed.
+
+"Dead," repeated Emlyn, "and a gallant death!"
+
+"Dead!" wailed Cicely, in so terrible a voice that all below heard it.
+"Dead, dead!" and sank senseless on Emlyn's breast.
+
+At that moment the rest of the roof fell in, hiding the tower in spouts
+and veils of flame. Here they might not stay if they would live. Lifting
+her mistress in her strong arms, as she was wont to do when she was
+little, Emlyn found the head of the stair, so that when the wind blew
+the smoke aside for an instant, those below saw that both had vanished,
+as they thought withered in the fire.
+
+"Now you can enter on the Shefton lands, Abbot," cried a voice from the
+darkness of the gateway, though in the turmoil none knew who spoke; "but
+not for all England would I bear that innocent blood!"
+
+The Abbot's face turned ghastly, and though it was hot enough in that
+courtyard his teeth chattered.
+
+"It is on the head of this woman-thief," he exclaimed with an effort,
+looking down on Christopher, who lay at his feet. "Take him up, that
+inquest may be held on him, who died doing murder. Can none enter the
+house? His pocket full of gold to him who saves the Lady Cicely!"
+
+"Can any enter hell and live?" answered the same voice out of the
+smoke and gloom. "Seek her sweet soul in heaven, if you may come there,
+Abbot."
+
+Then, with scared faces, they lifted up Christopher and the other dead
+and wounded and carried them away, leaving Cranwell Towers to burn
+itself to ashes, for so fierce was the heat that none could bide there
+longer.
+
+
+
+Two hours had gone by. The Abbot sat in the little room of a cottage
+at Cranwell that he had occupied during the siege of the Towers. It was
+near midnight, yet, weary as he was, he could not rest; indeed, had the
+night been less foul and dark he would have spent the time in riding
+back to Blossholme. His heart was ill at ease. Things had gone well with
+him, it is true. Sir John Foterell was dead--slain by "outlawed
+men;" Sir Christopher Harflete was dead--did not his body lie in the
+neat-house yonder? Cicely, daughter of the one and wife to the other,
+was dead also, burned in the fire at the Towers, so that doubtless the
+precious gems and the wide lands he coveted would fall into his lap
+without further trouble. For, Cromwell being bribed, who would try to
+snatch them from the powerful Abbot of Blossholme, and had he not a
+title to them--of a sort?
+
+And yet he was very ill at ease, for, as that voice had said--whose
+voice was it? he wondered, somehow it seemed familiar--the blood of
+these people lay on his head; and there came into his mind the text of
+Holy Writ which he had quoted to Christopher, that he who shed man's
+blood by man should his blood be shed. Also, although he had paid the
+Vicar-General to back him, monks were in no great favour at the English
+Court, and if this story travelled there, as it might, for even the
+strengthless dead find friends, it was possible that questions would be
+asked, questions hard to answer. Before Heaven he could justify himself
+for all that he had done, but before King Henry, who would usurp the
+powers of the very Pope, if the truth should chance to reach the royal
+ear--ah! that was another matter.
+
+The room was cold after the heat of that great fire; his Southern blood,
+which had been warm enough, grew chill; loneliness and depression took
+hold of him; he began to wonder how far in the eyes of God above the end
+justifies the means. He opened the door of the place, and holding on
+to it lest the rough, wintry gale should tear it from its frail hinges,
+shouted aloud for Brother Martin, one of his chaplains.
+
+Presently Martin arrived, emerging from the cattleshed, a lantern in his
+hand--a tall, thin man, with perplexed and melancholy eyes, long nose,
+and a clever face--and, bowing, asked his superior's pleasure.
+
+"My pleasure, Brother," answered the Abbot, "is that you shut the door
+and keep out the wind, for this accursed climate is killing me. Yes,
+make up the fire if you can, but the wood is too wet to burn; also it
+smokes. There, what did I tell you? If this goes on we shall be hams
+by to-morrow morning. Let it be, for, after all, we have seen enough of
+fires to-night, and sit down to a cup of wine--nay, I forgot, you drink
+but water--well, then, to a bite of bread and meat."
+
+"I thank you, my Lord Abbot," answered Martin, "but I may not touch
+flesh; this is Friday."
+
+"Friday or no we have touched flesh--the flesh of men--up at the Towers
+yonder this night," answered the Abbot, with an uneasy laugh. "Still,
+obey your conscience, Brother, and eat bread. Soon it will be midnight,
+and the meat can follow."
+
+The lean monk bowed, and, taking a hunch of bread, began to bite at it,
+for he was almost starving.
+
+"Have you come from watching by the body of that bloody and rebellious
+man who has worked us so much harm and loss?" asked the Abbot presently.
+
+The secretary nodded, then swallowing a crust, said--
+
+"Aye, I have been praying over him and the others. At least he was
+brave, and it must be hard to see one's new-wed wife burn like a witch.
+Also, now that I come to study the matter, I know not what his sin was
+who did but fight bravely when he was attacked. For without doubt the
+marriage is good, and whether he should have waited to ask your leave
+to make it is a point that might be debated through every court in
+Christendom."
+
+The Abbot frowned, not appreciating this open and judicial tone in
+matters that touched him so nearly.
+
+"You have honoured me of late by choosing me as one of your confessors,
+though I think you do not tell me everything, my Lord Abbot; therefore I
+bare my mind to you," continued Brother Martin apologetically.
+
+"Speak on then, man. What do you mean?"
+
+"I mean that I do not like this business," he answered slowly, in the
+intervals of munching at his bread. "You had a quarrel with Sir John
+Foterell about those lands which you say belong to the Abbey. God knows
+the right of it, for I understand no law; but he denied it, for did
+I not hear it yonder in your chamber at Blossholme? He denied it, and
+accused you of treason enough to hang all Blossholme, of which again
+God knows the truth. You threatened him in your anger, but he and his
+servant were armed and won out, and next day the two of them rode for
+London with certain papers. Well, that night Sir John Foterell was
+killed in the forest, though his servant Stokes escaped with the papers.
+Now, who killed him?"
+
+The Abbot looked at him, then seemed to take a sudden resolution.
+
+"Our people, those men-at-arms whom I have gathered for the defence of
+our House and the Church. My orders to them were to seize him living,
+but the old English bull would not yield, and fought so fiercely that it
+ended otherwise--to my sorrow."
+
+The monk put down his bread, for which he seemed to have no further
+appetite.
+
+"A dreadful deed," he said, "for which one day you must answer to God
+and man."
+
+"For which we all must answer," corrected the Abbot, "down to the last
+lay-brother and soldier--you as much as any of us, Brother, for were you
+not present at our quarrel?"
+
+"So be it, Abbot. Being innocent, I am ready. But that is not the end
+of it. The Lady Cicely, on hearing of this murder--nay, be not wrath,
+I know no other name for it--and learning that you claimed her as your
+ward, flies to her affianced lover, Sir Christopher Harflete, and that
+very day is married to him by the parish priest in yonder church."
+
+"It was no marriage. Due notice had not been given. Moreover, how could
+my ward be wed without my leave?"
+
+"She had not been served with notice of your wardship, if such exists,
+or so she declared," replied Martin in his quiet, obstinate voice.
+"I think that there is no court in Europe which would void this open
+marriage when it learned that the parties lived a while as man and wife,
+and were so received by those about them--no, not the Pope himself."
+
+"He who says that he is no lawyer still sets out the law," broke in
+Maldon sarcastically. "Well, what does it matter, seeing that death has
+voided it? Husband and wife, if such they were, are both dead; it is
+finished."
+
+"No; for now they lay their appeal in the Court of Heaven, to which
+every one of us is summoned; and Heaven can stir up its ministers on
+earth. Oh! I like it not, I like it not; and I mourn for those two, so
+loving, brave, and young. Their blood and that of many more is on our
+hands--for what? A stretch of upland and of marsh which the King or
+others may seize to-morrow."
+
+The Abbot seemed to cower beneath the weight of these sad, earnest
+words, and for a little while there was silence. Then he plucked up
+courage, and said--
+
+"I am glad that you remember that their blood is on your hands as well
+as mine, since now, perhaps, you will keep them hidden."
+
+He rose and walked to the door and the window to see that none were
+without, then returned and exclaimed fiercely--
+
+"Fool, do you then think that these deeds were done to win a new
+estate? True it is that those lands are ours by right, and we need their
+revenues; but there is more behind. The whole Church of this realm is
+threatened by that accursed son of Belial who sits upon the throne. Why,
+what is it now, man?"
+
+"Only that I am an Englishman, and love not to hear England's king
+called a son of Belial. His sins, I know, are many and black, like those
+of others--still, 'son of Belial!' Let his Highness hear it, and that
+name alone is enough to hang you!"
+
+"Well, then, angel of grace, if it suits you better. At the least we are
+threatened. Against the law of God and man our blessed Queen, Catherine
+of Spain, is thrust away in favour of the slut who fills her place.
+Even now I have tidings from Kimbolton that she lies dying there of slow
+poison; so they say and I believe. Also I have other tidings. Fisher and
+More being murdered, Parliament next month will be moved to strike at
+the lesser monasteries and steal their goods, and after them our turn
+will come. But we will not bear it tamely, for ere this new year is out
+all England shall be ablaze, and I, Clement Maldon, I--I will light the
+fire. Now you have the truth, Martin. Will you betray me, as that dead
+knight would have done?"
+
+"Nay, my Lord Abbot, your secrets are safe with me. Am I not your
+chaplain, and does not this wilful and rebellious King of ours work much
+mischief against God and His servants? Yet I tell you that I like it
+not, and cannot see the end. We English are a stiff-necked folk whom you
+of Spain do not understand and will never break, and Henry is strong and
+subtle; moreover, his people love him."
+
+"I knew that I could trust you, Martin, and the proof of it is that I
+have spoken to you so openly," went on Maldon in a gentler voice. "Well,
+you shall hear all. The great Emperor of Germany and Spain is on our
+side, as, seeing his blood and faith, he must be. He will avenge the
+wrongs of the Church and of his royal aunt. I, who know him, am his
+agent here, and what I do is done at his bidding. But I must have more
+money than he finds me, and that is why I stirred in this matter of the
+Shefton lands. Also the Lady Cicely had jewels of vast price, though I
+fear greatly lest they should have been lost in the fire this night."
+
+"Filthy lucre--the root of all evil," muttered Brother Martin.
+
+"Aye, and of all good. Money, money--I must have more money to bribe
+men and buy arms, to defend that stronghold of Heaven, the Church. What
+matters it if lives are lost so that the immortal Church holds her own?
+Let them go. My friend, you are fearful; these deaths weigh upon your
+soul--aye, and on mine. I loved that girl, whom as a babe I held in
+my arms, and even her rough father, I loved him for his honest heart,
+although he always mistrusted me, the Spaniard--and rightly. The knight
+Harflete, too, who lies yonder, he was of a brave breed, but not one
+who would have served our turn. Well, they are gone, and for these
+blood-sheddings we must find absolution."
+
+"If we can."
+
+"Oh! we can, we can. Already I have it in my pouch, under a seal you
+know. And for our bodies, fear not. There is such a gale rising in
+England as will blow out this petty breeze. A question of rights,
+some arrows shot, a fire and lives lost--what of that when it agitates
+betwixt powers temporal and spiritual, and which of them shall hold the
+sceptre in this mighty Britain? Martin, I have a mission for you that
+may lead you to a bishopric ere all is done, for that's your mind and
+aim, and if you would put off your doubts and moodiness you've got the
+brain to rule. That ship, the _Great Yarmouth_, which sailed for Spain
+some days ago, has been beat back into the river, and should weigh
+anchor again to-morrow morning. I have letters for the Spanish Court,
+and you shall take them with my verbal explanations, which I will
+give you presently, for they would hang us, and may not be trusted
+to writing. She is bound for Seville, but you will follow the Emperor
+wherever he may be. You will go, won't you?" and he glanced at him
+sideways.
+
+"I obey orders," answered Martin, "though I know little of Spaniards or
+of Spanish."
+
+"In every town the Benedictines have a monastery, and in every monastery
+interpreters, and you shall be accredited to them all who are of that
+great Brotherhood. Well, 'tis settled. Go, make ready as best you can;
+I must write. Stay; the sooner this Harflete is under ground the better.
+Bid that sturdy fellow, Bolle, find the sexton of the church and help
+dig his grave, for we will bury him at dawn. Now go, go, I tell you I
+must write. Come back in an hour, and I will give you money for your
+faring, also my secret messages."
+
+Brother Martin bowed and went.
+
+"A dangerous man," muttered the Abbot, as the door closed on him; "too
+honest for our game, and too much an Englishman. That native spirit
+peeps beneath his cowl; a monk should have no country and no kin. Well,
+he will learn a trick or two in Spain, and I'll make sure they keep him
+there a while. Now for my letters," and he sat down at the rude table
+and began to write.
+
+Half-an-hour later the door opened and Martin entered.
+
+"What is it now?" asked the Abbot testily. "I said, 'Come back in an
+hour.'"
+
+"Aye, you said that, but I have good news for you that I thought you
+might like to hear."
+
+"Out with it, then, man. It's scarce now-a-days. Have they found those
+jewels? No, how could they? the place still flares," and he glanced
+through the window-place. "What's the news?"
+
+"Better than jewels. Christopher Harflete is not dead. While I was
+praying over him he turned his head and muttered. I think he is only
+stunned. You are skilled in medicine; come, look at him."
+
+A minute later and the Abbot knelt over the senseless form of
+Christopher where it lay on the filthy floor of the neat-house. By the
+light of the lanterns with deft fingers he felt his wounded head, from
+which the shattered casque had been removed, and afterwards his heart
+and pulse.
+
+"The skull is cut, but not broken," he said. "My judgment is that though
+he may lie unsensed for days, if fed and tended this man will live,
+being so young and strong. But if left alone in this cold place he will
+be dead by morning, and perhaps he is better dead," and he looked at
+Martin.
+
+"That would be murder indeed," answered the secretary. "Come, let us
+bear him to the fire and pour milk down his throat. We may save him yet.
+Lift you his feet and I will take his head."
+
+The Abbot did so, not very willingly, as it seemed to Martin, but rather
+as one who has no choice.
+
+Half-an-hour later, when the hurts of Christopher had been dressed
+with ointment and bound up, and milk poured down his throat, which he
+swallowed although he was so senseless, the Abbot, looking at him, said
+to Martin--
+
+"You gave orders for this Harflete's burial, did you not?"
+
+The monk nodded.
+
+"Then have you told any that he needs no grave at present?"
+
+"No one except yourself."
+
+The Abbot thought a while, rubbing his shaven chin.
+
+"I think the funeral should go forward," he said presently. "Look not
+so frightened; I do not purpose to inter him living. But there is a dead
+man lying in that shed, Andrew Woods, my servant, the Scotch soldier
+whom Harflete slew. He has no friends here to claim him, and these two
+were of much the same height and breadth. Shrouded in a blanket, none
+would know one body from the other, and it will be thought that Andrew
+was buried with the rest. Let him be promoted in his death, and fill a
+knight's grave."
+
+"To what purpose would you play so unholy a trick, which must, moreover,
+be discovered in a day, seeing that Sir Christopher lives?" asked
+Martin, staring at him.
+
+"For a very good purpose, my friend. It is well that Sir Christopher
+Harflete should seem to die, who, if he is known to be alive, has
+powerful kin in the south who will bring much trouble on us."
+
+"Do you mean----? If so, before God I will have no hand in it."
+
+"I said--seem to die. Where are your wits to-night?" answered the Abbot,
+with irritation. "Sir Christopher travels with you to Spain as our
+sick Brother Luiz, who, like myself, is of that country, and desires to
+return there, as we know, but is too ill to do so. You will nurse him,
+and on the ship he will die or recover, as God wills. If he recovers our
+Brotherhood will show him hospitality at Seville, notwithstanding his
+crimes, and by the time that he reaches England again, which may not
+be for a long while, men will have forgotten all this fray in a greater
+that draws on. Nor will he be harmed, seeing that the lady whom he
+pretends to have married is dead beyond a doubt, as you can tell him
+should he find his understanding."
+
+"A strange game," muttered Martin.
+
+"Strange or no, it is my game which I must play. Therefore question not,
+but be obedient, and silent also, on your oath," replied the Abbot in
+a cold, hard voice. "That covered litter which was brought here for the
+wounded is in the next chamber. Wrap this man in blankets and a monk's
+robe, and we will place him in it. Then let him be borne to Blossholme
+as one of the dead by brethren who will ask no questions, and ere dawn
+on to the ship _Great Yarmouth_, if he still lives. It lies near the
+quay not half-a-mile from the Abbey gate. Be swift now, and help me. I
+will overtake you with the letters, and see that you are furnished with
+all things needful from our store. Also I must speak with the captain
+ere he weighs anchor. Waste no more time in talking, but obey and be
+secret."
+
+"I obey, and I will be secret, as is my duty," answered Brother Martin,
+bowing his head humbly. "But what will be the end of all this business,
+God and His angels know alone. I say that I like it not."
+
+"A _very_ dangerous man," muttered the Abbot, as he watched Martin go.
+"He also must bide a while in Spain; a long while. I'll see to it!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+EMLYN'S CURSE
+
+Just before the wild dawn broke on the morrow of the burning of the
+Towers, a corpse, roughly shrouded, was borne from the village into the
+churchyard of Cranwell, where a shallow grave had been dug for its last
+home.
+
+"Whom do we bury in such haste?" asked the tall Thomas Bolle, who had
+delved the grave alone in the dark, for his orders were urgent, and the
+sexton was fled away from these tumults.
+
+"That man of blood, Sir Christopher Harflete, who has caused us so much
+loss," said the old monk who had been bidden to perform the office, as
+the clergyman, Father Necton, had gone also, fearing the vengeance of
+the Abbot for his part in the marriage of Cicely. "A sad story, a very
+sad story. Wedded by night, and now buried by night, both of them,
+one in the flame and one in the earth. Truly, O God, Thy judgments
+are wonderful, and woe to those who lift hands against Thine anointed
+ministers!"
+
+"Very wonderful," answered Bolle, as, standing in the grave, he took
+the head of the body and laid it down between his straddled feet; "so
+wonderful that a plain man wonders what will be the wondrous end of
+them, also why this noble young knight has grown so wondrously lighter
+than he used to be. Trouble and hunger in those burnt Towers, I suppose.
+Why did they not set him in the vault with his ancestors? It would have
+saved me a lonely job among the ghosts that haunt this place. What do
+you say, Father? Because the stone is cemented down and the entrance
+bricked up, and there is no mason to be found? Then why not have waited
+till one could be fetched? Oh, it is wonderful, all wonderful. But who
+am I that I should dare to ask questions? When the Lord Abbot orders,
+the lay-brother obeys, for he also is wonderful--a wonderful abbot.
+
+"There, he is tidy now--straight on his back and his feet pointing to
+the east, at least I hope so, for I could take no good bearings in the
+dark; and the whole wonderful story comes to its wonderful end. So give
+me your hand out of this hole, Father, and say your prayers over the
+sinful body of this wicked fellow who dared to marry the maid he loved,
+and to let out the souls of certain holy monks, or rather of their hired
+rufflers, for monks don't fight, because they wished to separate those
+whom God--I mean the devil--had joined together, and to add their
+temporalities to the estate of Mother Church."
+
+Then the old priest, who was shivering with cold, and understood little
+of this dark talk, began to mumble his ritual, skipping those parts
+of it which he could not remember. So another grain was planted in the
+cornfields of death and immortality, though when and where it should
+grow and what it should bear he neither knew nor cared, who wished to
+escape from fears and fightings back to his accustomed cell.
+
+It was done, and he and the bearers departed, beating their way against
+the rough, raw wind, and leaving Thomas Bolle to fill in the grave,
+which, so long as they were in sight, or rather hearing, he did with
+much vigour. When they were gone, however, he descended into the hole
+under pretence of trampling the loose soil, and there, to be out of the
+wind, sat himself down upon the feet of the corpse and waited, full of
+reflections.
+
+"Sir Christopher dead," he muttered to himself. "I knew his grandfather
+when I was a lad, and my grandfather told me that he knew his
+grandfather's great-grandfather--say three hundred years of them--and
+now I sit on the cold toes of the last of the lot, butchered like a mad
+ox in his own yard by a Spanish priest and his hirelings, to win his
+wife's goods. Oh! yes, it is wonderful, all very wonderful; and the Lady
+Cicely dead, burnt like a common witch. And Emlyn dead--Emlyn, whom I
+have hugged many a time in this very churchyard, before they whipped her
+into marrying that fat old grieve and made a monk of me.
+
+"Well, I had her first kiss, and, by the saints! how she cursed old
+Stower all the way down yonder path. I stood behind that tree and heard
+her. She said he would die soon, and he did, and his brat with him. She
+said she would dance on his grave, and she did; I saw her do it in the
+moonlight the night after he was buried; dressed in white she danced on
+his grave! She always kept her promises, did Emlyn. That's her blood.
+If her mother had not been a gypsy witch, she wouldn't have married a
+Spaniard when every man in the place was after her for her beautiful
+eyes. Emlyn is a witch too, or was, for they say she is dead; but I
+can't think it, she isn't the sort that dies. Still, she must be dead,
+and that's good for my soul. Oh! miserable man, what are you thinking?
+Get behind me, Satan, if you can find room. A grave is no place for you,
+Satan, but I wish you were in it with me, Emlyn. You _must_ have been a
+witch, since, after you, I could never fancy any other woman, which is
+against nature, for all's fish that comes to a man's net. Evidently a
+witch of the worst sort, but, my darling, witch or no I wish you weren't
+dead, and I'll break that Abbot's neck for you yet, if it costs me my
+soul. Oh! Emlyn, my darling, my darling, do you remember how we kissed
+in the copse by the river? Never was there a woman who could love like
+you."
+
+So he moaned on, rocking himself to and fro on the legs of the corpse,
+till at length a wild ray from the red, risen sun crept into the
+darksome hole, lighting first of all upon a mouldering skull which Bolle
+had thrown back among the soil. He rose up and pitched it out with a
+word that should not have passed the lips of a lay-brother, even as such
+thoughts should not have passed his mind. Then he set himself to a task
+which he had planned in the intervals of his amorous meditations--a
+somewhat grizzly task.
+
+Drawing his knife from its sheath, he cut the rough stitching of the
+grave-clothes, and, with numb hands, dragged them away from the body's
+head.
+
+The light went out behind a cloud, but, not to waste time, he began to
+feel the face.
+
+"Sir Christopher's nose wasn't broken," he muttered to himself, "unless
+it were in that last fray, and then the bone would be loose, and this is
+stiff. No, no, he had a very pretty nose."
+
+The light came again, and Thomas peered down at the dead face beneath
+him; then suddenly burst into a hoarse laugh.
+
+"By all the saints! here's another of our Spaniard's tricks. It is
+drunken Andrew the Scotchman, turned into a dead English knight.
+Christopher killed him, and now he is Christopher. But where's
+Christopher?"
+
+He thought a little while, then, jumping out of the grave, began to fill
+it in with all his might.
+
+"You're Christopher," he said; "well, stop Christopher until I can prove
+you're Andrew. Good-bye, Sir Andrew Christopher; I am off to seek your
+betters. If you are dead, who may not be alive? Emlyn herself, perhaps,
+after this. Oh, the devil is playing a merry game round old Cranwell
+Towers to-night, and Thomas Bolle will take a hand in it."
+
+He was right. The devil was playing a merry game. At least, so thought
+others beside Thomas. For instance, that misguided but honest bigot,
+Martin, as he contemplated the still senseless form of Christopher, who,
+re-christened Brother Luiz, had been safely conveyed aboard the _Great
+Yarmouth_, and now, whether dead or living, which he was not sure, lay
+in the little cabin that had been allotted to the two of them. Almost
+did Martin, as he looked at him and shook his bald head, seem to smell
+brimstone in that close place, which, as he knew well, was the fiend's
+favourite scent.
+
+The captain also, a sour-faced mariner with a squint, known in Dunwich,
+whence he hailed, as Miser Goody, because of his earnestness in pursuing
+wealth and his skill in hoarding it, seemed to feel the unhallowed
+influence of his Satanic Majesty. So far everything had gone wrong upon
+this voyage, which already had been delayed six weeks, that is, till the
+very worst period of the year, while he waited for certain mysterious
+letters and cargo which his owners said he must carry to Seville. Then
+he had sailed out of the river with a fair wind, only to be beaten back
+by fearful weather that nearly sank the ship.
+
+Item: six of his best men had deserted because they feared a trip to
+Spain at that season, and he had been obliged to take others at hazard.
+Among them was a broad-shouldered, black-bearded fellow clad in a
+leather jerkin, with spurs upon his heels--bloody spurs--that he seemed
+to have found no time to take off. This hard rider came aboard in
+a skiff after the anchor was up, and, having cast the skiff adrift,
+offered good money for a passage to Spain or any other foreign port, and
+paid it down upon the nail. He, Goody, had taken the money, though with
+a doubtful heart, and given a receipt to the name of Charles Smith,
+asking no questions, since for this gold he need not account to the
+owners. Afterwards also the man, having put off his spurs and soldier's
+jerkin, set himself to work among the crew, some of whom seemed to know
+him, and in the storm that followed showed that he was stout-hearted and
+useful, though not a skilled sailor.
+
+Still, he mistrusted him of Charles Smith, and his bloody spurs, and
+had he not been so short-handed and taken the knave's broad pieces would
+have liked to set him ashore again when they were driven back into the
+river, especially as he heard that there had been man-slaying about
+Blossholme, and that Sir John Foterell lay slaughtered in the forest.
+Perhaps this Charles Smith had murdered him. Well, if so, it was no
+affair of his, and he could not spare a hand.
+
+Now, when at length the weather had moderated, just as he was hauling
+up his anchor, comes the Abbot of Blossholme, on whose will he had been
+bidden to wait, with a lean-faced monk and another passenger, said to be
+a sick religious, wrapped up in blankets and to all appearance dead.
+
+Why, wondered that astute mariner Goody, should a sick monk wear
+harness, for he felt it through the blankets as he helped him up the
+ladder, although monk's shoes were stuck upon his feet. And why, as he
+saw when the covering slipped aside for a moment, was his crown bound up
+with bloody cloths?
+
+Indeed, he ventured to question the Abbot as to this mysterious matter
+while his Lordship was paying the passage money in his cabin, only to
+get a very sharp answer.
+
+"Were you not commanded to obey me in all things, Captain Goody, and
+does obedience lie in prying out my business? Another word and I will
+report you to those in Spain who know how to deal with mischief-makers.
+If you would see Dunwich again, hold your peace."
+
+"Your pardon, my Lord Abbot," said Goody; "but things go so upon this
+ship that I grow afraid. That is an ill voyage upon which one lifts
+anchor twice in the same port."
+
+"You will not make them go better, captain, by seeking to nose out my
+affairs and those of the Church. Do you desire that I should lay its
+curse upon you?"
+
+"Nay, your Reverence, I desire that you should take the curse off,"
+answered Goody, who was very superstitious. "Do that and I'll carry
+a dozen sick priests to Spain, even though they choose to wear chain
+shirts--for penance."
+
+The Abbot smiled, then, lifting his hand, pronounced some words
+in Latin, which, as he did not understand them, Goody found very
+comforting. As they passed his lips the _Great Yarmouth_ began to move,
+for the sailors were hoisting up her anchor.
+
+"As I do not accompany you on this voyage, fare you well," he said. "The
+saints go with you, as shall my prayers. Since you will not pass the
+Gibraltar Straits, where I hear many infidel pirates lurk, given good
+weather your voyage should be safe and easy. Again farewell. I commend
+Brother Martin and our sick friend to your keeping, and shall ask
+account of them when we meet again."
+
+I pray it may not be this side of hell, for I do not like that Spanish
+Abbot and his passengers, dead or living, thought Goody to himself, as
+he bowed him from the cabin.
+
+A minute later the Abbot, after a few earnest, hurried words with
+Martin, began to descend the ladder to the boat, that, manned by his own
+people, was already being drawn slowly through the water. As he did so
+he glanced back, and, in the clinging mist of dawn, which was almost as
+dense as wool, caught sight of the face of a man who had been ordered to
+hold the ladder, and knew it for that of Jeffrey Stokes, who had escaped
+from the slaying of Sir John--escaped with the damning papers that had
+cost his master's life. Yes, Jeffrey Stokes, no other. His lips shaped
+themselves to call out something, but before ever a syllable had passed
+them an accident happened.
+
+To the Abbot it seemed as though the whole ship had struck him violently
+behind--so violently that he was propelled headfirst among the rowers in
+the boat, and lay there hurt and breathless.
+
+"What is it?" called the captain, who heard the noise.
+
+"The Abbot slipped, or the ladder slipped, I know not which," answered
+Jeffrey gruffly, staring at the toe of his sea-boot. "At least he is
+safe enough in the boat now," and, turning, he vanished aft into the
+mist, muttering to himself--
+
+"A very good kick, though a little high. Yet I wish it had been off
+another kind of ladder. That murdering rogue would look well with a rope
+round his neck. Still I dared do no more and it served to stop his lying
+mouth before he betrayed me. Oh, my poor master, my poor old master!"
+
+
+
+Bruised and sore as he was--and he was very sore--within little over
+an hour Abbot Maldon was back at the ruin of Cranwell Towers. It seemed
+strange that he should go there, but in truth his uneasy heart would
+not let him rest. His plans had succeeded only far too well. Sir John
+Foterell was dead--a crime, no doubt, but necessary, for had the knight
+lived to reach London with that evidence in his pocket, his own life and
+those of many others might have paid the price of it, since who knows
+what truths may be twisted from a victim on the rack? Maldon had always
+feared the rack; it was a nightmare that haunted his sleep, although the
+ambitious cunning of his nature and the cause he served with heart and
+soul prompted him to put himself in continual danger of that fate.
+
+In an unguarded moment, when his tongue was loosed with wine, he had
+placed himself in the power of Sir John Foterell, hoping to win him to
+the side of Spain, and afterwards, forgetting it, made of him a dreadful
+enemy. Therefore this enemy must die, for had he lived, not only
+might he himself have died in place of him, but all his plans for the
+rebellion of the Church against the Crown must have come to nothing.
+Yes, yes, that deed was lawful, and pardon for it assured should the
+truth become known. Till this morning he had hoped that it never would
+be known, but now Jeffrey Stokes had escaped upon the ship _Great
+Yarmouth_.
+
+Oh, if only he had seen him a minute earlier; if only something--could
+it have been that impious knave, Jeffrey? he wondered--had not struck
+him so violently in the back and hurled him to the boat, where he lay
+almost senseless till the vessel had glided from them down the river!
+Well, she was gone, and Jeffrey in her. He was but a common serving-man,
+after all, who, if he knew anything, would never have the wit to use
+his knowledge, although it was true he had been wise enough to fly from
+England.
+
+No papers had been discovered upon Sir John's body, and no money.
+Without doubt the old knight had found time to pass them on to Jeffrey,
+who now fled the kingdom disguised as a sailor. Oh! what ill chance had
+put him on board the same vessel with Sir Christopher Harflete?
+
+Well, Sir Christopher would probably die; were Brother Martin a little
+less of a fool he would certainly die, but the fact remained that this
+monk, though able, in such matters _was_ a fool, with a conscience that
+would not suit itself to circumstances. If Christopher could be saved,
+Martin would save him, as he had already saved him in the shed, even if
+he handed him over to the Inquisition afterwards. Still, he might slip
+through his fingers or the vessel might be lost, as was devoutly to be
+prayed, and seemed not unlikely at this season of the year. Also, the
+first opportunity must be taken to send certain messages to Spain that
+might result in hampering the activities of Brother Martin, and of Sir
+Christopher Harflete, if he lived to reach that land.
+
+Meanwhile, reflected Maldon, other things had gone wrong. He had wished
+to proclaim his wardship over Cicely and to immure her in a nunnery
+because of her great possessions, which he needed for the cause, but he
+had not wished her death. Indeed, he was fond of the girl, whom he had
+known from a child, and her innocent blood was a weight that he ill
+could bear, he who at heart always shrank from the shedding of blood.
+Still, Heaven had killed her, not he, and the matter could not now be
+mended. Also, as she was dead, her inheritance would, he thought, fall
+into his hands without further trouble, for he--a mitred Abbot with a
+seat among the Lords of the realm--had friends in London, who, for a
+fee, could stifle inquiry into all this far-off business.
+
+No, no, he must not be faint-hearted, who, after all, had much for which
+to be thankful. Meanwhile the cause went on--that great cause of the
+threatened Church to which he had devoted his life. Henry the heretic
+would fall; the Spanish Emperor, whose spy he was and who loved him
+well, would invade and take England. He would yet live to see the Holy
+Inquisition at work at Westminster, and himself--yes, himself; had it
+not been hinted to him?--enthroned at Canterbury, the Cardinal's red hat
+he coveted upon his head, and--oh, glorious thought!--perhaps afterwards
+wearing the triple crown at Rome.
+
+
+
+Rain was falling heavily when the Abbot, with his escort of two monks
+and half-a-dozen men-at-arms, rode up to Cranwell. The house was now but
+a smoking heap of ashes, mingled with charred beams and burnt clay, in
+the midst of which, scarcely visible through the clouds of steam
+caused by the falling rain, rose the grim old Norman tower, for on its
+stonework the flames had beat vainly.
+
+"Why have we come here?" asked one of the monks, surveying the dismal
+scene with a shudder.
+
+"To seek the bodies of the Lady Cicely and her woman, and give them
+Christian burial," answered the Abbot.
+
+"After bringing them to a most unchristian death," muttered the monk to
+himself, then added aloud, "You were ever charitable, my Lord Abbot, and
+though she defied you, such is that noble lady's due. As for the nurse
+Emlyn, she was a witch, and did but come to the end that she deserved,
+if she be really dead."
+
+"What mean you?" asked the Abbot sharply.
+
+"I mean that, being a witch, the fire may have turned from her."
+
+"Pray God, then, that it turned from her mistress also! But it cannot
+be. Only a fiend could have lived in the heat of that furnace; look,
+even the tower is gutted."
+
+"No, it cannot be," answered the monk; "so, since we shall never find
+them, let us chant the Burial Office over this great grave of theirs and
+begone--the sooner the better, for yon place has a haunted look."
+
+"Not till we have searched out their bones, which must be beneath the
+tower yonder, whereon we saw them last," replied the Abbot, adding in
+a low voice, "Remember, Brother, the Lady Cicely had jewels of great
+price, which, if they were wrapped in leather, the fire may have spared,
+and these are among our heritage. At Shefton they cannot be found;
+therefore they must be here, and the seeking of them is no task for
+common folk. That is why I hurried hither so fast. Do you understand?"
+
+The monk nodded his head. Having dismounted, they gave their horses to
+the serving-men and began to make an examination of the ruin, the Abbot
+leaning on his inferior's arm, for he was in great pain from the blow
+in the back that Jeffrey had administered with his sea-boot, and the
+bruises which he had received in falling to the boat.
+
+First they passed under the gatehouse, which still stood, only to find
+that the courtyard beyond was so choked with smouldering rubbish that
+they could make no entry--for it will be remembered that the house had
+fallen outwards. Here, however, lying by the carcass of a horse, they
+found the body of one of the men whom Christopher had killed in his last
+stand, and caused it to be borne out. Then, followed by their people,
+leaving the dead man in the gateway, they walked round the ruin, keeping
+on the inner side of the moat, till they came to the little pleasaunce
+garden at its back.
+
+"Look," said the monk in a frightened voice, pointing to some scorched
+bushes that had been a bower.
+
+The Abbot did so, but for a while could see nothing because of the
+wreaths of steam. Presently a puff of wind blew these aside, and there,
+standing hand in hand, he beheld the figures of two women. His men
+beheld them also, and called aloud that these were the ghosts of Cicely
+and Emlyn. As they spoke the figures, still hand in hand, began to walk
+towards them, and they saw that they were Cicely and Emlyn indeed, but
+in the flesh, quite unharmed.
+
+For a moment there was deep silence; then the Abbot asked--
+
+"Whence come you, Mistress Cicely?"
+
+"Out of the fire," she answered in a small, cold voice.
+
+"Out of the fire! How did you live through the fire?"
+
+"God sent His angel to save us," she answered, again in that small
+voice.
+
+"A miracle," muttered the monk; "a true miracle!"
+
+"Or mayhap Emlyn Stower's witchcraft," exclaimed one of the men behind;
+and Maldon started at his words.
+
+"Lead me to my husband, my Lord Abbot, lest, thinking me dead, his heart
+should break," said Cicely.
+
+Now again there was silence so deep that they could hear the patter of
+every drop of falling rain. Twice the Abbot strove to speak, but could
+not, but at the third effort his words came.
+
+"The man you call your husband, but who was not your husband, but your
+ravisher, was slain in the fray last night, Cicely Foterell."
+
+She stood quite quiet for a while, as though considering his words, then
+said, in the same unnatural voice--
+
+"You lie, my Lord Abbot. You were ever a liar, like your father the
+devil, for the angel told me so in the midst of the fire. Also he told
+me that, though I seemed to see him fall, Christopher is alive upon the
+earth--yes, and other things, many other things;" and she passed her
+hand before her eyes and held it there, as though to shut out the sight
+of her enemy's face.
+
+Now the Abbot trembled in his terror, he who knew that he lied, though
+at that time none else there knew it. It was as though suddenly he had
+been haled before the Judgment-seat where all secrets must be bared.
+
+"Some evil spirit has entered into you," he said huskily.
+
+She dropped her hand, pointing at him.
+
+"Nay, nay; I never knew but one evil spirit, and he stands before me."
+
+"Cicely," he went on, "cease your blaspheming. Alas! that I must tell it
+you. Sir Christopher Harflete is dead and buried in yonder churchyard."
+
+"What! So soon, and all uncoffined, he who was a noble knight? Then
+you buried him living, and, living, in a day to come he shall rise up
+against you. Hear my words, all. Christopher Harflete shall rise up
+living and give testimony against this devil in a monk's robe, and
+afterwards--afterwards--" and she laughed shrilly, then suddenly fell
+down and lay still.
+
+Now Emlyn, the dark and handsome, as became her Spanish, or perhaps
+gypsy blood, who all this while had stood silent, her arms folded upon
+her high bosom, leaned down and looked at her. Then she straightened
+herself, and her face was like the face of a beautiful fiend.
+
+"She is dead!" she screamed. "My dove is dead. She whom these breasts
+nursed, the greatest lady of all the wolds and all the vales, the Lady
+of Blossholme, of Cranwell and of Shefton, in whose veins ran the blood
+of mighty nobles, aye, and of old kings, is dead, murdered by a beggarly
+foreign monk, who not ten days gone butchered her father also yonder by
+King's Grave--yonder by the mere. Oh! the arrow in his throat! the arrow
+in his throat! I cursed the hand that shot it, and to-day that hand is
+blue beneath the mould. So, too, I curse you, Maldonado, evil-gifted
+one, Abbot consecrated by Satan, you and all your herd of butchers!" and
+she broke into the stream of Spanish imprecations whereof the Abbot knew
+the meaning well.
+
+Presently Emlyn paused and looked behind her at the smouldering ruins.
+
+"This house is burned," she cried; "well, mark Emlyn's words: even so
+shall your house burn, while your monks run squeaking like rats from a
+flaming rick. You have stolen the lands; they shall be taken from you,
+and yours also, every acre of them. Not enough shall be left to bury you
+in, for, priest, you'll need no burial. The fowls of the air shall bury
+you, and that's the nearest you will ever get to heaven--in their filthy
+crops. Murderer, if Christopher Harflete is dead, yet he shall live, as
+his lady swore, for his seed shall rise up against you. Oh! I forgot;
+how can it, how can it, seeing that she is dead with him, and their
+bridal coverlet has become a pall woven by the black monks? Yet it
+shall, it shall. Christopher Harflete's seed shall sit where the Abbots
+of Blossholme sat, and from father to son tell the tale of the last
+of them--the Spaniard who plotted against England's king and overshot
+himself."
+
+Her rage veered like a hurricane wind. Forgetting the Abbot, she turned
+upon the monk at his side and cursed him. Then she cursed the hired
+men-at-arms, those present and those absent, many by name, and
+lastly--greatest crime of all--she cursed the Pope and the King of
+Spain, and called to God in heaven and Henry of England upon earth to
+avenge her Lady Cicely's wrongings, and the murder of Sir John Foterell,
+and the murder of Christopher Harflete, on each and all of them,
+individually and separately.
+
+So fierce and fearful was her onslaught that all who heard her were
+reduced to utter silence. The Abbot and the monk leaned against each
+other, the soldiers crossed themselves and muttered prayers, while one
+of them, running up, fell upon his knees and assured her that he had
+had nothing to do with all this business, having only returned from a
+journey last night, and been called thither that morning.
+
+Emlyn, who had paused from lack of breath, listened to him, and said--
+
+"Then I take the curse off you and yours, John Athey. Now lift up
+my lady and bear her to the church, for there we will lay her out as
+becomes her rank; though not with her jewels, her great and priceless
+jewels, for which she was hunted like a doe. She must lie without her
+jewels; her pearls and coronet, and rings, her stomacher and necklets
+of bright gems, that were worth so much more than those beggarly
+acres--those that once a Sultan's woman wore. They are lost, though
+perhaps yonder Abbot has found them. Sir John Foterell bore them to
+London for safe keeping, and good Sir John is dead; footpads set on him
+in the forest, and an arrow shot from behind pierced his throat. Those
+who killed him have the jewels, and the dead bride must lie without
+them, adorned in the naked beauty that God gave to her. Lift her, John
+Athey, and you monks, set up your funeral chant; we'll to the church.
+The bride who knelt before the altar shall lie there before the
+altar--Clement Maldonado's last offering to God. First the father, then
+the husband, and now the wife--the sweet, new-made wife!"
+
+So she raved on, while they stood before her dumb-founded, and the man
+lifted up Cicely. Then suddenly this same Cicely, whom all thought dead,
+opened her eyes and struggled from his arms to her feet.
+
+"See," screamed Emlyn; "did I not tell you that Harflete's seed should
+live to be avenged upon all your tribe, and she stands there who will
+bear it? Now where shall we shelter till England hears this tale?
+Cranwell is down, though it shall rise again, and Shefton is stolen.
+Where shall we shelter?"
+
+"Thrust away that woman," said the Abbot in a hoarse voice, "for her
+witchcrafts poison the air. Set the Lady Cicely on a horse and bear her
+to our Nunnery of Blossholme, where she shall be tended."
+
+The men advanced to do his bidding, though very doubtfully. But Emlyn,
+hearing his words, ran to the Abbot and whispered something in his ear
+in a foreign tongue that caused him to cross himself and stagger back
+from her.
+
+"I have changed my mind," he said to the servants. "Mistress
+Emlyn reminds me that between her and her lady there is the tie of
+foster-motherhood. They may not be separated as yet. Take them both
+to the Nunnery, where they shall dwell, and as for this woman's words,
+forget them, for she was mad with fear and grief, and knew not what she
+said. May God and His saints forgive her, as I do."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+THE ABBOT'S OFFER
+
+The Nunnery at Blossholme was a peaceful place, a long, grey-gabled
+house set under the shelter of a hill and surrounded by a high wall.
+Within this wall lay also the great garden--neglected enough--and the
+chapel, a building that still was beautiful in its decay.
+
+Once, indeed, Blossholme Priory, which was older than the Abbey, had
+been rich and famous. Its foundress in the time of the first Edward,
+a certain Lady Matilda, one of the Plantagenets, who retired from the
+world after her husband had been killed in the Crusade, being childless,
+endowed it with all her lands. Other noble ladies who accompanied her
+there, or sought its refuge in after days, had done likewise, so that
+it grew in power and in wealth, till at its most prosperous time over
+twenty nuns told their beads within its walls. Then the proud Abbey rose
+upon the opposing hill, and obtained some royal charter that the Pope
+confirmed, under which the Priory of Blossholme was affiliated to the
+Abbey of Blossholme, and the Abbot of Blossholme became the spiritual
+lord of its religious. From that day forward its fortunes began to
+decline, since under this pretext and that the abbots filched away its
+lands to swell their own estates.
+
+So it came about that at the date of our history the total revenue of
+this Nunnery was but �130 a year of the money of the day, and even of
+this sum the Abbot took tithe and toll. Now in all the great house, that
+once had been so full, there dwelt but six nuns, one of whom was, in
+fact, a servant, while an aged monk from the Abbey celebrated Mass in
+the fair chapel where lay the bones of so many who had gone before. Also
+on certain feasts the Abbot himself attended, confessed the nuns, and
+granted them absolution and his holy blessing. On these days, too, he
+would examine their accounts, and if there were money in hand take a
+share of it to serve his necessities, for which reason the Prioress
+looked forward to his coming with little joy.
+
+It was to this ancient home of peace that the distraught Cicely and
+her servant Emlyn were conveyed upon the morrow of the great burning.
+Indeed, Cicely knew it well enough already, since as a child during
+three years or more she had gone there daily to be taught by the
+Prioress Matilda, for every head of the Priory took this name in turn to
+the honour of their foundress and in accordance with the provisions
+of her will. Happy years they were, as these old nuns loved her in her
+youth and innocence, and she, too, loved them every one. Now, by the
+workings of fate, she was borne back to the same quiet room where she
+had played and studied--a new-made wife, a new-made widow.
+
+But of all this poor Cicely knew nothing till three weeks or more had
+gone by, when at length her wandering brain cleared and she opened her
+eyes to the world again. At the moment she was alone, and lay looking
+about her. The place was familiar. She recognized the deep windows,
+the faded tapestries of Abraham cutting Isaac's throat with a butcher's
+knife, and Jonah being shot into the very gateway of a castle where his
+family awaited him, from the mouth of a gigantic carp with goggle eyes,
+for the simple artist had found his whale's model in a stewpond. Well
+she remembered those delightful pictures, and how often she had wondered
+whether Isaac could escape bleeding to death, or Jonah's wife, with the
+outspread arms, withstand the sudden shock of her husband's unexpected
+arrival out of the interior of the whale. There also was the splendid
+fireplace of wrought stone, and above it, cunningly carved in gilded
+oak, gleamed many coats-of-arms without crests, for they were those of
+sundry noble prioresses.
+
+Yes, this was certainly the great guest-chamber of the Blossholme
+Priory, which, since the nuns had now few guests and many places
+in which to put them, had been given up to her, Sir John Foterell's
+heiress, as her schoolroom. There she lay, thinking that she was a child
+again, a happy, careless child, or that she dreamed, till presently the
+door opened and Mother Matilda appeared, followed by Emlyn, who bore a
+tray, on which stood a silver bowl that smoked. There was no mistaking
+Mother Matilda in her black Benedictine robe and her white whimple,
+wearing the great silver crucifix which was her badge of office, and the
+golden ring with an emerald bezel whereon was cut St. Catherine being
+broken on the wheel--the ancient ring which every Prioress of Blossholme
+had worn from the beginning. Moreover, who that had ever seen it could
+forget her sweet, old, high-bred face, with the fine lips, the arched
+nose, and the quick, kind grey eyes!
+
+Cicely strove to rise and to do her reverence, as had been her custom
+during those childish years, only to find that she could not, for lo!
+she fell back heavily upon her pillow. Thereon Emlyn, setting down the
+tray with a clatter upon a table, ran to her, and putting her arms about
+her, began to scold, as was her fashion, but in a very gentle voice;
+and Mother Matilda, kneeling by her bed, gave thanks to Jesus and His
+blessed saints--though why she thanked Him at first Cicely did not
+understand.
+
+"Am I ill, reverend Mother?" she asked.
+
+"Not now, daughter, but you were very ill," answered the Prioress in her
+sweet, low voice. "Now we think that God has healed you."
+
+"How long have I been here?" she asked.
+
+The Mother began to reckon, counting her beads, one for every day--for
+in such places time slips by--but long before she had finished Emlyn
+replied quickly--
+
+"Cranwell Towers was burned three weeks yesternight."
+
+Then Cicely remembered, and with a bitter groan turned her face to the
+wall, while the Mother reproached Emlyn, saying she had killed her.
+
+"I think not," answered the nurse in a low voice. "I think she has that
+which will not let her die"--a saying that puzzled the Prioress at this
+time.
+
+Emlyn was right. Cicely did not die. On the contrary, she grew strong
+and well in her body, though it was long before her mind recovered.
+Indeed, she glided about the place like a ghost in her black mourning
+robe, for now she no longer doubted that Christopher was dead, and she,
+the wife of a week, widowed as well as orphaned.
+
+Then in her utter desolation came comfort; a light broke on the darkness
+of her soul like the moon above a tortured midnight sea. She was no
+longer quite alone; the murdered Christopher had left his image with
+her. If she lived a child would be born to him, and therefore she would
+surely live. One evening, on her knees, she whispered her secret to the
+Prioress Matilda, whereat the old nun blushed like a girl, yet, after a
+moment's silent prayer, laid a thin hand upon her head in blessing.
+
+"The Lord Abbot declares that your marriage was no true marriage, my
+daughter, though why I do not understand, since the man was he whom your
+heart chose, and you were wed to him by an ordained priest before God's
+altar and in presence of the congregation."
+
+"I care not what he says," answered Cicely in a stubborn voice. "If I am
+not a true wife, then no woman ever was."
+
+"Dear daughter," answered Mother Matilda, "it is not for us unlearned
+women to question the wisdom of a holy Abbot who doubtless is inspired
+from on high."
+
+"If he is inspired it is not from on high, Mother. Would God or His
+saints teach him to murder my father and my husband, to seize my
+heritage, or to hold my person in this gentle prison? Such inspirations
+do not come from above, Mother."
+
+"Hush! hush!" said the Prioress, glancing round her nervously; "your
+woes have crazed you. Besides, you have no proof. In this world there
+are so many things that we cannot understand. Being an abbot, how could
+he do wrong, although to us his acts seem wrong? But let us not talk
+of these matters, of which, indeed, I only know from that rough-tongued
+Emlyn of yours, who, I am told, was not afraid to curse him terribly.
+I was about to say that whatever may be the law of it, I hold your
+marriage good and true, and its issue, should such come to you, pure
+and holy, and night by night I will pray that it shall be crowned with
+Heaven's richest blessings."
+
+"I thank you, dear Mother," answered Cicely, as she rose and left her.
+
+When she had gone the Prioress rose also, and, with a troubled face,
+began to walk up and down the refectory, for it was here that they had
+spoken together. Truly she could not understand, for unless all these
+tales were false--and how could they be false?--this Abbot, whom her
+high-bred English nature had always mistrusted, this dark, able Spanish
+monk was no saint, but a wicked villain? There must be some explanation.
+It was only that _she_ did not understand.
+
+Soon the news spread throughout the Nunnery, and if the sisters had
+loved Cicely before, now they loved her twice as well. Of the doubts as
+to the validity to her marriage, like their Prioress, they took no heed,
+for had it not been celebrated in a church? But that a child was to
+be born among them--ah! that was a joyful thing, a thing that had not
+happened for quite two hundred years, when, alas!--so said tradition and
+their records--there had been a dreadful scandal which to this day
+was spoken of with bated breath. For be it known at once this Nunnery,
+whatever may or may not have been the case with some others, was one of
+which no evil could be said.
+
+Beneath their black robes, however, these old nuns were still as much
+women as the mothers who bore them, and this news of a child stirred
+them to the marrow. Among themselves in their hours of recreation they
+talked of little else, and even their prayers were largely occupied with
+this same matter. Indeed, poor, weak-witted, old Sister Bridget, who
+hitherto had been secretly looked down upon because she was the only one
+of the seven who was not of gentle birth, now became very popular. For
+Sister Bridget in her youth had been married and borne two children,
+both of whom had been carried off by the smallpox after she was widowed,
+whereon, as her face was seamed by this same disease, so that she had
+no hope of another husband, as her neighbours said, or because her heart
+was broken, as she said, she entered into religion.
+
+Now she constituted herself Cicely's chief attendant, and although that
+lady was quite well and strong, persecuted her with advice and with
+noxious mixtures which she brewed, till Emlyn, descending on her like
+a storm, hunted her from the room and cast her medicines through the
+window.
+
+That these sisters should be thus interested in so small a matter was
+not, indeed, wonderful, seeing that if their lives had been secluded
+before, since the Lady Cicely came amongst them they were ten times more
+so. Soon they discovered that she and her servant, Emlyn Stower, were,
+in fact, prisoners, which meant that they, her hostesses, were prisoners
+also. None were allowed to enter the Nunnery save the silent old monk
+who confessed them and celebrated the Mass, nor, by an order of the
+Abbot, were they suffered to go abroad upon any business whatsoever.
+
+For the rest, as their only means of communication with those who dwelt
+beyond was the surly gardener, who was deaf and set there to spy on
+them, little news ever reached them. They were almost dead to the world,
+which, had they known it, was busy enough just then with matters that
+concerned them and all other religious houses.
+
+At length one day, when Cicely and Emlyn were seated in the garden
+beneath a flowering hawthorn-tree--for now June had come and with it
+warm weather--of a sudden Sister Bridget hurried up saying that the
+Abbot of Blossholme desired their presence. At this tidings Cicely
+turned faint, and Emlyn rated Bridget, asking if her few wits had left
+her, or if she thought that name was so pleasant to her mistress that
+she should suddenly bawl it in her ear.
+
+Thereon the poor old soul, who was not too strong-brained and much
+afraid of Emlyn since she had thrown her medicines out of the window,
+began to weep, protesting that she had meant no harm, till Cicely,
+recovering, soothed her and sent her back to say that she would wait
+upon his lordship.
+
+"Are you afraid of him, Mistress?" asked Emlyn, as they prepared to
+follow.
+
+"A little, Nurse. He has shown himself a man to be afraid of, has he
+not? My father and my husband are in his net, and will he spare the last
+fish in the pool--a very narrow pool?" and she glanced at the high walls
+about her. "I fear lest he should take you from me, and wonder why he
+has not done so already."
+
+"Because my father was a Spaniard, and through him I know that which
+would ruin him with his friends, the Pope and the Emperor. Also, he
+believes that I have the evil eye, and dreads my curse. Still, one day
+he may try to murder me; who knows? Only then the secret of the jewels
+will go with me, for that is mine alone; not yours even, for if you had
+it they would squeeze it out of you. Meanwhile he will try to profess
+you a nun, but push him off with soft words. Say that you will think of
+it after your child is born. Till then he can do nothing, and, if Mother
+Matilda's fresh tidings are true, by that time perchance there will be
+no more nuns in England."
+
+Now very quietly and by the side door they were entering the old
+reception-hall, that was only used for the entertainment of visitors and
+on other great occasions, and close to them saw the Abbot seated in his
+chair, while the Prioress stood before him, rendering her accounts.
+
+"Whether you can spare it or no," they heard him say sharply, "I must
+have the half-year's rent. The times are evil; we servants of the Lord
+are threatened by that adulterous king and his proud ministers, who
+swear they will strip us to the shirt and turn us out to starve. I'm
+but just from London, and, although our enemy Anne Boleyn has lost her
+wanton head, I tell you the danger is great. Money must be had to stir
+up rebellion, for who can arm without it, and but little comes from
+Spain. I am in treaty to sell the Foterell lands for what they will
+fetch, but as yet can give no title. Either that stiff-necked girl must
+sign a release, or she must profess, for otherwise, while she lives,
+some lawyer or relative might upset the sale. Is she yet prepared to
+take her first vows? If not, I shall hold you much to blame."
+
+"Nay," answered the Prioress; "there are reasons. You have been away,
+and have not heard"--she hesitated and looked about her nervously,
+to see Cicely and Emlyn standing behind them. "What do you there,
+daughter?" she asked, with as much asperity as she ever showed.
+
+"In truth I know not, Mother," answered Cicely. "Sister Bridget told us
+that the Lord Abbot desired our presence."
+
+"I bid her say that you were to wait him in my chamber," said the
+Prioress in a vexed voice.
+
+"Well," broke in the Abbot, "it would seem that you have a fool for a
+messenger; if it is that pockmarked hag, her brain has been gone for
+years. Ward Cicely, I greet you, though after the sorrows that have
+fallen on you, whereof by your leave we will not speak, since there is
+no use in stirring up such memories, I grieve to see you in that worldly
+garb, who thought you would have changed it for a better. But ere you
+entered the holy Mother here spoke of some obstacle that stood between
+you and God. What is it? Perchance my counsel may be of service. Not
+this woman, as I trust," and he frowned at Emlyn, who at once answered,
+in her steady voice--
+
+"Nay, my Lord Abbot, I stand not between her and God and His holiness,
+but between her and man and his iniquity. Still I can tell you of that
+obstacle--which comes from God--if you so need."
+
+Now the old Prioress, blushing to her white hair, bent forward and
+whispered in the Abbot's ear words at which he sprang up as though a
+wasp had stung him.
+
+"Pest on it! it cannot be," he said. "Well, well, there it is, and must
+be swallowed with the rest. Pity, though," he added, with a sneer on his
+dark face, "since many a year has gone by since these walls have seen a
+bastard, and, as things are, that may pull them down about your ears."
+
+"I know such brats are dangerous," interrupted Emlyn, looking Maldon
+full in the eyes; "my father told me of a young monk in Spain--I forget
+his name--who brought certain ladies to the torture in some such matter.
+But who talks of bastards in the case of Dame Cicely Harflete, widow of
+Sir Christopher Harflete, slain by the Abbot of Blossholme?"
+
+"Silence, woman. Where there is no lawful marriage there can be no
+lawful child----"
+
+"To take that lawful inheritance that it lawfully inherits. Say, my Lord
+Abbot, did Sir Christopher make you his heir also?"
+
+Then, before he could answer, Cicely, who had been silent all this
+while, broke in--
+
+"Heap what insults you will on me, my Lord Abbot, and having robbed me
+of my father, my husband, and my heart, rob me of my goods also, if
+you can. In my case it matters little. But slander not my child, if one
+should be born to me, nor dare to touch its rights. Think not that you
+can break the mother as you broke the girl, for there you will find that
+you have a she-wolf by the ear."
+
+He looked at her, they all looked at her, for in her eyes was something
+that compelled theirs. Clement Maldon, who knew the world and how a
+she-wolf can fight for its cub, read in them a warning which caused him
+to change his tone.
+
+"Tut, tut, daughter," he said; "what is the good of vapouring of a child
+that is not and may never be? When it comes I will christen it, and we
+will talk."
+
+"When it comes you will not lay a finger on it. I'd rather that it went
+unbaptized to its grave than marked with your cross of blood."
+
+He waved his hand.
+
+"There is another matter, or rather two, of which I must speak to you,
+my daughter. When do you take your first vows?"
+
+"We will talk of it after my child is born. 'Tis a child of sin, you
+say, and I am unrepentant, a wicked woman not fit to take a holy vow, to
+which, moreover, you cannot force me," she replied, with bitter sarcasm.
+
+Again he waved his hand, for the she-wolf showed her teeth.
+
+"The second matter is," he went on, "that I need your signature to a
+writing. It is nothing but a form, and one I fear you cannot read,
+nor in faith can I," and with a somewhat doubtful smile he drew out a
+crabbed indenture and spread it before her on the table.
+
+"What?" she laughed, brushing aside the parchment. "Have you remembered
+that yesterday I came of age, and am, therefore, no more your ward, if
+such I ever was? You should have sold my inheritance more swiftly, for
+now the title you can give is rotten as last year's apples, and I'll
+sign nothing. Bear witness, Mother Matilda, and you, Emlyn Stower,
+that I have signed and will sign nothing. Clement Maldon, Abbot of
+Blossholme, I am a free woman of full age, even though, as you say, I am
+a wanton. Where is your right to chain up a wanton who is no religious?
+Unlock these gates and let me go."
+
+Now he felt the wolf's fangs, and they were sharp.
+
+"Whither would you go?" he asked.
+
+"Whither but to the King, to lay my cause before him, as my father would
+have done last Christmas-time."
+
+It was a bold speech, but foolish. The she-wolf had loosed her hold to
+growl--to growl at a hunter with a bloody sword.
+
+"I think your father never reached his Grace with his sack of
+falsehoods; nor might you, Cicely Foterell. The times are rough,
+rebellion is in the air, and many wild men hunt the woods and roads. No,
+no; for your own sake you bide here in safety till----"
+
+"Till you murder me. Oh! it is in your mind. Do you remember the angel
+who spoke with me in the fire and told me my husband was not dead?"
+
+"A lying spirit, then; no angel."
+
+"I am not so sure," and again she passed her hand across her eyes, as
+she had done in that dreadful dawn at Cranwell. "Well, I prayed to God
+to help me, and last night that angel came again and spoke in my sleep.
+He told me to fear you not at all, my Lord Abbot; however sore my case
+and however near my death might seem, since God had shaped a stone to
+drop upon your head. He showed it me; it was like an axe."
+
+Now the old Prioress held up her hands and gasped in horror, but the
+Abbot leapt from his seat in rage--or was it fear?
+
+"Wanton, you named yourself," he exclaimed; "but I name you witch also,
+who, if you had your deserts, should die the death of a witch by fire.
+Mother Matilda, I command you, on your oath, keep this witch fast and
+make report to me of all her sorceries. It is not fitting that such a
+one should walk abroad to bring evil on the innocent. Witch and wanton,
+begone to your chamber!"
+
+Cicely listened, then, without another word, broke into a little
+scornful laugh, and, turning, left the room, followed by the Prioress.
+
+But Emlyn did not go; she stayed behind, a smile on her dark, handsome
+face.
+
+"You've lost the throw, though all your dice were loaded," she said
+boldly.
+
+The Abbot turned on her and reviled her.
+
+"Woman," he said, "if she is a witch, you're the familiar, and certainly
+you shall burn even though she escape. It is you who taught her how to
+call up the devil."
+
+"Then you had best keep me living, my Lord Abbot, that I may teach her
+how to lay him. Nay, threaten not. Why, the rack might make me speak,
+and the birds of the air carry the matter!"
+
+His face paled; then suddenly he asked--
+
+"Where are those jewels? I need them. Give me the jewels and you shall
+go free, and perchance your accursed mistress with you."
+
+"I told you," she answered. "Sir John took them to London, and if they
+were not found upon his body, then either he threw them away or Jeffrey
+Stokes carried them to wherever he has gone. Drag the mere, search the
+forest, find Jeffrey and ask him."
+
+"You lie, woman. When you and your mistress fled from Shefton a servant
+there saw you with the box that held those jewels in your hand."
+
+"True, my Lord Abbot, but it no longer held them; only my mistress's
+love-letters, which she would not leave behind."
+
+"Then where is the box, and where are those letters?"
+
+"We grew short of fuel in the siege, and burned both. When a woman has
+her man she doesn't want his letters. Surely, Maldonado," she added,
+with meaning, "you should know that it is not always wise to keep old
+letters. What, I wonder, would you give for some that I have seen and
+that are _not_ burned?"
+
+"Accursed spawn of Satan," hissed the Abbot, "how dare you flaunt me
+thus? When Cicely was wed to Christopher she wore those very gems;
+I have it from those who saw her decked in them--the necklace on her
+bosom, the priceless rosebud pearls hanging from her ears."
+
+"Oho! oho!" said Emlyn; "so you own that she was wed, the pure soul whom
+but now you called a wanton. Look you, Sir Abbot, we will fence no
+more. She wore the jewels. Jeffrey took nothing hence save your
+death-warrant."
+
+"Then where are they?" he asked, striking his fist upon the table.
+
+"Where? Why, where you'll never follow them--gone up to heaven in the
+fire. Thinking we might be robbed, I hid them behind a secret panel in
+her chamber, purposing to return for them later. Go, rake out the ashes;
+you might find a cracked diamond or two, but not the pearls; they fly in
+fire. There, that's the truth at last, and much good may it do to you."
+
+The Abbot groaned. Like most Spaniards he was emotional, and could not
+help it; his bitterness burst from his heart.
+
+Emlyn laughed at him.
+
+"See how the wise and mighty of this world overshoot themselves," she
+said. "Clement Maldonado, I have known you for some twenty years, and
+when I was called the Beauty of Blossholme, and the Abbot who went
+before you made me the Church's ward, though I ever hated you, who
+hunted down my father, you had softer words for me than those you name
+me by to-day. Well, I have watched you rise and I shall watch you fall,
+and I know your heart and its desires. Money is what you lust for and
+must have, for otherwise how will you gain your end? It was the
+jewels that you needed, not the Shefton lands, which are worth little
+now-a-days, and will soon be worth less. Why, one of those pink pearls
+placed among the Jews would buy three parishes, with their halls thrown
+in. For the sake of those jewels you have brought death on some and
+misery on some, and on your own soul damnation without end, though had
+you but been wise and consulted me--why, they, or some of them, might
+have been yours. Sir John was no fool; he would have parted with a pearl
+or two, of which he did not know the value, to end a feud against
+the Church and safeguard his title and his daughter. And now, in your
+madness, you've burnt them--burnt a king's ransom, or what might have
+pulled down a king. Oh! had you but guessed it, you'd have hacked off
+the hand that put a torch to Cranwell Towers, for now the gold you need
+is lacking to you, and therefore all your grand schemes will fail, and
+you'll be buried in their ruin, as you thought we were in Cranwell."
+
+The Abbot, who had listened to this long and bitter speech in patience,
+groaned again.
+
+"You are a clever woman," he said; "we understand each other, coming
+from the same blood. You know the case; what is your counsel to me now?"
+
+"That which you will not take, being foredoomed for your sins. Still
+I'll give it honestly. Set the Lady Cicely free, restore her lands,
+confess your evil doings. Fly the kingdom before Cromwell turns on
+you and Henry finds you out, taking with you all the gold that you can
+gather, and bribe the Emperor Charles to give you a bishopric in Granada
+or elsewhere--not near Seville, for reasons that you know. So shall you
+live honoured, and one day, after you have been dead a long while and
+many things are forgotten, perchance be beatified as Saint Clement of
+Blossholme."
+
+The Abbot looked at her reflectively.
+
+"If I sought safety only and old age comforts your counsel might be
+good, but I play for higher stakes."
+
+"You set your head against them," broke in Emlyn.
+
+"Not so, woman, for in any case that head must win. If it stays upon my
+shoulders it will wear an archbishop's mitre, or a cardinal's hat, or
+perhaps something nobler yet; and if it parts from them, why, then a
+heavenly crown of glory."
+
+"Your head? _Your_ head?" exclaimed Emlyn, with a contemptuous laugh.
+
+"Why not?" he answered gravely. "You chance to know of some errors of
+my youth, but they are long ago repented of, and for such there is
+plentiful forgiveness," and he crossed himself. "Were it not so, who
+would escape?"
+
+Emlyn, who had been standing all this while, sat herself down, set her
+elbows on the table and rested her chin upon her clenched hands.
+
+"True," she said, looking him in the eyes; "none of us would escape.
+But, Clement Maldon, how about the unrepented errors of your age? Sir
+John Foterell, for instance; Sir Christopher Harflete, for instance;
+my Lady Cicely, for instance; to say nothing of black treason and a few
+other matters?"
+
+"Even were all these charges true, which I deny, they are no sins,
+seeing that they would have been done, every one of them, not for my own
+sake, but for that of the Church, to overset her enemies, to rebuild her
+tottering walls, to secure her eternally in this realm."
+
+"And to lift you, Clement Maldon, to the topmost pinnacle of her temple,
+whence Satan shows you all the kingdoms of the world, swearing that they
+shall be yours."
+
+Apparently the Abbot did not resent this bold speech; indeed, Emlyn's
+apt illustration seemed to please him. Only he corrected her gently,
+saying--
+
+"Not Satan, but Satan's Lord." Then he paused a while, looked round the
+chamber to see that the doors were shut and make sure that they were
+alone, and went on, "Emlyn Stower, you have great wits and courage--more
+than any woman that I know. Also you have knowledge both of the world
+and of what lies beyond it, being what superstitious fools call a witch,
+but I, a prophetess or a seer. These things come to you with your blood,
+I suppose, seeing that your mother was of a gypsy tribe and your
+father a high-bred Spanish gentleman, very learned and clever, though a
+pestilent heretic, for which cause he fled for his life from Spain."
+
+"To find his dark death in England. The Holy Inquisition is patent and
+has a long arm. If I remember right, also it was this business of the
+heresy of my father that first brought you to Blossholme, where, after
+his vanishing and the public burning of that book of his, you so greatly
+prospered."
+
+"You are always right, Emlyn, and therefore I need not tell you further
+that we had been old enemies in Spain, which is why I was chosen to hunt
+him down and how you come to know certain things."
+
+She nodded, and he went on--
+
+"So much for the heretic father--now for the gypsy mother. She died, by
+her own hand it is said, to escape the punishment of the law."
+
+"No need to beat about the bush, Abbot; let's have truth between old
+friends. You mean, to escape being burnt by you as a witch, because she
+had the letters which were not burned and threatened to use them--as I
+do."
+
+"Why rake up such tales, Emlyn?" he interposed blandly. "At least she
+died, but not until she had taught you all she knew. The rest of the
+history is short. You fell in love with old yeoman Bolle's son, or said
+you did--that same great, silly Thomas who is now a lay-brother at the
+Abbey----"
+
+"Or said I did," she repeated. "At least he fell in love with me, and
+perhaps I wished an honest man to protect me, who in those days was
+young and fair. Moreover, he was not silly then. That came upon him
+after he fell into _your_ hands. Oh! have done with it," she went on,
+in a voice of suppressed passion. "The witch's fair daughter was the
+Church's ward, and you ruled the Abbot of that time, and he forced me
+into marriage with old Peter Stower, as his third wife. I cursed him,
+and he died, as I warned him that he would, and I bore a child, and
+it died. Then with what was left to me I took refuge with Sir John
+Foterell, who ever was my friend, and became foster-mother to his
+daughter, the only creature, save one, that I have loved in this wide,
+wicked world. That's all the story; and now what more do you want of me,
+Clement Maldonado--evil-gifted one?"
+
+"Emlyn, I want what I always wanted and you always refused--your help,
+your partnership. I mean the partnership of that brain of yours--the
+help of the knowledge that you have--no more. At Cranwell Towers you
+called down evil on me. Take off that ban, for I'll speak truth, it
+weighs heavy on my mind. Let us bury the past; let us clasp hands and be
+friends. You have the true vision. Do you remember that when you thought
+Cicely dead, you said that her seed should rise up against me, and now
+it seems that it will be so."
+
+"What would you give me?" asked Emlyn curiously.
+
+"I will give you wealth; I will give you what you love more--power, and
+rank too, if you wish it. The whole Church shall listen to you. What you
+desire shall be done in this realm--yes, and across the world. I speak
+no lie; I pledge my soul on it, and the honour of those I serve, which
+I have authority to do. In return all I ask of you is your wisdom--that
+you should read the future for me, that you should show me which way to
+walk."
+
+"Nothing more?"
+
+"Yes, two things--that you should find me those burned jewels and with
+them the old letters that were not burned, and that this child of the
+Lady Cicely shall not chance to live to take what you promised to it.
+Her life I give you, for a nun more or less can matter little."
+
+"A noble offer, and in this case I am sure you will pay what _you_
+promise--should you live. But what if I refuse?"
+
+"Then," answered the Abbot, dropping his fist upon the table, "then
+death for both of you--the witch's death, for I dare not let you go to
+work my ruin. Remember, I am master here, you are my prisoners. Few know
+that you live in this place, except a handful of weak-brained women who
+will fear to speak--puppets that must dance when I pull the string--and
+I'll see that no soul shall come near these walls. Choose, then, between
+death and all its terrors or life and all its hopes."
+
+On the table there stood a wooden bowl filled with roses. Emlyn drew it
+to her, and taking the roses into her hands, threw them to the floor.
+Then she waited for the water to steady, saying--
+
+"The riddle is hard; perhaps, if in truth I have such power, I shall
+find its answer here." Presently, as he gazed at her, fascinated, she
+breathed upon the water and stared into it for a long while. At length
+she looked up, and said--
+
+"Death or Life; that was the choice you gave me. Well, Clement
+Maldonado, on behalf of myself and the Lady Cicely, and her husband Sir
+Christopher, and the child that shall be born, and of God who directs
+all these things, I choose--death."
+
+There was a solemn silence. Then the Abbot rose, and said--
+
+"Good! On your own head be it."
+
+Again there was a silence, and, as she made no answer, he turned and
+walked towards the door, leaving her still staring into the bowl.
+
+"Good!" she repeated, as he laid his hand upon the latch. "I have told
+you that I choose death, but I have not told you whose death it is I
+choose. Play your game, my Lord Abbot, and I'll play mine, remembering
+that God holds the stakes. Meanwhile I confirm the words I spoke in my
+rage at Cranwell. Expect evil, for I see now that it shall fall on you
+and all with which you have to do."
+
+Then with a sudden movement she upset the bowl upon the table and
+watched him go.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+EMLYN CALLS HER MAN
+
+One by one the weeks passed over the heads of Cicely and Emlyn in their
+prison, and brought them neither hope nor tidings. Indeed, although they
+could not see its cords, they felt that the evil net which held them was
+drawing ever tighter. There were fear and pity as well as love in the
+eyes of Mother Matilda when she looked at Cicely, which she did only if
+she thought that no one observed her. The nuns also were afraid, though
+it was clear that they knew not of what. One evening Emlyn, finding the
+Prioress alone, sprang questions on her, asking what was in the wind,
+and why her lady, a free woman of full age, was detained there against
+her will.
+
+The old nun's face grew secret. She answered that she did not know of
+anything unusual, and that, as regarded the detention, she must obey the
+commands of her spiritual superior.
+
+"Then," burst out Emlyn, "I tell you that you do so at your peril. I
+tell you that whether my lady lives or dies, there are those who will
+call you to a strict account, aye, and those who will listen to the
+prayer of the helpless. Mother Matilda, England is not the land it was
+when as a girl they buried you in these mouldy walls. Where does God say
+that you have the right to hold free women like felons in a jail? Tell
+me."
+
+"I cannot," moaned Mother Matilda, wringing her thin hands. "The right
+is very hard to find, this place is strictly guarded, and whatever I may
+think, I must do what I am bid, lest my soul should suffer."
+
+"Your soul! You cloistered women think always of your miserable souls,
+but of those of other folk, aye, and of their bodies too, nothing. Then
+you'll not help me?"
+
+"I cannot, I cannot, who am myself in bonds," she replied again.
+
+"So be it, Mother; then I'll help myself, and when I do, God help _you_
+all," and with a contemptuous shrug of her broad shoulders she walked
+away, leaving the poor old Prioress almost in tears.
+
+Emlyn's threats were bold as her own heart, but how could she execute
+even a tenth of them? The right was on their side, indeed, but, as
+many a captive has found in those and other days, right is no Joshua's
+trumpet to cause high walls to fall. Moreover, Cicely would not aid her.
+Now that her husband was dead she took interest in one thing only--his
+child who was to be.
+
+For the rest she seemed to care nothing. Since she had no friends with
+whom she could communicate, and her wealth, as she understood, had been
+taken from her, what better place, she asked, could there be for that
+child to see the light than in this quiet Nunnery? When it was born and
+she was well again she would consider other matters. Meanwhile she was
+languid, and why was Emlyn always prating to her of freedom? If she were
+free, what should she do and whither should she go? The nuns were very
+kind to her; they loved her as she did them.
+
+So she talked on, and Emlyn, listening, did not dare to tell her the
+truth: that here she feared for the life of her child, dreading lest
+that news might bring about the death of both of them. So she let her
+be, and fell back on her own wits.
+
+First she thought of escape, only to abandon the idea, for her mistress
+was in no state to face its perils. Moreover, whither should they go?
+Then rescue came into her mind, but, alas! who would rescue them? The
+great men in London, perhaps, as a matter of policy, but great men are
+hard to come at, even for the free. If she were free she might find
+means to make them listen, but she was not, nor could she leave her lady
+at such a time. What remained, then? So to contrive that they should be
+set free.
+
+Perhaps it might be done at a price--that of Cicely's jewels, of which
+she alone knew the hiding-place, and with them a deed of indemnity
+against her persecutors. Emlyn was not minded to give either. Moreover,
+she guessed that it might be in vain. Once outside those walls, they
+knew too much to be allowed to live. And yet within those walls Cicely's
+child would not be allowed to live--the child that was heir to all.
+What, then, could loose them and make them safe?
+
+Terror, perhaps--such terror as that through which the Israelites
+escaped from bondage. Oh! if she could but find a Moses to call down the
+plagues of Egypt upon this Pharaoh of an Abbot--those plagues with which
+she had threatened him--but although she believed that they would fall
+(why did she believe it? she wondered), she was as yet impotent to
+fulfil.
+
+Now Thomas Bolle! If only she could have words with that faithful Thomas
+Bolle, the fierce and cunning man whom they thought foolish!
+
+This idea of Thomas Bolle took possession of Emlyn's mind--Thomas Bolle,
+who had loved her all his life, who would die to serve her. She strove
+in vain to get in touch with him. The old gardener was so deaf that he
+could not, or would not, understand. The silly Bridget gave the letter
+that she wrote to him to the Prioress by mistake, who burnt it before
+her eyes and said nothing. The monks who brought provisions to the
+Nunnery were always received by three of the sisters, set to spy on each
+other and on them, so that she could not come near to them alone. The
+priest who celebrated Mass was an old enemy of hers; with him she could
+do nothing, and no one else was allowed to approach the place except
+once or twice the Abbot, who was closeted for hours with the Prioress,
+but spoke to her no more.
+
+Why, wondered Emlyn, should less than half-a-mile of space be such a
+barrier between her and Thomas Bolle? If he stood within twenty yards of
+her she could make him understand; why not, then, when he stood within
+five hundred? This idea possessed her; these limitations of nature made
+her mad. She refused to accept them. Night by night, lying brooding
+in her bed, while Cicely slept in peace at her side, she threw out her
+strong soul towards the soul of her old lover, Thomas Bolle, commanding
+him to listen, to obey, to come.
+
+At first nothing happened. Afterwards she had a vague sense of being
+answered; although she could not see or hear him, she felt his presence.
+Then one afternoon, looking from an upper dormer window, she saw a
+scuffle going on outside the gateway, and heard angry voices. Thomas
+Bolle was trying to force his way in at the door, whence he was repelled
+by the Abbot's men who always watched there.
+
+In the evening she gathered the truth from the nuns, who did not know
+that she was listening to what they said. It seemed that Thomas, whom
+they spoke of as a madman or as drunk, had tried to break into the
+Nunnery. When he was asked what he wanted, he answered that he did not
+know, but he must speak with Emlyn Stower. At this tidings she smiled to
+herself, for now she knew that he had heard her, and that in this way or
+in that he would obey her summons and come.
+
+Two days later Thomas came--thus.
+
+The September evening was fading into night, and Emlyn, leaving Cicely
+resting on her bed, which now she often did for a while before the
+supper-hour, had gone into the garden to enjoy the pleasant air. There
+she walked until she wearied of its sameness, then entered the old
+chapel by a side door and sat herself down to think in the chancel, not
+far from a life-sized statue of the Virgin, in painted oak, which stood
+here because of its peculiarities, for the back half of it seemed to be
+built into the masonry. Also the eye-sockets were empty, which suggested
+to the observant Emlyn either that they had once held jewels or that
+this was no likeness of the holy Mother, but rather one of the blind St.
+Lucy.
+
+While Emlyn mused there quite alone--for at this hour none entered the
+place, nor would until the next morning--she thought that she
+heard strange noises, as of some one stirring, which came from the
+neighbourhood of the statue. Now many would have been scared and
+departed; but not so Emlyn, who only sat still and listened. Presently,
+without moving her head, she looked also. As it happened, the light of
+the setting sun, pouring through the west window, fell almost full upon
+the figure, and by it she saw, or thought she saw, that the eye-sockets
+were no longer empty; there were eyes in them which moved and flashed.
+
+Now for a moment even Emlyn was frightened. Then she reasoned with
+herself, reflecting that a priest or one of the nuns was watching her
+from behind the statue, which they might do for as long as they pleased.
+Or perhaps this was a miracle, such as she had heard so much of but
+never seen. Well, why should she fear spies or miracles? She would
+sit where she was and see what happened. Nor had she long to wait, for
+presently a voice, a hoarse, manly voice, whispered--
+
+"Emlyn! Emlyn Stower!"
+
+"Yes," she answered, also in a whisper. "Who speaks?"
+
+"Who do you think?" asked the voice, with a chuckle. "A devil, perhaps."
+
+"Well, if it be a friendly devil I don't know that I mind, who need
+company in this lone place. So appear, man or devil," answered Emlyn
+stoutly. But in secret she crossed herself beneath her cape, for
+in those days folk believed in the appearance of devils for no good
+purposes.
+
+The statue began to creak, then opened like a door, though very
+unwillingly, as though its hinges had been fixed for a long, long time
+and rusted in the damp, which was indeed the case. Inside of it, like a
+corpse in an upright coffin, appeared a figure, a square, strong figure,
+clad in a tattered monk's robe, surmounted by a large head with fiery
+red hair and beetling brows, beneath which shone two wild grey eyes.
+Emlyn, whose heart had stood still--for, after all, Satan is awkward
+company for a mortal woman--waited till it gave a jump in her breast and
+went on again as usual. Then she said quietly--
+
+"What are you doing here, Thomas Bolle?"
+
+"That is what I want to know, Emlyn. Night and day for weeks you have
+been calling me, and so I came."
+
+"Yes, I have been calling you; but how did you come?"
+
+"By the old monk's road. They have forgotten it long ago, but my
+grandfather told me of it when I was a boy, and at last a fox showed me
+where it ran. It's a dark road, and when first I tried it I thought I
+should be poisoned, but now the air is none so bad. It ran to the Abbey
+once, and may still, but my door and Mrs. Fox's is in the copse by the
+park wall, where none would ever look for it. If you would like a cub to
+play with, I will bring you one. Or perhaps you want something more than
+cubs," he added, with his cunning laugh.
+
+"Aye, Thomas, I want much more. Man," she said fiercely, "will you do
+what I tell you?"
+
+"That depends, Mistress Emlyn. Have I not done what you told me all my
+life, and for no reward?"
+
+She moved across the chancel and sat herself down against him, pushing
+the image door almost to and speaking to him through the crack.
+
+"If you have had no reward, Thomas," she said in a gentle voice, "whose
+fault was it? Not mine, I think. I loved you once when we were young,
+did I not? I would have given myself to you, body and soul, would I not?
+Well, who came between us and spoiled our lives?"
+
+"The monks," groaned Thomas; "the accursed monks, who married you to
+Stower because he paid them."
+
+"Yes, the accursed monks. And now our youth has gone, and love--of that
+sort--is behind us. I have been another man's wife, Thomas, who might
+have been yours. Think of it--your loving wife, the mother of your
+children. And you--they have tamed you and made you their servant, their
+cattle-herd, the strong fellow to fetch and carry, the half-wit, as they
+call you, who can still be trusted to run an errand and hold his tongue,
+the Abbey mule that does not dare to kick, the grieve of your own stolen
+lands--you, whose father was almost a gentleman. That's what they have
+done for you, Thomas; and for me, the Church's ward--well, I will not
+speak of it. Now, if you had your will, what would you do for them?"
+
+"Do for them? Do for them?" gasped Thomas, worked up to fury by this
+recital of his wrongs. "Why, if I dared I'd cut their throats, every
+one, and grallock them like deer," and he ground his strong white teeth.
+"But I am afraid. They have my soul, and month by month I must confess.
+You remember, Emlyn, I warned you when you and the lady would have
+ridden to London before the siege. Well, afterward--I must confess
+it--the Abbot heard it himself, and oh! sore, sore was my penance.
+Before I had done with it my ribs showed through my skin and my back
+was like a red osier basket. There's only one thing I didn't tell them,
+because, after all, it is no sin to grub the earth off the face of a
+corpse."
+
+"Ah!" said Emlyn, looking at him. "You're not to be trusted. Well, I
+thought as much. Good-bye, Thomas Bolle, you coward. I'll find me a man
+for a friend, not a whimpering, priest-ridden hound who sets a Latin
+blessing which he does not understand above his honour. God in heaven!
+to think I should ever have loved such a thing. Oh! I am shamed, I am
+shamed. I'll go wash my hands. Shut your trap and get you gone down your
+rat-run, Thomas Bolle, and, living or dead, never dare to speak to
+me again. Also forget not to tell your monks how I called you to my
+side--for that's witchcraft, you know, and I shall burn for it, and your
+soul gain benefit. God in heaven! to think that once you were Thomas
+Bolle," and she made as though to go away.
+
+He stretched out his great arm and caught her by the robe, exclaiming--
+
+"What would you have me do, Emlyn? I can't bear your scorn. Take it off
+me or I go kill myself."
+
+"That's what you had best do. You'll find the devil a better master than
+a foreign abbot. Farewell for ever."
+
+"Nay, nay; what's your will? Soul or no soul, I'll work it."
+
+"Will you? Will you indeed? If so, stay a moment," and she ran down the
+chapel, bolting the doors; then returned to him, saying--
+
+"Now come forth, Thomas, and since you are once more a man, kiss me as
+you used to do twenty years ago and more. You'll not confess to that,
+will you? There. Now, kneel before the altar here and swear an oath.
+Nay, listen to it before you swear, for it is wide."
+
+Emlyn said the oath to him. It was a great and terrible oath. Under it
+he bound himself to be her slave and join himself with her in working
+woe to the monks of Blossholme, and especially to their Abbot, Clement
+Maldon, in payment of the wrongs that these had done to them both; in
+payment for the murder of Sir John Foterell and of Christopher Harflete,
+and of the imprisonment and robbery of Cicely Harflete, the daughter of
+the one and the wife of the other. He bound himself to do those things
+which she should tell him. He bound himself neither in the confessional
+nor, should it come to that, on the bed of torture or the scaffold to
+breathe a word of all their counsel. He prayed that if he did so his
+soul might pay the price in everlasting torment, and of all these things
+he took Heaven to be his witness.
+
+"Now," said Emlyn, when she had finished setting out this fearful vow,
+"will you be a man and swear and thereby avenge the dead and save the
+innocent from death; or will you who have my secret be a crawling monk
+and go back to Blossholme Abbey and betray me?"
+
+He thought a moment, rubbing his red head, for the thing frightened him,
+as well it might. The scales of the balance of his mind hung evenly, and
+Emlyn knew not which way they would turn. She saw, and put out all her
+woman's strength. Resting her hand upon his shoulder, she leaned forward
+and whispered into his ear.
+
+"Do you remember, Thomas, how first we told our young love that spring
+day down in the copse by the water, and how sweet the daffodils bloomed
+about our feet--the daffodils and the wood-lilies? Do you remember how
+we swore ourselves each to each for all our lives, aye, and all the
+lives that were to come, and how for us two the earth was turned to
+heaven? And then--do you remember how that monk walked by--it was this
+Clement Maldon--and froze us with his cruel eyes, and said, 'What do you
+with the witch's daughter? She is not for you.' And--oh! Thomas, I
+can no more of it," and she broke down and sobbed, then added, "Swear
+nothing; get you gone and betray me, if you will. I'll bear you no
+malice, even when I die for it, for after more than twenty years of
+monkcraft, how could I hope that you would still remain a man? Come,
+get you gone swiftly, ere they take us together, and your fair fame is
+besmirched. Quick, now, and leave me and my lady and her unborn child
+to the doom Maldon brews for us. Alas! for the copse by the river; alas!
+for the withered lilies!"
+
+Thomas heard; the big blue veins stood out upon his forehead, his great
+breast heaved, his utterance choked. At length the words came in a thick
+torrent.
+
+"I'll not go, dearie; I'll swear what you will, by your eyes and by your
+lips, by the flowers on which we trod, by all the empty years of aching
+woe and shame, by God upon His throne in heaven, and by the devil in
+his fires in hell. Come, come," and he ran to the altar and clasped the
+crucifix that stood there. "Say the words again, or any others that you
+will, and I'll repeat them and take the oath, and may fiery worms eat me
+living for ever and ever if I break a letter of it."
+
+With a little smile of triumph in her dark eyes Emlyn bent over the
+kneeling man and whispered--whispered through the gathering bloom, while
+he whispered after her, and kissed the Rood in token.
+
+It was done, and they drew away from the altar back to the painted
+saint.
+
+"So you are a man after all," she said, laughing aloud. "Now, man--my
+man--who, if we live through this, shall be my husband if you will--yes,
+my husband, for I'll pay, and be proud of it--listen to my commands. See
+you, I am Moses, and yonder in the Abbey sits Pharaoh with a hardened
+heart, and you are the angel--the destroying angel with the sword of the
+plagues of Egypt. To-night there will be fire in the Abbey--such fire as
+fell on Cranwell Towers. Nay, nay, I know; the church will not burn, nor
+all the great stone halls. But the dormitories, and the storehouses,
+and the hayricks, and the cattle-byres, they'll flame bravely after this
+time of drought, and if the wains are ashes, how will they draw in their
+harvest? Will you do it, my man?"
+
+"Surely. Have I not sworn?"
+
+"Then away to the work, and afterwards--to-morrow or next day--come back
+and make report. Just now I am much moved to solitary prayer, so
+wait till you see me here alone upon my knees. Stay! Wrap yourself in
+grave-clothes, for then if you are seen they will think you are a ghost,
+such as they say haunt this place. Fear not, by then I will have more
+work for you. Have you mastered it?"
+
+He nodded his head. "All. All, especially your promise. Oh! I'll not die
+now; I'll live to claim it."
+
+"Good. There's on account," and again she kissed him. "Go."
+
+He reeled in the intoxication of his joy; then said--
+
+"One word; my head swims; I forgot. Sir Christopher is not dead, or
+wasn't----"
+
+"What do you mean?" she almost hissed at him. "In Christ's name be
+quick; I hear voices without."
+
+"They buried another man for Christopher. I scraped him up and saw.
+Christopher was sent foreign, sore wounded, on the ship--pest! I have
+forgotten its name--the same ship that took Jeffrey Stokes."
+
+"Blessings on your head for that tidings," exclaimed Emlyn, in a
+strange, low voice. "Away; they are coming to the door!"
+
+The wooden figure creaked to and stared at her blandly, as it had stared
+for generations. For a moment Emlyn stood still, her hand upon her
+heart. Then she walked swiftly down the chapel, unlocked the door, and
+in the porch, just entering it, met the Prioress Matilda, another nun,
+and old Bridget, who was chattering.
+
+"Oh! it is you, Mistress Stower," said Mother Matilda, with evident
+relief. "Sister Bridget here swore that she heard a man talking in the
+chapel when she came to shut the outer window at sunset."
+
+"Did she?" answered Emlyn indifferently. "Then her luck's better than
+my own, who long for the sound of a man's voice in this home of babbling
+women. Nay, be not shocked, good Mother; I am no nun, and God did not
+create the world all female, or we should none of us be here. But, now
+you speak of it, I think there's something strange about that chapel.
+It is a place where some might fear to be alone, for twice when I knelt
+there at my prayers I have heard odd sounds, and once, when there was no
+sun, a cold shadow fell upon me. Some ghost of the dead, I suppose, of
+whom so many lie about. Well, ghosts I never feared; and now I must away
+to fetch my lady's supper, for she eats in her room to-night."
+
+When she had gone the Prioress shook her head and remarked in her gentle
+fashion--
+
+"A strange woman and a rough, but, my sisters, we must not judge her
+harshly, for she is of a different world to ours, and I fear has met
+with sorrows there, such as we are protected from by our holy office."
+
+"Yes," answered the sister, "but I think also that she has met with the
+ghost that haunts the chapel, of which there are many records, and that
+once I saw myself when I was a novice. The Prioress Matilda--I mean
+the fourth of that name, she who was mixed up with Edward the Lame, the
+monk, and died suddenly after the----"
+
+"Peace, sister; let us have no scandal about that departed--woman, who
+left the earth two hundred years ago. Also, if her unquiet spirit still
+haunts the place, as many say, I know not why it should speak with the
+voice of a man."
+
+"Perhaps it was the monk Edward's voice that Bridget heard," replied the
+sister, "for no doubt he still hangs about her skirts as he did in life,
+if all tales are true. Well, Mistress Emlyn says that she does not mind
+ghosts, and I can well believe it, for she is a witch's daughter, and
+has a strange look in her eyes. Did you ever see such bold eyes, Mother?
+However it may be, I hate ghosts, and rather would I pass a month on
+bread and water than be alone in that chapel at or after sundown. My
+back creeps to think of it, for they say that the unhallowed babe
+walks too, and gibbers round the font seeking baptism--ugh!" and she
+shuddered.
+
+"Peace, sister, peace to your goblin talk," said Mother Matilda again.
+"Let us think of holier things lest the foul fiend draw near to us."
+
+
+
+That night, about one in the morning, the foul fiend drew very near to
+Blossholme, and he came in the shape of fire. Suddenly the nuns were
+aroused from their beds by the sound of bells tolling wildly. Running to
+the window-places, they saw great sheets of flame leaping from the Abbey
+roofs. They threw open the casements and stared out terrified. Sister
+Bridget was sent even to wake the deaf gardener and his wife, who lived
+in the gateway, and command them to go forth and learn what passed, and
+the meaning of the shouts they heard, for they feared that Blossholme
+was attacked by some army.
+
+A long while went by, and Bridget returned with a confused tale, which,
+as it had been gathered by an imbecile from a deaf gardener, was not
+easy to understand. Meanwhile the shoutings went on and the fire at the
+Abbey burnt ever more fiercely, so that the nuns thought that their last
+hour had come, and knelt down to pray at the casement.
+
+Just then Cicely and Emlyn appeared among them, and stared at the great
+fire.
+
+Suddenly Cicely turned round, and, fixing her large blue eyes on Emlyn,
+said, in the hearing of them all--
+
+"The Abbey burns. Why, Nurse, they told me that you said it would be so,
+yonder amid the ashes of Cranwell Towers. Surely you are foresighted."
+
+"Fire calls for fire," answered Emlyn grimly, and the nuns around looked
+at her with doubtful eyes.
+
+It was a very fierce fire, which appeared to have begun in the
+dormitories, whence, even at that distance, they saw half-clad monks
+escaping through the windows, some by means of bed-coverings tied
+together and some by jumping, notwithstanding the height. Presently
+the roof of the building fell in, sending up showers of glowing embers,
+which lit upon the thatch of the farm byres and sheds, and upon the
+ricks built and building in the stackyard, so that all these caught
+also, and before dawn were utterly consumed.
+
+One by one the watchers in the Nunnery wearied of the lamentable sight,
+and muttering prayers, departed terrified to their beds. But Emlyn
+sat on at the open casement till the rim of the splendid September sun
+showed above the hills. There she sat, her head resting on her hand, her
+strong face set like that of a statue. Only her dark eyes, in which the
+flames were reflected, seemed to smile hardly.
+
+"Thomas is a great tool," she muttered to herself at length, "and the
+first cut has bitten to the bone. Well, there shall be worse to come.
+You will live to beg Emlyn's mercy yet, Clement Maldonado."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+THE BLOSSHOLME WITCHINGS
+
+On the afternoon of that day the Abbot came again to visit the Nunnery,
+and sent for Cicely and Emlyn. They found him alone in the guest-hall,
+walking up and down its length with a troubled face.
+
+"Cicely Foterell," he said, without any form of greeting, "when last
+we met you refused to sign the deed which I brought with me. Well, it
+matters nothing, for that purchaser has gone back upon his bargain."
+
+"Saying that he liked not the title?" suggested Cicely.
+
+"Aye; though who taught you of titles and the ins and outs of law? But
+what need to ask----?" and he glowered at Emlyn. "Well, let it pass, for
+now I have a paper with me that you _must_ sign. Read it if you will. It
+is harmless--only an instruction to the tenants of the lands your
+father held to pay their rents to me this Michaelmas, as warden of that
+property."
+
+"Do they refuse, then, seeing that you hold it all, my Lord Abbot?"
+
+"Aye, some one has been at work among them, and the stubborn churls will
+not without instruction under your hand and seal. The farms your father
+worked himself I have reaped, but last night every grain of corn and
+every fleece of wool were burned in the fire."
+
+"Then I pray you keep account of them, my Lord, that you may pay me
+their value when we come to settle our score, seeing that I never gave
+you leave to shear my sheep and harvest my corn."
+
+"You are pleased to be saucy, girl," he replied, biting his lip. "I have
+no time to bandy words--sign, and do you witness, Emlyn Stower."
+
+Cicely took the document, glanced at it, then slowly tore it into four
+pieces and threw it to the floor.
+
+"Rob me and my unborn child if you can and will, at least I'll be no
+thief's partner," she said quietly. "Now, if you want my name, go forge
+it, for I sign nothing."
+
+The Abbot's face grew very evil.
+
+"Do you remember, woman," he asked, "that here you are in my power? Do
+you not know that rebellious sinners such as you are can be shut in a
+dark dungeon and fed on the bread and water of affliction and beaten
+with the rods of penance? Will you do my bidding, or shall these things
+fall on you?"
+
+Cicely's beautiful face flushed up, and for a moment her blue eyes
+filled with the tears of shame and terror. Then they cleared again, and
+she looked at him boldly and answered--
+
+"I know that a murderer can be a torturer also. Why should not he who
+butchered the father scourge the daughter too? But I know also that
+there is a God who protects the innocent, though sometimes He is slow
+to lift His hand, and to Him I appeal, my Lord Abbot. I know, moreover,
+that I am Foterell and Carfax, and that no man or woman of my blood has
+ever yet yielded to fear or pain. I sign nothing," and, turning, she
+left the room.
+
+Now the Abbot and Emlyn were alone. Suddenly, before she could speak,
+for her tongue was tied with rage, he began to rate and curse her and
+to threaten horrible things against her and her mistress, such things as
+only a cruel Spaniard could imagine. At length he paused for breath, and
+she broke in--
+
+"Peace, wicked man, lest the roof fall on you, for I am sure that every
+cruel word you speak shall become a snake to strike you. Will you not
+take warning by what befell you last night, or must there be more such
+lessons?"
+
+"Oho!" he answered; "so you know of that, do you? As I thought, your
+witchcraft was at work there."
+
+"How can I help knowing what the whole sky blazoned? The fat monks of
+Blossholme must draw their girdles tight this winter. Those stolen lands
+bring no luck, it seems, and John Foterell's blood has turned to fire.
+Be warned, I say, be warned. Nay, I'll hear no more of your foul tongue.
+Lay a finger on that poor lady if you dare, and pay the price," and she
+too turned and went.
+
+Ere he left the Nunnery the Abbot had an interview with Mother Matilda.
+
+Cicely must be disciplined, he said; gently at first, afterwards with
+roughness, even to scourging, if need were--for her soul's sake. Also
+her servant Emlyn must be kept away from her--for her soul's sake, since
+without doubt she was a dangerous witch. Also, when the time of the
+birth of the child came on, he would send a wise woman to wait upon her,
+one who was accustomed to such cases--for her body's sake and that of
+her child. In the midst of the great trouble that had fallen upon them
+through the terrible fire at the Abbey, which had cost them such fearful
+loss, to say nothing of the lives of two of the servants and others
+burned and maimed, he had not much time to talk of such small things;
+but did she understand?
+
+Then it was that Mother Matilda, the meek and gentle, brought pain and
+astonishment to the heart of the Lord Abbot, her spiritual superior.
+
+She did not understand in the least. Such discipline as he suggested,
+whatever might be her faults and frailty, was, she declared with vigour,
+entirely unsuited to the case of the Lady Cicely, who, in her opinion,
+had suffered much for a small cause, and who, moreover, was about to
+become a mother, and therefore should be treated with every gentleness.
+For her part, she washed her hands of the whole business, and rather
+than enforce such commands would lay the case before the Vicar-General
+in London, who, she understood, was ready to look into such matters.
+Or at least she would set the Lady Harflete and her servant outside the
+gates and call upon the charitable to assist them. Of course, however,
+if his Lordship chose to send a skilled woman to wait upon her in her
+trouble, she could have no objection, provided that this woman were a
+person of good repute. But in the circumstances it was idle to talk to
+her of bread and water and dark cells and scourgings. Such things
+should never happen while she was Prioress. Before they did, she and
+her sisters would walk out of the Nunnery and leave the King's Courts to
+judge of the matter.
+
+Now the state of the Abbot was very like to that of a terrier dog which,
+being accustomed to worry and torment a certain ewe-sheep, comes upon
+the same after it has lambed and finds a new creature--one that, instead
+of running in affright, turns upon it and, with head and hood and all
+its weight of mutton, butts, and leaps, and tramples. Then what chance
+has that dog against the terrible and unsuspected fury of the sheep,
+born, as it thought, for it to tear? Then what can it do but run,
+panting and discomfited, to its kennel? So it was with the Abbot at the
+onslaught of Mother Matilda in the defence of her lamb--Cicely. With
+Emlyn he had been prepared to exchange bite for bite--but Mother
+Matilda! his own pet quarry. It was too much. He could only go away,
+cursing all women and their infinite variety, on which no man might
+build. Who would have thought it of Mother Matilda, of all people on the
+earth!
+
+So it came to pass that at the Nunnery, notwithstanding these terrible
+threats, things went on much as they had done before, since the times
+were such that even an all-powerful and remote Lord Abbot, with "right
+of gallows," could not drive matters to an extremity. Cicely was not
+shut into the dungeon and fed on bread and water, much less was she
+scourged. Nor was she separated from her nurse Emlyn, although it is
+true that the Prioress reproved her for her resistance to established
+authority, and when she had finished her lecture, kissed and blessed
+her, and called her "her sweet child, her dove and joy."
+
+But if there was sameness at the Nunnery, at the Abbey there was
+constant change and excitement. Only three days after the fire the great
+flock of eight hundred lambs rushed one night over the Red Cliff on the
+fell, where, as all shepherds in that country know, there is a sheer
+drop of forty feet. Never was lamb's flesh so cheap in Blossholme and
+the country round as on the morrow of that night, while every hind
+within ten miles could have a winter coat for the skinning. Moreover,
+it was said and sworn to by the shepherds that the devil himself, with
+horns and hoofs, and mounted on a jackass, had been seen driving the
+same lambs.
+
+Next the ghost of Sir John Foterell appeared, clad in armour, sometimes
+mounted and sometimes afoot, but always at night-time. First this
+dreadful spirit was perceived walking in the gardens of Shefton Hall,
+where it met the Abbot's caretaker--for the place was now shut up--as he
+went to set a springe for hares. He was a man advanced in years, yet few
+horses ever covered the distance between Shefton and Blossholme Abbey
+more quickly than he did that night.
+
+Nor would he or any other return to his charge, so that henceforth
+Shefton was left as a dwelling for the ghost, which, as all might see
+from time to time, shone in the window-places like a candle. Moreover,
+the said ghost travelled far and wide, for on dark, windy nights it
+knocked upon the doors of those that in its lifetime had been its
+tenants, and in a hollow voice declared that it had been murdered by
+the Abbot of Blossholme and his underlings, who held its daughter in
+durance, and, under threats of unearthly vengeance, commanded all men to
+bring him to justice, and to pay him neither fees nor homage.
+
+So much terror did this ghost cause that Thomas Bolle, the swift of
+foot, was set to watch for it, and returned announcing that he had seen
+it and that it called him by his name, whereon he, being a bold fellow
+and believing that it was but a man, sent an arrow straight through it,
+at which it laughed and forthwith vanished away. More; in proof of these
+things he led the Abbot and his monks to the very place, and showed them
+where he had stood and where the ghost stood--yes, and the arrow, of
+which all the feathers had been mysteriously burnt off and the wood
+seared as though by fire, sunk deep into a tree beyond. Then, as
+this thing had become a scandal and a dread, the Abbot, in his robes,
+solemnly laid the ghost, Thomas Bolle showing him exactly where it had
+passed.
+
+This spirit being well and truly laid (like a foundation-stone), the
+Abbot and his monks returned homeward through the wood, but as they went
+a dreadful voice, which all recognized as that of Sir John Foterell,
+called these words from the shadows of an impenetrable thicket--for now
+the night was falling--
+
+"Clement Maldonado, Abbot of Blossholme, I, whom thou didst murder,
+summon thee to meet me within a year before the throne of God."
+
+Thereon all fled; yes, even the Abbot fled, or rather, as he said, his
+horse did, Thomas Bolle, who had lagged behind, outrunning them every
+one and getting home the first, saying _Aves_ as he went.
+
+After this, although the whole countryside hunted for it, Sir John's
+ghost was seen no more. Doubtless its work was done; but the Abbot
+explained matters differently. Other and worse things were seen,
+however.
+
+One moonlight night a disturbance was heard among the cows, that
+bellowed and rushed about the field into which they had been turned
+after milking. Thinking that dogs had got amongst them, the herd and
+a watchman--for now no man would stir alone after sunset at
+Blossholme--went to see what was happening, and presently fell down half
+dead with fright. For there, leaning over the gate and laughing at them,
+was the foul fiend himself--the fiend with horns and tail, and in his
+hand an instrument like a pitchfork.
+
+How the pair got home again, they never knew, but this is certain, that
+after that night no one could milk those cows; moreover, some of them
+slipped their calves, and became so wild that they must be slaughtered.
+
+Next came rumours that even the Nunnery itself was haunted, especially
+the chapel. Here voices were heard talking, and Emlyn Stower, who was
+praying there, came out vowing that she had seen a ball of fire which
+rolled up and down the aisle, and in the centre of it a man's head, that
+seemed to try to talk to her, but could not.
+
+Into this matter inquiry was held by the Abbot himself, who asked Emlyn
+if she knew the face that was in the ball of fire. She answered that she
+thought so. It seemed very like to one of his own guards, named Andrew
+Woods, or more commonly Drunken Andrew, a Scotchman whom Sir Christopher
+Harflete was said to have killed on the night of the great burning. At
+least his Lordship would remember that this Andrew had a broken nose,
+and so had the head in the fire, but, as it appeared to have changed a
+great deal since death, she could not be quite certain. All she was sure
+of was that it seemed to be trying to give her some message.
+
+Now, recalling the trick that had been played with the said Andrew's
+body, the Abbot was silent. Only he asked shrewdly, if Emlyn had seen so
+terrible a thing there, how it came about that she was not afraid to
+be alone in the chapel, which he was informed she frequented much. She
+answered, with a laugh, that it was men she dreaded, not spirits, good
+or ill.
+
+"No," he exclaimed, with a burst of rage, "you do not dread them, woman,
+because you are a witch, and summon them; nor shall we be free from
+these wizardries until the fire has you and your company."
+
+"If so," replied Emlyn coolly, "I will ask dead Andrew for his message
+to you next time we meet, unless he chooses to deliver it to you
+himself."
+
+So they parted, but that very night there happened the worst thing of
+all. It was about one in the morning when the Abbot, whose window was
+set open, was wakened by a voice that spoke with a Scotch accent and
+repeatedly called him by his name, summoning him to look out and see.
+He and others rose and looked, but could see nothing, for the night was
+very dark and rain fell. When the dawn came, however, their search
+was rewarded, for there, set upon a pinnacle of the Abbey church, and
+staring straight into the window of his Lordship's sleeping-room, from
+which it was but a few yards distant, was the dreadful head of Andrew
+Woods!
+
+Furiously the Abbot asked who had done this horrible thing, but the
+monks, who were sure that it was the same being that had bewitched the
+cows, only shrugged their shoulders, and suggested that the grave of
+Andrew should be opened to see if he had lost his head. This was done at
+length, although, for his own reasons, the Abbot forbade it, talking of
+the violation of the dead.
+
+Well, the grave was opened when Maldon was away on one of his mysterious
+journeys, and lo! no Andrew was there, but only a beam of oakwood
+stuffed out with straw to the shape of a man and sewn up in a blanket.
+For the real Andrew, or rather what was left of him, lay, it may be
+remembered, in another grave that was supposed to be filled by Sir
+Christopher Harflete.
+
+From this day forward the whole countryside for fifty miles round rang
+with the tales of what were known as the Blossholme witchings, of which
+a proof was still to be seen by all men in the withered head of Andrew
+perched upon its pinnacle, whence none could be found to remove it
+for love or money. Only it was noted that the Abbot changed his
+sleeping-chamber, after which, except for a sickness which struck the
+monks--it was thought from the drinking of sour beer--these bedevilments
+were abated.
+
+Indeed, at that time men had other things to think of, since the air was
+thick with rumours of impending change. The King threatened the Church,
+and the Church prepared to resist the King. There was talk of the
+suppression of the monasteries--some, in fact, had already been
+suppressed--and more talk of a rising of the faithful in the shires of
+York and Lincoln; high matters which called Abbot Maldon much away from
+home.
+
+One day he returned weary, but satisfied, from a long journey, and
+amongst the news that awaited him found a message from the Prioress,
+over which he pondered while he ate his food. Also there was a letter
+from Spain, which he studied eagerly.
+
+Some nine months had passed since the ship _Great Yarmouth_ sailed, and
+during this time all that had been heard of her was that she had never
+reached Seville, so that, like every one else, the Abbot believed she
+had foundered in the deep seas. This was a sad event which he had
+borne with resignation, seeing that, although it meant the loss of his
+letters, which were of importance, she had aboard of her several persons
+whom he wished to see no more, especially Sir Christopher Harflete and
+Sir John Foterell's serving-man, Jeffrey Stokes, who was said to
+carry with him certain inconvenient documents. Even his secretary
+and chaplain, Brother Martin, could be spared, being, Maldon felt, a
+character better suited to heaven than to an earth where the best of men
+must be prepared sometimes to compromise with conscience.
+
+In short, the vanishing of the _Great Yarmouth_ was the wise decree of
+a far-seeing Providence, that had removed certain stumbling-blocks
+from his feet, which of late had been forced to travel over a rough and
+thorny road. For the dead tell no tales, although it was true that the
+ghost of Sir John Foterell and the grinning head of Drunken Andrew
+on his pinnacle seemed to be instances to the contrary. Christopher
+Harflete and Jeffrey Stokes at the bottom of the Bay of Biscay could
+bring no awkward charges, and left him none to deal with save an
+imprisoned and forgotten girl and an unborn child.
+
+Now things were changed again, however, for the Spanish letter in his
+hand told him that the _Great Yarmouth_ had not sunk, since two members
+of her crew who escaped--how, it was not said--declared that she had
+been captured by Turkish or other infidel pirates and taken away through
+the Straits of Gibraltar to some place unknown. Therefore, if he had
+survived the voyage, Christopher Harflete might still be living, and so
+might Jeffrey Stokes and Brother Martin. Yet this was not likely,
+for probably they would have perished in the fight, being hot-headed
+Englishmen, all three of them, or at the best have been committed to the
+Turkish galleys, whence not one man in a thousand ever returned.
+
+On the whole, then, he had little cause to fear them, who were dead,
+or as good as dead, especially in the midst of so many more pressing
+dangers. All he had to fear, all that stood between him, or rather the
+Church, and a very rich inheritance was the girl in the Nunnery and an
+unborn child, and--yes, Emlyn Stower. Well, he was sure that the child
+would not live, and probably the mother would not live. As for Emlyn, as
+she deserved, she would be burned for a witch, ere long too, now that
+he had time to see to it, and, if she survived her sickness, although he
+grieved for her, Cicely, her accomplice, should justly accompany her to
+the stake. Meanwhile, as Mother Matilda's message told him, this matter
+of the child was urgent.
+
+The Abbot called a monk who was waiting on him and bade him send word
+to a woman known as Goody Megges, bidding her come at once. Within ten
+minutes she entered, having, as she explained, been warned to be close
+at hand.
+
+This Goody Megges, who had some local repute as a "wise woman," was a
+person of about fifty years of age, remarkable for her enormous size, a
+flat face with small oblong eyes and a little, twisted mouth, which had
+caused her to be nicknamed "the Flounder." She greeted the Abbot with
+much reverence, curtseying till he thought she would fall backwards, and
+having received his fatherly blessing, sank into a chair, that seemed to
+vanish beneath her bulk.
+
+"You will wonder why I summon you here, friend, since this is no place
+for the services of those of your trade," began the Abbot, with a smile.
+
+"Oh, no, my Lord," answered the woman; "I've heard it is to wait upon
+Sir Christopher Harflete's wife in her trouble."
+
+"I wish that I could call her by the honoured name of wife," said the
+Abbot, with a sigh. "But a mock-marriage does not make a wife, Mistress
+Megges, and, alas! the poor babe, if ever it should be born, will be but
+a bastard, marked from its birth with the brand of shame."
+
+Now, the Flounder, who was no fool, began to take her cue.
+
+"It is sad, very sad, your Holiness--no, that's wrong; but never mind,
+it will be right before all's done, and a good omen, I say, coming so
+sudden and chancy--your Lordship, I mean--not but what there's lots
+of the sort about here, as is generally the case round a--I mean
+everywhere. Moreover, they generally grow up bad and ungrateful, as I
+know well from my own three--not but what, of course, I was married
+fast enough. Well, what I was going to say was, that when things is so,
+sometimes it is a true blessing if the little innocents should go off at
+the first, and so be spared the finger of shame and the sniff of scorn,"
+and she paused.
+
+"Yes, Mistress Megges, or at least in such a case it is not for us to
+rail at the decree of Heaven--provided, of course, that the infant has
+lived long enough to be baptized," he added hastily.
+
+"No, your Eminence, no. That's just what I said to that Smith girl last
+spring, when, being a heavy sleeper, I happened to overlie her brat and
+woke up to find it flat and blue. When she saw it she took on, bellowing
+like a heifer that has lost its first calf, and I said to her, 'Mary,
+this isn't me; it's Heaven. Mary, you should be very thankful, since my
+burden has rid you of your burden, and you can bury such a tiny one for
+next to nothing. Mary, cry a little if you like, for that's natural with
+the first, but don't come here flying in the face of Heaven with your
+railings, and gates, and posts--especially the rails, for Heaven hates
+'em.'"
+
+"Ah!" asked the Abbot, with mild interest, "and pray what did Mary do
+then?"
+
+"Do, the graceless wench? Why, she said, 'Is it rails you're talking of,
+you pig-smothering old sow? Then here's a rail for you,' and she pulled
+the top bar off my own fence--for we were talking by the door--oak it
+was, and three by two--and knocked me flat--here's the scar of it on my
+head--singing out, 'Is that enough, or will you have the gate and the
+posts too?' Oh! If there's one thing I hate, it is railing, 'specially
+if made of hard oak and held edgeways."
+
+So the wicked old hag babbled on, after her hideous fashion, while the
+Abbot stared at the ceiling.
+
+"Enough of these sad stories of vice and violence. Such mischances will
+happen, and of course you were not to blame. Now, good Mistress Megges,
+will you undertake this case, which cannot be left to ignorant nuns?
+Though times are hard here, since of late many losses have fallen on our
+house, your skill shall be well paid."
+
+The woman shuffled her big feet and stared at the floor, then looked up
+suddenly with a glance that seemed to bore to his heart like a bradawl,
+and asked--
+
+"And if perchance the blessed babe should fly to heaven through my
+fingers, as in my time I have known dozens of them do, should I still
+get that pay?"
+
+"Then," the Abbot answered, with a smile--a somewhat sickly smile--"then
+I think, mistress, you should have double pay, to console you for your
+sorrow and for any doubts that might be thrown upon your skill."
+
+"Now that's noble trading," she replied, with an evil leer, "such as
+one might hope for from an Abbot. But, my Lord, they say the Nunnery is
+haunted, and I can't face ghosts. Man or woman, with rails or without
+'em, Mother Flounder doesn't mind, but ghosts--no! Also Mistress Stower
+is a witch, and might lay a curse on me; and those nuns are full of
+crinks and cranks, and can pray an honest soul to death."
+
+"Come, come, my time is short. What is it you want, woman? Out with it."
+
+"The inn there at the ford--your Lordship, will need a tenant next
+month. It's a good paying house for those who know how to keep their
+mouths shut and to look the other way, and through vile scandal and evil
+slanderers, such as the Smith girl, my business isn't what it was. Now
+if I could have it without rent for the first two years, till I had time
+to work up the trade----"
+
+The Abbot, who could bear no more of the creature, rose from his chair
+and said sharply--
+
+"I will remember. Yes, I will promise. Go now; the reverent Mother
+is advised of your coming. And report to me night and morning of the
+progress of the case. Why, woman, what are you doing?" for she had
+suddenly slid to her knees and grasped his robes with her thick, filthy
+hands.
+
+"Absolution, holy Lordship; I ask absolution and blessing--_pax
+Meggiscum_, and the rest of it."
+
+"Absolution? There is nothing to absolve."
+
+"Oh! yes, my Lord, there is plenty, though I am wondering who will
+absolve _you_ for your half. Also there are rows of little angels that
+sometimes won't let me sleep, and that's why I can't stomach ghosts. I'd
+rather sup in winter on cold small ale and half-cooked pork than face
+even a still-born ghost."
+
+"Begone!" said the Abbot, in such a voice that she scrambled to her feet
+and went, unblessed and unabsolved.
+
+When the door had closed behind her he went to the window and flung it
+wide, although the night was foul.
+
+"By all the saints!" he muttered, "that beastly murderess poisons the
+air. Why, I wonder, does God allow such filthy things to live? Cannot
+she ply her hell-trade less grossly? Oh! Clement Maldonado, how low are
+you sunk that you must use tools like these, and on such a business. And
+yet there is no other way. Not for myself, but for the Church, O Lord!
+The great plot thickens, and all men clamour to me, its head and spring,
+for money. Give me money, and within six months Yorkshire and the North
+will be up, and without a year Henry the Anti-Christ will be dead and
+the Princess Mary fast upon the throne, with the Emperor and the Pope
+for watchdogs. That stiff-necked Cicely must die and her babe must die,
+and then I'll twist the secret of the jewels out of the witch, Emlyn--on
+the rack, if need be. Those jewels--I've seen them so often; why, they
+would feed an army; but while Cicely or her brat lives where is my claim
+to them? So, alas! they must die, but oh! the hag is right. Who shall
+give me absolution for a deed I hate? Not for me, not for me, O my
+Patron, but for the Church!" and flinging himself to the floor before
+the holy image of his chosen Saint, he rested his head upon its feet and
+wept.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+MOTHER MEGGES AND THE GHOST
+
+Flounder Megges, with all the paraphernalia of her trade, was
+established as nurse to Cicely at the Nunnery. This establishment, it is
+true, had not been easy since Emlyn, who knew something of the woman's
+repute, and suspected more, resisted it with all her strength, but here
+the Prioress intervened in her gentle way. She herself, she explained,
+did not like this person, who looked so odd, drank so much beer and
+talked so fast. Yet she had made inquiries and found that she was
+extraordinarily skilled in matters of that nature. Indeed, it was said
+that she had succeeded in cases that were wonderfully difficult which
+the leech had abandoned as hopeless, though of course there had been
+other cases where she had not succeeded. But these, she was informed,
+were generally those of poor people who did not pay her well. Now in
+this instance her pay would be ample, for she, Mother Matilda, had
+promised her a splendid fee out of her private store, and for the rest,
+since no man doctor might enter there, who else was competent? Not she
+or the other nuns, for none of them had been married save old Bridget,
+who was silly and had long ago forgotten all such things. Not Emlyn
+even, who was but a girl when her own child was born, and since then had
+been otherwise employed. Therefore there was no choice.
+
+To this reasoning Emlyn agreed perforce, though she mistrusted her of
+the fat wretch, whose appearance poor Cicely also disliked. Still, for
+very fear Emlyn was humble and civil to her, for if she were not,
+who could know if she would put out all her skill upon behalf of her
+mistress? Therefore she did her bidding like a slave, and spiced her
+beer and made her bed and even listened to her foul jests and talk
+unmurmuringly.
+
+
+
+The business was over at length, and the child, a noble boy, born into
+the world. Had not the Flounder produced it in triumph laid upon a
+little basket covered with a lamb-skin, and had not Emlyn and Mother
+Matilda and all the nuns kissed and blessed it? Had it not also, for
+fear of accident (such was the fatherly forethought of the Abbot), been
+baptized at once by a priest who was waiting, under the names of John
+Christopher Foterell, John after its grandfather and Christopher after
+its father, with Foterell for a surname, since the Abbot would not allow
+that it should be called Harflete, being, as he averred, base-born?
+
+So this child was born, and Mother Megges swore that of all the two
+hundred and three that she had issued into the world it was the finest,
+nine and a half pounds in weight at the very least. Also, as its voice
+and movements testified, it was lusty and like to live, for did not the
+Flounder, in sight of all the wondering nuns, hold it up hanging by its
+hands to her two fat forefingers, and afterwards drink a whole quart of
+spiced ale to its health and long life?
+
+But if the babe was like to live, Cicely was like to die. Indeed, she
+was very, very ill, and perhaps would have passed away had it not been
+for a device of Emlyn's. For when she was at her worst and the Flounder,
+shaking her head and saying that she could do no more, had departed to
+her eternal ale and a nap, Emlyn crept up and took her mistress's cold
+hand.
+
+"Darling," she said, "hear me," but Cicely did not stir. "Darling," she
+repeated, "hear me, I have news for you of your husband."
+
+Cicely's white face turned a little on the pillow and her blue eyes
+opened.
+
+"Of my husband?" she whispered. "Why, he is gone, as I soon shall be.
+What news of him?"
+
+"That he is not gone, that he lives, or so I believe, though heretofore
+I have hid it from you."
+
+The head was lifted for a moment, and the eyes stared at her with
+wondering joy.
+
+"Do you trick me, Nurse? Nay, you would never do that. Give me the milk,
+I want it now. I'll listen. I promise you I'll not die till you have
+told me. If Christopher lives why should I die who only hoped to find
+him?"
+
+So Emlyn whispered all she knew. It was not much, only that Christopher
+had not been buried in the grave where he was said to be buried, and
+that he had been taken wounded aboard the ship _Great Yarmouth_, of the
+fate of which ship fortunately she had heard nothing. Still, slight as
+they might be, to Cicely these tidings were a magic medicine, for did
+they not mean the rebirth of hope, hope that for nine long months had
+been dead and buried with Christopher? From that moment she began to
+mend.
+
+When the Flounder, having slept off her drink, returned to the sick-bed,
+she stared at her amazed and muttered something about witchcraft, she
+who had been sure that she would die, as in those days so many women did
+who fell into hands like hers. Indeed, she was bitterly disappointed,
+knowing that this death was desired by her employer, who now after all
+might let the Ford Inn to another. Moreover, the child was no waster,
+but one who was set for life. Well, that at least she could mend, and if
+it were done quickly the shock might kill the mother. Yet the thing
+was not so easy as it looked, for there were many loving eyes upon that
+babe.
+
+When she wished to take it to her bed at night Emlyn forbade her
+fiercely, and on being appealed to, the Prioress, who knew the
+creature's drunken habits and had heard rumours of the fate of the Smith
+infant and others, gave orders that it was not to be. So, since the
+mother was too weak to have it with her, the boy was laid in a little
+cot at her side. And always day and night one or more of the sweet-faced
+nuns stood at the head of that cot watching as might a guardian angel.
+Also it took only Nature's food since from the first Cicely would nurse
+it, so that she could not mix any drug with its milk that would cause it
+to sleep itself away.
+
+So the days went on, bringing black wrath, despair almost, to the heart
+of Mother Megges, till at length there came the chance she sought. One
+fine evening, when the nuns were gathered at vespers, but as it happened
+not in the chapel, because since the tale of the hauntings they shunned
+the place after high noon, Cicely, whose strength was returning to her,
+asked Emlyn to change her garments and remake her bed. Meanwhile, the
+babe was given to Sister Bridget, who doted on it, with instructions to
+take it to walk in the garden for a time, since the rain had passed off
+and the afternoon was now very soft and pleasant. So she went, and there
+presently was met by the Flounder, who was supposed to be asleep, but
+had followed her, a person of whom the half-witted Bridget was much
+afraid.
+
+"What are you doing with my babe, old fool?" she screeched at her,
+thrusting her fat face to within an inch of the nun's. "You'll let it
+fall and I shall be blamed. Give me the angel or I will twist your nose
+for you. Give it me, I say, and get you gone."
+
+In her fear and flurry old Bridget obeyed and departed at a run. Then,
+recovering herself a little, or drawn by some instinct, she returned,
+hid herself in a clump of lilac bushes and watched.
+
+Presently she saw the Flounder, after glancing about to make sure that
+she was alone, enter the chapel, carrying the child, and heard her
+bolt the door after her. Now Bridget, as she said afterwards, grew very
+frightened, she knew not why, and, acting on impulse, ran to the chancel
+window and, climbing on to a wheelbarrow that stood there, looked
+through it. This is what she saw.
+
+Mother Megges was kneeling in the chancel, as she thought at first,
+to say her prayers, till she perceived, for a ray from the setting sun
+showed it all, that on the paving before her lay the infant and that
+this she-devil was thrusting her thick forefinger down its throat, for
+already it grew black in the face, and as she thrust muttering savagely.
+So horror-struck was Bridget that she could neither move nor cry.
+
+Then, while she stood petrified, suddenly there appeared the figure of
+a man in rusty armour. The Flounder looked up, saw him and, withdrawing
+her finger from the mouth of the child, let out yell after yell. The
+man, who said nothing, drew a sword and lifted it, whereon the murderess
+screamed--
+
+"The ghost! The ghost! Spare me, Sir John, I am poor and he paid me.
+Spare me for Christ's sake!" and so saying, she rolled on to the floor
+in a fit, and there turned and twisted until she lay still.
+
+Then the man, or the ghost of a man, having looked at her, sheathed
+his sword and lifting up the babe, which now drew its breath again and
+cried, marched with it down the aisle. The next thing of which Bridget
+became aware was that he stood before her, the infant in his arms,
+holding it out to her. His face she could not see, for the vizor was
+down, but he spoke in a hollow voice, saying--
+
+"This gift from Heaven to the Lady Harflete. Bid her fear nothing, for
+one devil I have garnered and the others are ripe for reaping."
+
+Bridget took the child and sank down on to the ground, and at that
+moment the nuns, alarmed by the awful yells, rushed through the side
+door, headed by Mother Matilda. They too saw the figure, and knew the
+Foterell cognizance upon its helm and shield. But it waited not to speak
+to them, only passed behind some trees and vanished.
+
+Their first care was for the infant, which they thought the man was
+stealing; then, after they were sure that it had taken no real hurt,
+they questioned old Bridget, but could get nothing from her, for all she
+did was to gibber and point first to the barrow and next to the chancel
+window. At length Mother Matilda understood and, climbing on to the
+barrow, looked through the window as Bridget had done. She looked, she
+saw, and fell back fainting.
+
+
+
+An hour had gone by. The child, unhurt save for a little bruising of
+its tender mouth, was asleep upon its mother's breast. Bridget, having
+recovered, at length had told all her tale to every one of them save
+Cicely, who as yet knew nothing, for she and Emlyn did not hear the
+screams, their rooms being on the other side of the building. The Abbot
+had been sent for, and, accompanied by monks, arrived in the midst of
+a thunder-storm and pouring rain. He, too, had heard the tale, heard it
+with a pale face while his monks crossed themselves. At length he asked
+of the woman Megges. They replied that living or dead she was, as they
+supposed, still in the chapel, which none of them had dared to enter.
+
+"Come, let us see," said the Abbot, and they went there to find the door
+locked as Bridget had said.
+
+Smiths were sent for and broke it in while all stood in the pouring
+rain and watched. It was open at last, and they entered with torches
+and tapers, for now the darkness was dense, the Abbot leading them. They
+came to the chancel, where something lay upon the floor, and held down
+the torches to look. Then they saw that which caused them all to turn
+and fly, calling on the saints to protect them. In her life Mother
+Megges had not been lovely, but in the death that had overtaken her----!
+
+
+
+It was morning. The Lord Abbot and his monks were assembled in the
+guest-chamber, and opposite to them were the Lady Prioress and her nuns,
+and with them Emlyn.
+
+"Witchcraft!" shouted the Abbot, smiting his fist upon the table, "black
+witchcraft! Satan himself and his foulest demons walk the countryside
+and have their home in this Nunnery. Last night they manifested
+themselves----"
+
+"By saving a babe from a cruel death and bringing a hateful murderess to
+doom," broke in Emlyn.
+
+"Silence, Sorceress," shouted the Abbot. "Get thee behind me, Satan. I
+know you and your familiars," and he glared at the Prioress.
+
+"What may you mean, my Lord Abbot?" asked Mother Matilda, bridling up.
+"My sisters and I do not understand. Emlyn Stower is right. Do you
+call that witchcraft which works so good an end? The ghost of Sir John
+Foterell appeared here--we admit it who saw that ghost. But what did
+the spirit do? It slew the hellish woman whom you sent among us and it
+rescued the blessed babe when her finger was down its throat to choke
+out its pure life. If that be witchcraft I stand by it. Tell us what did
+the wretch mean when she cried out to the spirit to spare her because
+she was poor and had been bribed for her iniquity? Who bribed her, my
+Lord Abbot? None in this house, I'll swear. And who changed Sir John
+Foterell from flesh to spirit? Why is he a ghost to-day?"
+
+"Am I here to answer riddles, woman, and who are you that you dare put
+such questions to me? I depose you, I set your house under ban. The
+judgment of the Church shall be pronounced against you all. Dare not to
+leave your doors until the Court is composed to try you. Think not you
+shall escape. Your English land is sick and heresy stalks abroad; but,"
+he added slowly, "fire can still bite and there is store of faggots in
+the woods. Prepare your souls for judgment. Now I go."
+
+"Do as it pleases you," answered the enraged Mother Matilda. "When you
+set out your case we will answer it; but, meanwhile, we pray that you
+take what is left of your dead hireling with you, for we find her ill
+company and here she shall have no burial. My Lord Abbot, the charter of
+this Nunnery is from the monarch of England, whatever authority you and
+those that went before you have usurped. It was granted by the first
+Edward, and the appointment of every prioress since his day has been
+signed by the sovereign and no other. I hold mine under the manual of
+the eighth Henry. You cannot depose me, for I appeal from the Abbot to
+the King. Fare you well, my Lord," and, followed by her little train of
+aged nuns, she swept from the room like an offended queen.
+
+After the terrible death of the child-murderess and the restoration of
+her babe to her unharmed, Cicely's recovery was swift. Within a week
+she was up and walking, and within ten days as strong, or stronger, than
+ever she had been. Nothing more had been heard of the Abbot, and though
+all knew that danger threatened them from this quarter they were content
+to enjoy the present hour of peace and wait till it was at hand.
+
+But in Cicely's awakened mind there arose a keen desire to learn more
+of what her nurse had hinted to her when she lay upon the very edge of
+death. Day by day she plied Emlyn with questions till at length she
+knew all; namely, that the tidings came from Thomas Bolle, and that he,
+dressed in her father's armour, was the ghost who had saved her boy from
+death. Now nothing would serve her but that she must see Thomas herself,
+as she said, to thank him, though truly, as Emlyn knew well, to draw
+from his own lips every detail and circumstance that she could gather
+concerning Christopher.
+
+For a while Emlyn held out against her, for she knew the dangers of such
+a meeting; but in the end, being able to refuse her lady nothing, she
+gave way.
+
+At length at the appointed hour of sunset Emlyn and Cicely stood in
+the chapel, whither the latter told the nuns she wished to go to return
+thanks for her deliverance from many dangers. They knelt before the
+altar, and while they made pretence to pray there heard knocks, which
+were the signal of the presence of Thomas Bolle. Emlyn answered them
+with other knocks, which told that all was safe, whereon the wooden
+image turned and Thomas appeared, dressed as before in Sir John
+Foterell's armour. So like did he seem to her dead father in this
+familiar mail that for a moment Cicely thought it must be he, and her
+knees trembled until he knelt before her, kissing her hand, asking after
+her health and that of the infant and whether she were satisfied with
+his service.
+
+"Indeed and indeed yes," she answered; "and oh, friend! all that I have
+henceforth is yours should I ever have anything again, who am but a
+prisoned beggar. Meanwhile, my blessing and that of Heaven rest upon
+you, you gallant man."
+
+"Thank me not, Lady," answered the honest Thomas. "To speak truth it was
+Emlyn whom I served, for though monks parted us we have been friends for
+many a year. As for the matter of the child and that spawn of hell, the
+Flounder, be grateful to God, not to me, for it was by mere chance that
+I came here that evening, which I had not intended to do. I was going
+about my business with the cattle when something seemed to tell me to
+arm and come. It was as though a hand pushed me, and the rest you know,
+and so I think by now does Mother Megges," he added grimly.
+
+"Yes, yes, Thomas; and in truth I do thank God, Whose finger I see in
+all this business, as I thank you, His instrument. But there are
+other things whereof Emlyn has spoken to me. She said--ah! she said my
+husband, whom I thought slain and buried, in truth was only wounded and
+not buried, but shipped over-sea. Tell me that story, friend, omitting
+nothing, but swiftly for our time is short. I thirst to hear it from
+your own lips."
+
+So in his slow, wandering way he told her, word by word, all that he
+had seen, all that he had learned, and the sum of it was that Sir
+Christopher had been shipped abroad upon the _Great Yarmouth_, sorely
+wounded but not dead, and that with him had sailed Jeffrey Stokes and
+the monk Martin.
+
+"That's ten months gone," said Cicely. "Has naught been heard of this
+ship? By now she should be home again."
+
+Thomas hesitated, then answered--
+
+"No tidings came of her from Spain. Then, although I said nothing of it
+even to Emlyn, she was reported lost with all hands at sea. Then came
+another story----"
+
+"Ah! that other story?"
+
+"Lady, two of her crew reached the Wash. I did not see them, and they
+have shipped again for Marseilles in France. But I spoke with a shepherd
+who is half-brother to one of them, and he told me that from him he
+learned that the _Great Yarmouth_ was set upon by two Turkish pirates
+and captured after a brave fight in which the captain Goody and others
+were killed. This man and his comrade escaped in a boat and drifted
+to and fro till they were picked up by a homeward-bound caravel which
+landed them at Hull. That's all I know--save one thing."
+
+"One thing! Oh, what thing, Thomas? That my husband is dead?"
+
+"Nay, nay, the very opposite, that he is alive, or was, for these men
+saw him and Jeffrey Stokes and Martin the priest, no craven as I know,
+fighting like devils till the Turks overwhelmed them by numbers, and,
+having bound their hands, carried them all three unwounded on board one
+of their ships, wishing doubtless to make slaves of such brave fellows."
+
+Now, although Emlyn would have stopped her, still Cicely plied him with
+questions, which he answered as best he could, till suddenly a sound
+caught his ear.
+
+"Look at the window!" he exclaimed.
+
+They looked, and saw a sight that froze their blood, for there staring
+at them through the glass was the dark face of the Abbot, and with it
+other faces.
+
+"Betray me not, or I shall burn," he whispered. "Say only that I came
+to haunt you," and silently as a shadow he glided to his niche and was
+gone.
+
+"What now, Emlyn?"
+
+"One thing only--Thomas must be saved. A bold face and stand to it. Is
+it our fault if your father's ghost should haunt this chapel? Remember,
+your father's ghost, no other. Ah! here they come."
+
+As she spoke the door was thrown wide, and through it came the Abbot
+and his rout of attendants. Within two paces of the women they halted,
+hanging together like bees, for they were afraid, while a voice cried,
+"Seize the witches!"
+
+Cicely's terror passed from her and she faced them boldly.
+
+"What would you with us, my Lord Abbot?" she asked.
+
+"We would know, Sorceress, what shape was that which spoke with you but
+now, and whither has it gone?"
+
+"The same that saved my child and called the Sword of God down upon the
+murderess. It wore my father's armour, but its face I did not see. It
+has gone whence it came, but where that is I know not. Discover if you
+can."
+
+"Woman, you trifle with us. What said the Thing?"
+
+"It spoke of the slaughter of Sir John Foterell by King's Grave Mount
+and of those who wrought it," and she looked at him steadily until his
+eyes fell before hers.
+
+"What else?"
+
+"It told me that my husband is not dead. Neither did you bury him as you
+put about, but shipped him hence to Spain, whence it prophesied he will
+return again to be revenged upon you. It told me that he was captured by
+the infidel Moors, and with him Jeffrey Stokes, my father's servant, and
+the priest Martin, your secretary. Then it looked up and vanished, or
+seemed to vanish, though perhaps it is among us now."
+
+"Aye," answered the Abbot, "Satan, with whom you hold converse, is
+always among us. Cicely Foterell and Emlyn Stower, you are foul witches,
+self-confessed. The world has borne your sorceries too long, and you
+shall answer for them before God and man, as I, the Lord Abbot of
+Blossholme, have right and authority to make you do. Seize these witches
+and let them be kept fast in their chamber till I constitute the Court
+Ecclesiastic for their trial."
+
+So they took hold of Cicely and Emlyn and led them to the Nunnery. As
+they crossed the garden they were met by Mother Matilda and the nuns,
+who, for a second time within a month, ran out to see what was the
+tumult in the chapel.
+
+"What is it now, Cicely?" asked the Prioress.
+
+"Now we are witches, Mother," she answered, with a sad smile.
+
+"Aye," broke in Emlyn, "and the charge is that the ghost of the murdered
+Sir John Foterell was seen speaking to us."
+
+"Why, why?" exclaimed the Prioress. "If the spirit of a woman's father
+appears to her is she therefore to be declared a witch? Then is poor
+Sister Bridget a witch also, for this same spirit brought the child to
+her?"
+
+"Aye," said the Abbot, "I had forgotten her. She is another of the crew,
+let her be seized and shut up also. Greatly do I hope, when it comes to
+the hour of trial, that there may not be found to be more of them," and
+he glanced at the poor nuns with menace in his eye.
+
+So Cicely and Emlyn were shut within their room and strictly guarded
+by monks, but otherwise not ill-treated. Indeed, save for their
+confinement, there was little change in their condition. The child was
+allowed to be with Cicely, the nuns were allowed to visit her.
+
+Only over both of them hung the shadow of great trouble. They were
+aware, and it seemed to them purposely suffered to be aware, that
+they were about to be tried for their lives upon monstrous and obscene
+charges; namely, that they had consorted with a dim and awful creature
+called the Enemy of Mankind, whom, it was supposed, human beings had
+power to call to their counsel and assistance. To them who knew well
+that this being was Thomas Bolle, the thing seemed absurd. Yet it could
+not be denied that the said Thomas at Emlyn's instigation had worked
+much evil on the monks of Blossholme, paying them, or rather their
+Abbot, back in his own coin.
+
+Yet what was to be done? To tell the facts would be to condemn Thomas
+to some fearful fate which even then they would be called upon to share,
+although possibly they might be cleared of the charge of witchcraft.
+
+Emlyn set the matter before Cicely, urging neither one side nor the
+other, and waited her judgment. It was swift and decisive.
+
+"This is a coil that we cannot untangle," said Cicely. "Let us betray
+no one, but put our trust in God. I am sure," she added, "that God will
+help us as He did when Mother Megges would have murdered my boy. I shall
+not attempt to defend myself by wronging others. I leave everything to
+Him."
+
+"Strange things have happened to many who trusted in God; to that the
+whole evil world bears witness," said Emlyn doubtfully.
+
+"May be," answered Cicely in her quiet fashion, "perhaps because they
+did not trust enough or rightly. At least there lies my path and I will
+walk in it--to the fire if need be."
+
+"There is some seed of greatness in you; to what will it grow, I
+wonder?" replied Emlyn, with a shrug of her shoulders.
+
+On the morrow this faith of Cicely's was put to a sharp test. The Abbot
+came and spoke with Emlyn apart. This was the burden of his song--
+
+"Give me those jewels and all may yet be well with you and your
+mistress, vile witches though you are. If not, you burn."
+
+As before she denied all knowledge of them.
+
+"Find me the jewels or you burn," he answered. "Would you pay your lives
+for a few miserable gems?"
+
+Now Emlyn weakened, not for her own sake, and said she would speak with
+her mistress.
+
+He bade her do so.
+
+"I thought that those jewels were burned, Emlyn, do you then know where
+they are?" asked Cicely.
+
+"Aye, I have said nothing of it to you, but I know. Speak the word and I
+give them up to save you."
+
+Cicely thought a while and kissed her child, which she held in her arms,
+then laughed aloud and answered--
+
+"Not so. That Abbot shall never be richer for any gem of mine. I have
+told you in what I trust, and it is not jewels. Whether I burn or
+whether I am saved, he shall not have them."
+
+"Good," said Emlyn, "that is my mind also, I only spoke for your sake,"
+and she went out and told the Abbot.
+
+He came into Cicely's chamber and raged at them. He said that they
+should be excommunicated, then tortured and then burned; but Cicely,
+whom he had thought to frighten, never winced.
+
+"If so, so let it be," she replied, "and I will bear all as best I can.
+I know nothing of these jewels, but if they still exist they are mine,
+not yours, and I am innocent of any witchcraft. Do your work, for I am
+sure that the end shall be far other than you think."
+
+"What!" said the Abbot, "has the foul fiend been with you again that you
+talk thus certainly? Well, Sorceress, soon you will sing another tune,"
+and he went to the door and summoned the Prioress.
+
+"Put these women upon bread and water," he said, "and prepare them for
+the rack, that they may discover their accomplices."
+
+Mother Matilda set her gentle face, and answered--
+
+"It shall not be done in this Nunnery, my Lord Abbot. I know the law,
+and you have no such power. Moreover, if you move them hence, who are my
+guests, I appeal to the King, and meanwhile raise the country on you."
+
+"Said I not that they had accomplices?" sneered the Abbot, and went his
+way.
+
+But of the torture no more was heard, for that appeal to the King had an
+ill sound in his ears.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+DOOMED
+
+It was the day of trial. From dawn Cicely and Emlyn had seen people
+hurrying in and out of the gates of the Nunnery, and heard workmen
+making preparation in the guest-hall below their chamber. About eight
+one of the nuns brought them their breakfast. Her face was scared and
+white; she only spoke in whispers, looking behind her continually as
+though she knew she was being watched.
+
+Emlyn asked who their judges were, and she answered--
+
+"The Abbot, a strange, black-faced Prior, and the Old Bishop. Oh! God
+help you, my sisters; God help us all!" and she fled away.
+
+Now for a moment Emlyn's heart failed her, since before such a tribunal
+what chance had they? The Abbot was their bitter enemy and accuser;
+the strange Prior, no doubt, one of his friends and kindred; while the
+ecclesiastic spoken of as the "Old Bishop" was well known as perhaps the
+cruelest man in England, a scourge of heretics--that is, before
+heresy became the fashion--a hunter-out of witches and wizards, and a
+time-server to boot. But to Cicely she said nothing, for what was the
+use, seeing that soon she would learn all?
+
+They ate their food, knowing both of them that they would need strength.
+Then Cicely nursed her child, and, placing it in Emlyn's arms, knelt
+down to pray. While she was still praying the door opened and a
+procession appeared. First came two monks, then six armed men of the
+Abbot's guard, then the Prioress and three of her nuns. At the sight of
+the beautiful young woman kneeling at her prayers the guards, rough men
+though they were, stopped, as if unwilling to disturb her, but one of
+the monks cried brutally--
+
+"Seize the accursed hypocrite, and if she will not come, drag her with
+you," at the same time stretching out his hand as though to grasp her
+arm.
+
+But Cicely rose and faced him, saying--
+
+"Do not touch me; I follow. Emlyn, give me the child, and let us go."
+
+So they went in the midst of the armed men, the monks preceding, the
+nuns, with bowed heads, following after. Presently they entered the
+large hall, but on its threshold were ordered to pause while way was
+made for them. Cicely never forgot the sight of it as it appeared that
+day. The lofty, arched roof of rich chestnut-wood, set there hundreds of
+years before by hands that spared neither work nor timber, amongst the
+beams of which the bright light of morning played so clearly that she
+could see the spiders' webs, and in one of them a sleepy autumn
+wasp caught fast. The mob of people gathered to watch her public
+trial--faces, many of them, that she had known from childhood.
+
+How they stared at her as she stood there by the head of the steps, her
+sleeping child held in her arms! They were a packed audience and had
+been prepared to condemn her--that she could see and hear, for did not
+some of them point and frown, and set up a cry of "Witch!" as they had
+been told to do? But it died away. The sight of her, the daughter of one
+of their great men and the widow of another, standing in her innocent
+beauty, the slumbering babe upon her breast, seemed to quell them, till
+the hardest faces grew pitiful--full of resentment, too, some of them,
+but not against her.
+
+Then the three judges on the bench behind the table, at which sat the
+monkish secretaries; the hard-faced, hook-nosed "Old Bishop" in his
+gorgeous robes and mitre, his crozier resting against the panelling
+behind him, peering about him with beady eyes. The sullen, heavy-jawed
+Prior, from some distant county, on his left, clad in a simple black
+gown with a girdle about his waist. And on the right Clement Maldon,
+Abbot of Blossholme and enemy of her house, suave, olive-faced,
+foreign-looking, his black, uneasy eyes observing all, his keen ears
+catching every word and murmur as he whispered something to the Bishop
+that caused him to smile grimly. Lastly, placed already in the roped
+space and guarded by a soldier, poor old Bridget, the half-witted, who
+was gabbling words to which no one paid any heed.
+
+The path was clear now, and they were ordered to walk on. Half-way
+up the hall something red attracted Cicely's attention, and, glancing
+round, she saw that it was the beard of Thomas Bolle. Their eyes met,
+and his were full of fear. In an instant she understood that he dreaded
+lest he should be betrayed and given over to some awful doom.
+
+"Fear nothing," she whispered as she passed, and he heard her, or
+perhaps Emlyn's glance told him that he was safe. At least, a sign of
+relief broke from him.
+
+Now they had entered the roped space, and stood there.
+
+"Your name?" asked one of the secretaries, pointing to Cicely with the
+feather of his quill.
+
+"All know it, it is Cicely Harflete," she answered gently, whereon the
+clerk said roughly that she lied, and the old wrangle began again as to
+the validity of her marriage, the Abbot maintaining that she was still
+Cicely Foterell, the mother of a base-born child.
+
+Into this argument the Bishop entered with some zest, asking many
+questions, and seeming more or less to take her side, since, where
+matters of religion were not concerned, he was a keen lawyer, and just
+enough. At length, however, he swept the thing away, remarking brutally
+that if half he had heard were true, soon the name by which she had last
+been called in life would not concern her, and bade the clerks write her
+down as Cicely Harflete or Foterell.
+
+Then Emlyn gave her name, and Sister Bridget's was written without
+question. Next the charge against them was read. It was long and
+technical, mixed up with Latin words and phrases, and all that Cicely
+made out of it was that they were accused of many horrible crimes, and
+of having called up the devil and consorted with him in the shape of
+a monster with horns and hoofs, and of her father's ghost. When it
+was finished they were commanded to answer, and pleaded Not Guilty, or
+rather Cicely and Emlyn did, for Bridget broke into a long tale that
+could not be followed. She was ordered to be silent, after which no one
+took any more heed of what she said.
+
+Now the Bishop asked whether these women had been put to the question,
+and when he was told No, said that it seemed a pity, as evidently they
+were stubborn witches, and some discipline of the sort might have
+saved trouble. Again he asked if the witch's marks had been found on
+them--that is, the spot where the devil had sealed their bodies,
+on which, as was well known, his chosen could feel no pain. He even
+suggested that the trial should be adjourned until they had been pricked
+all over with a nail to find this spot, but ultimately gave up the point
+to save time.
+
+A last question was raised by the beetle-browed Prior, who submitted
+that the infant ought also to be accused, since he, too, was said to
+have consorted with the devil, having, according to the story, been
+rescued from death by him and afterwards been carried in his arms and
+given to the nun Bridget, which was the only evidence against the said
+Bridget. If she was guilty, why, then, was the infant innocent? Ought
+not they to burn together, since a babe that had been nursed by the Evil
+One was obviously damned?
+
+The legal-minded Bishop found this argument interesting, but ultimately
+decided that it was safer to overrule it on account of the tender age of
+the criminal. He added that it did not matter, since doubtless the foul
+fiend would claim his own ere long.
+
+Lastly, before the witnesses were called, Emlyn asked for an advocate to
+defend them, but the Bishop replied, with a chuckle, that it was quite
+unnecessary, since already they had the best of all advocates--Satan
+himself.
+
+"True, my Lord," said Cicely, looking up, "we have the best of all
+advocates, only you have mis-named him. The God of the innocent is our
+advocate, and in Him I trust."
+
+"Blaspheme not, Sorceress," shouted the old man; and the evidence
+commenced.
+
+To follow it in detail is not necessary, and, indeed, would be long, for
+it took many hours. First of all Emlyn's early life was set out, much
+being made of the fact that her mother was a gypsy who had committed
+suicide and that her father had fallen under the ban of the Inquisition,
+an heretical work of his having been publicly burned. Then the Abbot
+himself gave evidence, since, where the charge was sorcery, no one
+seemed to think it strange that the same man should both act as judge
+and be the principal witness for the prosecution. He told of Cicely's
+wild words after the burning of Cranwell Towers, from which burning she
+and her familiar, Emlyn, had evidently escaped by magic, without the
+aid of which it was plain they could not have lived. He told of Emlyn's
+threats to him after she had looked into the bowl of water; of all the
+dreadful things that had been seen and done at Blossholme, which no
+doubt these witches had brought about--here he was right--though how
+he knew not. He told of the death of the midwife and of the appearance
+which she presented afterwards--a tale that caused his audience to
+shudder; and, lastly, he told of the vision of the ghost of Sir John
+Foterell holding converse with the two accused in the chapel of the
+Nunnery, and its vanishing away.
+
+When at length he had finished Emlyn asked leave to cross-examine him,
+but this was refused on the ground that persons accused of such crimes
+had no right to cross-examine.
+
+Then the Court adjourned for a while to eat, some food being brought for
+the prisoners, who were forced to take it where they stood. Worse
+still, Cicely was driven to nurse her child in the presence of all that
+audience, who stared and gibed at her rudely, and were angry because
+Emlyn and some of the nuns stood round her to form a living screen.
+
+When the judges returned the evidence went on. Though most of it was
+entirely irrelevant, its volume was so great that at length the Old
+Bishop grew weary, and said he would hear no more. Then the judges
+went on to put, first to Cicely and afterwards to Emlyn, a series of
+questions of a nature so abominable that after denying the first of them
+indignantly, they stood silent, refusing to answer--proof positive of
+their guilt, as the black-browed Prior remarked in triumph. Lastly,
+these hideous queries being exhausted, Cicely was asked if she had
+anything to say.
+
+"Somewhat," she answered; "but I am weary, and must be brief. I am no
+witch; I do not know what it means. The Abbot of Blossholme, who sits
+as my judge, is my grievous enemy. He claimed my father's lands--which
+lands I believe he now holds--and cruelly murdered my said father by
+King's Grave Mount in the forest as he was riding to London to make
+complaint of him and reveal his treachery to his Grace the King and his
+Council----"
+
+"It is a lie, witch," broke in the Abbot, but, taking no heed, Cicely
+went on--
+
+"Afterwards he and his hired soldiers attacked the house of my husband,
+Sir Christopher Harflete, and burnt it, slaying, or striving to
+slay--I know not which--my said husband, who has vanished away. Then he
+imprisoned me and my servant, Emlyn Stower, in this Nunnery, and strove
+to force me to sign papers conveying all my own and my child's property
+to him. This I refused to do, and therefore it is that he puts me on my
+trial, because, as I am told, those who are found guilty of witchcraft
+are stripped of all their possessions, which those take who are strong
+enough to keep them. Lastly, I deny the authority of this Court, and
+appeal to the King, who soon or late will hear my cry and avenge my
+wrongs, and maybe my murder, upon those who wrought them. Good people
+all, hear my words. I appeal to the King, and to him under God above I
+entrust my cause, and, should I die, the guardianship of my orphan son,
+whom the Abbot sent his creature to murder--his vile creature, upon
+whose head fell the Almighty's justice, as it will fall on yours, you
+slaughterers of the innocent."
+
+So spoke Cicely, and, having spoken, worn out with fatigue and misery,
+sank to the floor--for all these hours there had been no stool for her
+to sit on--and crouched there, still holding her child in her arms--a
+piteous sight indeed, which touched even the superstitious hearts of the
+crowd who watched her.
+
+Now this appeal of hers to the King seemed to scare the fierce Old
+Bishop, who turned and began to argue with the Abbot. Cicely, listening,
+caught some of his words, such as--
+
+"On your head be it, then. I judge only of the cause ecclesiastic, and
+shall direct it to be so entered upon the records. Of the execution of
+the sentence or the disposal of the property I wash my hands. See you to
+it."
+
+"So spoke Pilate," broke in Cicely, lifting her head and looking him in
+the eyes. Then she let it fall again, and was silent.
+
+Now Emlyn opened her lips, and from them burst a fierce torrent of
+words.
+
+"Do you know," she began, "who and what is this Spanish priest who sits
+to judge us of witchcraft? Well, I will tell you. Years ago he fled from
+Spain because of hideous crimes that he had committed there. Ask him of
+Isabella the nun, who was my father's cousin, and her end and that of
+her companions. Ask him of----"
+
+At this point a monk, to whom the Abbot had whispered something, slipped
+behind Emlyn and threw a cloth over her face. She tore it away with her
+strong hands, and screamed out--
+
+"He is a murderer, he is a traitor. He plots to kill the King. I can
+prove it, and that's why Foterell died--because he knew----"
+
+The Abbot shouted something, and again the monk, a stout fellow named
+Ambrose, got the cloth over her mouth. Once more she wrenched herself
+loose, and, turning towards the people, called--
+
+"Have I never a friend, who have befriended so many? Is there no man in
+Blossholme who will avenge me of this brute Ambrose? Aye, I see some."
+
+Then this Ambrose, and others aiding him, fell upon her, striking her
+on the head and choking her, till at length she sank, half stunned and
+gasping, to the ground.
+
+Now, after a hurried word or two with his colleagues, the Bishop
+sprang up, and as darkness gathered in the hall--for the sun had
+set--pronounced the sentence of the Court.
+
+First he declared the prisoners guilty of the foulest witchcraft. Next
+he excommunicated them with much ceremony, delivering their souls to
+their master, Satan. Then, incidentally, he condemned their bodies to
+be burnt, without specifying when, how, or by whom. Out of the gloom a
+clear voice spoke, saying--
+
+"You exceed your powers, Priest, and usurp those of the King. Beware!"
+
+A tumult followed, in which some cried "Aye" and some "Nay," and when at
+length it died down the Bishop, or it may have been the Abbot--for none
+could see who spoke--exclaimed--
+
+"The Church guards her own rights; let the King see to his."
+
+"He will, he will," answered the same voice. "The Pope is in his bag.
+Monks, your day is done."
+
+Again there was tumult, a very great tumult. In truth the scene, or
+rather the sounds, were strange. The Bishop shrieking with rage upon
+the bench, like a hen that has been caught upon her perch at night,
+the black-browed Prior bellowing like a bull, the populace surging and
+shouting this and that, the secretary calling for candles, and when
+at length one was brought, making a little star of light in that huge
+gloom, putting his hand to his mouth and roaring--
+
+"What of this Bridget? Does she go free?"
+
+The Bishop made no answer; it seemed as though he were frightened at the
+forces which he had let loose; but the Abbot hallooed back--
+
+"Burn the hag with the others," and the secretary wrote it down upon his
+brief.
+
+Then the guards seized the three of them to lead them away, and the
+frightened babe set up a thin, piercing wail, while the Bishop and his
+companions, preceded by one of the monks bearing the candle--it was that
+Ambrose who had choked Emlyn--marched in procession down the hall to
+gain the great door.
+
+Ere ever they reached it the candle was dashed from the hand of Ambrose,
+and a fearful tumult arose in the dense darkness, for now all light
+had vanished. There were screams, and sounds of fighting, and cries for
+help. These died away; the hall emptied by degrees, for it seemed that
+none wished to stay there. Torches were lit, and showed a strange scene.
+
+The Bishop, the Abbot, and the foreign Prior lay here and there,
+buffeted, bleeding, their robes torn off them, so that they were almost
+naked, while by the Bishop was his crozier, broken in two, apparently
+across his own head. Worse of all, the monk Ambrose leaned against a
+pillar; his feet seemed to go forward but his face looked backward, for
+his neck was twisted like that of a Michaelmas goose.
+
+The Bishop looked about him and felt his hurts; then he called to his
+people--
+
+"Bring me my cloak and a horse, for I have had enough of Blossholme and
+its wizardries. Settle your own matters henceforth, Abbot Maldon, for in
+them I find no luck," and he glanced at his broken staff.
+
+Thus ended the great trial of the Blossholme witches.
+
+
+
+Cicely had sunk to sleep at last, and Emlyn watched her, for, since
+there was nowhere else to put them, they were back in their own room,
+but guarded by armed men, lest they should escape. Of this, as Emlyn
+knew well, there was little chance, for even if they were once outside
+the Priory walls, how could they get away without friends to help, or
+food to eat, or horses to carry them? They would be run down within a
+mile. Moreover, there was the child, which Cicely would never leave,
+and, after all she had undergone, she herself was not fit to travel.
+Therefore it was that Emlyn sat sleepless, full of bitter wrath and
+fear, for she could see no hope. All was black as the night about them.
+
+The door opened, and was shut and locked again. Then, from behind the
+curtain, appeared the tall figure of the Prioress, carrying a candle
+that made a star of light upon the shadows. As she stood there holding
+it up and looking about her, something came into Emlyn's mind. Perhaps
+she would help, she who loved Cicely. Did she not look like a figure of
+hope, with her sweet face and her taper in the gloom? Emlyn advanced to
+meet her, her finger on her lips.
+
+"She sleeps; wake her not," she said. "Have you come to tell us that we
+burn to-morrow?"
+
+"Nay, Emlyn; the Old Bishop has commanded that it shall not be for a
+week. He would have time to get across England first. Indeed, had it not
+been for the beating of him in the dark and the twisting of the neck of
+Brother Ambrose, I believe that he would not have suffered it at all,
+for fear of trouble afterwards. But now he is full of rage, and swears
+that he was set upon by evil spirits in the hall, and that those who
+loosed them shall not live. Emlyn, _who_ killed Father Ambrose? Was it
+men or----?"
+
+"Men, I think, Mother. The devil does not twist necks except in monkish
+dreams. Is it wonderful that my lady--the greatest lady of all these
+parts and the most foully treated--should have friends left to her? Why,
+if they were not curs, ere now her people would have pulled that Abbey
+stone from stone and cut the throat of every man within its walls."
+
+"Emlyn," said the Prioress again, "in the name of Jesus and on your
+soul, tell me true, is there witchcraft in all this business? And if
+not, what is its meaning?"
+
+"As much witchcraft as dwells in your gentle heart; no more. A man did
+these things; I'll not give you his name, lest it should be wrung from
+you. A man wore Foterell's armour, and came here by a secret hole to
+take counsel with us in the chapel. A man burnt the Abbey dormers and
+the stacks, and harried the beasts with a goatskin on his head, and
+dragged the skull of drunken Andrew from his grave. Doubtless it was his
+hand also that twisted Ambrose's neck because he struck me."
+
+The two women looked each other in the eyes.
+
+"Ah!" said the Prioress. "I think I can guess now; but, Emlyn, you
+choose rough tools. Well, fear not; your secret is safe with me." She
+paused a moment; then went on, "Oh! I am glad, who feared lest the
+Fiend's finger was in it all, as, in truth, they believe. Now I see my
+path clear, and will follow it to the death. Yes, yes; I will save you
+all or die."
+
+"What path, Mother?"
+
+"Emlyn, you have heard no tidings for these many months, but I have.
+Listen; there is much afoot. The King, or the Lord Cromwell, or both,
+make war upon the lesser Houses, dissolving them, seizing their goods,
+turning the religious out of them upon the world to starve. His Grace
+sends Royal Commissioners to visit them, and be judge and jury both.
+They were coming here, but I have friends and some fortune of my own,
+who was not born meanly or ill-dowered, and I found a way to buy them
+off. One of these Commissioners, Thomas Legh, as I heard only to-day,
+makes inquisition at the monastery of Bayfleet, in Yorkshire, some
+eighty miles away, of which my cousin, Alfred Stukley, whose letter
+reached me this morning, is the Prior. Emlyn, I'll go to this rough
+man--for rough he is, they say. Old and feeble as I am, I'll seek
+him out and offer up the ancient House I rule to save your life and
+Cicely's--yes, and Bridget's also."
+
+"You will go, Mother! Oh! God's blessing be on you. But how will you go?
+They will never suffer it."
+
+The old nun drew herself up, and answered--
+
+"Who has the right to say to the Prioress of Blossholme that she shall
+not travel whither she will? No Spanish Abbot, I think. Why, but now
+that proud priest's servants would have forbidden me to enter your
+chamber in my own House, but I read them a lesson they will not forget.
+Also I have horses at my command, but it is true I need an escort, who
+am not too strong and little versed in the ways of the outside world,
+where I have scarcely strayed for many years. Now I have bethought me
+of that red-haired lay-brother, Thomas Bolle. I am told that though
+foolish, he is a valiant man whom few care to face; moreover, that he
+understands horses and knows all roads. Do you think, Emlyn Stower, that
+Thomas Bolle will be my companion on this journey, with leave from the
+Abbot, or without it?" and again she looked her in the eyes.
+
+"He might, he might; he is a venturous man, or so I remember him in
+my youth," answered Emlyn. "Moreover, his forefathers have served
+the Harfletes and the Foterells for generations in peace and war, and
+doubtless, therefore, he loves my lady yonder. But the trouble is to get
+at him."
+
+"No trouble at all, Emlyn; he is one of the watch outside the gate. But,
+woman, what token?"
+
+Emlyn thought for a moment, then drew a ring off her finger in which was
+set a cornelian heart.
+
+"Give him this," she said, "and say that the wearer bade him follow the
+bearer to the death, for the sake of that wearer's life and another's.
+He is a simple soul, and if the Abbot does not catch him first I believe
+that he will go."
+
+Mother Matilda took the ring and set it on her own finger. Then she
+walked to where Cicely lay sleeping, looked at her and the boy upon her
+breast. Stretching out her thin hands, she called down the blessing and
+protection of Almighty God upon them both, then turned to depart.
+
+Emlyn caught her by the robe.
+
+"Stay," she said. "You think I do not understand; but I do. You are
+giving up everything for us. Even if you live through it, this House,
+which has been your charge for many years, will be dissolved; your sheep
+will be scattered to starve in their toothless age; the fold that has
+sheltered them for four hundred years will become a home of wolves. I
+understand full well, and she"--pointing to the sleeping Cicely--"will
+understand also."
+
+"Say nothing to her," murmured Mother Matilda; "I may fail."
+
+"You may fail, or you may succeed. If you fail and we burn, God shall
+reward you. If you succeed and we are saved, on her behalf I swear that
+you shall not suffer. There is wealth hidden away--wealth worth
+many priories; you and yours shall have your share of it, and that
+Commissioner shall not go lacking. Tell him that there is some small
+store to pay him for his trouble, and that the Abbot of Blossholme would
+rob him of it. Now, my Lady Margaret--for that, I think, used to be your
+name, and will be again when you have done with priests and nuns--bless
+me also and begone, and know that, living or dead, I hold you great and
+holy."
+
+So the Prioress blessed her ere she glided thence in her stately
+fashion, and the oaken door opened and shut behind her.
+
+
+
+Three days later the Abbot visited them alone.
+
+"Foul and accursed witches," he said, "I come to tell you that next
+Monday at noon you burn upon the green in front of the Abbey gate, who,
+were it not for the mercy of the Church, should have been tortured also
+till you discovered your accomplices, of whom I think that you have
+many."
+
+"Show me the King's warrant for this slaughter," said Cicely.
+
+"I will show you nothing save the stake, witch. Repent, repent, ere it
+be too late. Hell and its eternal fires yawn for you."
+
+"Do they yawn for my child also, my Lord Abbot?"
+
+"Your brat will be taken from you ere you enter the flames and laid upon
+the ground, since it is baptized and too young to burn. If any have pity
+on it, good; if not, where it lies, there it will be buried."
+
+"So be it," answered Cicely. "God gave it; God save it. In God I put my
+trust. Murderer, leave me to make my peace with Him," and she turned and
+walked away.
+
+Now the Abbot and Emlyn were face to face.
+
+"Do we really burn on Monday?" she asked.
+
+"Without doubt, unless faggots will not take fire. Yet," he added
+slowly, "if certain jewels should chance to be found and handed over,
+the case might be remitted to another Court."
+
+"And the torment prolonged. My Lord Abbot, I fear that those jewels will
+never be found."
+
+"Well, then you burn--slowly, perhaps, for much rain has fallen of late
+and the wood is green. They say the death is dreadful."
+
+"Doubtless one day you will find it so, Clement Maldonado, here or
+hereafter. But of that we will talk together when all is done--of that
+and many other things. I mean before the Judgment-seat of God. Nay, nay,
+I do not threaten after your fashion--it shall be so. Meanwhile I ask
+the boon of a dying woman. There are two whom I would see--the Prioress
+Matilda, in whose charge I desire to leave a certain secret, and Thomas
+Bolle, a lay-brother in your Abbey, a man who once engaged himself to me
+in marriage. For your own sake, deny me not these favours."
+
+"They should be granted readily enough were it in my power, but it is
+not," answered the Abbot, looking at her curiously, for he thought that
+to them she might tell what she had refused to him--the hiding-place of
+the jewels, which afterwards he could wring out.
+
+"Why not, my Lord Abbot?"
+
+"Because the Prioress has gone hence, secretly, upon some journey of her
+own, and Thomas Bolle has vanished away I knew not where. If they, or
+either of them, return ere Monday you shall see them."
+
+"And if they do not return I shall see them afterwards," replied Emlyn,
+with a shrug of her shoulders. "What does it matter? Fare you well till
+we meet at the fire, my Lord Abbot."
+
+
+
+On the Sunday--that is, the day before the burning--the Abbot came
+again.
+
+"Three days ago," he said, addressing them both, "I offered you a chance
+of life upon certain conditions, but, obstinate witches that you are,
+you refused to listen. Now I offer you the last boon in my power--not
+life, indeed; it is too late for that--but a merciful death. If you will
+give me what I seek, the executioner shall dispatch you both before the
+fire bites--never mind how. If not--well, as I have told you, there has
+been much rain, and they say the faggots are somewhat green."
+
+Cicely paled a little--who would not, even in those cruel days?--then
+asked--
+
+"And what is it that you seek, or that we can give? A confession of our
+guilt, to cover up your crime in the eyes of the world? If so, you shall
+never have it, though we burn by inches."
+
+"Yes, I seek that, but for your own sakes, not for mine, since those who
+confess and repent may receive absolution. Also I seek more--the rich
+jewels which you have in hiding, that they may be used for the purposes
+of the Church."
+
+Then it was that Cicely showed the courage of her blood.
+
+"Never, never!" she cried, turning on him with eyes ablaze. "Torture
+and slay me if you will, but my wealth you shall not thieve. I know not
+where these jewels are, but wherever they may be, there let them lie
+till my heirs find them, or they rot."
+
+The Abbot's face grew very evil.
+
+"Is that your last word, Cicely Foterell?" he asked.
+
+She bowed her head, and he repeated the question to Emlyn, who
+answered--
+
+"What my mistress says, I say."
+
+"So be it!" he exclaimed. "Doubtless you sorceresses put your trust in
+the devil. Well, we shall see if he will help you to-morrow."
+
+"God will help us," replied Cicely in a quiet voice. "Remember my words
+when the time comes."
+
+Then he went.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+THE STAKE
+
+It was an awful night. Let those who have followed this history think of
+the state of these two women, one of them still but a girl, who on the
+morrow, amidst the jeers and curses of superstitious men, were to suffer
+the cruelest of deaths for no crime at all, unless the traffickings of
+Emlyn with Thomas Bolle, in which Cicely had small share, could be held
+a crime. Well, thousands quite as blameless were called on to undergo
+that, and even worse fates in the days which some name good and old,
+the days of chivalry and gallant knights, when even little children were
+tormented and burned by holy and learned folk who feared a visible or at
+least a tangible devil and his works.
+
+Doubtless their cruelty was that of terror. Doubtless, although he
+had other ends to gain which to him were sacred, the Abbot Maldon did
+believe that Cicely and Emlyn had practised horrible witchcraft; that
+they had conversed with Satan in order to revenge themselves upon him,
+and therefore were too foul to live. The "Old Bishop" believed it also,
+and so did the black-browed Prior and the most of the ignorant people
+who lived around and knew of the terrible things which had happened in
+Blossholme. Had not some of them actually seen the fiend with horns
+and hoofs and tail driving the Abbey cattle, and had not others met
+the ghost of Sir John Foterell, which doubtless was but that fiend in
+another shape? Oh, these women were guilty, without doubt they were
+guilty and deserved the stake! What did it matter if the husband and
+father of one of them had been murdered and the other had suffered
+grievous but forgotten wrongs? Compared to witchcraft murder was but a
+light and homely crime, one that would happen when men's passions and
+needs were involved, quite a familiar thing.
+
+It was an awful night. Sometimes Cicely slept a little, but the most
+of it she spent in prayer. The fierce Emlyn neither slept nor prayed,
+except once or twice that vengeance might fall upon the Abbot's head,
+for her whole soul was up in arms and it galled her to think that she
+and her beloved mistress must die shamefully while their enemy lived on
+triumphant and in honour. Even the infant seemed nervous and disturbed,
+as though some instinct warned it of terror at hand, for although it was
+well enough, against its custom it woke continually and wailed.
+
+"Emlyn," said Cicely towards morning, but before the light had come,
+after at length she had soothed it to rest, "do you think that Mother
+Matilda will be able to help us?"
+
+"No, no; put it from your mind, dearie. She is weak and old, the road
+is rough and long, and mayhap she has never reached the place. It was a
+great venture for her to try such a journey, and if she came there, why,
+perhaps the Commissioner man had gone, or perhaps he will not listen,
+or perhaps he cannot come. What would he care about the burning of two
+witches a hundred miles away, this leech who is sucking himself full
+upon the carcass of some fat monastery? No, no, never count on her."
+
+"At least she is brave and true, Emlyn, and has done her best, for which
+may Heaven's blessing rest upon her always. Now, what of Thomas Bolle?"
+
+"Nothing, except that he is a red-headed jackass that can bray but
+daren't kick," answered Emlyn viciously. "Never speak to me of Thomas
+Bolle. Had he been a man long ago he'd have broken the neck of that
+rogue Abbot instead of dressing himself up like a he-goat and hunting
+his cows."
+
+"If what they say is true he did break the neck of Father Ambrose,"
+replied Cicely, with a faint smile. "Perhaps he made a mistake in the
+dark."
+
+"If so it is like Thomas Bolle, who ever wished the right thing and did
+the wrong. Talk no more of him, since I would not meet my end in a bad
+spirit. Thomas Bolle, who lets us die for his elfish pranks! A pest on
+the half-witted cur, say I. And after I had kissed him too!"
+
+Cicely wondered vaguely to what she referred, then, thinking it well not
+to inquire, said--
+
+"Not so, a blessing on him, say I, who saved my child from that hateful
+hag."
+
+Then there was silence for a while, the matter of poor Thomas Bolle and
+his conduct being exhausted between them, who indeed were in no mood for
+argument about people whom they would never see again. At last Cicely
+spoke once more through the darkness--
+
+"Emlyn, I will try to be brave; but once, do you remember, I burnt my
+hand as a child when I stole the sweetmeats from the cooling pot, and
+ah! it hurt me. I will try to die as those who went before me would
+have died, but if I should break down think not the less of me, for the
+spirit is willing though the flesh be weak."
+
+Emlyn ground her teeth in silence, and Cicely went on--
+
+"But that is not the worst of it, Emlyn. A few minutes and it will
+be over and I shall sleep, as I think, to awake elsewhere. Only if
+Christopher should really live, how he will mourn when he learns----"
+
+"I pray that he does," broke in Emlyn, "for then ere long there will be
+a Spanish priest the less on earth and one the more in hell."
+
+"And the child, Emlyn, the child!" she went on in a trembling voice, not
+heeding the interruption. "What will become of my son, the heir to so
+much if he had his rights, and yet so friendless? They'll murder
+him also, Emlyn, or let him die, which is the same thing, since how
+otherwise will they get title to his lands and goods?"
+
+"If so, his troubles will be done and he will be better with you in
+heaven," Emlyn answered, with a dry sob. "The boy and you in heaven
+midst the blessed saints, and the Abbot and I in hell settling our score
+there with the devil for company, that's all I ask. There, there, I
+blaspheme, for injustice makes me mad; it clogs my heart and I throw it
+up in bitter words, for your sake, dear, and his, not my own. Child, you
+are good and gentle, to such as you the Ear of God is open. Call to him;
+ask for light, He will not refuse. Do you remember in the fire at the
+Towers, when we crouched in that vault and the walls crumbled overhead,
+you said you saw His angel bending over us and heard his speech. Call to
+Him, Cicely, and if He will not listen, hear me. I have a means of
+death about me. Ask not what it is, but if at the end I turn on you and
+strike, blame me not here or hereafter, for it will be love's blow, my
+last service."
+
+It seemed as though Cicely did not understand those heavy words, at the
+least she took no heed of them.
+
+"I'll pray again," she whispered, "though I fear that heaven's doors are
+closed to me; no light comes through," and she knelt down.
+
+For long, long she prayed, till at length weariness overcame her, and
+Emlyn heard her breathing softly like one asleep.
+
+"Let her sleep," she murmured to herself. "Oh! if I were sure--she
+should never wake again to see the dawn. I have half a mind to do it,
+but there it is, I am not sure. If there is a God He will never suffer
+such a thing. I'd have paid the jewels, but what's the use? They would
+have killed her all the same, for else where's their title? No, my heart
+bids me wait."
+
+
+
+Cicely awoke.
+
+"Emlyn," she said in a low, thrilling voice, "do you hear me, Emlyn?
+That angel has been with me again. He spoke to me," and she paused.
+
+"Well, well, what did he say?"
+
+"I don't know, Emlyn," she answered, confused; "it has gone from me.
+But, Emlyn, have no fear, all is well with us, and not only with us but
+with Christopher and the babe also. Oh, yes, with Christopher and the
+babe also," and she let her fair head fall upon the couch and burst into
+a flood of happy tears. Then, rising, she took up the child and kissed
+it, laid herself down and slept sweetly.
+
+Just then the dawn broke, a glorious dawn, and Emlyn held out her arms
+to it in an ecstasy of gratitude. For with that light her terror passed
+away as the darkness passed. She believed that God had spoken to Cicely
+and for a while her heart was at peace.
+
+
+
+When about eight o'clock that morning the door was opened to allow a
+nun to bring them their food, she saw a sight which filled her with
+amazement. Her own eyes, poor woman, were red with tears, for, like all
+in the Priory, she loved Cicely, whom as a child she had nursed on her
+knee, and with the other sisters had spent a sleepless night in prayer
+for her, for Emlyn, and for Bridget, who was to be burned with them. She
+had expected to find the victims prostrate and perhaps senseless with
+fear, but behold! there they sat together in the window-place, dressed
+in their best garments and talking quietly. Indeed, as she entered one
+of them--it was Cicely--laughed a little at something that the other had
+said.
+
+"Good-morning to you, Sister Mary," said Cicely. "Tell me now, has the
+Prioress returned?"
+
+"Nay, nay, we know not where she is; no word has come from her. Well, at
+least she will be spared a dreadful sight. Have you any message for her
+ear? If so, give it swiftly ere the guard call me."
+
+"I thank you," said Cicely; "but I think that I shall be the bearer of
+my own messages."
+
+"What? Do you, then, mean that our Mother is dead? Must we suffer woe
+upon woe? Oh! who could have told you these sorrowful tidings?"
+
+"No, sister, I think that she is alive and that I, yet living, shall
+talk with her again."
+
+Sister Mary looked bewildered, for how, she wondered, could close
+prisoners know these things? Staring round to see that she was not
+observed, she thrust two little packets into Cicely's hand.
+
+"Wear these at the last, both of you," she whispered. "Whatever they say
+we believe you innocent, and for your sake we have done a great crime.
+Yes, we have opened the reliquary and taken from it our most precious
+treasure, a fragment of the cord that bound St. Catherine to the wheel,
+and divided it into three, one strand for each of you. Perhaps, if you
+are really guiltless, it will work a miracle. Perhaps the fire will not
+burn or the rain will extinguish it, or the Abbot may relent."
+
+"That last would be the greatest miracle of all," broke in Emlyn, with
+grim humour. "Still we thank you from our hearts and will wear the
+relics if they do not take them from us. Hark! they are calling you.
+Farewell, and all blessings be on your gentle heads."
+
+Again the loud voices of the guards called, and Sister Mary turned and
+fled, wondering if these women were not witches, how it came about that
+they could be so brave, so different from poor Bridget, who wailed and
+moaned in her cell below.
+
+Cicely and Emlyn ate their food with good appetite, knowing that they
+would need support that day, and when it was done sat themselves again
+by the window-place, through which they could see hundreds of people,
+mounted and on foot, passing up the slope that led to the green in front
+of the Abbey, though this green they could not see because of a belt of
+trees.
+
+"Listen," said Emlyn presently. "It is hard to say, but it may be that
+your vision of the night was but a merciful dream, and, if so, within a
+few hours we shall be dead. Now I have the secret of the hiding-place of
+those jewels, which, without me, none can ever find; shall I pass it on,
+if I get the chance, to one whom I can trust? Some good soul--the nuns,
+perhaps--will surely shelter your boy, and he might need them in days to
+come."
+
+Cicely thought a while, then answered--
+
+"Not so, Emlyn. I believe that God has spoken to me by His angel, as He
+spoke to Peter in the prison. To do this would be to tempt God, showing
+that we have no trust in Him. Let that secret lie where it is, in your
+breast."
+
+"Great is your faith," said Emlyn, looking at her with admiration.
+"Well, I will stand or fall by it, for I think there is enough for two."
+
+The Convent bell chimed ten, and they heard a sound of feet and voices
+below.
+
+"They come for us," said Emlyn; "the burning is set for eleven, that
+after the sight folk may get away in comfort to their dinners. Now
+summon that great Faith of yours and hold him fast for both our sakes,
+since mine grows faint."
+
+The door opened and through it came monks followed by guards, the
+officer of whom bade them rise and follow. They obeyed without speaking,
+Cicely throwing her cloak about her shoulders.
+
+"You'll be warm enough without that, Witch," said the man, with a
+hideous chuckle.
+
+"Sir," she answered, "I shall need it to wrap my child in when we are
+parted. Give me the babe, Emlyn. There, now we are ready; nay, no need
+to lead us, we cannot escape and shall not vex you."
+
+"God's truth, the girl has spirit!" muttered the officer to his
+companions, but one of the priests shook his head and answered--
+
+"Witchcraft! Satan will leave them presently."
+
+A few more minutes and, for the first time during all those weary
+months, they passed the gate of the Priory. Here the third victim was
+waiting to join them, poor, old, half-witted Bridget, clad in a kind of
+sheet, for her habit had been stripped off. She was wild-eyed and her
+grey locks hung loose about her shoulders, as she shook her ancient head
+and screamed prayers for mercy. Cicely shivered at the sight of her,
+which indeed was dreadful.
+
+"Peace, good Bridget," she said as they passed, "being innocent, what
+have you to fear?"
+
+"The fire, the fire!" cried the poor creature. "I dread the fire."
+
+Then they were led to their place in the procession and saw no more of
+Bridget for a while, although they could not escape the sound of her
+lamentations behind them.
+
+It was a great procession. First went the monks and choristers, singing
+a melancholy Latin dirge. Then came the victims in the midst of a guard
+of twelve armed men, and after these the nuns who were forced to be
+present, while behind and about were all the folk for twenty miles
+round, a crowd without number. They crossed the footbridge, where
+stood the Ford Inn for which the Flounder had bargained as the price of
+murder. They walked up the rise by the right of way, muddy now with the
+autumn rains, and through the belt of trees where Thomas Bolle's secret
+passage had its exit, and so came at last to the green in front of the
+towering Abbey portal.
+
+Here a dreadful sight awaited them, for on this green were planted three
+fourteen-inch posts of new-felled oak six feet or more in height, such
+as no fire would easily burn through, and around each of them a kind
+of bower of faggots open to the front. Moreover, to the posts hung
+new wagon chains, and near by stood the village blacksmith and his
+apprentice, who carried a hand anvil and a sledge hammer for the cold
+welding of those chains.
+
+At a distance from these stakes the procession was halted. Then out from
+the gate of the Abbey came the Abbot in his robes and mitre, preceded by
+acolytes and followed by more monks. He advanced to where the condemned
+women stood and halted, while a friar stepped forward and read their
+sentence to them, of which, being in Latin or in crabbed, legal words,
+they understood nothing at all. Then in sonorous tones he adjured them
+for the sake of their sinful souls to make full confession of their
+guilt, that they might receive pardon before they suffered in the flesh
+for their hideous crime of sorcery.
+
+To this invitation Cicely and Emlyn shook their heads, saying that being
+innocent of any sorceries they had nothing to confess. But old Bridget
+gave another answer. She declared in a high, screaming voice that she
+was a witch, as her mother and grandmother had been before her. She
+described, while the crowd listened with intense interest, how Emlyn
+Stower had introduced her to the devil, who was clad in red hose and
+looked like a black boy with a hump on his back and a tuft of red hair
+hanging from his nose, also many unedifying details of her interviews
+with this same fiend.
+
+Asked what he said to her, she answered that he told her to bewitch the
+Abbot of Blossholme because he was such a holy man that God had need
+of him and he did too much good upon the earth. Also he prevented Emlyn
+Stower and Cicely Foterell from working his, the devil's, will, and
+enabled them to keep alive the baby who would be a great wizard. He told
+her moreover that midwife Megges was an angel (here the crowd laughed)
+sent to kill the said infant, who really was his own child, as might be
+seen by its black eyebrows and cleft tongue, also its webbed feet, and
+that he would appear in the shape of the ghost of Sir John Foterell
+to save it and give it to her, which he did, saying the Lord's Prayer
+backwards, and that she must bring it up "in the faith of the Pentagon."
+
+Thus the poor crazed thing raved on, while sentence by sentence a scribe
+wrote down her gibberish, causing her at last to make her mark to it,
+all of which took a very long time. At the end she begged that she might
+be pardoned and not burnt, but this, she was informed, was impossible.
+Thereon she became enraged and asked why then had she been led to tell
+so many lies if after all she must burn, a question at which the crowd
+roared with laughter. On hearing this the priest, who was about to
+absolve her, changed his mind and ordered her to be fastened to her
+stake, which was done by the blacksmith with the help of his apprentice
+and his portable anvil.
+
+Still, her "confession" was solemnly read over to Cicely and Emlyn, who
+were asked whether, after hearing it, they still persisted in a denial
+of their guilt. By way of answer Cicely lifted the hood from her boy's
+face and showed that his eyebrows were not black, but light-coloured.
+Also she bared his feet, passing her little finger between his toes, and
+asking them if they were webbed. Some of them answered, "No," but a monk
+roared, "What of that? Cannot Satan web and unweb?" Then he snatched the
+infant from Cicely's arms and laid it down upon the stump of an oak that
+had been placed there to receive it, crying out--
+
+"Let this child live or die as God pleases."
+
+Some brute who stood by aimed a blow at it with a stick, yelling, "Death
+to the witch's brat!" but a big man, whom Emlyn recognized as one of old
+Sir John's tenants, caught the falling stick from his hand and dealt him
+such a clout with it that he fell like a stone, and went for the rest
+of his life with but one eye and the nose flattened on the side of his
+face. Thenceforward no one tried to harm the babe, who, as all know,
+because of what befell him on this day, went in after life by the
+nickname of Christopher Oak-stump.
+
+The Abbot's men stepped forward to tie Cicely to her stake, but ere they
+laid hands on her she took off her wool-lined cloak and threw it to the
+yeoman who had struck down the fellow with his own stick, saying--
+
+"Friend, wrap my boy in this and guard him till I ask him from you
+again."
+
+"Aye, Lady," answered the great man, bending his knee; "I have served
+the grandsire and the sire, and so I'll serve the son," and throwing
+aside the stick he drew a sword and set himself in front of the oak boll
+where the infant lay. Nor did any venture to meddle with him, for they
+saw other men of a like sort ranging themselves about him.
+
+Now slowly enough the smith began to rivet the chain round Cicely.
+
+"Man," she said to him, "I have seen you shoe many of my father's nags.
+Who could have thought that you would live to use your honest skill upon
+his daughter!"
+
+On hearing these words the fellow burst into tears, cast down his tools
+and fled away, cursing the Abbot. His apprentice would have followed,
+but him they caught and forced to complete the task. Then Emlyn was
+chained up also, so that at length all was ready for the last terrible
+act of the drama.
+
+Now the head executioner--he was the Abbey cook--placed some pine
+splinters to light in a brazier that stood near by, and while waiting
+for the word of command, remarked audibly to his mate that there was a
+good wind and that the witches would burn briskly.
+
+The spectators were ordered back out of earshot, and went at last, some
+of them muttering sullenly to each other. For here the company could
+not be picked as it had been at the trial, and the Abbot noted anxiously
+that among them the victims had many friends. It was time the deed was
+done ere their smouldering love and pity flowed out into bloody tumult,
+he thought to himself. So, advancing quickly, he stood in front of Emlyn
+and asked her in a low voice if she still refused to give up the secret
+of the jewels, seeing that there was yet time for him to command that
+they should die mercifully and not by the fire.
+
+"Let the mistress judge, not the maid," answered Emlyn in a steady
+voice.
+
+He turned and repeated the question to Cicely, who replied--
+
+"Have I not told you--never. Get you behind me, O evil man, and go,
+repent your sins ere it be too late."
+
+The Abbot stared at her, feeling that such constancy and courage were
+almost superhuman. He had an acute, imaginative mind which could fancy
+himself in like case and what his state would be. Though he was in such
+haste a great curiosity entered into him to know whence she drew her
+strength, which even then he tried to satisfy.
+
+"Are you mad or drugged, Cicely Foterell?" he asked. "Do you not know
+how fire will feel when it eats up that delicate flesh of yours?"
+
+"I do not know and I shall never know," she answered quietly.
+
+"Do you mean that you will die before it touches you, building on some
+promise of your master, Satan?"
+
+"Yes, I shall die before the fire touches me; but not here and now, and
+I build upon a promise from the Master of us all in heaven."
+
+He laughed, a shrill, nervous laugh, and called out loud to the people
+around--
+
+"This witch says that she will not burn, for Heaven has promised it to
+her. Do you not, Witch?"
+
+"Yes, I say so; bear witness to my words, good people all," replied
+Cicely in clear and ringing tones.
+
+"Well, we'll see," shouted the Abbot. "Man, bring flame, and let
+Heaven--or hell--help her if it can!"
+
+The cook-executioner blew at his brands, but he was nervous, or clumsy,
+and a minute or more went by before they flamed. At length one was fit
+for the task, and unwillingly enough he stooped to lift it up.
+
+Then it was that in the midst of the intense silence, for of all that
+multitude none seemed even to breathe, and old Bridget, who had fainted,
+cried no more, a bull's voice was heard beyond the brow of the hill,
+roaring--
+
+"_In the King's name, stay! In the King's name, stay!_"
+
+All turned to look, and there between the trees appeared a white horse,
+its sides streaked with blood, that staggered rather than galloped
+towards them, and on the horse a huge, red-bearded man, clad in mail and
+holding in his hand a woodman's axe.
+
+"Fire the faggots!" shouted the Abbot, but the cook, who was not by
+nature brave, had already let fall his torch, which went out on the damp
+ground.
+
+By now the horse was rushing through them, treading them under foot.
+With great, convulsive bounds it reached the ring and, as the rider
+leapt from its back, rolled over and lay there panting, for its strength
+was done.
+
+"It is Thomas Bolle!" exclaimed a voice, while the Abbot cried again--
+
+"Fire the faggots! Fire the faggots!" and a soldier ran to fetch another
+brand.
+
+But Thomas was before him. Snatching up the brazier by its legs he
+smote downwards with it so that the burning charcoal fell all about the
+soldier and the iron cage remained fixed upon his head, shouting as he
+smote--
+
+"You sought fire--take it!"
+
+The man rolled upon the ground screaming in pain and terror till some
+one dragged the cage off his head, leaving his face barred like a
+grilled herring. None took further heed of what became of him, for now
+Thomas Bolle stood in front of the stakes waving his great axe, and
+repeating, "In the King's name, stay! In the King's name, stay!"
+
+"What mean you, knave?" exclaimed the furious Abbot.
+
+"What I say, Priest. One step nearer and I'll split your crown."
+
+The Abbot fell back and Thomas went on--
+
+"A Foterell! A Foterell! A Harflete! A Harflete! O ye who have eaten
+their bread, come, scatter these faggots and save their flesh. Who'll
+stand with me against Maldon and his butchers?"
+
+"I," answered voices, "and I, and I, and I!"
+
+"And I too," hallooed the yeoman by the oak stump, "only I watch
+the child. Nay, by God I'll bring it with me!" and, snatching up the
+screaming babe under his left arm, he ran to him.
+
+On came the others also, hurling the faggots this way and that.
+
+"Break the chains," roared Bolle again, and somehow those strong hands
+did it; indeed, the only hurt that Cicely took that day was from their
+hacking at these chains. They were loose. Cicely snatched the child from
+the yeoman, who was glad enough to be rid of it, having other work to
+do, for now the Abbot's men-at-arms were coming on.
+
+"Ring the women round," roared Bolle, "and strike home for Foterell,
+strike home for Harflete! Ah, priest's dog, in the King's name--this!"
+and the axe sank up to the haft into the breast of the captain who had
+told Cicely that she would be warm enough that day without her cloak.
+
+Then there began a great fight. The party of Foterell, of whom there
+may have been a score, captained by Bolle, made a circle round the three
+green oak stakes, within which stood Cicely and Emlyn and old Bridget,
+still tied to her post, for no one had thought or found time to cut her
+loose. These were attacked by the Abbot's guard, thirty or more of
+them, urged on by Maldon himself, who was maddened by the rescue of his
+victims and full of fear lest Cicely's words should be fulfilled and
+she herself set down henceforth, not as a witch, but as a prophetess
+favoured by God.
+
+On came the soldiers and were beaten back. Thrice they came on and
+thrice they were beaten back with loss, for Bolle's axe was terrible to
+face and, now that they had found a leader and their courage, the yeoman
+lads who stood with him were sturdy fighters. Also tumult broke out
+among the hundreds who watched, some of them taking one side and some
+the other, so that they fell upon each other with sticks and stones
+and fists, even the women joining in the fray, biting and tearing like
+bagged cats. The scene was hideous and the sounds those of a sacked
+city, for many were hurt and all gave tongue, while shrill and clear
+above this hateful music rose the yells of Bridget, who had awakened
+from her faint and imagined all was over and that she fathomed hell.
+
+Thrice the attackers were rolled back, but of those who defended a third
+were down, and now the Abbot took another counsel.
+
+"Bring bows," he cried, "and shoot them, for they have none!" and men
+ran off to do his bidding.
+
+Then it was that Emlyn's wit came to their aid, for when Bolle shook his
+red head and gasped out that he feared they were lost, since how could
+they fight against arrows, she answered--
+
+"If so, why stand here to be spitted, fool? Come, let us cut our way
+through ere the shafts begin to fly, and take refuge among the trees or
+in the Nunnery."
+
+"Women's counsel is good sometimes," said Bolle. "Form up, Foterells,
+and march."
+
+"Nay," broke in Cicely, "loose Bridget first, lest they should burn her
+after all; I'll not stir else."
+
+So Bridget was hacked free, and together with the wounded men, of whom
+there were several, dragged and supported thence. Then began a running
+fight, but one in which they still held their own. Yet they would have
+been overwhelmed at last, for the women and the wounded hampered them,
+had not help come. For as they hewed their path towards the belt of
+trees with the Abbot's fierce fellows, some of whom were French or
+Spanish, hanging on their flanks, suddenly, in the gap where the roadway
+ran, appeared a horse galloping and on it a woman, who clung to its mane
+with both hands, and after her many armed men.
+
+"Look, Emlyn, look!" exclaimed Cicely. "Who is that?" for she could not
+believe her eyes.
+
+"Who but Mother Matilda," answered Emlyn; "and by the saints, she is a
+strange sight!"
+
+A strange sight she was indeed, for her hood was gone, her hair, that
+was ever so neat, flew loose, her robe was ruckled up about her knees,
+the rosary and crucifix she wore streamed on the air behind her and beat
+against her back, and her garb had burst open at the front; in short,
+never was holy, aged Prioress seen in such a state before. Down she
+came on them like a whirlwind, for her frightened horse scented its
+Blossholme stable, clinging grimly to her unaccustomed seat, and crying
+as she sped--
+
+"For God's love, stop this mad beast!"
+
+Bolle caught it by the bridle and threw it to its haunches so that,
+its rider speeding on, flew over its head on to the broad breast of the
+yeoman who had watched the child, and there rested thankfully. For, as
+Mother Matilda said afterwards with her gentle smile, never before did
+she know what comfort there was to be found in man.
+
+When at length she loosed her arms from about his neck the yeoman stood
+her on her feet, saying that this was worse than the baby, and her
+wandering eyes fell upon Cicely.
+
+"So I am in time! Oh! never more will I revile that horse," she
+exclaimed, and sinking to her knees then and there she gasped out some
+prayer of thankfulness. Meanwhile, those who followed her had reined
+up in front, and the Abbot's soldiers with the accompanying crowd had
+halted behind, not knowing what to make of these strangers, so that
+Bolle and his party with the women were now between the two.
+
+From among the new-comers rode out a fat, coarse man, with a pompous
+air as of one who is accustomed to be obeyed, who inquired in a laboured
+voice, for he was breathless from hard riding, what all this turmoil
+meant.
+
+"Ask the Abbot of Blossholme," said some one, "for it is his work."
+
+"Abbot of Blossholme? That's the man I want," puffed the fat stranger.
+"Appear, Abbot of Blossholme, and give account of these doings. And you
+fellows," he added to his escort, "range up and be ready, lest this said
+priest should prove contumacious."
+
+Now the Abbot stepped forward with some of his monks and, looking the
+horseman up and down, said--
+
+"Who may it be that demands account so roughly of a consecrated Abbot?"
+
+"A consecrated Abbot? A consecrated peacock, a tumultuous, turbulent,
+traitorous priest, a Spanish rogue ruffler who, I am told, keeps about
+him a band of bloody mercenaries to break the King's peace and slay
+loyal English folk. Well, consecrated Abbot, I'll tell you who I am. I
+am Thomas Legh, his Grace's Visitor and Royal Commissioner to inspect
+the Houses called religious, and I am come hither upon complaint made by
+yonder Prioress of Blossholme Nunnery, as to your dealings with
+certain of his Highness's subjects whom, she says, you have accused of
+witchcraft for purposes of revenge and unlawful gain. That is who I am,
+my fine fowl of an Abbot."
+
+Now when he heard this pompous speech the rage in Maldon's face was
+replaced by fear, for he knew of this Doctor Legh and his mission, and
+understood what Thomas Bolle had meant by his cry of, "In the King's
+name!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+THE MESSENGER
+
+"Who makes all this tumult?" shouted the Commissioner. "Why do I see
+blood and wounds and dead men? And how were you about to handle these
+women, one of whom by her mien is of no low degree?" and he stared at
+Cicely.
+
+"The tumult," answered the Abbot, "was caused by yonder fool, Thomas
+Bolle, a lay-brother of my monastery, who rushed among us armed and
+shouting 'In the King's name, stay.'"
+
+"Then why did you not stay, Sir Abbot? Is the King's name one to be
+mocked at? Know that I sent on the man."
+
+"He had no warrant, Sir Commissioner, unless his bull's voice and great
+axe are a warrant, and I did not stay because we were doing justice upon
+the three foulest witches in the realm."
+
+"Doing justice? Whose justice and what justice? Say, had you a warrant
+for your justice? If so, show it me."
+
+"These witches have been condemned by a Court Ecclesiastic, the judges
+being a bishop, a prior and myself, and in pursuance of that judgment
+were about to suffer for their sins by fire," replied Maldon.
+
+"A Court Ecclesiastic!" roared Dr. Legh. "Can Courts Ecclesiastic, then,
+toast free English folk to death? If you would not stand your trial for
+attempted murder, show me your warrant signed by his Grace the King,
+or by his Justices of Assize. What! You do not answer. Have you none? I
+thought as much. Oho, Clement Maldon, you hang-faced Spanish dog, learn
+that eyes have been on you for long, and now it seems that you would
+usurp the King's prerogative besides----" and he checked himself, then
+went on, "Seize that priest, and keep him fast while I make inquiry of
+this business."
+
+Now some of the Commissioner's guard surrounded Maldon, nor did his own
+men venture to interfere with them, for they had enough of fighting and
+were frightened by this talk about the King's warrant.
+
+Then the Commissioner turned to Cicely, and said--
+
+"You are Sir John Foterell's only child, are you not, who allege
+yourself to be wife to Sir Christopher Harflete, or so says yonder
+Prioress? Now, what was about to happen to you, and why?"
+
+"Sir," answered Cicely, "I and my waiting-woman and the old sister,
+Bridget, were condemned to die by fire at those stakes upon a charge
+of sorcery. Although it is true," she added, "that I knew we should not
+perish thus."
+
+"How did you know that, Lady? By all tokens your bodies and hot flame
+were near enough together," and he glanced towards the stakes and the
+scattered faggots.
+
+"Sir, I knew it because of a vision that God sent to me in my sleep last
+night."
+
+"Aye, she swore that at the stake," exclaimed a voice, "and we thought
+her mad."
+
+"Now can you deny that she is a witch?" broke in Maldon. "If she were
+not one of Satan's own, how could she see visions and prophecy her own
+deliverance?"
+
+"If visions and prophecies are proof of witchcraft, then, Priest, all
+Holy Writ is but a seething pot of sorcery," answered Legh. "Then the
+Blessed Virgin and St. Elizabeth were witches, and Paul and John should
+have been burnt as wizards. Continue, Lady, leaving out your dreams
+until a more convenient time."
+
+"Sir," went on Cicely, "we have worked no sorcery, and my crime is that
+I will not name my child a bastard and sign away my lands and goods to
+yonder Abbot, the murderer of my father and perhaps of my husband. Oh!
+listen, listen, you and all folk here, and briefly as I may I will tell
+my tale. Have I your leave to speak?"
+
+The Commissioner nodded, and she set out her story from the beginning,
+so sweetly, so simply and with such truth and earnestness, that the
+concourse of people packed close about her, hung upon her every word,
+and even Dr. Legh's coarse face softened as he heard. For the half of an
+hour or more she spoke, telling of her father's death, of her flight and
+marriage, of the burning of Cranwell Towers, and her widowing, if such
+it were; of her imprisonment in the Priory and the Abbot's dealings with
+her and Emlyn; of the birth of her child and its attempted murder by
+the midwife, his creature; of their trial and condemnation, they being
+innocent, and of all they had endured that day.
+
+"If you are innocent," shouted a priest as she paused for breath, "what
+was that Thing dressed in the livery of Satan which worked evil at
+Blossholme? Did we not see it with our eyes?"
+
+Just then some one uttered an exclamation and pointed to the shadow of
+the trees where a strange form was moving. Another moment and it came
+out into the light. One more and all that multitude scattered like
+frightened sheep, rushing this way and that; yes, even the horses took
+the bits between their teeth and bolted. For there, visible to all,
+Satan himself strolled towards them. On his head were horns, behind his
+back hung down a tail, his body was shaggy like a beast's, and his face
+hideous and of many colours, while in his hand he held a pronged fork
+with a long handle. This way and that rushed the throng, only the
+Commissioner, who had dismounted, stood still, perhaps because he
+was too afraid to stir, and with him the women and some of the nuns,
+including the Prioress, who fell upon their knees and began to utter
+prayers.
+
+On came the dreadful thing till it reached the King's Visitor, bowing
+to him and bellowing like a bull, then very deliberately untied some
+strings and let its horrid garb fall off, revealing the person of Thomas
+Bolle!
+
+"What means this mummery, knave?" gasped Dr. Legh.
+
+"Mummery do you call it, sir?" answered Thomas with a grin. "Well, if
+so, 'tis on the faith of such mummery that priests burn women in merry
+England. Come, good people, come," he roared in his great voice, "come,
+see Satan in the flesh. Here are his horns," and he held them up, "once
+they grew upon the head of Widow Johnson's billy-goat. Here's his tail,
+many a fly has it flicked off the belly of an Abbey cow. Here's his ugly
+mug, begotten of parchment and the paint-box. Here's his dreadful fork
+that drives the damned to some hotter corner; it has been death to whole
+stones of eels down in the marsh-fleet yonder. I have some hell-fire too
+among the bag of tricks; you'll make the best of brimstone and a little
+oil dried out upon the hearth. Come, see the devil all complete and
+naught to pay."
+
+Back trooped the crowd a little fearfully, taking the properties which
+he held, and handling them, till first one and then all of them began to
+laugh.
+
+"Laugh not," shouted Bolle. "Is it a matter of laughter that noble
+ladies and others whose lives are as dear to some," and he glanced at
+Emlyn, "should grill like herrings because a poor fool walks about clad
+in skins to keep out the cold and frighten villains? Hark you, I played
+this trick. I am Beelzebub, also the ghost of Sir John Foterell. I
+entered the Priory chapel by a passage that I know, and saved yonder
+babe from murder and scared the murderess down to hell; yes, from the
+sham devil to the true. Why did I do it? Well, to protect the innocent
+and scourge the wicked in his pride. But the wicked seized the innocent
+and the innocent said nothing, fearing lest I should suffer with them,
+and----O God, you know the rest!
+
+"It was a near thing, a very near thing, but I'm not the half-wit I've
+feigned to be for years. Moreover, I had a good horse and a heavy axe,
+and there are still true hearts round Blossholme; the dead men that lie
+yonder show it. Heaven has still its angels on the earth, though they
+wear strange shapes. There stands one of them, and there another,"
+and he pointed first to the fat and pompous Visitor, and next to the
+dishevelled Prioress, adding: "And now, Sir Commissioner, for all that
+I have done in the cause of justice I ask pardon of you who wear the
+King's grace and majesty as I wore old Nick's horns and hoofs, since
+otherwise the Abbot and his hired butchers, who hold themselves masters
+of King and people, will murder me for this as they have done by better
+men. Therefore pardon, your Mightiness, pardon," and he kneeled down
+before him.
+
+"You have it, Bolle; in the King's name you have it," replied Legh, who
+was more flattered by the titles and attributes poured upon him by the
+cunning Thomas than a closer consideration might have warranted. "For
+all that you have done, or left undone, I, the Commissioner of his
+Grace, declare that you shall go scot free and that no action criminal
+or civil shall lie against you, and this my secretary shall give to you
+in writing. Now, good fellow, rise, but steal Satan's plumes no more
+lest you should feel his claws and beak, for he is an ill fowl to mock.
+Bring hither that Spaniard Maldon. I have somewhat to say to him."
+
+Now they looked this way and that, but no Abbot could they see. The
+guards swore that they had never taken eye off him, even when they all
+ran before the devil, yet certainly he was gone.
+
+"The knave has given us the slip," bellowed the Commissioner, who was
+purple with rage. "Search for him! Seize him, for which my command shall
+be your warrant. Draw the wood. I'll to the Abbey, where perchance the
+fox has gone to earth. Five golden crowns to the man who nets the slimy
+traitor."
+
+Now every one, burning with zeal to show their loyalty and to win the
+crowns, scattered on the search, so that presently the three "witches,"
+Thomas Bolle, Mother Matilda, and the nuns, were left standing almost
+alone and staring at each other and the dead and wounded men who lay
+about.
+
+"Let us to the Priory," said Mother Matilda, "for by the sun I judge
+that it is time for evening prayer, and there seem to be none to hinder
+us."
+
+Thomas went to her horse, which grazed close at hand, and led it up.
+
+"Nay, good friend," she exclaimed, with energy, "while I live no more of
+that evil beast for me. Henceforth I'll walk till I am carried. Keep it,
+Thomas, as a gift; it is bought and paid for. Sister, your arm."
+
+"Have I done well, Emlyn?" Bolle asked, as he tightened the girths.
+
+"I don't know," she answered, looking at him sideways. "You played the
+cur at first, leaving us to burn for your sins, but afterwards, well,
+you found the wits you say you never lost. Also your manners mended, and
+yonder captain knave learned that you can handle an axe, so we'll say
+no more about it, lad, for doubtless that Abbot and his spies were sore
+task-masters and broke your spirit with their penances and talk of hell
+to come. Here, lift my lady on to this horse, for she is spent, and
+let me lean upon your shoulder, Thomas. It's weary work standing at a
+stake."
+
+
+
+Cicely's recollections of the remainder of that day were always shadowy
+and tangled. She remembered a prayer of thanksgiving in which she took
+small part with her lips, she whose heart was one great thanksgiving.
+She remembered the good sister who had given them the relics of St.
+Catherine assuring her, as she received them back with care, that
+these and these alone had worked the miracle and saved their lives. She
+remembered eating food and straining her boy to her breast, and then she
+remembered no more till she woke to see the morning sun streaming into
+that same room whence on the previous day they had been led out to
+suffer the most horrible of deaths.
+
+Yes, she woke, and see, near by was Emlyn making ready her garments, as
+she had done these many years, and at her side lay the boy crowing in
+the sunlight and waving his little arms, the blessed boy who knew not
+the terrors he had passed. At first she thought that she had dreamed a
+very evil dream, till by degrees all the truth came back to her, and
+she shivered at its memory, yes, even as the weight of it rolled off her
+heart she shivered and whitened like an aspen in the wind. Then she rose
+and thanked God for His mercies, which were great.
+
+Oh, if the strength of that horse of Thomas Bolle's had failed one short
+five minutes sooner, she, in whom the red blood still ran so healthily,
+would have been but a handful of charred bones. Or if her faith had left
+her so that she had yielded to the Abbot and shortened all his talk at
+the place of burning, then Bolle would have come too late. But it proved
+sufficient to her need, and for this also truly she should be thankful
+to its Giver.
+
+After they had eaten, a message came to them from the Prioress, who
+desired to see them in her chamber. Thither they went, rejoiced to find
+that they were no longer prisoners but had liberty to come and go, and
+found her seated in a tall chair, for she was too stiff to walk. Cicely
+ran to her, knelt down and kissed her, and she laid her left hand upon
+her head in blessing, for the right was cut with the chafing of the
+reins.
+
+"Surely, Cicely," she said, smiling, "it is I who should kneel to you,
+were I in any state to do so. For now I have heard all the tale, and it
+seems that we have a prophetess among us, one favoured with visions from
+on high, which visions have been most marvellously fulfilled."
+
+"That is so, Mother," she answered briefly, for this was a matter of
+which she would never talk at length, either then or thereafter, "but
+the fulfilment came through you."
+
+"My daughter, I was but the minister, you were the chosen seer, still
+let the holy business lie a while. Perhaps you will tell me of it
+afterwards, and meantime the world and its affairs press us hard. Your
+deliverance has been bought at no small cost, my daughter, for know that
+yonder coarse and ungodly man, the King's Visitor, told me as we rode
+that this Nunnery must be dissolved, its house and revenues seized, and
+I and my sisters turned out to starve in our old age. Indeed, to bring
+him here at all I was forced to petition that it might be so in a
+writing that I signed. See, then, how great is my love for you, dear
+Cicely."
+
+"Mother," she answered, "it cannot be, it shall not be."
+
+"Alas! child, how will you prevent it? These Visitors, and those who
+commission them, are hungry folk. I hear they take the lands and goods
+of poor religious such as we are, and if these are fortunate, give one
+or two of them a little pittance to get bread. Once I had moneys of my
+own, but I spent them to buy back the Valley Farm which the Abbot had
+seized, and of late to satisfy his extortions," and she wept a little.
+
+"Mother, listen. I have wealth hidden away, I know not where exactly,
+but Emlyn knows. It is my very own, the Carfax jewels that came to me
+from my mother. It was because of these that we were brought to the
+stake, since the Abbot offered us life in return for them, and when it
+was too late to save us, a more merciful death than that by fire. But I
+forbade Emlyn to yield the secret; something in my heart told me to do
+so, now I know why. Mother, the price of those gems shall buy back your
+lands, and mayhap buy also permission from his Grace the King for the
+continuance of your house, where you and yours shall worship as those
+who went before you have done for many generations. I swear it in my own
+name and in that of my child and of my husband also--if he lives."
+
+"Your husband if he lives might need this wealth, sweet Cicely."
+
+"Then, Mother, except to save his life, or liberty or honour, I tell you
+I will refuse it to him, who, when he learns what you have done for me
+and our son, would give it you and all else he has besides--nay, would
+pay it as an honourable debt."
+
+"Well, Cicely, in God's name and my own I thank you, and we'll see,
+we'll see! Only be advised, lest Dr. Legh should learn of this treasure.
+But where is it, Emlyn? Fear not to tell me who can be secret, for it
+is well that more than one should know, and I think that your danger is
+past."
+
+"Yes, speak, Emlyn," said Cicely, "for though I never asked before,
+fearing my own weakness, I am curious. None can hear us here."
+
+"Then, Mistress, I will tell you. You remember that on the day of the
+burning of Cranwell we sought refuge on the central tower, whence I
+carried you senseless to the vault. Now in that vault we lay all night,
+and while you swooned I searched with my fingers till I found a stone
+that time and damp had loosened, behind which was a hollow. In that
+hollow I hid the jewels that I carried wrapt in silk in the bosom of my
+robe. Then I filled up the hole with dust scraped from the floor, and
+replaced the stone, wedging it tight with bits of mortar. It is the
+third stone counting from the eastern angle in the second course above
+the floor line. There I set them, and there doubtless they lie to this
+day, for unless the tower is pulled down to its foundations none will
+ever find them in that masonry."
+
+At this moment there came a knocking on the door. When it was opened by
+Emlyn a nun entered, saying that the King's Visitor demanded to speak
+with the Prioress.
+
+"Show him here since I cannot come to him," said Mother Matilda, "and
+you, Cicely and Emlyn, bide with me, for in such company it is well to
+have witnesses."
+
+A minute later Dr. Legh appeared accompanied by his secretaries,
+gorgeously attired and puffing from the stairs.
+
+"To business, to business," he said, scarcely stopping to acknowledge
+the greetings of the Prioress. "Your convent is sequestrated upon
+your own petition, Madam, therefore I need not stop to make the usual
+inquiries, and indeed I will admit that from all I hear it has a good
+repute, for none allege scandal against you, perhaps because you are all
+too old for such follies. Produce now your deeds, your terrier of lands
+and your rent-rolls, that I may take them over in due form and dissolve
+the sisterhood."
+
+"I will send for them, Sir," answered the Prioress humbly; "but,
+meanwhile, tell us what we poor religious are to do? I am turned sixty
+years of age, and have dwelt in this house for forty of them; none of my
+sisters are young, and some of them are older than myself. Whither shall
+we go?"
+
+"Into the world, Madam, which you will find a fine, large place. Cease
+snuffling prayers and from all vulgar superstitions--by the way, forget
+not to hand over any reliquaries of value, or any papistical emblems
+in precious metals that you may possess, including images, of which my
+secretaries will take account--and go out into the world. Marry there
+if you can find husbands, follow useful trades there. Do what you will
+there, and thank the King who frees you from the incumbrance of silly
+vows and from the circle of a convent's walls."
+
+"To give us liberty to starve outside of them. Sir, do you understand
+your work? For hundreds of years we have sat at Blossholme, and during
+all those generations have prayed to God for the souls of men and
+ministered to their bodies. We have done no harm to any creature, and
+what wealth came to us from the earth or from the benefactions of
+the pious we have dispensed with a liberal hand, taking nothing for
+ourselves. The poor by multitudes have fed at our gates, their sick we
+have nursed, their children we have taught; often we have gone hungry
+that they might be full. Now you drive us forth in our age to perish.
+If that is the will of God, so be it, but what must chance to England's
+poor?"
+
+"That is England's business, Madam, and the poor's. Meanwhile I have
+told you that I have no time to waste, since I must away to London to
+make report concerning this Abbot of yours, a veritable rogue, of
+whose villainous plots I have discovered many things. I pray you send a
+messenger to bid them hurry with the deeds."
+
+Just then a nun entered bearing a tray, on which were cakes and wine.
+Emlyn took it from her, and pouring the wine into cups offered them to
+the Visitor and his secretaries.
+
+"Good wine," he said, after he had drunk, "a very generous wine. You
+nuns know the best in liquor; be careful, I pray you, to include it in
+your inventory. Why, woman, are you not one of those whom that Abbot
+would have burnt? Yes, and there is your mistress, Dame Foterell, or
+Dame Harflete, with whom I desire a word."
+
+"I am at your service, Sir," said Cicely.
+
+"Well, Madam, you and your servant have escaped the stake to which, as
+near as I can judge, you were sentenced upon no evidence at all. Still,
+you were condemned by a competent ecclesiastical Court, and under that
+condemnation you must therefore remain until or unless the King pardons
+you. My judgment is, then, that you stay here awaiting his command."
+
+"But, Sir," said Cicely, "if the good nuns who have befriended me are to
+be driven forth, how can I dwell on in their house alone? Yet you say
+I must not leave it, and indeed if I could, whither should I go? My
+husband's hall is burnt, my own the Abbot holds. Moreover, if I bide
+here, in this way or in that he will have my life."
+
+"The knave has fled away," said Dr. Legh, rubbing his fat chin.
+
+"Aye, but he will come back again, or his people will, and, Sir, you
+know these Spaniards are good haters, and I have defied him long. Oh,
+Sir, I crave the protection of the King for my child's sake and my own,
+and for Emlyn Stower also."
+
+The Commissioner went on rubbing his chin.
+
+"You can give much evidence against this Maldon, can you not?" he asked
+at length.
+
+"Aye," broke in Emlyn, "enough to hang him ten times over, and so can
+I."
+
+"And you have large estates which he has seized, have you not?"
+
+"I have, Sir, who am of no mean birth and station."
+
+"Lady," he said, with more deference in his voice, "step aside with me,
+I would speak with you privately," and he walked to the window, where
+she followed him. "Now tell me, what was the value of these properties
+of yours?"
+
+"I know not rightly, Sir, but I have heard my father say about �300 a
+year."
+
+His manner became more deferential still, since for those days such
+wealth was great.
+
+"Indeed, my Lady. A large sum, a very comfortable fortune if you can get
+it back. Now I will be frank with you. The King's Commissioners are not
+well paid and their costs are great. If I so arrange your matters
+that you come to your own again and that the judgment of witchcraft
+pronounced against you and your servant is annulled, will you promise to
+pay me one year's rent of these estates to meet the various expenses I
+must incur on your behalf?"
+
+Now it was Cicely's turn to think.
+
+"Surely," she answered at length, "if you will add a condition--that
+these good sisters shall be left undisturbed in their Nunnery."
+
+He shook his fat head.
+
+"It is not possible now. The thing is too public. Why, the Lord Cromwell
+would say I had been bribed, and I might lose my office."
+
+"Well, then," went on Cicely, "if you will promise that one year of
+grace shall be given to them to make arrangements for their future."
+
+"That I can do," he answered, nodding, "on the ground that they are of
+blameless life, and have protected you from the King's enemy. But this
+is an uncertain world; I must ask you to sign an indenture, and its form
+will be that you acknowledge to have received from me a loan of �300 to
+be repaid with interest when you recover your estates."
+
+"Draw it up and I will sign, Sir."
+
+"Good, Madam; and now that we may get this business through, you will
+accompany me to London, where you will be safe from harm. We'll not ride
+to-day, but to-morrow morning at the light."
+
+"Then my servant Emlyn must come also, Sir, to help me with the babe,
+and Thomas Bolle too, for he can prove that the witchcraft upon which we
+were condemned was but his trickery."
+
+"Yes, yes; but the costs of travel for so many will be great. Have you,
+perchance, any money?"
+
+"Yes, Sir, about �50 in gold that is sewn up in one of Emlyn's robes."
+
+"Ah! A sufficient sum. Too much indeed to be risked upon your persons in
+these rough times. You will let me take charge of half of it for you?"
+
+"With pleasure, Sir, trusting you as I do. Keep to your bargain and I
+will keep to mine."
+
+"Good. When Thomas Legh is fairly dealt with, Thomas Legh deals fairly,
+no man can say otherwise. This afternoon I will bring the deed, and
+you'll give me that �25 in charge."
+
+Then, followed by Cicely, he returned to where the Prioress sat, and
+said--
+
+"Mother Matilda, for so I understand you are called in religion, the
+Lady Harflete has been pleading with me for you, and because you have
+dealt so well by her I have promised in the King's name that you and
+your nuns shall live on here undisturbed for one year from this day,
+after which you must yield up peaceable possession to his Majesty, whom
+I will beg that you shall be pensioned."
+
+"I thank you, Sir," the Prioress answered. "When one is old a year of
+grace is much, and in a year many things may happen--for instance, my
+death."
+
+"Thank me not--a plain man who but follows after justice and duty. The
+documents for your signature shall be ready this afternoon, and by the
+way, the Lady Harflete and her servant, also that stout, shrewd fellow,
+Thomas Bolle, ride with me to London to-morrow. She will explain all. At
+three of the clock I wait upon you."
+
+The Visitor and his secretaries bustled out of the room as pompously
+as they had entered, and when they had gone Cicely explained to Mother
+Matilda and Emlyn what had passed.
+
+"I think that you have done wisely," said the Prioress, when she had
+listened. "That man is a shark, but better give him your little finger
+than your whole body. Certainly, you have bargained well for us, for
+what may not happen in a year? Also, dear Cicely, you will be safer in
+London than at Blossholme, since with the great sum of �300 to gain
+that Commissioner will watch you like the apple of his eye and push your
+cause."
+
+"Unless some one promises him the greater sum of �1000 to scotch it,"
+interrupted Emlyn. "Well, there was but one road to take, and paper
+promises are little, though I grudge the good �25 in gold. Meanwhile,
+Mother, we have much to make ready. I pray you send some one to find
+Thomas Bolle, who will not be far away, for since we are no longer
+prisoners I wish to go out walking with him on an errand of my own that
+perchance you can guess. Wealth may be useful in London town for all our
+sakes. Also horses and a packbeast must be got, and other things."
+
+
+
+In due course Thomas Bolle was found fast asleep in a neighbour's house,
+for after his adventures and triumph he had drunk hard and rested
+long. When she discovered the truth Emlyn rated him well, calling him
+a beer-tub and not a man, and many other hard names, till at last she
+provoked him to answer, that had it not been for the said beer-tub she
+would be but ash-dust this day. Thereon she turned the talk and told
+them their needs, and that he must ride with them to London. To this
+he replied that good horses should be saddled by the dawn, for he knew
+where to lay hands on them, since some were left in the Abbot's stables
+that wanted exercise; further, that he would be glad to leave Blossholme
+for a while, where he had made enemies on the yesterday, whose friends
+yet lay wounded or unburied. After this Emlyn whispered something in his
+ear, to which he nodded assent, saying that he would bustle round and be
+ready.
+
+That afternoon Emlyn went out riding with Thomas Bolle, who was fully
+armed, as she said, to try two of the horses that should carry them on
+the morrow, and it was late when she returned out of the dark night.
+
+"Have you got them?" asked Cicely, when they were together in their
+room.
+
+"Aye," she answered, "every one; but some stones have fallen, and it
+was hard to win an entrance to that vault. Indeed, had it not been for
+Thomas Bolle, who has the strength of a bull, I could never have done
+it. Moreover, the Abbot has been there before us and dug over every inch
+of the floor. But the fool never thought of the wall, so all's well.
+I'll sew half of them into my petticoat and half into yours, to share
+the risk. In case of thieves, the money that hungry Visitor has left to
+us, for I paid him over half when you signed the deeds, we will carry
+openly in pouches upon our girdles. They'll not search further. Oh, I
+forgot, I've something more besides the jewels, here it is," and she
+produced a packet from her bosom and laid it on the table.
+
+"What's this?" asked Cicely, looking suspiciously at the worn sail-cloth
+in which it was wrapped.
+
+"How can I tell? Cut it and see. All I know is that when I stood at the
+Nunnery door as Thomas led away the horses, a man crept on me out of the
+rain swathed in a great cloak and asked if I were not Emlyn Stower. I
+said Yea, whereon he thrust this into my hand, bidding me not fail to
+give it to the Lady Harflete, and was gone."
+
+"It has an over-seas look about it," murmured Cicely, as with eager,
+trembling fingers she cut the stitches. At length they were undone and a
+sealed inner wrapping also, revealing, amongst other documents, a little
+packet of parchments covered with crabbed, unreadable writing, on the
+back of which, however, they could decipher the names of Shefton and
+Blossholme by reason of the larger letters in which they were engrossed.
+Also there was a writing in the scrawling hand of Sir John Foterell, and
+at the foot of it his name and, amongst others, those of Father Necton
+and of Jeffrey Stokes. Cicely stared at the deeds, then said--
+
+"Emlyn, I know these parchments. They are those that my father took with
+him when he rode for London to disprove the Abbot's claim, and with them
+the evidence of the traitorous words he spoke last year at Shefton. Yes,
+this inner wrapping is my own; I took it from the store of worn linen in
+the passage-cupboard. But how come they here?"
+
+Emlyn made no answer, only lifted the wrappings and shook them, whereon
+a strip of paper that they had not seen fell to the table.
+
+"This may tell us," she said. "Read, if you can; it has words on its
+inner side."
+
+Cicely snatched at it, and as the writing was clear and clerkly, read
+with ease save for the chokings of her throat. It ran--
+
+
+"My Lady Harflete,
+
+"These are the papers that Jeffrey Stokes saved when your father fell.
+They were given for safekeeping to the writer of these words, far away
+across the sea, and he hands them on unopened. Your husband lives and is
+well again, also Jeffrey Stokes, and though they have been hindered on
+their journey, doubtless he will find his way back to England, whither,
+believing you to be dead, as I did, he has not hurried. There are
+reasons why I, his friend and yours, cannot see you or write more, since
+my duty calls me hence. When it is finished I will seek you out if I
+still live. If not, wait in peace until your joy finds you, as I think
+it will.
+
+"One who loves your lord well, and for his sake you also."
+
+
+Cicely laid down the paper and burst into a flood of weeping.
+
+"Oh, cruel, cruel!" she sobbed, "to tell so much and yet so little. Nay,
+what an ungrateful wretch am I, since Christopher truly lives, and I
+also live to learn it, I, whom he deems dead."
+
+"By my soul," said Emlyn, when she had calmed her, "that cloaked man is
+a prince of messengers. Oh, had I but known what he bore I'd have had
+all the story, if I must cling to him like Potiphar's wife to Joseph.
+Well, well, Joseph got away and half a herring is better than no fish,
+also this is good herring. Moreover, you have got the deeds when you
+most wanted them and what is better, a written testimony that will bring
+the traitor Maldon to the scaffold."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+JACOB AND THE JEWELS
+
+Cicely's journey to London was strange enough to her, who never before
+had travelled farther than fifty miles from her home, and but once as a
+child spent a month in a town when visiting an aunt at Lincoln. She went
+in ease, it is true, for Commissioner Legh did not love hard travelling,
+and for this reason they started late and halted early, either at some
+good inn, if in those days any such places could be called good, or
+perhaps in a monastery where he claimed of the best that the frightened
+monks had to offer. Indeed, as she observed, his treatment of these poor
+folk was cruel, for he blustered and threatened and inquired, accusing
+them of crimes that they had not committed, and finally, although he had
+no mission to them at the time, extracted great gifts, saying that if
+these were not forthcoming he would make a note and return later. Also
+he got hold of tale-bearers, and wrote down all their scandalous and
+lying stories told against those whose bread they ate.
+
+Thus, long before they saw Charing Cross, Cicely came to hate this
+proud, avaricious and overbearing man, who hid a savage nature under a
+cloak of virtue, and whilst serving his own ends, mouthed great words
+about God and the King. Still, she who was schooled in adversity,
+learned to hide her heart, fearing to make an enemy of one who could
+ruin her, and forced Emlyn, much against her will, to do the same.
+Moreover, there were worse things than that since, being beautiful, some
+of his companions talked to her in a way she could not misunderstand,
+till at length Thomas Bolle, coming on one of them, thrashed him as he
+had never been thrashed before, after which there was trouble that was
+only appeased by a gift.
+
+Yet on the whole things went well. No one molested the King's Visitor
+or those with him, the autumn weather held fine, the baby boy kept his
+health, and the country through which they passed was new to her and
+full of interest.
+
+At last one evening they rode from Barnet into the great city, which she
+thought a most marvellous place, who had never seen such a multitude of
+houses or of men running to and fro about their business up and down the
+narrow streets that at night were lit with lamps. Now there had been a
+great discussion where they were to lodge, Dr. Legh saying that he knew
+of a house suitable to them. But Emlyn would not hear of this place,
+where she was sure they would be robbed, for the wealth that they
+carried secretly in jewels bore heavily on her mind. Remembering a
+cousin of her mother's of the name of Smith, a goldsmith, who till
+within a year or two before was alive and dwelling in Cheapside, she
+said that they would seek him out.
+
+Thither then they rode, guided by one of the Visitor's clerks, not he
+whom Bolle had beaten, but another, and at last, after some search,
+found a dingy house in a court and over it a sign on which were painted
+three balls and the name of Jacob Smith. Emlyn dismounted and, the door
+being open, entered, to be greeted by an old, white-bearded man with
+horn spectacles thrust up over his forehead and dark eyes like her own,
+since the same gypsy blood ran strong in both of them.
+
+What passed between them Cicely did not hear, but presently the old man
+came out with Emlyn, and looked her and Bolle up and down sharply for a
+long while as though to take their measures. At length he said that he
+understood from his cousin, whom he now saw for the first time for
+over thirty years, that the two of them and their man desired lodgings,
+which, as he had empty rooms, he would be pleased to give them if they
+would pay the price.
+
+Cicely asked how much this might be, and on his naming a sum, ten silver
+shillings a week for the three of them and their horses, that would
+be stabled close by, told Emlyn to pay him a pound on account. This he
+took, biting the gold to see that it was good, but bidding them in to
+inspect the rooms before he pouched it. They did so, and finding them
+clean and commodious if somewhat dark, closed the bargain with him,
+after which they dismissed the clerk to take their address to Dr. Legh,
+who had promised to advise them so soon as he could put their business
+forward.
+
+When he was gone and Thomas Bolle, conducted by Smith's apprentice,
+had led off the three horses and the packbeast, the old man changed his
+manner, and conducting them into a parlour at the back of his shop, sent
+his housekeeper, a middle-aged woman with a pleasant face, to make ready
+food for them while he produced cordials from squat Dutch bottles which
+he made them drink. Indeed he was all kindness to them, being, as he
+explained, rejoiced to see one of his own blood, for he had no relations
+living, his wife and their two children having died in one of the London
+sicknesses. Also he was Blossholme born, though he had left that place
+fifty years before, and had known Cicely's grandfather and played with
+her father when he was a boy. So he plied them with question after
+question, some of which they thought it was not to answer, for he was a
+merry and talkative old man.
+
+"Aha!" he said, "you would prove me before you trust me, and who can
+blame you in this naughty world? But perhaps I know more about you all
+than you think, since in this trade my business is to learn many things.
+For instance, I have heard that there was a great trying of witches down
+at Blossholme lately, whereat a certain Abbot came off worst, also that
+the famous Carfax jewels had been lost, which vexed the said holy Abbot.
+They were jewels indeed, or so I have heard, for among them were two
+pink pearls worth a king's ransom--or so I have heard. Great pity that
+they should be lost, since my Lady there would own them otherwise, and
+much should I have liked, who am a little man in that trade, to set my
+old eyes upon them. Well, well, perhaps I shall, perhaps I shall yet,
+for that which is lost is sometimes found again. Now here comes your
+dinner; eat, eat, we'll talk afterwards."
+
+This was the first of many pleasant meals which they shared with their
+host, Jacob Smith. Soon Emlyn found from inquiries that she made among
+his neighbours without seeming to do so, that this cousin of hers bore
+an excellent name and was trusted by all.
+
+"Then why should we not trust him also?" asked Cicely, "who must find
+friends and put faith in some one."
+
+"Even with the jewels, Mistress?"
+
+"Even with the jewels, for such things are his business, and they would
+be safer in his strong chest than tacked into our garments, where the
+thought of them haunts me night and day."
+
+"Let us wait a while," said Emlyn, "for once they were in that box how
+do we know if we should get them out again?"
+
+On the morrow of this talk the Visitor Legh came to see them, and had no
+cheerful tale to tell. According to him the Lord Cromwell declared
+that as the Abbot of Blossholme claimed these Shefton estates, the
+King stood, or would soon stand, in the shoes of the said Abbot of
+Blossholme, and therefore the King claimed them and could not surrender
+them. Moreover, money was so wanted at Court just then, and here
+Legh looked hard at them, "that there could be no talk of parting with
+anything of value except in return for a consideration," and he looked
+at them harder still.
+
+"And how can my Lady give that," broke in Emlyn sharply, for she feared
+lest Cicely should commit herself. "To-day she is but a homeless pauper,
+save for a few pounds in gold, and even if she should come to her
+own again, as your Worship knows, her first year's profits are all
+promised."
+
+"Ah!" said the Doctor sadly, "doubtless the case is hard. Only," he
+added, with cunning emphasis, "a tale has just reached me that the
+Lady Harflete has wealth hidden away which came to her from her mother;
+trinkets of value and such things."
+
+Now Cicely coloured, for the man's little eyes pierced her like
+gintlets, and her powers of deceit were very small. But this was not so
+with Emlyn, who, as she said, could play thief to catch a thief.
+
+"Listen, Sir," she said, with a secret air, "you have heard true. There
+were some things of value--why should we hide it from you, our good
+friend? But, alas! that greedy rogue, the Abbot of Blossholme, has them.
+He has stripped my poor Lady as bare as a fowl for roasting. Get them
+back from him, Sir, and on her behalf I say she'll give you half of
+them, will you not, my Lady?"
+
+"Surely," said Cicely. "The Doctor, to whom we owe so much, will be most
+welcome to the half of any movables of mine that he can recover from
+the Abbot Maldon," and she paused, for the fib stuck in her throat.
+Moreover, she knew herself to be the colour of a peony.
+
+Happily the Commissioner did not notice her blushes, or if he did, he
+put them down to grief and anger.
+
+"The Abbot Maldon," he grumbled, "always the Abbot Maldon. Oh! what a
+wicked thief must be that high-stomached Spaniard who does not scruple
+first to make orphans and then to rob them? A black-hearted traitor,
+too. Do you know that at this moment he stirs up rebellion in the north?
+Well, I'll see him on the rack before I have done. Have you a list of
+those movables, Madam?"
+
+Cicely said no, and Emlyn added that one should be made from memory.
+
+"Good; I'll see you again to-morrow or the next day, and meanwhile fear
+not, I'll be as active in your business as a cat after a sparrow. Oh, my
+rat of a Spanish Abbot, you wait till I get my claws into your fat back.
+Farewell, my Lady Harflete, farewell. Mistress Stower, I must away
+to deal with other priests almost as wicked," and he departed, still
+muttering objurgations on the Abbot.
+
+"Now, I think the time has come to trust Jacob Smith," said Emlyn, when
+the door closed behind him, "for he may be honest, whereas this Doctor
+is certainly a villain; also, the man has heard something and suspects
+us. Ah! there you are, Cousin Smith, come in, if you please, since we
+desire to talk with you for a minute. Come in, and be so good as to lock
+the door behind you."
+
+Five minutes later all the jewels, whereof not one was wanting, lay on
+the table before old Jacob, who stared at them with round eyes.
+
+"The Carfax gems," he muttered, "the Carfax gems of which I have so
+often heard; those that the old Crusader brought from the East, having
+sacked them from a Sultan; from the East, where they talk of them still.
+A sultan's wealth, unless, indeed, they came straight from the New
+Jerusalem and were an angel's gauds. And do you say that you two women
+have carried these priceless things tacked in your cloaks, which, as
+I have seen, you throw down here and there and leave behind you? Oh,
+fools, fools, even among women incomparable fools! Fellow-travellers
+with Dr. Legh also, who would rob a baby of its bauble."
+
+"Fools or no," exclaimed Emlyn tartly, "we have got them safe enough
+after they have run some risks, as I pray that you may keep them, Cousin
+Smith."
+
+Old Jacob threw a cloth over the gems, and slowly transferred them to
+his pocket.
+
+"This is an upper floor," he explained, "and the door is locked, yet
+some one might put a ladder up to the window. Were I in the street I
+should know by the glitter in the light that there were precious things
+here. Stay, they are not safe in my pocket even for an hour," and going
+to the wall he did something to a panel in the wainscot causing it to
+open and reveal a space behind it where lay sundry wrapped-up parcels,
+among which he placed, not all, but a portion of the gems. Then he went
+to other panels that opened likewise, showing more parcels, and in the
+holes behind these he distributed the rest of the treasure.
+
+"There, foolish women," he said, "since you have trusted me, I will
+trust you. You have seen my big strong-boxes in my office, and doubtless
+thought I keep all my little wares there. Well, so does every thief
+in London, for they have searched them twice and gained some store of
+pewter; I remember that some of it was discovered again in the King's
+household. But behind these panels all is safe, though no woman would
+ever have thought of a device so simple and so sure."
+
+For a moment Emlyn could find no answer, perhaps because of her
+indignation, but Cicely asked sweetly--
+
+"Do you ever have fires in London, Master Smith? It seems to me that I
+have heard of such things, and then--in a hurry, you know----"
+
+Smith thrust up his horned spectacles and looked at her in mild
+astonishment.
+
+"To think," he said, "that I should live to learn wisdom out of the
+mouth of babes and sucklers----"
+
+"Sucklings," suggested Cicely.
+
+"Sucklers or sucklings, it means the same thing--women," he replied
+testily; then added, with a chuckle, "Well, well, my Lady, you are
+right. You have caught out Jacob at his own game. I never thought of
+fire, though it is true we had one next door last year, when I ran out
+with my bed and forgot all about the gold and stones. I'll have new
+hiding-places made in the masonry of the cellar, where no fire would
+hurt. Ah! you women would never have thought of that, who carry treasure
+sewn up in a nightshift."
+
+Now Emlyn could bear it no longer.
+
+"And how would you have us carry it, Cousin Smith?" she asked
+indignantly. "Tied about our necks, or hanging from our heels? Well do
+I remember my mother telling me that you were always a simple youth, and
+that your saint must have been a very strong one who brought you safe to
+London and showed you how to earn a living there, or else that you had
+married a woman of excellent intelligence--though it is plain now she
+has long been dead. Well, well," she added, with a laugh, "cling to your
+man's vanities, you son of a woman, and since you are so clever, give
+us of your wisdom, for we need it. But first let me tell you that I have
+rescued those very jewels from a fire, and by hiding them in masonry in
+a vault."
+
+"It is the fashion of the female to wrangle when she has the worst of
+the case," said Jacob, with a twinkle in his eye. "So, daughter of man,
+set out your trouble. Perchance the wisdom that I have inherited from
+my mothers straight back to Eve may help that which your mothers lacked.
+Now, have you done with jests. I listen, if it pleases you to tell me."
+
+So, having first invoked the curse of Heaven on him if ever he should
+breathe a word, Emlyn, with the help of Cicely, repeated the whole
+matter from the beginning, and the candles were lighted ere ever her
+tale was done. All this while Jacob Smith sat opposite to them, saying
+little, save now and again to ask a shrewd question. At length, when
+they had finished, he exclaimed--
+
+"Truly women are fools!"
+
+"We have heard that before, Master Smith," replied Cicely; "but this
+time--why?"
+
+"Not to have unbosomed to me before, which would have saved you a week
+of time, although, as it happens, I knew more of your story than you
+chose to tell, and therefore the days have not been altogether wasted.
+Well, to be brief, this Dr. Legh is a ravenous rogue."
+
+"O Solomon, to have discovered that!" exclaimed Emlyn.
+
+"One whose only aim is to line his nest with your feathers, some of
+which you have promised him, as, indeed, you were right to do. Now he
+has got wind of these jewels, which is not wonderful, seeing that
+such things cannot be hid. If you buried them in a coffin, six foot
+underground, still they would shine through the solid earth and declare
+themselves. This is his plan--to strip you of everything ere his master,
+Cromwell, gets a hold of you; and if you go to him empty-handed, what
+chance has your suit with Vicar-General Cromwell, the hungriest shark of
+all--save one?"
+
+"We understand," said Emlyn; "but what is your plan, Cousin Smith?"
+
+"Mine? I don't know that I have one. Still, here is that which might do.
+Though I seem so small and humble, I am remembered at Court--when money
+is wanted, and just now much money is wanted, for soon they will be in
+arms in Yorkshire--and therefore I am much remembered. Now, if you care
+to give Dr. Legh the go-by and leave your cause to me, perhaps I might
+serve you as cheaply as another."
+
+"At what charge?" blurted out Emlyn.
+
+The old man turned on her indignantly, asking--
+
+"Cousin, how have I defrauded you or your mistress, that you should
+insult me to my face? Go to! you do not trust me. Go to, with your
+jewels, and seek some other helper!" and he went to the panelling as
+though to collect them again.
+
+"Nay, nay, Master Smith," said Cicely, catching him by the arm; "be
+not angry with Emlyn. Remember that of late we have learned in a hard
+school, with Abbot Maldon and Dr. Legh for masters. At least I trust
+you, so forsake me not, who have no other to whom to turn in all my
+troubles, which are many," and as she spoke the great tears that had
+gathered in her blue eyes fell upon the child's face, and woke him, so
+that she must turn aside to quiet him, which she was glad to do.
+
+"Grieve not," said the kind-hearted old man, in distress; "'tis I should
+grieve, whose brutal words have made you weep. Moreover, Emlyn is right;
+even foolish women should not trust the first Jack with whom they take
+a lodging. Still, since you swear that you do in your kindness, I'll try
+to show myself not all unworthy, my Lady Harflete. Now, what is it you
+want from the King? Justice on the Abbot? That you'll get for nothing,
+if his Grace can give it, for this same Abbot stirs up rebellion against
+him. No need, therefore, to set out his past misdeeds. A clean title
+to your large inheritance, which the Abbot claims? That will be more
+difficult, since the King claims through him. At best, money must be
+paid for it. A declaration that your marriage is good and your boy born
+in lawful wedlock? Not so hard, but will cost something. The annulment
+of the sentence of witchcraft on you both? Easy, for the Abbot passed
+it. Is there aught more?"
+
+"Yes, Master Smith; the good nuns who befriended me--I would save their
+house and lands to them. Those jewels are pledged to do it, if it can be
+done."
+
+"A matter of money, Lady--a mere matter of money. You will have to buy
+the property, that is all. Now, let us see what it will cost, if
+fortune goes with me," and he took pen and paper and began to write down
+figures.
+
+Finally he rose, sighing and shaking his head. "Two thousand pounds," he
+groaned; "a vast sum, but I can't lessen it by a shilling--there are so
+many to be bought. Yes; �1000 in gifts and �1000 as loan to his Majesty,
+who does not repay."
+
+"Two thousand pounds!" exclaimed Cicely in dismay; "oh! how shall I find
+so much, whose first year's rents are already pledged?"
+
+"Know you the worth of those jewels?" asked Jacob, looking at her.
+
+"Nay; the half of that, perhaps."
+
+"Let us say double that, and then right cheap."
+
+"Well, if so," replied Cicely, with a gasp, "where shall we sell them?
+Who has so much money?"
+
+"I'll try to find it, or what is needful. Now, Cousin Emlyn," he added
+sarcastically, "you see where my profit lies. I buy the gems at half
+their value, and the rest I keep."
+
+"In your own words: go to!" said Emlyn, "and keep your gibes until we
+have more leisure."
+
+The old man thought a while, and said--
+
+"It grows late, but the evening is pleasant, and I think I need some
+air. That crack-brained, red-haired fellow of yours will watch you while
+I am gone, and for mercy's sake be careful with those candles. Nay, nay;
+you must have no fire, you must go cold. After what you said to me, I
+can think of naught but fire. It is for this night only. By to-morrow
+evening I'll prepare a place where Abbot Maldon himself might sit
+unscorched in the midst of hell. But till then make out with clothes.
+I have some furs in pledge that I will send up to you. It is your own
+fault, and in my youth we did not need a fire on an autumn day. No more,
+no more," and he was gone, nor did they see him again that night.
+
+On the following morning, as they sat at their breakfast, Jacob Smith
+appeared, and began to talk of many things, such as the badness of the
+weather--for it rained--the toughness of the ham, which he said was not
+to be compared to those they cured at Blossholme in his youth, and the
+likeness of the baby boy to his mother.
+
+"Indeed, no," broke in Cicely, who felt that he was playing with them;
+"he is his father's self; there is no look of me in him."
+
+"Oh!" answered Jacob; "well, I'll give my judgment when I see the
+father. By the way, let me read that note again which the cloaked man
+brought to Emlyn."
+
+Cicely gave it to him, and he studied it carefully; then said, in an
+indifferent voice--
+
+"The other day I saw a list of Christian captives said to have been
+recovered from the Turks by the Emperor Charles at Tunis, and among
+them was one 'Huflit,' described as an English se�or, and his servant. I
+wonder now----"
+
+Cicely sprang upon him.
+
+"Oh! cruel wretch," she said, "to have known this so long and not to
+have told me!"
+
+"Peace, Lady," he said, retreating before her; "I only learned it at
+eleven of the clock last night, when you were fast asleep. Yesterday is
+not this same day, and therefore 'tis the other day, is it not?"
+
+"Surely you might have woke me. But, swift, where is he now?"
+
+"How can I know? Not here, at least. But the writing said----"
+
+"Well, what did the writing say?"
+
+"I am trying to think--my memory fails me at times; perhaps you will
+find the same thing when you have my years, should it please Heaven----"
+
+"Oh! that it might please Heaven to make you speak! What said the
+writing?"
+
+"Ah! I have it now. It said, in a note appended amidst other news,
+for--did I tell you this was a letter from his Grace's ambassador in
+Spain? and, oh! his is the vilest scrawl to read. Nay, hurry me not--it
+said that this 'Sir Huflit'--the ambassador has put a query against
+his name--and his servant--yes, yes, I am sure it said his servant
+too--well, that they both of them, being angry at the treatment they had
+met with from the infidel Turks--no, I forgot to add there were three
+of them, one a priest, who did otherwise. Well, as I said, being angry,
+they stopped there to serve with the Spaniards against the Turks till
+the end of that campaign. There, that is all."
+
+"How little is your all!" exclaimed Cicely. "Yet, 'tis something. Oh!
+why should a married man stop across the seas to be revenged on poor
+ignorant Turks?"
+
+"Why should he not?" interrupted Emlyn, "when he deems himself a
+widower, as does your lord?"
+
+"Yes, I forgot; he thinks me dead, who doubtless himself will be dead,
+if he is not so already, seeing that those wicked, murderous Turks will
+kill him," and she began to weep.
+
+"I should have added," said Jacob hastily, "that in a second letter, of
+later date, the ambassador declares that the Emperor's war against the
+Turks is finished for this season, and that the Englishmen who were with
+him fought with great honour and were all escaped unharmed, though this
+time he gives no names."
+
+"All escaped! If my husband were dead, who could not die meanly or
+without fame, how could he say that they were all escaped? Nay, nay; he
+lives, though who knows if he will return? Perchance he will wander off
+elsewhere, or stay and wed again."
+
+"Impossible," said old Jacob, bowing to her; "having called you
+wife--impossible."
+
+"Impossible," echoed Emlyn, "having such a score to settle with yonder
+Maldon! A man may forget his love, especially if he deems her buried.
+But as he stayed foreign to fight the Turk, who wronged him, so he'll
+come home to fight the Abbot, who ruined him and slew his bride."
+
+There followed a silence, which the goldsmith, who felt it somewhat
+painful, hastened to break, saying--
+
+"Yes, doubtless he will come home; for aught we know he may be here
+already. But meanwhile we also have our score against this Abbot, a bad
+one, though think not for his sake that all Abbots are bad, for I have
+known some who might be counted angels upon earth, and, having gone to
+martyrdom, doubtless to-day are angels in heaven. Now, my Lady, I will
+tell you what I have done, hoping that it will please you better than
+it does me. Last night I saw the Lord Cromwell, with whom I have many
+dealings, at his house in Austin Friars, and told him the case, of
+which, as I thought, that false villain Legh had said nothing to him,
+purposing to pick the plums out of the pudding ere he handed on the suet
+to his master. He read your deeds and hunted up some petition from the
+Abbot, with which he compared them; then made a note of my demands and
+asked straight out--How much?
+
+"I told him �1000 on loan to the King, which would not be asked for back
+again, the said loan to be discharged by the grant to me--that is, to
+you--of all the Abbey lands, in addition to your own, when the said
+Abbey lands are sequestered, as they will be shortly. To this he
+agreed, on behalf of his Grace, who needs money much, but inquired as to
+himself. I replied �500 for him and his jackals, including Dr. Legh, of
+which no account would be asked. He told me it was not enough, for after
+the jackals had their pickings nothing would be left for him but the
+bones; I, who asked so much, must offer more, and he made as though to
+dismiss me. At the door I turned and said I had a wonderful pink pearl
+that he, who loved jewels, might like to see--a pink pearl worth many
+abbeys. He said, 'Show it;' and, oh! he gloated over it like a maid over
+her first love-letter. 'If there were two of these, now!' he whispered.
+
+"'Two, my Lord!' I answered; 'there's no fellow to that pearl in the
+whole world,' though it is true that as I said the words, the setting of
+its twin, that was pinned to my inner shirt, pricked me sorely, as if
+in anger. Then I took it up again, and for the second time began to bow
+myself out.
+
+"'Jacob,' he said, 'you are an old friend, and I'll stretch my duty for
+you. Leave the pearl--his Grace needs that �1000 so sorely that I must
+keep it against my will,' and he put out his hand to take it, only to
+find that I had covered it with my own.
+
+"'First the writing, then its price, my Lord. Here is a memorandum of it
+set out fair, to save you trouble, if it pleases you to sign.'
+
+"He read it through, then, taking a pen, scored out the clause as
+regards acquittal of the witchcraft, which, he said, must be looked into
+by the King in person or by his officers, but all the rest he signed,
+undertaking to hand over the proper deeds under the great seal and royal
+hand upon payment of �1000. Being able to do no better, I said that
+would serve, and left him your pearl, he promising, on his part, to move
+his Majesty to receive you, which I doubt not he will do quickly for the
+sake of the �1000. Have I done well?"
+
+"Indeed, yes," exclaimed Cicely. "Who else could have done half so
+well----?"
+
+As the words left her lips there came a loud knocking at the door of
+the house, and Jacob ran down to open it. Presently he returned with a
+messenger in a splendid coat, who bowed to Cicely and asked if she were
+the Lady Harflete. On her replying that such was her name, he said that
+he bore to her the command of his Grace the King to attend upon him at
+three o'clock of that afternoon at his Palace of Whitehall, together
+with Emlyn Stower and Thomas Bolle, there to make answer to his Majesty
+concerning a certain charge of witchcraft that had been laid against her
+and them, which summons she would neglect at her peril.
+
+"Sir, I will be there," answered Cicely; "but tell me, do I come as a
+prisoner?"
+
+"Nay," replied the herald, "since Master Jacob Smith, in whom his Grace
+has trust, has consented to be answerable for you."
+
+"And for the �1000," muttered Jacob, as, with many salutations, he
+showed the royal messenger to the door, not neglecting to thrust a gold
+piece into his hand that he waved behind him in farewell.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+THE DEVIL AT COURT
+
+It was half-past two of the clock when Cicely, who carried her boy in
+her arms, accompanied by Emlyn, Thomas Bolle and Jacob Smith, found
+herself in the great courtyard of the Palace of Whitehall. The place was
+full of people waiting there upon one business or another, through whom
+messengers and armed men thrust their way continually, crying, "Way!
+In the King's name, way!" So great was the press, indeed, that for some
+time even Jacob could command no attention, till at length he caught
+sight of the herald who had visited his house in the morning, and
+beckoned to him.
+
+"I was looking for you, Master Smith, and for the Lady Harflete," the
+man said, bowing to her. "You have an appointment with his Grace, have
+you not? but God knows if it can be kept. The ante-chambers are full of
+folk bringing news about the rebellion in the north, and of great lords
+and councillors who wait for commands or money, most of them for money.
+In short the King has given order that all appointments are cancelled;
+he can see no one to-day. The Lord Cromwell told me so himself."
+
+Jacob took a golden angel from his pouch and began to play with it
+between his fingers.
+
+"I understand, noble herald," he said. "Still, do you think that you
+could find me a messenger to the Lord Cromwell? If so, this trifle----"
+
+"I'll try, Master Smith," he answered, stretching out his hand for the
+piece of money. "But what is the message?"
+
+"Oh, say that Pink Pearl would learn from his Lordship where he can lay
+hands upon �1000 without interest."
+
+"A strange message, to which I will hazard an answer--nowhere," said the
+herald, "yet I'll find some one to deliver it. Step within this archway
+and wait out of the rain. Fear not, I will be back presently."
+
+They did as he bid them, gladly enough, for it had begun to drizzle and
+Cicely was afraid lest her boy, with whom London did not agree too well,
+should take cold. Here, then, they stood amusing themselves in watching
+the motley throng that came and went. Bolle, to whom the scene was
+strange, gaped at them with his mouth open; Emlyn took note of every one
+with her quick eyes, while old Jacob Smith whispered tales concerning
+individuals as they passed, most of which were little to their credit.
+
+As for Cicely, soon her thoughts were far away. She knew that she was at
+a crisis of her fortune; that if things went well with her this day she
+might look to be avenged upon her enemies, and to spend the rest of
+her life in wealth and honour. But it was not of such matters that
+she dreamed, whose heart was set on Christopher, without whom naught
+availed. Where was he, she wondered. If Jacob's tale were true, after
+passing many dangers, but a little while ago he lived and had his
+health. Yet in those times death came quickly, leaping like the
+lightning from unexpected clouds or even out of a clear sky, and who
+could say? Besides, he believed her gone, and that being so would be
+careless of himself, or perchance, worst thought of all, would take some
+other wife, as was but right and natural. Oh! then indeed----
+
+At this moment a sound of altercation woke her to the world again, and
+she looked up to see that Thomas Bolle was bringing trouble on them.
+A coarse fat lout with a fiery and a knotted nose, being somewhat in
+liquor, had amused himself by making mock of his country looks and red
+hair, and asking whether they used him for a scarecrow in his native
+fields.
+
+Thomas bore it for a while, only answering with another question:
+whether he, the fat fellow, hired out his nose to London housewives to
+light their fires. The man, feeling that the laugh was against him,
+and noticing the child in Cicely's arms pointed it out to his friends,
+inquiring whether they did not think it was exactly like its dad. Then
+Thomas's rage burnt up, although the jest was silly and aimless enough.
+
+"You low, London gutter-hound!" he exclaimed; "I'll learn you to insult
+the Lady Harflete with your ribald japes," and stretching out his big
+fist he seized his enemy's purple nose in a grip of iron and began to
+twist it till the sot roared with pain. Thereon guards ran up and would
+have arrested Bolle for breaking the peace in the King's palace. Indeed,
+arrested he must have been, notwithstanding all Jacob Smith could do
+to save him, had not at that moment a man appeared at whose coming the
+crowd that had gathered, separated, bowing; a man of middle age with a
+quick, clever face, who wore rich clothes and a fur-trimmed velvet cap
+and gown.
+
+Cicely knew him at once for Cromwell, the greatest man in England after
+the King, and marked him well, knowing that he held her fate and that
+of her child in the hollow of his hand. She noted the thin-lipped mouth,
+small as a woman's, the sharp nose, the little brownish eyes set close
+together and surrounded by wrinkled skin that gave them a cunning look,
+and noting was afraid. Before her stood a man who, though at present he
+seemed to be her friend, if he chanced to become her enemy, as once he
+had been bribed to be her father's, would show her no more pity than the
+spider shows a fly.
+
+Indeed she was right, for many were the flies that had been snared and
+sucked in the web of Cromwell, who, in his full tide of power and pomp,
+forgot the fate of his master, Wolsey, in his day a greater spider
+still.
+
+"What passes here?" Cromwell said in a sharp voice. "Men, is this the
+place to brawl beneath his Grace's very windows? Ah! Master Smith, is it
+you? Explain."
+
+"My Lord," answered Jacob, bowing, "this is Lady Harflete's servant
+and he is not to blame. That fat knave insulted her and, being
+quick-tempered, her man, Bolle, wrang his nose."
+
+"I see that he wrang it. Look, he is wringing it still. Friend Bolle,
+leave go, or presently you will have in your hand that which is of no
+value to you. Guard, take this beer-tub and hold his head beneath the
+pump for five minutes by the clock to wash him, and if he comes back
+again set him in the stocks. Nay, no words, fellow, you are well served.
+Master Smith, follow me with your party."
+
+Again the crowd parted as they walked after Cromwell to a side door that
+was near at hand, to find themselves alone with him in a small chamber.
+Here he stopped and, turning, surveyed them all narrowly, especially
+Cicely.
+
+"I suppose, Master Smith," he said, pointing to Bolle, who was wiping
+his hands clean with the rushes from the floor, "this is the man that
+you told me played the devil yonder at Blossholme. Well, he can play
+the fool also. In another minute there would have been a tumult and you
+would have lost your chance of seeing his Grace, for months perhaps,
+since he has determined to ride from London to-morrow morning
+northwards, though it is true he may change his mind ere then. This
+rebellion troubles him much, and were it not for the loan you promise,
+when loans are needed, small hope would you have had of audience. Now
+come quickly and be careful that you do not cross the King's temper, for
+it is tetchy to-day. Indeed, had it not been for the Queen, who is with
+him and minded to see this Lady Harflete, that they would have burnt as
+a witch, you must have waited till a more convenient season which may
+never come. Stay, what is in that great sack you carry, Bolle?"
+
+"The devil's livery, may it please your Lordship."
+
+"The devil's livery, many wear that in London. Still, bring the gear, it
+may make his Grace laugh, and if so I'll give you a gold piece, who have
+had enough of oaths and scoldings, aye," he added, with a sour grin,
+"and of blows too. Now follow me into the Presence, and speak only when
+you are spoken to, nor dare to answer if he rates you."
+
+They went from the room down a passage and through another door, where
+the guards on duty looked suspiciously at Bolle and his sack, but at a
+word from Cromwell let them through into a large room in which a
+fire burned upon the hearth. At the end of this room stood a huge,
+proud-looking man with a flat and cruel face, broad as an ox's skull, as
+Thomas Bolle said afterwards, who was dressed in some rich, sombre stuff
+and wore a velvet cap upon his head. He held a parchment in his hand,
+and before him on the other side of an oak table sat an officer of state
+in a black robe, who wrote upon another parchment, whereof there were
+many scattered about on the table and the floor.
+
+"Knave," shouted the King, for they guessed that it was he, "you have
+cast up these figures wrong. Oh, that it should be my lot to be served
+by none but fools!"
+
+"Pardon, your Grace," said the secretary in a trembling voice, "thrice
+have I checked them."
+
+"Would you gainsay me, you lying lawyer," bellowed the King again. "I
+tell you they must be wrong, since otherwise the sum is short by �1100
+of that which I was promised. Where are the �1100? You must have stolen
+them, thief."
+
+"I steal, oh, your Grace, I steal!"
+
+"Aye, why not, since your betters do. Only you are clumsy, you lack
+skill. Ask my Lord Cromwell there to give you lessons. He learned under
+the best of masters, and is a merchant by trade to boot. Oh, get you
+gone and take your scribblings with you."
+
+The poor officer hastened to avail himself of this invitation. Hurriedly
+collecting his parchments he bowed himself from the presence of his
+irate Sovereign. At the door, about twelve feet away, however, he
+turned.
+
+"My gracious Liege," he began, "the casting of the count is right. Upon
+my honour as a Christian soul I can look your Majesty in the face with
+truth in my eye----"
+
+Now on the table there was a massive inkstand made from the horn of a
+ram mounted with silver feet. This Henry seized and hurled with all
+his strength. The aim was good, for the heavy horn struck the wretched
+scribe upon the nose so that the ink squirted all over his face, and
+felled him to the floor.
+
+"Now there is more in your eye than truth," shouted the King. "Be off,
+ere the stool follows the inkpot."
+
+Two ladies who stood by the fire talking together and taking no heed,
+for to such rude scenes they seemed to be accustomed, looked up and
+laughed a little, then went on talking, while Cromwell smiled and
+shrugged his shoulders. Then in the midst of the silence which followed
+Thomas Bolle, who had been watching open-mouthed, ejaculated in his
+great voice--
+
+"A bull's eye! A noble bull! Myself cannot throw straighter."
+
+"Silence, fool," hissed Emlyn.
+
+"Who spoke?" asked the king, looking towards them sharply.
+
+"Please, my Liege, it was I, Thomas Bolle."
+
+"Thomas Bolle! Can you sling a stone, Thomas Bolle, whoever you may be?"
+
+"Aye, Sire, but not better than you, I think. That was a gallant shot."
+
+"Thomas Bolle, you are right. Seeing the hurry and the unhandiness of
+the missile, it was excellent. Let the knave stand up again and I'll bet
+you a gold noble to a brass nail that you'll not do as well within an
+inch. Why, the fellow's gone! Will you try on my Lord Cromwell? Nay,
+this is no time for fooling. What's your business, Thomas Bolle, and who
+are those women with you?"
+
+Now Cromwell stepped forward, and with cringing gestures began to
+explain something to the King in a low voice. Meanwhile, the two ladies
+became suddenly interested in Cicely, and one of them, a pale but pretty
+woman, splendidly dressed, stepped forward to her, saying--
+
+"Are you the Lady Harflete of whom we have heard, she who was to have
+been burnt as a witch? Yes? And is that your child? Oh! what a beautiful
+child. A boy, I'll swear. Come to me, sweet, and in after years you can
+tell that a queen has nursed you," and she stretched out her arms.
+
+As good fortune would have it the child was awake, and attracted by the
+Queen's pleasant voice, or perhaps by the necklace of bright gems
+that she wore, he held out his little hands towards her and went quite
+contentedly to her breast. Jane Seymour, for it was she, began to fondle
+him with delight, then, followed by her lady, ran to the King, saying--
+
+"See, Harry, see what a beautiful boy, and how he loves me. God send us
+such a son as this!"
+
+The King glanced at the child, then answered--
+
+"Aye, he would do well enow. Well, it rests with you, Jane. Nurse him,
+nurse him, perhaps the sex is catching. I and all England would see you
+brought to bed of that sickness, Sweet. What said you, Cromwell?"
+
+The great minister went on with his explanations, till the King,
+wearying of him, called out--
+
+"Come here, Master Smith."
+
+Jacob advanced, bowing, and stood still.
+
+"Now, Master Smith, the Lord Cromwell tells me that if I sign these
+papers, you, on behalf of the Lady Harflete, will loan me �1000 without
+interest, which as it chances I need. Where, then, is this �1000?--for
+I will have no promises, not even from you, who are known to keep them,
+Master Smith."
+
+Jacob thrust his hand beneath his robe, and from various inner pockets
+drew out bags of gold, which he set in a row upon the table.
+
+"Here they are, your Grace," he said quietly. "If you should wish for
+them they can be weighed and counted."
+
+"God's truth! I think I had better keep them, lest some accident should
+happen to you on the way home, Master Smith. You might fall into the
+Thames and sink."
+
+"Your Grace is right, the parchments will be lighter to carry, even," he
+added meaningly, "with your Highness's name added."
+
+"I can't sign," said the King doubtfully, "all the ink is spilt."
+
+Jacob produced a small ink-horn, which like most merchants of the day he
+carried hung to his girdle, drew out the stopper and with a bow set it
+on the table.
+
+"In truth you are a good man of business, Master Smith, too good for
+a mere king. Such readiness makes me pause. Perhaps we had better meet
+again at a more leisured season."
+
+Jacob bowed once more, and stretching out his hand slowly lifted the
+first of the bags of gold as though to replace it in his pocket.
+
+"Cromwell, come hither," said the King, whereon Jacob, as though in
+forgetfulness, laid the bag back upon the table.
+
+"Repeat the heads of this matter, Cromwell."
+
+"My Liege, the Lady Harflete seeks justice on the Spaniard Maldon,
+Abbot of Blossholme, who is said to have murdered her father, Sir John
+Foterell, and her husband, Sir Christopher Harflete, though rumour has
+it that the latter escaped his clutches and is now in Spain. Item:
+the said Abbot has seized the lands which this Dame Cicely should have
+inherited from her father, and demands their restitution."
+
+"By God's wounds! justice she shall have and for nothing if we can give
+it her," answered the King, letting his heavy fist fall upon the table.
+"No need to waste time in setting out her wrongs. Why, 'tis the same
+Spanish knave Maldon who stirs up all this hell's broth in the north.
+Well, he shall boil in his own pot, for against him our score is long.
+What more?"
+
+"A declaration, Sire, of the validity of the marriage between
+Christopher Harflete and Cicely Foterell, which without doubt is good
+and lawful although the Abbot disputes it for his own ends; and an
+indemnity for the deaths of certain men who fell when the said Abbot
+attacked and burnt the house of the said Christopher Harflete."
+
+"It should have been granted the more readily if Maldon had fallen also,
+but let that pass. What more?"
+
+"The promise, your Grace, of the lands of the Abbey of Blossholme and of
+the Priory of Blossholme in consideration of the loan of �1000 advanced
+to your Grace by the agent of Cicely Harflete, Jacob Smith."
+
+"A large demand, my Lord. Have these lands been valued?"
+
+"Aye, Sire, by your Commissioner, who reports it doubtful if with all
+their tenements and timber they would fetch �1000 in gold."
+
+"Our Commissioner? A fig for his valuing, doubtless he has been bribed.
+Still, if we repay the money we can hold the land, and since this Dame
+Harflete and her husband have suffered sorely at the hands of Maldon and
+his armed ruffians, why, let it pass also. Now, is that all? I weary of
+so much talk."
+
+"But one thing more, your Grace," put in Cromwell hastily, for Henry was
+already rising from his chair. "Dame Cicely Harflete, her servant, Emlyn
+Stower, and a certain crazed old nun were condemned of sorcery by a
+Court Ecclesiastic whereof the Abbot Maldon was a member, the said Abbot
+alleging that they had bewitched him and his goods."
+
+"Then he was pleader and judge in one?"
+
+"That is so, your Grace. Already without the royal warrant they were
+bound to the stake for burning, the said Maldon having usurped the
+prerogative of the Crown, when your Commissioner, Legh, arrived and
+loosed them, but not without fighting, for certain men were killed and
+wounded. Now they humbly crave your Majesty's royal pardon for their
+share in this man-slaying, if any, as also does Thomas Bolle yonder, who
+seems to have done the slaying----"
+
+"Well can I believe it," muttered the King.
+
+"And a declaration of the invalidity of their trial and condemning, and
+of their innocence of the foul charge laid against them."
+
+"Innocence!" exclaimed Henry, growing impatient and fixing on the last
+point. "How do we know they were innocent, though it is true that if
+Dame Harflete is a witch she is the prettiest that ever we have heard of
+or seen. You ask too much, after your fashion, Cromwell."
+
+"I crave your Grace's patience for one short minute. There is a man here
+who can prove that they were innocent; yonder red-haired Bolle."
+
+"What? He who praised our shooting? Well, Bolle, since you are so good a
+sportsman, we will listen to you. Prove and be brief."
+
+"Now all is finished," murmured Emlyn to Cicely, "for assuredly fool
+Thomas will land us in the mire."
+
+"Your Grace," said Bolle in his big voice, "I obey in four words--I was
+the devil."
+
+"The devil you were, Thomas Bolle. Now, your meaning?"
+
+"Your Grace, Blossholme was haunted, I haunted it."
+
+"How could you do otherwise if you lived there?"
+
+"I'll show your Grace," and without more ado, to the horror of Cicely,
+Thomas tumbled from his sack all his hellish garb and set to work to
+clothe himself. In a minute, for he was practised at the game, the
+hideous mask was on his head, and with it the horns and skin of the
+widow's billy-goat; the tail and painted hides were tied about him, and
+in his hand he waved the eel spear, short-handled now. Thus arrayed he
+capered before the astonished King and Queen, shaking the tail that had
+a wire in it and clattering his hoofs upon the floor.
+
+"Oh, good devil! Most excellent devil!" exclaimed his Majesty, clapping
+his hands. "If I had met thee I'd have run like a hare. Stay, Jane, peep
+you through yonder door and tell me who are gathered there."
+
+The Queen obeyed and, returned, said--
+
+"There be a bishop and a priest, I cannot see which, for it grows dark,
+with chaplains and sundry of the lords of Council waiting audience."
+
+"Good. Then we'll try the devil on these devil-tamers. Friend Satan,
+go you to that door, slip through it softly and rush upon them roaring,
+driving them through this chamber so that we may see which of them will
+be bold enough to try to lay you. Dost understand, Beelzebub?"
+
+Thomas nodded his horns and departed silently as a cat.
+
+"Now open the door and stand on one side," said the King.
+
+Cromwell obeyed, nor had they long to wait. Presently from the hall
+beyond there rose a most fearful clamour. Then through the door shot the
+bishop panting, after him came lords, chaplains, and secretaries, and
+last of all the priest, who, being very fat and hampered by his gown,
+could not run so fast, although at his back Satan leapt and bellowed.
+No heed did they take of the King's Majesty or of aught else, whose only
+thought was flight as they tore down the chamber to the farther door.
+
+"Oh, noble, noble!" hallooed the King, who was shaking with laughter.
+"Give him your fork, devil, give him your fork," and having the royal
+command Bolle obeyed with zeal.
+
+In thirty seconds it was all over; the rout had come and gone,
+only Thomas in his hideous attire stood bowing before the King, who
+exclaimed--
+
+"I thank thee, Thomas Bolle, thou hast made me laugh as I have not
+laughed for years. Little wonder that thy mistress was condemned for
+witchcraft. Now," he added, changing his tone, "off with that mummery,
+and, Cromwell, go, catch one of those fools and tell them the truth ere
+tales fly round the palace. Jane, cease from merriment, there is a time
+for all things. Come hither, Lady Harflete, I would speak with you."
+
+Cicely approached and curtseyed, leaving her boy in the Queen's arms,
+where he had gone to sleep, for she did not seem minded to part with
+him.
+
+"You are asking much of us," he said suddenly, searching her with a
+shrewd glance, "relying, doubtless, on your wrongs, which are deep, or
+your face, which is sweet, or both. Well, these things move Kings mayhap
+more than others, also I knew old Sir John, your father, a loyal man and
+a brave, he fought well at Flodden; and young Harflete, your husband, if
+he still lives, had a good name like his forebears. Moreover your enemy,
+Maldon, is ours, a treacherous foreign snake such as England hates, for
+he would set her beneath the heel of Spain.
+
+"Now, Dame Harflete, doubtless when you go hence you will bear away
+strange stories of King Harry and his doings. You will say he plays the
+fool, pelting his servants with inkpots when he is wrath, as God knows
+he has often cause to be, and scaring his bishops with sham Satans, as
+after all why should he not since it is a dull world? You'll say, too,
+that he takes his teaching from his ministers, and signs what these lay
+before him with small search as to the truth or falsity. Well, that's
+the lot of monarchs who have but one man's brain and one man's time;
+who needs must trust their slaves until these become their masters, and
+there is naught left," here his face grew fierce, "save to kill them,
+and find more and worse. New servants, new wives," and he glanced at
+Jane, who was not listening, "new friends, false, false, all three of
+them, new foes, and at the last old Death to round it off. Such has been
+the lot of kings from David down, and such I think it shall always be."
+
+He paused a while, brooding heavily, then looked up and went on, "I know
+not why I should speak thus to a chit like you, except it be, that
+young though you are, you also have known trouble and the feel of a sick
+heart. Well, well, I have heard more of you and your affairs than you
+might think, and I forget nothing--that's my gift. Dame Harflete, you
+are richer than you have been advised to say, and I repeat you ask much
+of me. Justice is your due from your Sovereign, and you shall have it;
+but these wide Abbey lands, this Priory of Blossholme, whose nuns have
+befriended you and whom you desire to save, this embracing pardon for
+others who had shed blood, this cancelling outside of the form of law of
+a sentence passed by a Court duly constituted, if unjust, all in return
+for a loan of a pitiful �1000? You huckster well, Lady Harflete,
+one would think that your father had been a chapman, not rough John
+Foterell, you who can drive so shrewd a bargain with your King's
+necessities."
+
+"Sire, Sire," broke in Cicely in confusion, "I have no more, my lands
+are wasted by Abbot Maldon, my husband's hall is burnt by his soldiers,
+my first year's rents, if ever I should receive them, are promised----"
+
+"To whom?"
+
+She hesitated.
+
+"To whom?" he thundered. "Answer, Madam."
+
+"To your Royal Commissioner, Dr. Legh."
+
+"Ah! I thought as much, though when he spoke of you he did not tell it,
+the snuffling rogue."
+
+"The jewels that came to me from my mother are in pawn for that �1000,
+and I have no more."
+
+"A palpable lie, Dame Harflete, for if so, how have you paid Cromwell?
+He did not bring you here for nothing."
+
+"Oh, my Liege, my Liege," said Cicely, sinking to her knees, "ask not a
+helpless woman to betray those who have befriended her in her most sore
+and honest need. I said I have nothing, unless those gems are worth more
+than I know."
+
+"And I believe you, Dame Harflete. We have plucked you bare between us,
+have we not? Still, perchance, you will be no loser in the end. Now,
+Master Smith, there, does not work for love alone."
+
+"Sire," said Jacob, "that is true, I copy my masters. I have this lady's
+jewels in pledge, and I hope to make a profit on them. Still, Sire,
+there is among them a pink pearl of great beauty that it might please
+the Queen to wear. Here it is," and he laid it upon the table.
+
+"Oh, what a lovely thing," said Jane; "never have I seen its like."
+
+"Then study it well, Wife, for you look your last upon it. When we
+cannot pay our soldiers to keep our crown upon our head, and preserve
+the liberties of England against the Spaniard and the Pope of Rome, it
+is no time to give you gems that I have not bought. Take that gaud and
+sell it, Master Smith, for whatever it will fetch among the Jews, and
+add the price to the �1000, lessened by one tenth for your trouble. Now,
+Dame Harflete, you have bought the favour of your King, for whoever
+else may, I'll not lie. Ah! here comes Cromwell. My Lord, you have been
+long."
+
+"Your Grace, yonder priest is in a fit from fright, and thinks himself
+in hell. I had to tarry with him till the doctor came."
+
+"Doubtless he'll get better now that you are gone. Poor man, if a sham
+devil frights him so, what will he do at last? Now, Cromwell, I have
+made examination of this business and I will sign your papers, all of
+them. Dame Harflete here tells me how hard you have worked for her, all
+for nothing, Cromwell, and that pleases me, who at times have wondered
+how you grew so rich, as your learner, Wolsey, did before you. _He_ took
+bribes, Cromwell!"
+
+"My Liege," he answered in a low voice, "this case was cruel, it moved
+my pity----"
+
+"As it has ours, leaving us the richer by �1000 and the price of a
+pearl. There, five, are they all signed? Take them, Master Smith, as the
+Lady Harflete is your client, and study them to-night. If aught be wrong
+or omitted, you have our royal word that we will set it straight. This
+is our command--note it, Cromwell--that all things be done quickly
+as occasion shall arise to give effect to these precepts, pardons and
+patents which you, Cromwell, shall countersign ere they leave this room.
+Also, that no further fee, secret or declared, shall be taken from
+the Lady Harflete, whom henceforth, in token of our special favour, we
+create and name the Lady of Blossholme, from her husband or her child,
+as to any of these matters, and that Commissioner Legh, on receipt
+thereof, shall pay into our treasury any sum or sums that Dame Harflete
+may have promised to him. Write it down, my Lord Cromwell, and see that
+our words are carried out, lest it be the worse for you."
+
+The Vicar-General hastened to obey, for there was something in the
+King's eye that frightened him. Meanwhile the Queen, after she had seen
+the coveted pearl disappear into Jacob's pocket, thrust back the child
+into Cicely's arms, and without any word of adieu or reverence to the
+King, followed by her lady, departed from the room, slamming the door
+behind her.
+
+"Her Grace is cross because that gem--your gem, Lady Harflete--was
+refused to her," said Henry, then added in an angry growl, "'Fore God!
+does she dare to play off her tempers upon me, and so soon, when I am
+troubled about big matters? Oho! Jane Seymour is the Queen to-day, and
+she'd let the world know it. Well, what makes a queen? A king's fancy
+and a crown of gold, which the hand that set it on can take off again,
+head and all, if it stick too tight. And then where's your queen? Pest
+upon women and the whims that make us seek their company! Dame Harflete,
+you'd not treat your lord so, would you? You have never been to Court, I
+think, or I should have known your eyes again. Well, perhaps it is well
+for you, and that's why you are gentle and loving."
+
+"If I am gentle, Sire, it is trouble that has gentled me, who have
+suffered so much, and know not even now whether after one week of
+marriage I am wife or widow."
+
+"Widow? Should that be so, come to me and I will find you another and a
+nobler spouse. With your face and possessions it will not be difficult.
+Nay, do not weep, for your sake I trust that this lucky man may live to
+comfort you and serve his King. At least he'll be no Spaniard's tool and
+Pope's plotter."
+
+"Well will he serve your Grace if God gives him the chance, as my
+murdered father did."
+
+"We know it, Lady. Cromwell, will you never have finished with those
+writings? The Council waits us, and so does supper, and a word or two
+with her Grace ere bedtime. You, Thomas Bolle, you are no fool and can
+hold a sword; tell me, shall I go up north to fight the rebels, or bide
+here and let others do it?"
+
+"Bide here, your Grace," answered Thomas promptly. "'Twixt Wash and
+Humber is a wild land in winter and arrows fly about there like ducks at
+night, none knowing whence they come. Also your Grace is over-heavy for
+a horse on forest roads and moorland, and if aught should chance, why,
+they'd laugh in Spain and Rome, or nearer, and who would rule England
+with a girl child on its throne?" and he stared hard at Cromwell's back.
+
+"Truth at last, and out of the lips of a red-haired bumpkin," muttered
+the King, also staring at the unconscious Cromwell, who was engaged on
+his writing and either feigned deafness or did not hear. "Thomas Bolle,
+I said that you were no fool, although some may have thought you so, is
+there aught you would have in payment for your counsel--save money, for
+that we have none?"
+
+"Aye, Sire, freedom from my oath as a lay-brother of the Abbey of
+Blossholme, and leave to marry."
+
+"To marry whom?"
+
+"Her, Sire," and he pointed to Emlyn.
+
+"What! The other handsome witch? See you not that she has a temper? Nay,
+woman, be silent, it is written in your face. Well, take your freedom
+and her with it, but, Thomas Bolle, why did you not ask otherwise when
+the chance came your way? I thought better of you. Like the rest of us,
+you are but a fool after all. Farewell to you, Fool Thomas, and to you
+also, my fair Lady of Blossholme."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+THE VOICE IN THE FOREST
+
+The four were back safe in their lodging in Cheapside, whither, after
+the deeds had been sealed, three soldiers escorted them by command.
+
+"Have we done well, have we done well?" asked Jacob, rubbing his hands.
+
+"It would seem so, Master Smith," replied Cicely, "thanks to you; that
+is, if all the King said is really in those writings."
+
+"It is there sure enough," said Jacob; "for know, that with the aid of
+a lawyer and three scriveners, I drafted them myself in the Lord
+Cromwell's office this morning, and oh, I drew them wide. Hard, hard we
+worked with no time for dinner, and that was why I was ten minutes late
+by the clock, for which Emlyn here chided me so sharply. Still, I'll
+read them through again, and if aught is left out we will have it
+righted, though these are the same parchments, for I set a secret mark
+upon them."
+
+"Nay, nay," said Cicely, "leave well alone. His Grace's mood may change,
+or the Queen--that matter of the pearl."
+
+"Ah, the pearl, it grieved me to part with that beautiful pearl. But
+there was no way out, it must be sold and the money handed over, our
+honour is on it. Had I refused, who knows? Yes, we may thank God, for
+if the most of your jewels are gone, the wide Abbey lands have come and
+other things. Nothing is forgot. Bolle is unfrocked and may wed; Cousin
+Stower has got a husband----"
+
+Then Emlyn, who until now had been strangely silent, burst out in
+wrath----
+
+"Am I, then, a beast that I should be given to this man like a heriot
+at yonder King's bidding?" she exclaimed, pointing with her finger at
+Bolle, who stood in the corner. "Who gave you the right, Thomas, to
+demand me in marriage?"
+
+"Well, since you ask me, Emlyn, it was you yourself; once, many years
+ago, down in the mead by the water, and more lately in the chapel of
+Blossholme Priory before I began to play the devil."
+
+"Play the devil! Aye, you have played the devil with me. There in the
+King's presence I must stand for an hour or more while all talked and
+never let a word slip between my lips, and at last hear myself called by
+his Grace a woman of temper and you a fool for wishing to marry me. Oh,
+if ever we do marry, I'll prove his words."
+
+"Then perhaps, Emlyn, we who have got on a long while apart, had best
+stay so," answered Thomas calmly. "Yet, why you should fret because you
+must keep your tongue in its case for an hour, or because I asked leave
+to marry you in all honour, I do not know. I have worked my best for
+you and your mistress at some hazard, and things have not gone so ill,
+seeing that now we are quit of blame and in a fair way to peace and
+comfort. If you are not content, why then, the King was right, and I'm
+a fool, and so good-bye, I'll trouble you no more in fair weather or
+in foul. I have leave to marry, and there are other women in the world
+should I need one."
+
+"Tread on their tails and even worms will turn," soliloquized Jacob,
+while Emlyn burst into tears.
+
+Cicely ran to console her, and Bolle made as though he would leave the
+room.
+
+Just then there came a great knocking on the street door, and the sound
+of a voice crying--
+
+"In the King's name! In the King's name, open!"
+
+"That's Commissioner Legh," said Thomas. "I learned the cry from him,
+and it is a good one at a pinch, as some of you may remember."
+
+Emlyn dried her tears with her sleeve; Cicely sat down and Jacob
+shovelled the parchments into his big pockets. Then in burst the
+Commissioner, to whom some one had opened.
+
+"What's this I hear?" he cried, addressing Cicely, his face as red as a
+turkey cock's. "That you have been working behind my back; that you have
+told falsehoods of me to his Grace, who called me knave and thief; that
+I am commanded to pay my fees into the Treasury? Oh, ungrateful wench,
+would to God that I had let you burn ere you disgraced me thus."
+
+"If you bring so much heat into my poor house, learned Doctor, surely
+all of us will soon burn," said Jacob suavely. "The Lady Harflete said
+nothing that his Highness did not force her to say, as I know who was
+present, and among so many pickings cannot you spare a single dole?
+Come, come, drink a cup of wine and be calm."
+
+But Dr. Legh, who had already drunk several cups of wine, would not be
+calm. He reviled first one of them and then the other, but especially
+Emlyn, whom he conceived to be the cause of all his woes, till at length
+he called her by a very ill name. Then came forward Thomas Bolle, who
+all this while had been standing in the corner, and took him by the
+neck.
+
+"In the King's name!" he said, "nay, complain not, 'tis your own cry
+and I have warrant for it," and he knocked Legh's head against the
+door-post. "In the King's name, get out of this," and he gave him such a
+kick as never Royal Commissioner had felt before, shooting him down the
+passage. "For the third time in the King's name!" and he hurled him
+out in a heap into the courtyard. "Begone, and know if ever I see your
+pudding face again, in the King's name, I'll break your neck!"
+
+Thus did Visitor Legh depart out of the life of Cicely, though in due
+course she paid him her first year's rent, nor ever asked who took the
+benefit.
+
+"Thomas," said Emlyn, when he returned smiling at the memory of that
+farewell kick, "the King was right, I am quick-tempered at times, no ill
+thing for it has helped me more than once. Forget, and so will I,"
+and she gave him her hand, which he kissed, then went to see about the
+supper.
+
+While they ate, which they did heartily who needed food, there came
+another knock.
+
+"Go, Thomas," said Jacob, "and say we see none to-night."
+
+So Thomas went and they heard talk. Then he re-entered followed by a
+cloaked man, saying--
+
+"Here is a visitor whom I dare not deny," whereon they all rose,
+thinking in their folly that it was the King himself, and not one almost
+as mighty in England for a while--the Lord Cromwell.
+
+"Pardon me," said Cromwell, bowing in his courteous manner, "and if you
+will, let me be seated with you, and give me a bite and a sup, for I
+need them, who have been hard-worked to-day."
+
+So he sat down among them, and ate and drank, talking pleasantly of
+many things, and telling them that the King had changed his mind at the
+Council, as he thought, because of the words of Thomas Bolle, which he
+believed had stuck there, and would not go north to fight the rebels
+after all, but would send the Duke of Norfolk and other lords. Then when
+he had done he pushed away his cup and platter, looked at his hosts and
+said--
+
+"Now to business. My Lady Harflete, fortune has been your friend this
+day, for all you asked has been granted to you, which, as his Grace's
+temper has been of late, is a wondrous thing. Moreover, I thank you that
+you did not answer a certain question as to myself which I learn he put
+to you urgently."
+
+"My Lord," said Cicely, "you have befriended me. Still, had he pressed
+me further, God knows. Commissioner Legh did not thank me to-night," and
+she told him of the visit they had just received, and of its ending.
+
+"A rough man and a greedy, who doubtless henceforth will be your enemy,"
+replied Cromwell. "Still you were not to blame, for who can reason with
+a bull in his own yard? Well, while I have power I'll not forget your
+faithfulness, though in truth, my Lady of Blossholme, I sit upon a
+slippery height, and beneath waits a gulf that has swallowed some as
+great, and greater. Therefore I will not deny it, I lay by while I may,
+not knowing who will gather."
+
+He brooded a while, then went on, with a sigh--
+
+"The times are uncertain; thus, you who have the promise of wealth may
+yet die a beggar. The lands of Blossholme Abbey, on which you hold a
+bond that will never be redeemed, are not yet in the King's hands to
+give. A black storm is bursting in the north and, I say this in secret,
+the fury of it may sweep Henry from the throne. If it should be so, away
+with you to any land where you are not known, for then after this day's
+work here a rope will be your only heritage. More, this Queen, unlike
+Anne who is gone, is a friend to the party of the Church, and though she
+affects to care little for such things, is bitter about that pearl, and
+therefore against you, its owner. Have you no jewel left that you could
+spare which I might take to her? As for the pearl itself, which Master
+Smith here swore to me was not to be found in the whole world when he
+showed me its fellow, it must be sold as the King commanded," and he
+looked at Jacob somewhat sourly.
+
+Now Cicely spoke with Jacob, who went away and returned presently with
+a brooch in which was set a large white diamond surrounded by five small
+rubies.
+
+"Take her this with my duty, my Lord," said Cicely.
+
+"I will, I will. Oh! fear not, it shall reach her for my own sake as
+well as yours. You are a wise giver, Lady Harflete, who know when and
+where to cast your bread upon the waters. And now I have a gift for you
+that perchance will please you more than gems. Your husband, Christopher
+Harflete, accompanied by a servant, has landed in the north safe and
+well."
+
+"Oh, my Lord," she cried, "then where is he now?"
+
+"Alas! the rest of the tale is not so pleasing, for as he journeyed,
+from Hull I think, he was taken prisoner by the rebels, who have him
+fast at Lincoln, wishing to make him, whose name is of account, one of
+their company. But he being a wise and loyal man, contrived to send a
+letter to the King's captain in those parts, which has reached me this
+night. Here it is, do you know the writing?"
+
+"Aye, aye," gasped Cicely, staring at the scrawl that was ill writ and
+worse spelt, for Christopher was no scholar.
+
+"Then I'll read it to you, and afterwards certify a copy to multiply the
+evidence."
+
+
+"To the Captain of the King's Forces outside Lincoln.
+
+"This to give notice to you, his Grace, and his ministers and all
+others, that we, Christopher Harflete, Knight, and Jeffrey Stokes,
+his servant, when journeying from the seaport whither we had come from
+Spain, were taken by rebels in arms against the King and brought here
+to Lincoln. These men would win me to their party because the name of
+Harflete is still strong and known. So violent were they that we have
+taken some kind of oath. Yet this writing advises you that so I only
+did to save my life, having no heart that way who am a loyal man and
+understand little of their quarrel. Life, in sooth, is of small value to
+me who have lost wife, lands and all. Yet ere I die I would be avenged
+upon the murderous Abbot of Blossholme, and therefore I seek to keep my
+breath in me and to escape.
+
+"I learn that the said Abbot is afoot with a great following within
+fifty miles of here. Pray God he does not get his claws in me again, but
+if so, say to the King, that Harflete died faithful.
+
+"Christopher Harflete.
+
+"Jeffrey Stokes, X his mark."
+
+"My Lord," said Cicely, "what shall I do, my Lord?"
+
+"There is naught to be done, save trust in God and hope for the best.
+Doubtless he will escape, and at least his Grace shall see this letter
+to-morrow morning and send orders to help him if may be. Copy it, Master
+Smith."
+
+Jacob took the letter and began to write swiftly, while Cromwell
+thought.
+
+"Listen," he said presently. "Round Blossholme there are no rebels, all
+of that colour have drawn off north. Now Foterell and Harflete are good
+names yonder, cannot you journey thither and raise a company?"
+
+"Aye, aye, that I can do," broke in Bolle. "In a week I will have a
+hundred men at my back. Give commission and money to my Lady there and
+name me captain and you'll see."
+
+"The commission and the captaincy under the privy signet shall be at
+this house by nine of the clock to-morrow," answered Cromwell. "The
+money you must find, for there is none outside the coffers of Jacob
+Smith. Yet pause, Lady Harflete, there is risk and here you are safe."
+
+"I know the risk," she answered, "but what do I care for risks who have
+taken so many, when my husband is yonder and I may serve him?"
+
+"An excellent spirit, let us trust that it comes from on high," remarked
+Cromwell; but old Jacob, as he wrote _vera copia_ for his Lordship's
+signature at the foot of the transcript of Christopher's letter, shook
+his head sadly.
+
+In another minute Cromwell had signed without troubling to compare the
+two, and with some gentle words of farewell was gone, having bigger
+matters waiting his attention.
+
+Cicely never saw him again, indeed with the exception of Jacob Smith
+she never saw any of those folk again, including the King, who had been
+concerned in this crisis of her life. Yet, notwithstanding his cunning
+and his extortion, she grieved for Cromwell when some four years later
+the Duke of Suffolk and the Earl of Southampton rudely tore the Garter
+and his other decorations off his person and he was haled from the
+Council to the Tower, and thence after abject supplications for mercy,
+to perish a criminal upon the block. At least he had served her well,
+for he kept all his promises to the letter. One of his last acts also
+was to send her back the pink pearl which he had received as a bribe
+from Jacob Smith, with a message to the effect that he was sure it would
+become her more than it had him, and that he hoped it would bring her a
+better fortune.
+
+
+
+When Cromwell had gone Jacob turned to Cicely and inquired if she were
+leaving his house upon the morrow.
+
+"Have I not said so?" she asked, with impatience. "Knowing what I know
+how could I stay in London? Why do you ask?"
+
+"Because I must balance our account. I think you owe me a matter of
+twenty marks for rent and board. Also it is probable that we shall need
+money for our journey, and this day has left me somewhat bare of coin."
+
+"Our journey?" said Cicely. "Do you, then, accompany us, Master Smith?"
+
+"With your leave I think so, Lady. Times are bad here, I have no
+shilling left to lend, yet if I do not lend I shall never be forgiven.
+Also I need a holiday, and ere I die would once again see Blossholme,
+where I was born, should we live to reach it. But if we start to-morrow
+I have much to do this night. For instance, your jewels which I hold in
+pawn must be set in a place of safety; also these deeds, whereof copies
+should be made, and that pearl must be left in trusty hands for sale. So
+at what hour do we ride on this mad errand?"
+
+"At eleven of the clock," answered Cicely, "if the King's safe-conduct
+and commission have come by then."
+
+"So be it. Then I bid you good-night. Come with me, worthy Bolle, for
+there'll be no sleep for us. I go to call my clerks and you must go to
+the stable. Lady Harflete and you, Cousin Emlyn, get you to bed."
+
+On the following morning Cicely rose with the dawn, nor was she sorry to
+do so, who had spent but a troubled night. For long sleep would not come
+to her, and when it did at length, she was tossed upon a sea of
+dreams, dreams of the King, who threatened her with his great voice; of
+Cromwell, who took everything she had down to her cloak; of Commissioner
+Legh, who dragged her back to the stake because he had lost his bribe.
+
+But most of all she dreamed of Christopher, her beloved husband, who was
+so near and yet as far away as he had ever been, a prisoner in the hands
+of the rebels; her husband who deemed her dead.
+
+From all these phantasies she awoke weeping and oppressed by fears.
+Could it be that when at length the cup of joy was so near her lips fate
+waited to dash it down again? She knew not, who had naught but faith to
+lean on, that faith which in the past had served her well. Meanwhile,
+she was sure that if Christopher lived he would make his way to Cranwell
+or to Blossholme, and, whatever the risk, thither she would go also as
+fast as horses could carry her.
+
+Hurry as they would, midday was an hour gone ere they rode out of
+Cheapside. There was so much to do, and even then things were left
+undone. The four of them travelled humbly clad, giving out that they
+were a party of merchant folk returning to Cambridge after a visit to
+London as to an inheritance in which they were interested, especially
+Cicely, who posed as a widow named Johnson. This was their story, which
+they varied from time to time according to circumstances. In some ways
+their minds were more at ease than when they travelled to the great
+city, for now at least they were clear of the horrid company of
+Commissioner Legh and his people, nor were they haunted by the knowledge
+that they had about them jewels of great price. All these jewels were
+left behind in safe keeping, as were also the writings under the King's
+hand and seal, of which they only took attested copies, and with them
+the commission that Cromwell had duly sent to Cicely addressed to her
+husband and herself, and Bolle's certificate of captaincy. These they
+hid in their boots or the linings of their vests, together with such
+money as was necessary for the costs of travel.
+
+Thus riding hard, for their horses were good and fresh, they came
+unmolested to Cambridge on the night of the second day and slept there.
+Beyond Cambridge, they were told, the country was so disturbed that
+it would not be safe for them to journey. But just when they were in
+despair, for even Bolle said that they must not go on, a troop of the
+King's horse arrived on their way to join the Duke of Norfolk wherever
+he might lie in Lincolnshire.
+
+To their captain, one Jeffreys, Jacob showed the King's commission,
+revealing who they were. Seeing that it commanded all his Grace's
+officers and servants to do them service, this Captain Jeffreys said
+that he would give them escort until their roads separated. So next day
+they went on again. The company was not pleasant, for the men, of whom
+there were about a hundred, proved rough fellows, still, having been
+warned that he who insulted or laid a finger on them should be hanged,
+they did them no harm. It was well, indeed, that they had their
+protection, for they found the country through which they passed up in
+arms, and were more than once threatened by mobs of peasants, led by
+priests, who would have attacked them had they dared.
+
+For two days they travelled thus with Captain Jeffreys, coming on the
+evening of the second to Peterborough, where they found lodgings at an
+inn. When they rose the next morning, however, it was to discover that
+Jeffreys and his men had already gone, leaving a message to say that he
+had received urgent orders to push on to Lincoln.
+
+Now once more they told their old tale, declaring that they were
+citizens of Boston, and having learned that the Fens were peaceful,
+perhaps because so few people lived in them, started forward by
+themselves under the guidance of Bolle, who had often journeyed through
+that country, buying or selling cattle for the monks. An ill land was
+it to travel in also in that wet autumn, seeing that in many places the
+floods were out and the tracks were like a quagmire. The first night
+they spent in a marshman's hut, listening to the pouring rain and
+fearing fever and ague, especially for the boy. The next day, by good
+fortune, they reached higher land and slept at a tavern.
+
+Here they were visited by rude men, who, being of the party of
+rebellion, sought to know their business. For a while things were
+dangerous, but Bolle, who could talk their own dialect, showed that
+they were scarcely to be feared who travelled with two women and a babe,
+adding that he was a lay-brother of Blossholme Abbey disguised as a
+serving-man for dread of the King's party. Jacob Smith also called for
+ale and drank with them to the success of the Pilgrimage of Grace, as
+their revolt was named.
+
+In this way they disarmed suspicion with one tale and another.
+Moreover, they heard that as yet the country round Blossholme remained
+undisturbed, although it was said that the Abbot had fortified the Abbey
+and stored it with provisions. He himself was with the leaders of the
+revolt in the neighbourhood of Lincoln, but he had done this that he
+might have a strong place to fall back on.
+
+So in the end the men went away full of strong beer, and that danger
+passed by.
+
+Next morning they started forward early, hoping to reach Blossholme by
+sunset though the days were shortening much. This, however, was not
+to be, for as it chanced they were badly bogged in a quagmire that lay
+about two miles off their inn, and when at length they scrambled out had
+to ride many miles round to escape the swamp. So it happened that it
+was already well on in the afternoon when they came to that stretch of
+forest in which the Abbot had murdered Sir John Foterell. Following the
+woodland road, towards sunset they passed the mere where he had fallen.
+Weary as she was, Cicely looked at the spot and found it familiar.
+
+"I know this place," she said. "Where have I seen it? Oh, in the ill
+dream I had on that day I lost my father."
+
+"That is not wonderful," answered Emlyn, who rode beside her carrying
+the child, "seeing that Thomas says it was just here they butchered him.
+Look, yonder lie the bones of Meg, his mare; I know them by her black
+mane."
+
+"Aye, Lady," broke in Bolle, "and there he lies also where he fell; they
+buried him with never a Christian prayer," and he pointed to a little
+careless mound between two willows.
+
+"Jesus, have mercy on his soul!" said Cicely, crossing herself. "Now, if
+I live, I swear that I will move his bones to the chancel of Blossholme
+church and build a fair monument to his memory."
+
+This, as all visitors to the place know, she did, for that monument
+remains to this day, representing the old knight lying in the snow, with
+the arrow in his throat, between the two murderers whom he slew, while
+round the corner of the tomb Jeffrey Stokes gallops away.
+
+While Cicely stared back at this desolate grave, muttering a prayer for
+the departed, Thomas Bolle heard something which caused him to prick his
+ears.
+
+"What is it?" asked Jacob Smith, who saw the change in his face.
+
+"Horses galloping--many horses, master," he answered; "yes, and riders
+on them. Listen."
+
+They did so, and now they also heard the thud of horse's hoofs and the
+shouts of men.
+
+"Quick, quick," said Bolle, "follow me. I know where we may hide," and
+he led them off to a dense thicket of thorn and beech scrub which grew
+about two hundred yards away under a group of oaks at a place where four
+tracks crossed. Owing to the beech leaves, which, when the trees are
+young, as every gardener knows, cling to the twigs through autumn and
+winter, this place was very close, and hid them completely.
+
+Scarcely had they taken up their stand there, when, in the red light
+of the sunset, they saw a strange sight. Along, not that road they had
+followed, but another, which led round the farther side of King's Grave
+Mount, now seen and now hidden by the forest trees, a tall man in armour
+mounted on a grey horse, accompanied by another man in a leathern jerkin
+mounted on a black horse, galloped towards them, whilst, at a distance
+of not more than a hundred yards behind them, appeared a motley mob of
+pursuers.
+
+"Escaped prisoners being run down," muttered Bolle, but Cicely took no
+heed. There was something about the appearance of the rider of the grey
+horse that seemed to draw her heart out of her.
+
+She leaned forward on her beast's neck, staring with all her eyes. Now
+the two men were almost opposite the thicket, and the man in mail turned
+his face to his companion and called cheerily--
+
+"We gain! We'll slip them yet, Jeffrey."
+
+Cicely saw the face.
+
+"Christopher!" she cried; "_Christopher!_"
+
+Another moment and they had swept past, but Christopher--for it was
+he--had caught the sound of that remembered voice. With eyes made quick
+by love and fear she saw him pulling on his rein. She heard him shout
+to Jeffrey, and Jeffrey shout back to him in tones of remonstrance.
+They halted confusedly in the open space beyond. He tried to turn, then
+perceived his pursuers drawing nearer, and, when they were already at
+his heels, with an exclamation, pulled round again to gallop away. Too
+late! Up the slope they sped for another hundred yards or so. Now they
+were surrounded, and now, at the crest of it, they fought, for swords
+flashed in the red light. The pursuers closed in on them like hounds on
+an outrun fox. They went down--they vanished.
+
+Cicely strove to gallop after them, for she was crazed, but the others
+held her back.
+
+At length there was silence, and Thomas Bolle, dismounting, crept out to
+look. Ten minutes later he returned.
+
+"All have gone," he said.
+
+"Oh! he is dead!" wailed Cicely. "This fatal place has robbed me of
+father and of husband."
+
+"I think not," answered Bolle. "I see no bloodstains, nor any signs of
+a man being carried. He went living on his horse. Still, would to Heaven
+that women could learn when to keep silent!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+BETWEEN DOOM AND HONOUR
+
+The day was about to break when at last, utterly worn out in body and
+mind, Cicely and her party rode their stumbling horses up to the gates
+of Blossholme Priory.
+
+"Pray God the nuns are still here," said Emlyn, who held the child, "for
+if they have been driven out and my mistress must go farther, I think
+that she will die. Knock hard, Thomas, that old gardener is deaf as a
+wall."
+
+Bolle obeyed with good will, till presently the grille in the door was
+opened and a trembling woman's voice asked who was there.
+
+"That's Mother Matilda," said Emlyn, and slipping from her horse, she
+ran to the bars and began to talk to her through them. Then other nuns
+came, and between them they opened one of the large gates, for the
+gardener either could not or would not be aroused, and passed through it
+into the courtyard where, when it was understood that Cicely had really
+come again, there was a great welcoming. But now she could hardly speak,
+so they made her swallow a bowl of milk and took her to her old room,
+where sleep of some kind overcame her. When she awoke it was nine of the
+clock. Emlyn, looking little the worse, was already up and stood talking
+with Mother Matilda.
+
+"Oh!" cried Cicely, as memory came back to her, "has aught been heard of
+my husband?"
+
+They shook their heads, and the Prioress said--
+
+"First you must eat, Sweet, and then we will tell you all we know, which
+is little."
+
+So she ate who needed food sadly, and while Emlyn helped her to dress
+herself, hearkened to the news. It was of no great account, only
+confirming that which they had learnt from the Fenmen; that the Abbey
+was fortified and guarded by strange soldiers, rebellious men from the
+north or foreigners, and the Abbot supposed to be away.
+
+Bolle, who had been out, reported also that a man he met declared that
+he had heard a troop of horsemen pass through the village in the night,
+but of this no proof was forthcoming, since if they had done so the
+heavy rain that was still falling had washed out all traces of them.
+Moreover, in those times people were always moving to and fro in the
+dark, and none could know if this troop had anything to do with the band
+they had seen in the forest, which might have gone some other way.
+
+When Cicely was ready they went downstairs, and in Mother Matilda's
+private room found Jacob Smith and Thomas Bolle awaiting them.
+
+"Lady Harflete," said Jacob, with the air of a man who has no time to
+lose, "things stand thus. As yet none know that you are here, for we
+have the gardener and his wife under ward. But as soon as they learn
+it at the Abbey there will be risk of an attack, and this place is not
+defensible. Now at your hall of Shefton it is otherwise, for there
+it seems is a deep moat with a drawbridge and the rest. To Shefton,
+therefore, you must go at once, unobserved if may be. Indeed, Thomas has
+been there already, and spoken to certain of your tenants whom he can
+trust, who are now hard at work preparing and victualling the place,
+and passing on the word to others. By nightfall he hopes to have thirty
+strong men to defend it, and within three days a hundred, when your
+commission and his captaincy are made known. Come, then, for there is no
+time to tarry and the horses are saddled."
+
+So Cicely kissed Mother Matilda, who blessed and thanked her for all she
+had done, or tried to do on behalf of the sisterhood, and within five
+minutes once more they were on the backs of their weary beasts and
+riding through the rain to Shefton, which happily was but three
+miles away. Keeping under the lee of the woods they left the Priory
+unobserved, for in that wet few were stirring, and the sentinels at
+the Abbey, if there were any, had taken shelter in the guard-house. So
+thankfully enough they came unmolested to walled and wooded Shefton,
+which Cicely had last seen when she fled thence to Cranwell on the
+day of her marriage, oh, years and years ago, or so it seemed to her
+tormented heart.
+
+It was a strange and a sad home-coming, she thought, as they rode over
+the drawbridge and through the sodden and weed-smothered pleasaunce to
+the familiar door. Yet it might have been worse, for the tenants whom
+Bolle had warned had not been idle. For two hours past and more a dozen
+willing women had swept and cleaned; the fires had been lit, and there
+was plenteous food of a sort in the kitchen and the store-room.
+
+Moreover, in all the big hall were gathered about a score of her people,
+who welcomed her by raising their bonnets and even tried to cheer. To
+these at once Jacob read the King's commission, showing them the signet
+and the seal, and that other commission which named Thomas Bolle a
+captain with wide powers, the sight and hearing of which writings seemed
+to put a great heart into them who so long had lacked a leader and the
+support of authority. One and all they swore to stand by the King and
+their lady, Cicely Harflete, and her lord, Sir Christopher, or if he
+were dead, his child. Then about half of them took horse and rode off,
+this way and that, to gather men in the King's name, while the rest
+stayed to guard the Hall and work at its defences.
+
+By sunset men were riding up from all sides, some of them driving carts
+loaded with provisions, arms and fodder, or sheep and beasts that could
+be killed for sustenance, while as they came Jacob enrolled their names
+upon a paper and by virtue of his commission Thomas Bolle swore them in.
+Indeed that night they had forty men quartered there, and the promise of
+many more.
+
+By now, however, the secret was out, for the story had gone round and
+the smoke from the Shefton chimneys told its own tale. First a single
+spy appeared on the opposite rise, watching. Then he galloped away, to
+return an hour later with ten armed and mounted men, one of whom carried
+a banner on which were embroidered the emblems of the Pilgrimage
+of Grace. These men rode to within a hundred paces of Shefton Hall,
+apparently with the object of attacking it, then seeing that the
+drawbridge was up and that archers with bent bows stood on either side,
+halted and sent forward one of their number with a white flag to parley.
+
+"Who holds Shefton," shouted this man, "and for what cause?"
+
+"The Lady Harflete, its owner, and Captain Thomas Bolle, for the cause
+of the King," called old Jacob Smith back to him.
+
+"By what warrant?" asked the man. "The Abbot of Blossholme is lord of
+Shefton, and Thomas Bolle is but a lay-brother of his monastery."
+
+"By warrant of the King's Grace," said Jacob, and then and there at the
+top of his voice he read to him the Royal Commission, which when the
+envoy had heard, he went back to consult with his companions. For a
+while they hesitated, apparently still meditating attack, but in the end
+rode away and were seen no more.
+
+Bolle wished to follow and fall on them with such men as he had, but the
+cautious Jacob Smith forbade it, fearing lest he should tumble into
+some ambush and be killed or captured with his people, leaving the place
+defenceless.
+
+So the afternoon went by, and ere evening closed in they had so much
+strength that there was no more cause for fear of an attack from the
+Abbey, whose garrison they learned amounted to not over fifty men and a
+few monks, for most of these had fled.
+
+That night Cicely with Emlyn and old Jacob were seated in the long upper
+room where her father, Sir John Foterell, had once surprised Christopher
+paying his court to her, when Bolle entered, followed by a man with a
+hang-dog look who was wrapped in a sheepskin coat which seemed to become
+him very ill.
+
+"Who is this, friend?" asked Jacob.
+
+"An old companion of mine, your worship, a monk of Blossholme who is
+weary of Grace and its pilgrimages, and seeks the King's comfort and
+pardon, which I have made bold to promise to him."
+
+"Good," said Jacob, "I'll enter his name, and if he remains faithful
+your promise shall be kept. But why do you bring him here?"
+
+"Because he bears tidings."
+
+Now something in Bolle's voice caused Cicely, who was brooding apart, to
+look up sharply and say--
+
+"Speak, and be swift."
+
+"My Lady," began the man in a slow voice, "I, who am named Basil in
+religion, have fled the Abbey because, although a monk, I am true to
+the King, and moreover have suffered much from the Abbot, who has just
+returned raging, having met with some reverse out Lincoln way, I know
+not what. My news is that your lord, Sir Christopher Harflete, and his
+servant Jeffrey Stokes are prisoners in the Abbey dungeons, whither they
+were brought last night by a company of the rebels who had captured them
+and afterwards rode on."
+
+"Prisoners!" exclaimed Cicely. "Then he is not dead or wounded? At least
+he is whole and safe?"
+
+"Aye, my Lady, whole and safe as a mouse in the paws of a cat before it
+is eaten."
+
+The blood left Cicely's cheeks. In her mind's eye she saw Abbot Maldon
+turned into a great cat with a monk's head and patting Christopher with
+his claws.
+
+"My fault, my fault!" she said in a heavy voice. "Oh, if I had not
+called him he would have escaped. Would that I had been stricken dumb!"
+
+"I don't think so," answered Brother Basil. "There were others watching
+for him ahead who, when he was taken, went away and that is how you came
+to get through so neatly. At least there he lies, and if you would save
+him, you had best gather what strength you can and strike at once."
+
+"Does he know that I live?" asked Cicely.
+
+"How can I tell, Lady? The Abbey dungeons are no good place for
+news. Yet the monk who took him his food this morning said that Sir
+Christopher told him that he had been undone by some ghost which called
+to him with the voice of his dead wife as he rode near King's Grave
+Mount."
+
+Now when Cicely heard this she rose and left the room accompanied by
+Emlyn, for she could bear no more.
+
+But Jacob Smith and Bolle remained questioning the man closely upon many
+matters, and, having learned all he could tell them, sent him away under
+guard and sat there till midnight consulting and making up their plans
+with the farmers and yeomen whom they called to them from time to time.
+
+Next morning early they sought out Cicely and told her that to them it
+seemed wise that the Abbey should be attacked without delay.
+
+"But my husband lies there," she answered in distress, "and then they
+will kill him."
+
+"So I fear they may if we do not attack," replied Jacob. "Moreover,
+Lady, to tell the truth, there are other things to be thought of. For
+instance, the King's cause and honour, which we are bound to forward,
+and the lives and goods of all those who through us have declared
+themselves for him. If we lie idle Abbot Maldon will send messengers to
+the north and within a few days bring down thousands upon us, against
+whom we cannot hope to stand. Indeed, it is probable that he has
+already sent. But if they hear that the Abbey has fallen the rebels will
+scarcely come for revenge alone. Lastly, if we sit with folded hands,
+our own people may grow cold with doubts and fears and melt away, who
+now are hot as fire."
+
+"If it must be, so let it be. In God's hands I leave his life," said
+Cicely in a heavy voice.
+
+
+
+That day the King's men, under the captaincy of Bolle, advanced and
+invested the Abbey, setting their camp in Blossholme village. Cicely,
+who would not be left behind, came with them and once more took up her
+quarters in the Priory, which on a formal summons opened its gates to
+her, its only guard, the deaf gardener, surrendering at discretion. He
+was set to work as a camp servant, and never in his life did he labour
+so hard before, since Emlyn, who owed him many a grudge, saw to it that
+he did not lack for tasks that were mean and heavy.
+
+Now that day Thomas and others spied out the Abbey and returned shaking
+their heads, for without cannon--and as yet they had none--the great
+building of hewn stone seemed almost impregnable. At but one spot indeed
+was attack possible, from the back where once stood the dormers and farm
+steadings which Emlyn had egged on Thomas to burn. These had been built
+up to the inner edge of the moat, making, as it were, part of the Abbey
+wall, but the fierce fire had so cracked and crumbled their masonry that
+several rods of it had fallen forward into the water.
+
+For purposes of defence the gap this formed was now closed by a double
+palisade of stout stakes, filled in with faggots, the charred beams
+of the old buildings and other rubbish. Yet to carry this palisade,
+protected as it was by the broad and deep moat and commanded from the
+windows and the corner tower, was more than they dared try, since if it
+could be done at all it would certainly cost them very many lives. One
+thing they had learned, however, from the monk Basil and others, that in
+the Abbey there was but small store of food to feed so many: three days'
+supply, said Basil, and none put it at over four.
+
+That evening, then, they held another council, at which it was
+determined to starve the place out and only attempt an onslaught if
+their spies reported to them that the rebels were marching to its
+relief.
+
+"But," urged Cicely, "then my lord and Jeffrey Stokes will starve also,"
+whereon they went away sadly, saying there was no choice, seeing that
+they were but two men and the lives of many lay at stake.
+
+The siege began, just such a siege as Cicely had suffered at Cranwell
+Towers. The first day the garrison of the Abbey scoffed at them from the
+walls. The second day they scoffed no longer, noting that the force of
+the besiegers increased, which it did hourly. The third day suddenly
+they let down the drawbridge and poured out on to it as though for a
+sortie, but when they perceived the scores of Bolle's men waiting bow
+in hand and arrow on string, changed their minds and drew the bridge up
+again.
+
+"They grow hungry and desperate," said the shrewd Jacob. "Soon we shall
+have some message from them."
+
+He was right, since just before sunset a postern gate was opened and a
+man, holding a white flag above his head, was seen swimming across the
+moat. He scrambled out on the farther side, shook himself like a dog,
+and advanced slowly to where Bolle and the women stood upon the Abbey
+green out of arrow-shot from the walls. Indeed, Cicely, who was weak
+with dread and wretchedness, leaned against the oaken stake that
+had never been removed, to which once she was tied to be burned for
+witchcraft.
+
+"Who is that man?" said Emlyn to her.
+
+Cicely scanned the gaunt, bearded figure who walked haltingly like one
+that is sick.
+
+"I know not--yes, yes, he puts me in mind of Jeffrey Stokes!"
+
+"Jeffrey it is and no other," said Emlyn, nodding her head. "Now what
+news does he bear, I wonder?"
+
+Cicely made no reply, only clung to her stake and waited, with just such
+a heart as once she had waited there while the Abbey cook blew up his
+brands to fire her faggots. Jeffrey was opposite to her now; his sunken
+eyes fell upon her, and at the sight his bearded chin dropped, making
+his face look even more long and hollow than it had before.
+
+"Ah!" he said, speaking to himself, "many wars and journeyings, months
+in an infidel galley, three days with not enough food to feed a rat and
+a bath in November water! Well, such things, to say nothing of a worse,
+turn men's brains. Yet to think that I should live to see a daylight
+ghost in homely Blossholme, who never met with one before."
+
+Still staring he shook the water from his beard, then added,
+"Lay-brother or Captain Thomas Bolle, whichever you may be now-a-days,
+if you're not a ghost also, give me a quart of strong ale and a loaf of
+bread, for I'm empty as a gutted herring, and floating heavenward, so to
+speak, who would stick upon this scurvy earth."
+
+"Jeffrey, Jeffrey," broke in Cicely, "what news of your master? Emlyn,
+tell him that we still live. He does not understand."
+
+"Oh, you still live, do you?" he added slowly. "So the fire could not
+burn you after all, or Emlyn either. Well, then, there's hope for
+every one, and perhaps hunger and Abbot Maldon's knives cannot kill
+Christopher Harflete."
+
+"He lives, then, and is well?"
+
+"He lives and is as well as a man may be after a three days' fast in a
+black dungeon that is somewhat damp. Here's a writing on the matter for
+the captain of this company," and, taking a letter from the folds of the
+white flag in which it had been fastened, he handed it to Bolle, who, as
+he could not read, passed it on to Jacob Smith. Just then a lad brought
+the ale for which Jeffrey had asked, and with it a platter of cold meat
+and bread, on which he fell like a famished hound, drinking in great
+gulps and devouring the food almost without chewing it.
+
+"By the saints, you are starved, Jeffrey," said a yeoman who stood by.
+"Come with me and shift those wet clothes of yours, or you will take
+harm," and he led him off, still eating, to a tent that stood near by.
+
+Meanwhile, Jacob, having studied the letter with bent and anxious brows,
+read it aloud. It ran thus--
+
+
+"To the Captain of the King's men, from Clement, Abbot of Blossholme.
+
+"By what warrant I know not you besiege us here, threatening this Abbey
+and its Religious with fire and sword. I am told that Cicely Foterell
+is your leader. Say, then, to that escaped witch that I hold the man
+she calls her husband, and who is the father of her base-born child,
+a prisoner. Unless this night she disperses her troop and sends me a
+writing signed and witnessed, promising indemnity on behalf of the King
+for me and those with me for all that we may have done against him and
+his laws, or privately against her, and freedom to go where we will
+without pursuit or hindrance or loss of land or chattels, know that
+to-morrow at the dawn we put to death Christopher Harflete, Knight, in
+punishment of the murders and other crimes that he has committed against
+us, and in proof thereof his body shall be hung from the Abbey tower. If
+otherwise we will leave him unharmed here where you shall find him after
+we have gone. For the rest, ask his servant, Jeffrey Stokes, whom we
+send to you with this letter.
+
+"Clement, Abbot."
+
+
+Jacob finished reading and a silence fell upon all who listened.
+
+"Let us go to some private place and consider this matter," said Emlyn.
+
+"Nay," broke in Cicely, "it is I, who in my lord's absence, hold the
+King's commission and I will be heard. Thomas Bolle, first send a man
+under flag to the Abbot, saying, that if aught of harm befalls Sir
+Christopher Harflete I'll put every living soul within the Abbey walls
+to death by sword or rope, and stand answerable for it to the King.
+Set it in writing, Master Smith, and send with it copy of the King's
+commission for my warrant. At once, let it be done at once."
+
+So they went to a cottage near by, which Bolle used as a guard-house,
+where this stern message was written down, copied out fair, signed by
+Cicely and by Bolle, as captain, with Jacob Smith for witness. This
+paper, together with a copy of the King's commissions, Cicely with her
+own hand gave to a bold and trusty man, charged to ask an answer, who
+departed, carrying the white flag and wearing a steel shirt beneath his
+doublet, for fear of treachery.
+
+When he had gone they sent for Jeffrey, who arrived clad in dry garments
+and still eating, for his hunger was that of a wolf.
+
+"Tell us all," said Cicely.
+
+"It will be a long story if I begin at the beginning, Lady. When your
+worshipful father, Sir John, and I rode away from Shefton on the day of
+his murder----"
+
+"Nay, nay," interrupted Cicely, "that may stand, we have no time. My
+lord and you escaped from Lincoln, did you not, and, as we saw, were
+taken in the forest?"
+
+"Aye, Lady. Some tricksy spirit called out with your voice and he heard
+and pulled rein, and so they came on to us and overwhelmed us, though
+without hurt as it chanced. Then they brought us to the Abbey and thrust
+us into that accursed dungeon, where, save for a little bread and water,
+we have starved for three days in the dark. That is all the tale."
+
+"How, then, did you come out, Jeffrey?"
+
+"Thus, my Lady. Something over an hour ago a monk and three guards
+unlocked the dungeon door. While we blinked at his lantern, like owls
+in the sunlight, the monk said that the Abbot purposed to send me to the
+camp of the King's party to offer Christopher Harflete's life against
+the lives of all of them. He told him, Harflete, also, that he had
+brought ink and paper and that if he wished to save himself he would do
+well to write a letter praying that this offer might be accepted, since
+otherwise he would certainly die at dawn."
+
+"And what said my husband?" asked Cicely, leaning forward.
+
+"What said he? Why, he laughed in their faces and told them that first
+he would cut off his hand. On this they haled me out of the dungeon
+roughly enough, for I would have stayed there with him to the end. But
+as the door closed he shouted after me, 'Tell the King's officers to
+burn this rats' nest and take no heed of Christopher Harflete, who
+desires to die!'"
+
+"Why does he desire to die?" asked Cicely again.
+
+"Because he thinks his wife dead, Mistress, as I did, and believes that
+in the forest he heard her voice calling him to join her."
+
+"Oh God! oh God!" moaned Cicely; "I shall be his death."
+
+"Not so," answered Jeffrey. "Do you know so little of Christopher
+Harflete that you think he would sell the King's cause to gain his own
+life? Why, if you yourself came and pleaded with him he would thrust you
+away, saying, 'Get thee behind me, Satan!'"
+
+"I believe it, and I am proud," muttered Cicely. "If need be, let
+Harflete die, we'll keep his honour and our own lest he should live to
+curse us. Go on."
+
+"Well, they led me to the Abbot, who gave me that letter which you have,
+and bade me take it and tell the case to whoever commanded here. Then he
+lifted up his hand and, laying it on the crucifix about his neck, swore
+that this was no idle threat, but that unless his terms were taken,
+Harflete should hang from the tower top at to-morrow's dawn, adding,
+though I knew not what he meant, 'I think you'll find one yonder who
+will listen to that reasoning.' Now he was dismissing me when a soldier
+said--
+
+"'Is it wise to free this Stokes? You forget, my Lord Abbot, that he
+is alleged to have witnessed a certain slaying yonder in the forest and
+will bear evidence.' 'Aye,' answered Maldon, 'I had forgotten who in
+this press remembered only that no other man would be believed. Still,
+perhaps it would be best to choose a different messenger and to silence
+this fellow at once. Write down that Jeffrey Stokes, a prisoner, strove
+to escape and was killed by the guards in self-defence. Take him hence
+and let me hear no more.'
+
+"Now my blood went cold, although I strove to look as careless as a man
+may on an empty stomach after three days in the dark, and cursed him
+prettily in Spanish to his face. Then, as they were haling me off,
+Brother Martin--do you remember him? he was our companion in some
+troubles over-seas--stepped forward out of the shadow and said, 'Of what
+use is it, Abbot, to stain your soul with so foul a murder? Since John
+Foterell died the King has many things to lay to your account, and any
+one of them will hang you. Should you fall into his hands, he'll not
+hark back to Foterell's death, if, indeed, you were to blame in that
+matter.'
+
+"'You speak roughly, Brother,' answered the Abbot; 'and acts of war are
+not murder, though perchance afterwards you might say they were, to
+save your own skin, or others might. Well, if so, there's wisdom in your
+words. Touch not the man. Give him the letter and thrust him into the
+moat to swim it. His lies can make no odds in the count against us.'
+
+"Well, they did so, and I came here, as you saw, to find you living,
+and now I understand why Maldon thought that Harflete's life is worth so
+much," and, having done his tale, once more Jeffrey began to eat.
+
+Cicely looked at him, they all looked at him--this gaunt, fierce man
+who, after many other sorrows and strivings, had spent three days in a
+black dungeon with the rats, fed upon water and a few fingers of black
+bread. Yes; with the crawling rats and another man so dear to one of
+them, who still sat in that horrid hole, waiting to be hung like a felon
+at the dawn. The silence, with only Jeffrey's munching to break it, grew
+painful, so that all were glad when the door opened and the messenger
+whom they had sent to the Abbey appeared. He was breathless, having run
+fast, and somewhat disturbed, perhaps because two arrows were sticking
+in his back, or rather in his jerkin, for the mail beneath had stopped
+them.
+
+"Speak," said old Jacob Smith; "what is your answer?"
+
+"Look behind me, master, and you will find it," replied the man. "They
+set a ladder across the moat and a board on that, over which a priest
+tripped to take my writing. I waited a while, till presently I heard a
+voice hail me from the gateway tower, and, looking up, saw Abbot Maldon
+standing there, with a face like that of a black devil.
+
+"'Hark you, knave,' he said to me, 'get you gone to the witch,
+Cicely Foterell, and to the recreant monk, Bolle, whom I curse and
+excommunicate from the fellowship of Holy Church, and tell them to watch
+for the first light of dawn, for by it, somewhat high up, they'll see
+Christopher Harflete hanging black against the morning sky!'
+
+"On hearing this I lost my caution, and hallooed back--
+
+"'If so, ere to-morrow's nightfall you shall keep him company, every
+one of you, black against the evening sky, except those who go to be
+quartered at Tower Hill and Tyburn.' Then I ran and they shot at me,
+hitting once or twice, but, though old, the mail was good, and here am
+I, unhurt except for bruises."
+
+
+
+A while later Cicely, Jacob Smith, Thomas Bolle, Jeffrey Stokes, and
+Emlyn Stower sat together taking counsel--very earnest counsel, for the
+case was desperate. Plan after plan was brought forward and set aside
+for this reason or for that, till at length they stared at each other
+emptily.
+
+"Emlyn," exclaimed Cicely at last, "in past days you were wont to be
+full of comfortable words; have you never a one in this extreme?" for
+all the while Emlyn had sat silent.
+
+"Thomas," said Emlyn, looking up, "do you remember when we were children
+where we used to catch the big carp in the Abbey moat?"
+
+"Aye, woman," he answered; "but what time is this for fishing stories of
+many years ago? As I was saying, of that tunnel underground there is no
+hope. Beyond the grove it is utterly caved in and blocked--I've tried
+it. If we had a week, perhaps----"
+
+"Let her be," broke in Jacob; "she has something to tell us."
+
+"And do you remember," went on Emlyn, "that you told me that there
+the carp were so big and fat because just at this place 'neath the
+drawbridge the Abbey sewer--the big Abbey sewer down which all foul
+things are poured--empties itself into the moat, and that therefore I
+would eat none of those fish, even in Lent?"
+
+"Aye, I remember. What of it?"
+
+"Thomas, did I hear you say that the powder you sent for had come?"
+
+"Yes, an hour ago; six kegs, by the carrier's van, of a hundredweight
+each. Not so much as we hoped for, but something, though, as the cannon
+has not come--for the King's folk had none--it is of no use."
+
+"A dark night, a ladder with a plank on it, a brick arched drain, two
+hundredweight, or better still, four of powder set beneath the gate,
+a slow-match and a brave man to fire it--taken together with God's
+blessing, these things might do much," mused Emlyn, as though to
+herself.
+
+Now at length they took her point.
+
+"They'd be listening like a cat for a mouse," said Bolle.
+
+"I think the wind rises," she answered; "I hear it in the trees. I think
+presently it will blow a gale. Also, lanterns might be shown at the back
+where the breach is, and men might shout there, as though preparing to
+attack. That would draw them off. Meanwhile Jeffrey Stokes and I would
+try our luck with the ladder and the kegs of powder--he to roll and I
+to fire when the time came, for being, as you have heard, a witch, I
+understand how to humour brimstone."
+
+
+
+Ten minutes later, and their plans were fixed. Two hours later, and,
+in the midst of a raving gale, hidden by the pitchy darkness and the
+towering screen of the lifted drawbridge, Emlyn and the strong Jeffrey
+rolled the kegs of powder over planks laid across the moat, into the
+mouth of the big drain and twenty feet down it, till they lay under the
+gateway towers! Then, lying there in the stinking filth, they drew the
+spigots out of holes that they had made in them, and in their place set
+the slow-matches. Jeffrey struck a flint, blew the tinder to a glow, and
+handed it to Emlyn.
+
+"Now get you gone," she said; "I follow. At this job one is better than
+two."
+
+A minute later she joined him on the farther bank of the moat. "Run!"
+she said. "Run for your life; there's death behind!"
+
+He obeyed, but Emlyn turned and screamed, till, hearing her through the
+gale, all the guard hurried up the towers, flashing lanterns, to see
+what passed.
+
+"STORM! STORM!" she cried. "UP WITH THE LADDERS! FOR THE KIND AND
+HARFLETE! STORM! STORM!"
+
+Then she too turned and fled.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+OUT OF THE SHADOWS
+
+Through the black night sudden and red there shot a sheet of fire
+illumining all things as lightning does. Above the roaring of the gale
+there echoed a dull and heavy noise like to that of muffled thunder.
+Then after a moment's pause and silence the sky rained stones, and with
+them the limbs of men.
+
+"The gateway's gone," shouted a great voice, it was that of Bolle. "Out
+with the ladders!"
+
+Men who were waiting ran up with them and thrust them, four in all,
+athwart the moat. By the planks that were lashed along their staves
+they scrambled across and over the piles of shattered masonry into the
+courtyard beyond where none waited them, for all who watched here were
+dead or maimed.
+
+"Light the lanterns," shouted Bolle again, "for it will be dark in
+yonder," and a man who followed with a torch obeyed him.
+
+Then they rushed across the courtyard to the door of the refectory,
+which stood open. Here in the wide, high-roofed hall they met the mass
+of Maldon's people pouring back from the faggoted breach, where they had
+been gathered, expecting attack, some of them also bearing lanterns. For
+a moment the two parties stood staring at each other; then followed
+a wild and savage scene. With shouts and oaths and battle-cries they
+fought furiously. The massive, oaken tables were overthrown, by the red
+flicker of the pole-borne lanterns men grappled and fell and slew
+each other upon the floor. A priest struck down a yeoman with a brazen
+crucifix, and next moment himself was brained with its broken shaft.
+
+"For God and Grace!" shouted some; "For the King and Harflete!" answered
+others.
+
+"Keep line! Keep line!" roared Bolle, "and sweep them out."
+
+The lanterns were dashed down and extinguished till but one remained,
+a red and wavering star. Hoarse voices shouted for light, for none knew
+friend from foe. It came; some one had fired the tapestries and the
+blaze ran up them to the roof. Then fearing lest they should be roasted,
+the Abbot's folk gave way and fled to the farther door, followed by
+their foes. Here it was that most of them fell, for they jammed in the
+doorway and were cut down there are on the stair beyond.
+
+While Bolle still plied his axe fiercely, some one caught his arm and
+screamed into his ear--
+
+"Let be! Let be! The wretch is sped."
+
+In his red wrath he turned to strike the speaker, and saw by the flare
+that it was Cicely.
+
+"What do you here?" he cried. "Get gone."
+
+"Fool," she answered in a low, fierce voice, "I seek my husband. Show me
+the path ere it be too late, you know it alone. Come, Jeffrey Stokes, a
+lantern, a lantern!"
+
+Jeffrey appeared, sword in one hand and lantern in the other, and with
+him Emlyn, who also held a sword which she had plucked from a fallen
+man, Emlyn still foul with the filth of the sewer and the mud of the
+moat.
+
+"I may not leave," muttered Thomas Bolle. "I seek Maldon."
+
+"On to the dungeons," shrieked Emlyn, "or I will stab you. I heard them
+give word to kill Harflete."
+
+Then he snatched the light from Jeffrey's hand, and crying "Follow me,"
+rushed along a passage till they came to an open door and beyond it to
+stairs. They descended the stairs and passed other passages which ran
+underground, till a sudden turn to the right brought them to a little
+walled-in place with a vaulted roof. Two torches flared in iron holders
+in the masonry, and by the light of them they saw a strange and fearful
+sight.
+
+At the end of the open place a heavy, nail-studded door stood wide,
+revealing a cell, or rather a little cave beyond--those who are curious
+can see it to this day. Fastened by a chain to the wall of this dungeon
+was a man, who held in his hand a three-legged stool and tugged at his
+chain like a maddened beast. In front of him, holding the doorway, stood
+a tall, lank priest, his robe tucked up into his girdle. He was wounded,
+for blood poured from his shaven crown and he plied a great sword with
+both hands, striking savagely at four men who tried to cut him down. As
+Bolle and his party appeared, one of these men fell beneath the priest's
+blows, and another took his place, shouting--
+
+"Out of the way, traitor. We would kill Harflete, not you."
+
+"We die or live together, murderers," answered the priest in a thick,
+gasping voice.
+
+At this moment one of them, it was he who had spoken, heard the sound
+of the rescuers' footsteps and glanced back. In an instant he turned and
+was running past them like a hare. As he went the light from the lantern
+fell upon his face, and Emlyn knew it for that of the Abbot. She struck
+at him with the sword she held, but the steel glanced from his mail. He
+also struck, but at the lantern, dashing it to the ground.
+
+"Seize him," screamed Emlyn. "Seize Maldon, Jeffrey," and at the words
+Stokes bounded away, only to return presently, having lost him in the
+dark passages. Then with a roar Bolle leaped upon the two remaining
+men-at-arms as they faced about, and very soon between his axe and
+the sword of the priest behind, they sank to the ground and died still
+fighting, who knew they had no hope of quarter.
+
+It was over and done and dreadful silence fell upon the place, the
+silence of the dead broken only by the heavy breathing of those who
+remained alive. There the wounded monk leaned against the door-post, his
+red sword drooping to the floor. There Harflete, the stool still lifted,
+rested his weight against the chain and peered forward in amazement,
+swaying as though from weakness. And lastly there lay the three slain
+men, one of whom still moved a little.
+
+Cicely crept forward; over the dead she went and past the priest till
+she stood face to face with the prisoner.
+
+"Come nearer and I will dash out your brains," he said in a hoarse
+voice, for such light as there was came from behind her whom he thought
+to be but another of the murderers.
+
+Then at length she found her voice.
+
+"Christopher!" she cried, "Christopher!"
+
+He hearkened, and the stool fell from his hand.
+
+"The Voice again," he muttered. "Well, 'tis time. Tarry a while, Wife, I
+come, I come!" and he fell back against the wall shutting his eyes.
+
+She leapt to him, and throwing her arms about him kissed his lips, his
+poor, bloodless lips. The shut eyes opened.
+
+"Death might be worse," he said, "but so I knew that we would meet."
+
+Now Emlyn, seeing some change in his face, snatched one of the torches
+from its iron and ran forward, holding it so that the light fell full on
+Cicely.
+
+"Oh, Christopher," she cried, "I am no ghost, but your living wife."
+
+He heard, he stared, he stared again, then lifted his thin hand and
+stroked her hair.
+
+"Oh God," he exclaimed, "the dead live!" and down he fell in a heap at
+her feet.
+
+They thrust Cicely aside, Cicely who stood there shivering, she who
+thought he had gone again and this time for ever. With difficulty they
+broke the chain whereby he had been held like a kennelled hound, and
+bore him, still senseless, up the long passages, Bolle going ahead
+as guard and Jeffrey Stokes following after. Behind them came Emlyn
+supporting the wounded monk Martin, for it was he and no other who had
+saved the life of Christopher.
+
+As they went up towards the stairs they heard a roaring noise.
+
+"Fire!" said Cicely, who knew that sound well, and next instant the
+light of it burst upon them and its smoke wrapped them round. The Abbey
+was ablaze, and its wide hall in front looked like the mouth of hell.
+
+"Did I not prophesy that it would be so--yonder at Cranwell burning?"
+asked Emlyn, with a fierce laugh.
+
+"Follow me!" shouted Bolle. "Be swift now ere the roof falls and traps
+us."
+
+On they went desperately, leaving the hall on their left, and well for
+them was it that Thomas knew the way. One little chamber through which
+they passed had already caught, for flakes of fire fell among them from
+above and here the smoke was very thick. They were through it, who even
+a minute later could never have walked that path and lived. They were
+through it and out into the open air by the cloister door, which those
+who fled before them had left wide. They reached the moat just where the
+breach had been mended with faggots, and mounting on them Bolle shouted
+till one of his own men heard him and dropped the bow that he had raised
+to shoot him as a rebel. Then planks and ladders were brought, and at
+last they escaped from danger and the intolerable heat.
+
+
+
+Thus it was that Cicely who lost her love in fire, in fire found him
+once again.
+
+For Christopher was not dead as at first they feared. They carried him
+to the Priory, and there Emlyn, having felt his heart and found that it
+still beat, though faintly, sent Mother Matilda to fetch some of that
+Portugal wine of hers which Commissioner Legh had praised. Spoonful by
+spoonful she poured it down his throat, till at length he opened his
+eyes, though only to shut them again in natural sleep, for the wine had
+taken a hold of his starved body and weakened brain. For hour after hour
+Cicely sat by him, only rising from time to time to watch the burning of
+the great Abbey church, as once she had watched that of its dormers and
+farm-steading.
+
+About three in the morning the lead ceased to pour down in a silvery
+molten shower, its roofs fell in, and by dawn it was nothing but a
+fire-blackened shell much as it remains to-day. Just before daybreak
+Emlyn came to her, saying--
+
+"There is one who would speak with you."
+
+"I cannot see him," she answered, "I bide by my husband."
+
+"Yet you should," said Emlyn, "since but for him you would now have
+no husband. The monk Martin, who held off the murderers, is dying and
+desires to bid you farewell."
+
+Then Cicely went to find the man still conscious, but fading away with
+the flow of his own blood, which could not be stayed by any skill they
+had.
+
+"I have come to thank you," she murmured, who knew not what else to say.
+
+"Thank me not," he answered faintly, pausing often between his words,
+"who did but strive to repay part of a great debt. Last winter I shared
+in awful sin, in obedience, not to my heart, but to my vows. I who was
+set to watch the body of your husband found that he lived, and by my
+help he was borne away upon a ship. That ship was taken by the Infidels,
+and afterwards he and I and Jeffrey served together upon their galleys.
+There I fell sick, and your husband nursed me back to life. It was I who
+brought you the deeds and wrote the letter which I gave to Emlyn Stower.
+My vows still held me fast, and I did no more. This night I broke their
+bonds, for when I heard the order given that he should be slain I ran
+down before the murderers and fought my best, forgetting that I was a
+priest, till at length you came. Let this atone my crimes against my
+Country, my King and you that I died for my friend at last, as I am glad
+to do who find this world--too difficult."
+
+"I will tell him if he lives," sobbed Cicely.
+
+He opened his eyes, which had shut, and answered--
+
+"Oh, he'll live, he'll live. You have had many troubles, but, save for
+the creep of age and death, they are over. I can see and know."
+
+Again he shut his eyes and the watchers thought that all was done, till
+of a sudden once more he opened them and added in broken tones--
+
+"The Abbot--show him mercy--if you can. He is wicked and cruel, but I
+have been his confessor and know his heart. He strove for a good end--by
+an evil road. Queen Catherine was the King's lawful wife. To seize the
+monasteries is shameless theft. Also his blood is not English; he sees
+otherwise, and serves the Pope as I do, and Spain, as I do not. As I
+have helped you, help him. Judge not, that ye be not judged. Promise!"
+and he raised himself a little on the bed and looked at her earnestly.
+
+"I promise," answered Cicely, and as she spoke Martin smiled. Then his
+face turned quite grey, all the light went out of his eyes and a moment
+later Emlyn threw a linen cloth over his head. It was finished.
+
+Cicely returned to Christopher to find him sitting up in bed drinking a
+bowl of broth.
+
+"Oh, my husband, my husband," she said, casting her arms about him. Then
+she took her son and laid him upon his father's breast.
+
+
+Three days had gone by and Christopher and Cicely were walking in the
+shrubbery of Shefton Hall. By now, although still weak, he was almost
+recovered, whose only sickness had been grief and famine, for which
+joy and plenty are wonderful medicines. It was evening, a pleasant and
+beautiful early winter evening just fading into night. Seated on a bench
+he had been telling her his adventures, and they were a moving tale
+worthy, as Cicely wrote afterwards in a letter to old Jacob Smith that
+is still extant in her fine, quaint handwriting, to be recorded in a
+book, though this it would seem was never done.
+
+He told her of the great fight on the ship _Great Yarmouth_, when they
+were taken by the two Turkish pirates, and of how bravely Father Martin
+bore himself. Afterwards when they came to the galleys, by good fortune
+Martin, Jeffrey and he served on the same bench. Then Martin fell sick
+of some Southern fever, and being in port at Tunis at the time, where
+they could get fruit, they nursed him back to life and strength. Four
+months later the Emperor Charles attacked Tunis, and when it fell,
+through God's mercy, they were rescued with the other Christian slaves,
+after which Martin returned to England taking old Sir John's writings to
+be delivered to his next heir, for they all believed Cicely to be dead.
+
+But Christopher and Jeffrey, having nothing to seek at home, stayed to
+fight with the Spaniards against the Turks, who had oppressed them so
+sorely. When that war was over they made their way back to England,
+not knowing where else to go and having a score to settle against the
+Spanish Abbot of Blossholme, and--well, she knew the rest.
+
+Aye, answered Cicely, she knew it and never would forget it, but it
+was chill for him sitting on that bench, he must come in. Christopher
+laughed at her, and answered--
+
+"Sweetheart, if you could have seen the bench on which it was my lot
+to sit yonder off the coast of Africa, but new recovered from the wound
+which I had of Maldon's men at Cranwell Towers, you would not be anxious
+for me here. There for six long months chained to Jeffrey and to Father
+Martin, for it pleased those heathen devils to keep the three of us
+together, perhaps that they might watch us better, through the hot days
+that scorched us, and the chill, wet nights, we laboured at our oars,
+while infidel overseers ran up and down the boards and thrashed us with
+their whips of hide. Yes," he added slowly, "they thrashed us as though
+we were oxen in a yoke. You have seen the scars upon my back."
+
+"Oh, God! to think of it," she murmured; "you, a noble Englishman,
+beaten by those savage wretches like a brute? How did you bear it,
+Christopher?"
+
+"I know not, Wife. I think that had it not been for that angel in man's
+form, the priest Martin--peace be to his noble soul--that angel who
+thrice at least has saved my life, I should have dashed out my brains
+against the thwarts, or starved myself to death, or provoked the Moors
+to kill me; I, who, thinking you dead, had no hope to live for. But
+Martin taught me otherwise; he preached patience and submission,
+saying that I did not suffer for nothing--of his own miseries he never
+spoke--and that he was sure that fearful as was my lot, all things
+worked together for good to me."
+
+"And therefore it was that you lived on, Husband? Oh! I'll build a
+shrine to that saint Martin."
+
+"Not altogether, dear. I'll tell you true; I lived for
+vengeance--vengeance on Clement Maldon, the man, or the devil, who
+wrought me all this ill, and, being yet young, made me old with grief
+and pain," and he pointed to his scarred forehead and the hair above,
+that was now grizzled with white, "and vengeance, too, upon those
+worshippers of Mohammed, my masters. Yes; though Martin reproved me
+when I made confession to him, I think it was for that I lived, and the
+saints know," he added grimly, "afterwards at the sack, and elsewhere,
+I took it on the Turks. Oh! you should have seen the last meeting of
+Jeffrey and myself with the captain of that galley and his officers who
+had so often beaten us. No, I am glad you did not see it, for it was
+fierce and bloody; even the hard-hearted Spaniards stared."
+
+He paused, and perhaps to change the current of his mind--for during all
+his after-life, when Christopher brooded on these things he grew gloomy
+for hours, and even days--Cicely said hurriedly--
+
+"I wonder what has chanced to our enemy, the Abbot. The search has been
+close, the roads are watched, and we know that he had none with him, for
+all his foreign soldiers are slain or taken. I think he must be dead in
+the fire, Christopher."
+
+He shook his head.
+
+"A devil does not die in fire. He is away somewhere, to plot fresh
+murders--perhaps our own and our boy's. Oh!" he added savagely, "till
+my hands are about his throat and my dagger is in his heart there's no
+peace for me, who have a score to pay and you both to guard."
+
+Cicely knew not what to answer; indeed, when this mood was on him it
+was hard to reason with Christopher, who had suffered so fearfully, and,
+like herself, been saved but by a miracle or the mandate of Heaven.
+
+Of a sudden a hush fell upon the place. The blackbirds ceased their
+winter chatter in the laurels; it grew so still that they heard a dead
+leaf drop to the ground. The night was at hand. One last red ray from
+the set sun struck across the frosty sky and was reflected to the earth.
+In the light of that ray Christopher's trained eyes caught the gleam of
+something white that moved in the shadow of the beech tree where they
+sat. Like a tiger he sprang at it, and the next moment haled out a man.
+
+"Look," he said, twisting the head of his captive so that the glow fell
+on it. "Look; I have the snake. Ah! Wife, you saw nothing, but I saw
+him, and here he is at last--at last!"
+
+"The Abbot!" gasped Cicely.
+
+The Abbot it was indeed, but oh! how changed. His plump, olive-coloured
+countenance had shrunk to that of a skeleton still covered by yellow
+skin, in which the dark eyes rolled bloodshot and unnaturally large.
+His tonsure and jaws showed a growth of stubbly grey hair, his frame had
+become weak and small, his soft and delicate hands resembled those of a
+woman dead of some wasting disease, and, like his garments, were clogged
+with dirt. The mail shirt he wore hung loose upon him; one of his shoes
+was gone, and the toes peeped through his stockinged foot. He was but a
+living misery.
+
+"Deliver your arms," growled Christopher, shaking him as a terrier
+shakes a rat, "or you die. Do you yield? Answer!"
+
+"How can he," broke in Cicely, "when you have him by the throat?"
+
+Christopher loosed his grip of the man's windpipe, and instead seized
+his wrists, whereon the Abbot drew a great breath, for he was almost
+choked, and fell to his knees, in weakness, not in supplication.
+
+"I came to you for mercy," he said presently, "but, having overheard
+your talk, know that I can hope for none. Indeed, why should I, who
+showed none, and whose great cause seems dead, that cause for which I
+fought and lived? Let me die with it. I ask no more. Still, you are a
+gentleman, and therefore I beg a favour of you. Do not hand me over to
+be drawn, hanged and quartered by your brute-king. Kill me now. You can
+say that I attacked you, and that you did it in self-defence. I have no
+arms, but you may set a dagger in my hand."
+
+Christopher looked down at the poor creature huddled at his feet and
+laughed.
+
+"Who would believe me?" he asked; "though, indeed, who would question,
+seeing that your life is forfeit to me or any who can take it? Yet that
+is a matter of which the King's Justices shall judge."
+
+Maldon shivered. "Drawn, hanged and quartered," he repeated beneath
+his breath. "Drawn, hanged and quartered as a traitor to one I never
+served!"
+
+"Why not?" asked Christopher. "You have played a cruel game, and lost."
+
+He made no answer; indeed, it was Cicely who spoke, saying--
+
+"How came you in such a case? We thought you fled."
+
+"Lady," he answered, "I've starved for three days and nights in a hole
+in the ground like an earthed-up fox; a culvert in your garden hid me.
+At last I crept out to see the light and die, and heard you talking,
+and thought that I would ask for mercy, since mortal extremity has no
+honour."
+
+"Mercy!" said Cicely. "Of your treasons I say nothing, for you are not
+English, and serve your own king, who years ago sent you here to plot
+against England. But look on this man, my husband. Did he not starve
+for three days and nights in your strong dungeon ere you came thither to
+massacre him? Did you not strive to burn him in his Hall, and ship him
+wounded across the seas to doom? Did you not send your assassin to kill
+my babe, who stood between you and the wealth you needed for your plots,
+and bind me, the mother, to the stake--a food for fire? Did you not
+shoot down my father in the wood, fearing lest he should prove you
+traitor, and after rob me of my heritage? Did you not compel your monks
+to work evil and bring some of them to their deaths? Oh! have done! Worm
+dressed up as God's priest, how can you writhe there and ask for mercy?"
+
+"I said I _came_ to seek for mercy because the agony of sleepless hunger
+drove me, who _now_ seek only death. Insult not the fallen, Cicely
+Foterell, but take the vengeance that is your due, and kill," replied
+the Abbot, looking up at her with his hollow eyes, adding, with a laugh
+that sounded like a groan, "Come, Sir Christopher; you have got a sword,
+and it is time you went to supper. The air is cold; your wife--if such
+she be--said it but now."
+
+"Cicely," said Christopher, "go to the Hall and summon Jeffrey Stokes.
+Emlyn will know where to find him."
+
+"Emlyn!" groaned the Abbot. "Give me not over to Emlyn. She'd torture
+me."
+
+"Nay," said Christopher, "this is not Blossholme Abbey; though what may
+chance in London I know not. Go now, Wife."
+
+But Cicely did not stir; she only stared at the wretched creature at her
+feet.
+
+"I bid you go," repeated Christopher.
+
+"And I'll not obey," she answered. "Do you remember what I promised
+Martin ere he died?"
+
+"Martin dead! Is Martin, who saved your husband, dead?" exclaimed the
+Abbot, lifting his face and letting it fall again. "Happy Martin, to be
+dead."
+
+"I was not there, and I am not bound by your promises, Cicely."
+
+"But I am, and you and I are one. I vowed mercy to this man if he should
+fall into our power, and mercy he shall have."
+
+"Then you spare him to destroy us. The wheels go round quick in England,
+Wife."
+
+"So be it. What I vowed, I vowed. With God be the rest. He has watched
+us well heretofore, and I think," she added, with one of her bursts of
+triumphant faith, "will do so to the end. Abbot Maldon, sinful, fallen
+Abbot Maldon, you are as you were made, and Martin, the saint, said that
+there is good in your heart, though you have shown none of it to me or
+mine. Now, look you; yonder is a wooden summer-house, thatched and warm.
+Get you there, and I'll send you food and wine and new clothing by one
+who will not talk; also a pass to Lincoln. By to-morrow's dawn you will
+be refreshed, and then you will find a good horse tied to yonder tree,
+and so away to sanctuary at Lincoln, and, if aught of ill befalls you
+afterwards, know it is not our doing, but that of some other enemy, or
+of God, with Whom I pray you make your peace. May He forgive you, as
+I do, Who knows all hearts, which I do not. Now, farewell. Nay, say
+nothing. There is nothing to be said. Come, Christopher, for this once
+you obey me, not I you."
+
+So they went, and the wretched man raised himself upon his hands and
+looked after them, but what passed in his heart at that moment none will
+ever learn.
+
+
+
+Some months had gone by and Blossholme, with all the country round,
+was once more at peace. The tide of trouble had rolled away northward,
+whence came rumours of renewed rebellion. Abbot Maldon had been seen
+no more, and for a while it was believed that although he never took
+sanctuary at Lincoln, he had done a wiser thing and fled to Spain. Then
+Emlyn, who heard everything, got news that this was not so, but that
+he was foremost among those who stirred up sedition and war along the
+Scottish border.
+
+"I can well believe it," said Cicely. "The sow must to its wallowing in
+the mire. Nature made him a plotter, and he will follow his heart to the
+end."
+
+"Ere long he may find it hard to follow his head," answered Emlyn
+grimly. "Oh, to think that you had that wolf caged and turned him loose
+again to prey on England and on us!"
+
+"I did but show mercy to the fallen, Nurse."
+
+"Mercy? I call it madness. Why, when Jeffrey and Thomas heard of it I
+thought they would burst with rage, especially Jeffrey, who loved your
+father well and loved not the infidel galleys," answered the fierce
+Emlyn.
+
+"Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord," murmured Cicely in a
+gentle voice.
+
+"The Lord also said that whoso sheddeth man's blood by man shall his
+blood be shed. Why, I've heard this Maldon quote it to your husband at
+Cranwell Towers."
+
+"So will it be, Emlyn, if so it is to be, only let others shed that
+cruel blood. I would not have it on my hands or on those of any of my
+house, for after all he is an ordained priest of my own faith. Moreover,
+I had promised. Still, talk not of the matter lest it should bring
+trouble on us all, who had no right to loose him. Also these are ill
+thoughts for your wedding day. Go, deck yourself in those fine clothes
+which Jacob Smith has sent from London, since the clergyman will be
+at Blossholme church by four, and I think that Thomas has waited long
+enough for you."
+
+Emlyn smiled a little, and shrugged her broad shoulders, muttering
+something that would have angered Thomas if he could have heard it,
+as Cicely went off to join Christopher, who called to her from another
+room.
+
+She found him adding up figures on paper, a very different Christopher
+to the broken man they had rescued from the dungeon, though still much
+aged by the terrors of the past year and just now looking rueful.
+
+"See, Sweet," he said, "we should give a marriage portion to Emlyn, who
+has earned it if ever woman did, but where it is to come from I know
+not. Those Abbey lands Jacob Smith bought from the King are not yours
+yet, nor Henry's either, though doubtless he will have them soon.
+Neither have any rents been paid to you from your own estates, and when
+they come they are promised up in London, while the Abbot's razor has
+shaved my own poor parsimony bare as a churchyard skull. Also Mother
+Matilda and her nuns must be kept till we can endow them with their
+lands again. One day we, or our boy yonder, may be rich, but till it
+comes there are hard times for all of us."
+
+"Not so hard as some we have known, Husband," she answered, laughing,
+"for at least we are free and have food to eat, and for the rest we will
+borrow from Jacob Smith on the jewels that remain over. Indeed, I have
+written to him and he will not refuse."
+
+"Aye, but how about Thomas and Emlyn?"
+
+"They must do as their betters do. Though there is little stock on it,
+Thomas has the Manor Farm at low rent, which he may pay when he can,
+while Jacob put a present in the pocket of Emlyn's wedding dress. What's
+more, I think he will make her his heir, and if so she will be rich
+indeed, so rich that I shall have to curtsey to her. Now, go make ready
+for this marriage, and as you have no fine doublet, bid Jeffrey put on
+your mail, for you look best in that, or so at least I think, who to my
+mind look best in anything you chance to wear."
+
+Then while he demurred, saying that there was now no need to bear arms
+in Blossholme, also that Jeffrey was away settling himself as landlord
+of the Ford Inn, the same that the Abbot had once promised to Flounder
+Megges, she kissed him, and seizing her boy, who lay crowing in the
+sunlight, danced with him from the room. For oh, Cicely's heart was
+merry.
+
+
+
+There were many folk at the marriage of Emlyn Stower and Thomas Bolle,
+for of late Blossholme had been but a sorry place, and this wedding came
+to it like the breath of spring to the woods and meads around, a hint
+of happiness after the miseries of winter. The story of the pair had got
+about also. How they had been pledged in youth and separated by scheming
+men for their own purposes. How Emlyn had been married off against her
+will to an aged partner whom she hated, and Thomas, who was set down as
+a fool, forced to serve the monastery as a lay-brother, a strong hind
+skilled in the management of cattle and such matters, but half crazy, as
+indeed it had suited him to feign himself to be.
+
+People knew the end of the thing also; that Emlyn had cursed the Abbot,
+and that her curse had been fulfilled. That Thomas Bolle had shaken off
+his superstitious fears and risen up against him and at last been given
+the commission of the King, and, as his Grace's officer, shown himself
+no fool but a man of mettle who had taken the Abbey by storm and
+rescued Sir Christopher Harflete from its dungeons. Emlyn also, like her
+mistress, had been bound to the stake as a witch, and saved from burning
+by this same Thomas, who with her had been concerned in many remarkable
+events whereof the countryside was full of tales, true or false. Now at
+last after all these adventures they came together to be wed, and who
+was there for ten miles round that would not see it done?
+
+The monks being gone Father Roger Necton, the old vicar of Cranwell, he
+who had united Christopher and his wife Cicely in strange circumstances,
+and for that deed been obliged to fly for his life when the last Abbot
+of Blossholme burned Cranwell Towers, came to tie the knot before his
+great congregation. Notwithstanding that they were both of middle
+age, Emlyn in her grand gown and the brawny, red-haired Thomas in his
+yeoman's garb of green, such as he had worn when he wooed her many years
+before he put on the monk's russet robe, made a fine and handsome pair
+at the altar. Or so folk thought, though some friend of the monks,
+remembering Bolle's devil's livery and Emlyn's repute as a sorceress,
+cried out from the shadow that Satan was marrying a witch, and for his
+pains got his head broken by Jeffrey Stokes.
+
+So the white-haired and gentle Father Necton, having first read the
+King's order releasing Thomas from his vows, tied them fast according to
+the ancient rites and blessed them both. At length it was finished, and
+the pair walked from the old church to the Manor Farm, where they were
+to dwell, followed, as was the custom, by a company of their friends
+and well-wishers. As they went they passed through a little stretch of
+woodland by the stream, where on this spring day the wild daffodils and
+lilies of the valley were abloom making sweet the air. Here Emlyn paused
+a moment and said to her husband, Captain Bolle--
+
+"Do you remember this place?"
+
+"Aye, Wife," he answered, "it was here that we plighted our troth in
+youth, and looked up to see Maldon passing us just beyond that same oak,
+and felt the shadow of him strike cold to our hearts. You spoke of it
+yonder in the Priory chapel when I came up by the secret way, and its
+memory made me mad."
+
+"Yes, Thomas, I spoke of it," answered Emlyn in a rich and gentle
+voice, a new voice to him. "Well, now let its memory make you happy, as,
+notwithstanding all my faults, I will if I can," and swiftly she bent
+towards him and kissed him, adding, "Come on, Husband, they press behind
+us and I hope that we have done with perils and plottings."
+
+"Amen," answered Bolle, and as he spoke certain strange men who wore
+the King's colours and carried a long ladder went by them at a distance.
+Wondering what was their business at Blossholme, the pair passed through
+the last of the woodland and reached the rise whence they could see the
+gaunt skeleton of the burnt-out Abbey that appeared within fifty paces
+of them. At this they paused to look, and presently were joined there
+by Christopher and Cicely, Mother Matilda and her good nuns, Jeffrey
+Stokes, and others. The place seemed grim and desolate in the evening
+light, and all of them stood staring at it filled with their separate
+thoughts.
+
+"What is that?" said Cicely, with a start, pointing to a round black
+object new set over the ruin of the gateway tower.
+
+Just then a red ray from the sunset struck upon the thing.
+
+It was the severed head of Clement Maldon the Spaniard.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Lady Of Blossholme, by H. Rider Haggard
+
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+   "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" >
+
+<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en">
+  <head>
+    <title>
+      The Lady of Blossholme, by H. Rider Haggard
+    </title>
+    <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve">
+
+    body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify}
+    P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; }
+    H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; }
+    hr  { width: 50%; text-align: center;}
+    .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; }
+    blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;}
+    .mynote    {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;}
+    .toc       { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;}
+    .toc2      { margin-left: 20%;}
+    div.fig    { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; }
+    div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; }
+    .figleft   {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;}
+    .figright  {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;}
+    .pagenum   {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal;
+               margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%;
+               text-align: right;}
+    pre        { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;}
+
+</style>
+  </head>
+  <body>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Lady Of Blossholme, by H. Rider Haggard
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Lady Of Blossholme
+
+Author: H. Rider Haggard
+
+Release Date: April 13, 2006 [EBook #3813]
+Last Updated: September 22, 2016
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LADY OF BLOSSHOLME ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by John Bickers; Dagny; David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <h1>
+      THE LADY OF BLOSSHOLME
+    </h1>
+    <p>
+      <br />
+    </p>
+    <h2>
+      By H. Rider Haggard
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <blockquote>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big>
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        <br />
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII </a>
+      </p>
+    </blockquote>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a> <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER I
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      SIR JOHN FOTERELL
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      Who that has ever seen them can forget the ruins of Blossholme Abbey, set
+      upon their mount between the great waters of the tidal estuary to the
+      north, the rich lands and grazing marshes that, backed with woods, border
+      it east and south, and to the west by the rolling uplands, merging at last
+      into purple moor, and, far away, the sombre eternal hills! Probably the
+      scene has not changed very much since the days of Henry VIII, when those
+      things happened of which we have to tell, for here no large town has
+      arisen, nor have mines been dug or factories built to affront the earth
+      and defile the air with their hideousness and smoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The village of Blossholme we know has scarcely varied in its population,
+      for the old records tell us this, and as there is no railway here its
+      aspect must be much the same. Houses built of the local grey stone do not
+      readily fall down. The folk of that generation walked in and out of the
+      doorways of many of them, although the roofs for the most part are now
+      covered with tiles or rough slates in place of reeds from the dike. The
+      parish wells also, fitted with iron pumps that have superseded the old
+      rollers and buckets, still serve the place with drinking-water as they
+      have done since the days of the first Edward, and perhaps for centuries
+      before.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Although their use, if not their necessity, has passed away, not far from
+      the Abbey gate the stocks and whipping-post, the latter arranged with
+      three sets of iron loops fixed at different heights and of varying
+      diameters to accommodate the wrists of man, woman, and child, may still be
+      found in the middle of the Priests&rsquo; Green. These stand, it will be
+      remembered, under a quaint old roof supported on rough, oaken pillars, and
+      surmounted by a weathercock which the monkish fancy has fashioned to the
+      shape of the archangel blowing the last trump. His clarion or coach-horn,
+      or whatever instrument of music it was he blew, has vanished. The parish
+      book records that in the time of George I a boy broke it off, melted it
+      down, and was publicly flogged in consequence, the last time, apparently,
+      that the whipping-post was used. But Gabriel still twists about as
+      manfully as he did when old Peter, the famous smith, fashioned and set him
+      up with his own hand in the last year of King Henry VIII, as it is said to
+      commemorate the fact that on this spot stood the stakes to which Cicely
+      Harflete, Lady of Blossholme, and her foster-mother, Emlyn, were chained
+      to be burned as witches.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So it is with everything at Blossholme, a place that Time has touched but
+      lightly. The fields, or many of them, bear the same names and remain
+      identical in their shape and outline. The old farmsteads and the few halls
+      in which reside the gentry of the district, stand where they always stood.
+      The glorious tower of the Abbey still points upwards to the sky, although
+      bells and roof are gone, while half-a-mile away the parish church that was
+      there before it&mdash;having been rebuilt indeed upon Saxon foundations in
+      the days of William Rufus&mdash;yet lies among its ancient elms. Farther
+      on, situate upon the slope of a vale down which runs a brook through
+      meadows, is the stark ruin of the old Nunnery that was subservient to the
+      proud Abbey on the hill, some of it now roofed in with galvanised iron
+      sheets and used as cow-sheds.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It is of this Abbey and this Nunnery and of those who dwelt around them in
+      a day bygone, and especially of that fair and persecuted woman who came to
+      be known as the Lady of Blossholme, that our story has to tell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was dead winter in the year 1535&mdash;the 31st of December, indeed.
+      Old Sir John Foterell, a white-bearded, red-faced man of about sixty years
+      of age, was seated before the log fire in the dining-hall of his great
+      house at Shefton, spelling through a letter which had just been brought to
+      him from Blossholme Abbey. He mastered it at length, and when it was done
+      any one who had been there to look might have seen a knight and gentleman
+      of large estate in a rage remarkable even for the time of the eighth
+      Henry. He dashed the document to the ground; he drank three cups of strong
+      ale, of which he had already had enough, in quick succession; he swore a
+      number of the best oaths of the period, and finally, in the most
+      expressive language, he consigned the body of the Abbot of Blossholme to
+      the gallows and his soul to hell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He claims my lands, does he?&rdquo; he exclaimed, shaking his fist in the
+      direction of Blossholme. &ldquo;What does the rogue say? That the abbot who went
+      before him parted with them to my grandfather for no good consideration,
+      but under fear and threats. Now, writes he, this Secretary Cromwell, whom
+      they call Vicar-General, has declared that the said transfer was without
+      the law, and that I must hand over the said lands to the Abbey of
+      Blossholme on or before Candlemas! What was Cromwell paid to sign that
+      order with no inquiry made, I wonder?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Sir John poured out and drank a fourth cup of ale, then set to walking up
+      and down the hall. Presently he halted in front of the fire and addressed
+      it as though it were his enemy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are a clever fellow, Clement Maldon; they tell me that all Spaniards
+      are, and you were taught your craft at Rome and sent here for a purpose.
+      You began as nothing, and now you are Abbot of Blossholme, and, if the
+      King had not faced the Pope, would be more. But you forget yourself at
+      times, for the Southern blood is hot, and when the wine is in, the truth
+      is out. There were certain words you spoke not a year ago before me and
+      other witnesses of which I will remind you presently. Perhaps when
+      Secretary Cromwell learns them he will cancel his gift of my lands, and
+      mayhap lift that plotting head of yours up higher. I&rsquo;ll go remind you of
+      them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Sir John strode to the door and shouted; it would not be too much to say
+      that he bellowed like a bull. It opened after a while, and a serving-man
+      appeared, a bow-legged, sturdy-looking fellow with a shock of black hair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why are you not quicker, Jeffrey Stokes?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;Must I wait your
+      pleasure from noon to night?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I came as fast as I could, master. Why, then, do you rate me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Would you argue with me, fellow? Do it again and I will have you tied to
+      a post and lashed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lash yourself, master, and let out the choler and good ale, which you
+      need to do,&rdquo; replied Jeffrey in his gruff voice. &ldquo;There be some men who
+      never know when they are well served, and such are apt to come to ill and
+      lonely ends. What is your pleasure? I&rsquo;ll do it if I can, and if not, do it
+      yourself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Sir John lifted his hand as though to strike him, then let it fall again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I like one who braves me to my teeth,&rdquo; he said more gently, &ldquo;and that was
+      ever your nature. Take it not ill, man; I was angered, and have cause to
+      be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The anger I see, but not the cause, though, as a monk came from the Abbey
+      but now, perhaps I can hazard a guess.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, that&rsquo;s it, that&rsquo;s it, Jeffrey. Hark; I ride to yonder crows&rsquo;-nest,
+      and at once. Saddle me a horse.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good, master. I&rsquo;ll saddle two horses.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Two? I said one. Fool, can I ride a pair at once, like a mountebank?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know not, but you can ride one and I another. When the Abbot of
+      Blossholme visits Sir John Foterell of Shefton he comes with hawk on
+      wrist, with chaplains and pages, and ten stout men-at-arms, of whom he
+      keeps more of late than a priest would seem to need about him. When Sir
+      John Foterell visits the Abbot of Blossholme, at least he should have one
+      serving-man at his back to hold his nag and bear him witness.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Sir John looked at him shrewdly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I called you fool,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;but you are none except in looks. Do as you
+      will, Jeffrey, but be swift. Stop. Where is my daughter?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Lady Cicely sits in her parlour. I saw her sweet face at the window
+      but now staring out at the snow as though she thought to see a ghost in
+      it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Um,&rdquo; grunted Sir John, &ldquo;the ghost she thinks to see rides a grand grey
+      mare, stands over six feet high, has a jolly face, and a pair of arms well
+      made for sword and shield, or to clip a girl in. Yet that ghost must be
+      laid, Jeffrey.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pity if so, master. Moreover, you may find it hard. Ghost-laying is a
+      priest&rsquo;s job, and when maids&rsquo; waists are willing, men&rsquo;s arms reach far.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Be off, sirrah,&rdquo; roared Sir John, and Jeffrey went.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ten minutes later they were riding for the Abbey, three miles away, and
+      within half-an-hour Sir John was knocking, not gently, at its gate, while
+      the monks within ran to and fro like startled ants, for the times were
+      rough, and they were not sure who threatened them. When they knew their
+      visitor at last they set to work to unbar the great doors and let down the
+      drawbridge, that had been hoist up at sunset.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Presently Sir John stood in the Abbot&rsquo;s chamber, warming himself at the
+      great fire, and behind him stood his serving-man, Jeffrey, carrying his
+      long cloak. It was a fine room, with a noble roof of carved chestnut wood
+      and stone walls hung with costly tapestry, whereon were worked scenes from
+      the Scriptures. The floor was hid with rich carpets made of coloured
+      Eastern wools. The furniture also was rich and foreign-looking, being
+      inlaid with ivory and silver, while on the table stood a golden crucifix,
+      a miracle of art, and upon an easel, so that the light from a hanging
+      silver lamp fell on it, a life-sized picture of the Magdalene by some
+      great Italian painter, turning her beauteous eyes to heaven and beating
+      her fair breast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sir John looked about him and sniffed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, Jeffrey, would you think that you were in a monk&rsquo;s cell or in some
+      great dame&rsquo;s bower? Hunt under the table, man; sure, you will find her
+      lute and needlework. Whose portrait is that, think you?&rdquo; and he pointed to
+      the Magdalene.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A sinner turning saint, I think, master. Good company for laymen when she
+      was sinner, and good for priests now that she is saint. For the rest, I
+      could snore well here after a cup of yon red wine,&rdquo; and he jerked his
+      thumb towards a long-necked bottle on a sideboard. &ldquo;Also, the fire burns
+      bright, which is not to be wondered at, seeing that it is made of dry oak
+      from your Sticksley Wood.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How know you that, Jeffrey?&rdquo; asked Sir John.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By the grain of it, master&mdash;by the grain of it. I have hewn too many
+      a timber there not to know. There&rsquo;s that in the Sticksley clays which
+      makes the rings grow wavy and darker at the heart. See there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Sir John looked, and swore an angry oath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are right, man; and now I come to think of it, when I was a little
+      lad my old grandsire bade me note this very thing about the Sticksley
+      oaks. These cursed monks waste my woods beneath my nose. My forester is a
+      rogue. They have scared or bribed him, and he shall hang for it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;First prove the crime, master, which won&rsquo;t be easy; then talk of hanging,
+      which only kings and abbots, &lsquo;with right of gallows,&rsquo; can do at will. Ah!
+      you speak truth,&rdquo; he added in a changed voice; &ldquo;it is a lovely chamber,
+      though not good enough for the holy man who dwells in it, since such a
+      saint should have a silver shrine like him before the altar yonder, as
+      doubtless he will do when ere long he is old bones,&rdquo; and, as though by
+      chance, he trod upon his lord&rsquo;s foot, which was somewhat gouty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Round came Sir John like the Blossholme weathercock on a gusty day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Clumsy toad!&rdquo; he yelled, then paused, for there within the arras, that
+      had been lifted silently, stood a tall, tonsured figure clothed in rich
+      furs, and behind him two other figures, also tonsured, in simple black
+      robes. It was the Abbot with his chaplains.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Benedicite!&rdquo; said the Abbot in his soft, foreign voice, lifting the two
+      fingers of his right hand in blessing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good-day,&rdquo; answered Sir John, while his retainer bowed his head and
+      crossed himself. &ldquo;Why do you steal upon a man like a thief in the night,
+      holy Father?&rdquo; he added irritably.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is how we are told judgment shall come, my son,&rdquo; answered the Abbot,
+      smiling; &ldquo;and in truth there seems some need of it. We heard loud
+      quarrelling and talk of hanging men. What is your argument?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A hard one of oak,&rdquo; answered old Sir John sullenly. &ldquo;My servant here said
+      those logs upon your fire came from my Sticksley Wood, and I answered him
+      that if so they were stolen, and my reeve should hang for it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The worthy man is right, my son, and yet your forester deserves no
+      punishment. I bought our scanty store of firing from him, and, to tell
+      truth, the count has not yet been paid. The money that should have
+      discharged it has gone to London, so I asked him to let it stand until the
+      summer rents come in. Blame him not, Sir John, if, out of friendship,
+      knowing it was naught to you, he has not bared the nakedness of our poor
+      house.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is it the nakedness of your poor house&rdquo;&mdash;and he glanced round the
+      sumptuous chamber&mdash;&ldquo;that caused you to send me this letter saying
+      that you have Cromwell&rsquo;s writ to seize my lands?&rdquo; asked Sir John, rushing
+      at his grievance like a bull, and casting down the document upon the
+      table; &ldquo;or do you also mean to make payment for them&mdash;when your
+      summer rents come in?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, son. In that matter duty led me. For twenty years we have disputed
+      of those estates which, as you know, your grandsire took from us in a time
+      of trouble, thus cutting the Abbey lands in twain, against the protest of
+      him who was Abbot in those days. Therefore, at last I laid the matter
+      before the Vicar-General, who, I hear, has been pleased to decide the suit
+      in favour of this Abbey.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To decide a suit of which the defendant had no notice!&rdquo; exclaimed Sir
+      John. &ldquo;My Lord Abbot, this is not justice; it is roguery that I will never
+      bear. Did you decide aught else, pray you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Since you ask it&mdash;something, my son. To save costs I laid before him
+      the sundry points at issue between us, and in sum this is the judgment:
+      Your title to all your Blossholme lands and those contiguous, totalling
+      eight thousand acres, is not voided, yet it is held to be tainted and
+      doubtful.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;God&rsquo;s blood! Why?&rdquo; asked Sir John.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My son, I will tell you,&rdquo; replied the Abbot gently. &ldquo;Because within a
+      hundred years they belonged to this Abbey by gift of the Crown, and there
+      is no record that the Crown consented to their alienation.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No record,&rdquo; exclaimed Sir John, &ldquo;when I have the indentured deed in my
+      strong-box, signed by my great-grandfather and the Abbot Frank Ingham! No
+      record, when my said forefather gave you other lands in place of them
+      which you now hold? But go on, holy priest.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My son, I obey you. Your title, though pronounced so doubtful, is not
+      utterly voided; yet it is held that you have all these lands as tenant of
+      this Abbey, to which, should you die without issue, they will relapse. Or
+      should you die with issue under age, such issue will be ward to the Abbot
+      of Blossholme for the time being, and failing him, that is, if there were
+      no Abbot and no Abbey, of the Crown.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Sir John listened, then sank back into a chair, while his face went white
+      as ashes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Show me that judgment,&rdquo; he said slowly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is not yet engrossed, my son. Within ten days or so I hope&mdash;&mdash;But
+      you seem faint. The warmth of this room after the cold outer air, perhaps.
+      Drink a cup of our poor wine,&rdquo; and at a motion of his hand one of the
+      chaplains stepped to the sideboard, filled a goblet from the long-necked
+      flask that stood there, and brought it to Sir John.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He took it as one that knows not what he does, then suddenly threw the
+      silver cup and its contents into the fire, whence a chaplain recovered it
+      with the wood-tongs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It seems that you priests are my heirs,&rdquo; said Sir John in a new, quiet
+      voice, &ldquo;or so you say; and, if that is so, my life is likely to be short.
+      I&rsquo;ll not drink your wine, lest it should be poisoned. Hearken now, Sir
+      Abbot. I believe little of this tale, though doubtless by bribes and other
+      means you have done your best to harm me behind my back up yonder in
+      London. Well, to-morrow at the dawn, come fair weather or come foul, I
+      ride through the snows to London, where I too have friends, and we will
+      see, we will see. You are a clever man, Abbot Maldon, and I know that you
+      need money, or its worth, to pay your men-at-arms and satisfy the great
+      costs at which you live&mdash;and there are our famous jewels&mdash;yes,
+      yes, the old Crusader jewels. Therefore you have sought to rob me, whom
+      you ever hated, and perchance Cromwell has listened to your tale.
+      Perchance, fool priest,&rdquo; he added slowly, &ldquo;he had it in his mind to fat
+      this Church goose of yours with my meal before he wrings its neck and
+      cooks it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At these words the Abbot started for the first time, and even the two
+      impassive chaplains glanced at each other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! does that touch you?&rdquo; asked Sir John Foterell. &ldquo;Well, then, here is
+      what shall make you smart. You think yourself in favour at the Court, do
+      you not? because you took the oath of succession which braver men, like
+      the brethren of the Charterhouse, refused, and died for it. But you forget
+      the words you said to me when the wine you love had a hold of you in my
+      hall&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Silence! For your own sake, silence, Sir John Foterell!&rdquo; broke in the
+      Abbot. &ldquo;You go too far.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not so far as you shall go, my Lord Abbot, ere I have done with you. Not
+      so far as Tower Hill or Tyburn, thither to be hung and quartered as a
+      traitor to his Grace. I tell you, you forget the words you spoke, but I
+      will remind you of them. Did you not say to me when the guests had gone,
+      that King Henry was a heretic, a tyrant, and an infidel whom the Pope
+      would do well to excommunicate and depose? Did you not, when I led you on,
+      ask me if I could not bring about a rising of the common people in these
+      parts, among whom I have great power, and of those gentry who know and
+      love me, to overthrow him, and in his place set up a certain Cardinal
+      Pole, and for the deed promise me the pardon and absolution of the Pope,
+      and much advancement in his name and that of the Spanish Emperor?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never,&rdquo; answered the Abbot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And did I not,&rdquo; went on Sir John, taking no note of his denial, &ldquo;did I
+      not refuse to listen to you and tell you that your words were traitorous,
+      and that had they been spoken otherwhere than in my house, I, as in duty
+      bound by my office, would make report of them? Aye, and have you not from
+      that hour striven to undo me, whom you fear?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I deny it all,&rdquo; said the Abbot again. &ldquo;These be but empty lies bred of
+      your malice, Sir John Foterell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Empty words, are they, my Lord Abbot! Well, I tell you that they are all
+      written down and signed in due form. I tell you I had witnesses you knew
+      naught of who heard them with their ears. Here stands one of them behind
+      my chair. Is it not so, Jeffrey?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, master,&rdquo; answered the serving-man. &ldquo;I chanced to be in the little
+      chamber beyond the wainscot with others waiting to escort the Abbot home,
+      and heard them all, and afterward I and they put our marks upon the
+      writing. As I am a Christian man that is so, though, master, this is not
+      the place that I should have chosen to speak of it, however much I might
+      be wronged.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It will serve my turn,&rdquo; said the enraged knight, &ldquo;though it is true that
+      I will speak of it louder elsewhere, namely, before the King&rsquo;s Council.
+      To-morrow, my Lord Abbot, this paper and I go to London, and then you
+      shall learn how well it pays you to try to pluck a Foterell of his own.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now it was the Abbot&rsquo;s turn to be frightened. His smooth, olive-coloured
+      cheeks sank in and went white, as though already he felt the cord about
+      his throat. His jewelled hand shook, and he caught the arm of one of his
+      chaplains and hung to it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Man,&rdquo; he hissed, &ldquo;do you think that you can utter such false threats and
+      go hence to ruin me, a consecrated abbot? I have dungeons here; I have
+      power. It will be said that you attacked me, and that I did but strive to
+      defend myself. Others can bring witness besides you, Sir John,&rdquo; and he
+      whispered some words in Latin or Spanish into the ear of one of his
+      chaplains, whereon that priest turned to leave the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now it seems that we are getting to business,&rdquo; said Jeffrey Stokes, as,
+      lying his hand upon the knife at his girdle, he slipped between the monk
+      and the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s it, Jeffrey,&rdquo; cried Sir John. &ldquo;Stop the rat&rsquo;s hole. Look you,
+      Spaniard, I have a sword. Show me to your gate, or, by virtue of the
+      King&rsquo;s commission that I hold, I do instant justice on you as a traitor,
+      and afterward answer for it if I win out.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot considered a moment, taking the measure of the fierce old knight
+      before him. Then he said slowly&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go as you came, in peace, O man of wrath and evil, but know that the
+      curse of the Church shall follow you. I say that you stand near to ill.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Sir John looked at him. The anger went out of his face, and, instead, upon
+      it appeared something strange&mdash;a breath of foresight, an inspiration,
+      call it what you will.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By heaven and all its saints! I think you are right, Clement Maldon,&rdquo; he
+      muttered. &ldquo;Beneath that black dress of yours you are a man like the rest
+      of us, are you not? You have a heart, you have members, you have a brain
+      to think with; you are a fiddle for God to play on, and however much your
+      superstitions mask and alter it, out of those strings now and again will
+      come some squeak of truth. Well, I am another fiddle, of a more honest
+      sort, mayhap, though I do not lift two fingers of my right hand and say,
+      &lsquo;Benedicite, my son,&rsquo; and &lsquo;Your sins are forgiven you&rsquo;; and just now the
+      God of both of us plays His tune in me, and I will tell you what it is. I
+      stand near to death, but you stand not far from the gallows. I&rsquo;ll die an
+      honest man; you will die like a dog, false to everything, and afterwards
+      let your beads and your masses and your saints help you if they can. We&rsquo;ll
+      talk it over when we meet again elsewhere. And now, my Lord Abbot, lead me
+      to your gate, remembering that I follow with my sword. Jeffrey, set those
+      carrion crow in front of you, and watch them well. My Lord Abbot, I am
+      your servant; march!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER II
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      THE MURDER BY THE MERE
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      For a while Sir John and his retainer rode in silence. Then he laughed
+      loudly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jeffrey,&rdquo; he called, &ldquo;that was a near touch. Sir Priest was minded to
+      stick his Spanish pick-tooth between our ribs, and shrive us afterwards,
+      as we lay dying, to salve his conscience.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, master; only, being reasonable, he remembered that English swords
+      have a longer reach, and that his bullies are in the Ford ale-house seeing
+      the Old Year out, and so put it off. Master, I have always told you that
+      old October of yours is too strong to drink at noon. It should be saved
+      till bed-time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean, man?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I mean that ale spoke yonder, not wisdom. You have showed your hand and
+      played the fool.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who are you to teach me?&rdquo; asked Sir John angrily. &ldquo;I meant that he should
+      hear the truth for once, the slimy traitor.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps, perhaps; but these be bad days for Truth and those who court
+      her. Was it needful to tell him that to-morrow you journey to London upon
+      a certain errand?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not? I&rsquo;ll be there before him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will you ever be there, master? The road runs past the Abbey, and that
+      priest has good ruffians in his pay who can hold their tongues.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you mean that he will waylay me? I say he dare not. Still, to please
+      you, we will take the longer path through the forest.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A rough one, master; but who goes with you on this business? Most of us
+      are away with the wains, and others make holiday. There are but three
+      serving-men at the hall, and you cannot leave the Lady Cicely without a
+      guard, or take her with you through this cold. Remember there&rsquo;s wealth
+      yonder which some may need more even than your lands,&rdquo; he added meaningly.
+      &ldquo;Wait a while, then, till your people return or you can call up your
+      tenants, and go to London as one of your quality should, with twenty good
+      men at your back.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And so give our friend the Abbot time to get Cromwell&rsquo;s ear, and through
+      him that of the King. No, no; I ride to-morrow at the dawn with you, or,
+      if you are afraid, without you, as I have done before and taken no harm.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;None shall say that Jeffrey Stokes is afraid of man or priest or devil,&rdquo;
+       answered the old soldier, colouring. &ldquo;Your road has been good enough for
+      me this thirty years, and it is good enough now. If I warned you it was
+      not for my own sake, who care little what comes, but for yours and that of
+      your house.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know it,&rdquo; said Sir John more kindly. &ldquo;Take not my words ill, my temper
+      is up to-day. Thank the saints! here is the hall at last. Why! whose horse
+      has passed the gates before us?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jeffrey glanced at the tracks which the moonlight showed very clearly in
+      the new-fallen snow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir Christopher Harflete&rsquo;s grey mare,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I know the shoeing and
+      the round shape of the hoof. Doubtless he is visiting Mistress Cicely.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Whom I have forbidden to him,&rdquo; grumbled Sir John, swinging himself from
+      the saddle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Forbid him not,&rdquo; answered Jeffrey, as he took his horse. &ldquo;Christopher
+      Harflete may yet be a good friend to a maid in need, and I think that need
+      is nigh.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mind your business, knave,&rdquo; shouted Sir John. &ldquo;Am I to be set at naught
+      in my own house by a chit of a girl and a gallant who would mend his
+      broken fortunes?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you ask me, I think so,&rdquo; replied the imperturbable Jeffrey, as he led
+      away the horses.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sir John strode into the house by the backway, which opened on to the
+      stable-yard. Taking the lantern that stood by the door, he went along
+      galleries and upstairs to the sitting-chamber above the hall, which, since
+      her mother&rsquo;s death, his daughter had used as her own, for here he guessed
+      that he would find her. Setting down the lantern upon the passage table,
+      he pushed open the door, which was not latched, and entered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The room was large, and, being lighted only by the great fire that burned
+      upon the hearth and two candles, all this end of it was hid in shadow.
+      Near to the deep window-place the shadow ceased, however, and here, seated
+      in a high-backed oak chair, with the light of the blazing fire falling
+      full upon her, was Cicely Foterell, Sir John&rsquo;s only surviving child. She
+      was a tall and graceful maiden, blue-eyed, brown-haired, fair-skinned,
+      with a round and child-like face which most people thought beautiful to
+      look upon. Just now this face, that generally was so arch and cheerful,
+      seemed somewhat troubled. For this there might be a reason, since, seated
+      upon a stool at her side, was a young man talking to her earnestly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was a stalwart young man, very broad about the shoulders, clean-cut in
+      feature, with a long, straight nose, black hair, and merry black eyes.
+      Also, as such a gallant should do, he appeared to be making love with much
+      vigour and directness, for his face was upturned pleading with the girl,
+      who leaned back in her chair answering him nothing. At this moment,
+      indeed, his copious flow of words came to an end, perhaps from exhaustion,
+      perhaps for other reasons, and was succeeded by a more effective method of
+      attack. Suddenly sinking from the stool to his knees, he took the
+      unresisting hand of Cicely and kissed it several times; then, emboldened
+      by his success, threw his long arms about her, and before Sir John, choked
+      with indignation, could find words to stop him, drew her towards him and
+      treated her red lips as he had treated her fingers. This rude proceeding
+      seemed to break the spell that bound her, for she pushed back the chair
+      and, escaping from his grasp, rose, saying in a broken voice&mdash;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! Christopher, dear Christopher, this is most wrong.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;May be,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;So long as you love me I care not what it is.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That you have known these two years, Christopher. I love you well, but,
+      alas! my father will have none of you. Get you hence now, ere he returns,
+      or we both shall pay for it, and I, perhaps, be sent to a nunnery where no
+      man may come.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, sweet, I am here to ask his consent to my suit&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then at last Sir John broke out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To ask my consent to your suit, you dishonest knave!&rdquo; he roared from the
+      darkness; whereat Cicely sank back into her chair looking as though she
+      would faint, and the strong Christopher staggered like a man pierced by an
+      arrow. &ldquo;First to take my girl and hug her before my very eyes, and then,
+      when the mischief is done, to ask my consent to your suit!&rdquo; and he rushed
+      at them like a charging bull.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely rose to fly, then, seeing no escape, took refuge in her lover&rsquo;s
+      arms. Her infuriated father seized the first part of her that came to his
+      hand, which chanced to be one of her long brown plaits of hair, and tugged
+      at it till she cried out with pain, purposing to tear her away, at which
+      sight and sound Christopher lost his temper also.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Leave go of the maid, sir,&rdquo; he said in a low, fierce voice, &ldquo;or, by God!
+      I&rsquo;ll make you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Leave go of the maid?&rdquo; gasped Sir John. &ldquo;Why, who holds her tightest, you
+      or I? Do you leave go of her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, yes, Christopher,&rdquo; she whispered, &ldquo;ere I am pulled in two.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he obeyed, lifting her into the chair, but her father still kept his
+      hold of the brown tress.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, Sir Christopher,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I am minded to put my sword through
+      you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And pierce your daughter&rsquo;s heart as well as mine. Well, do it if you
+      will, and when we are dead and you are childless, weep yourself and go to
+      the grave.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! father, father,&rdquo; broke in Cicely, who knew the old man&rsquo;s temper, and
+      feared the worst, &ldquo;in justice and in pity, listen to me. All my heart is
+      Christopher&rsquo;s, and has been from a child. With him I shall have happiness,
+      without him black despair; and that is his case too, or so he swears. Why,
+      then, should you part us? Is he not a proper man and of good lineage, and
+      name unstained? Until of late did you not ever favour him much and let us
+      be together day by day? And now, when it is too late, you deny him. Oh!
+      why, why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You know why well enough, girl? Because I have chosen another husband for
+      you. The Lord Despard is taken with your baby face, and would marry you.
+      But this morning I had it under his own hand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Lord Despard?&rdquo; gasped Cicely. &ldquo;Why, he only buried his second wife
+      last month! Father, he is as old as you are, and drunken, and has
+      grandchildren of well-nigh my age. I would obey you in all things, but
+      never will I go to him alive.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And never shall he live to take you,&rdquo; muttered Christopher.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What matter his years, daughter? He is a sound man, and has no son, and
+      should one be born to him, his will be the greatest heritage within three
+      shires. Moreover, I need his friendship, who have bitter enemies. But
+      enough of this. Get you gone, Christopher, before worse befall you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So be it, sir, I will go; but first, as an honest man and my father&rsquo;s
+      friend, and, as I thought, my own, answer me one question. Why have you
+      changed your tune to me of late? Am I not the same Christopher Harflete I
+      was a year or two ago? And have I done aught to lower me in the world&rsquo;s
+      eye or in yours?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, lad,&rdquo; answered the old knight bluntly; &ldquo;but since you will have it,
+      here it is. Within that year or two your uncle whose heir you were has
+      married and bred a son, and now you are but a gentleman of good name, and
+      little to float it on. That big house of yours must go to the hammer,
+      Christopher. You&rsquo;ll never stow a bride in it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! I thought as much. Christopher Harflete with the promise of the
+      Lesborough lands was one man; Christopher Harflete without them is another&mdash;in
+      your eyes. Yet, sir, I hold you foolish. I love your daughter and she
+      loves me, and those lands and more may come back, or I, who am no fool,
+      will win others. Soon there will be plenty going up there at Court, where
+      I am known. Further, I tell you this: I believe that I shall marry Cicely,
+      and earlier than you think, and I would have had your blessing with her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What! Will you steal the girl away?&rdquo; asked Sir John furiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By no means, sir. But this is a strange world of ours, in which from hour
+      to hour top becomes bottom, and bottom top, and there&mdash;I think I
+      shall marry her. At least I am sure that Despard the sot never will, for
+      I&rsquo;ll kill him first, if I hang for it. Sir, sir, surely you will not throw
+      your pearl upon that muckheap. Better crush it beneath your heel at once.
+      Look, and say you cannot do it,&rdquo; and he pointed to the pathetic figure of
+      Cicely, who stood by them with clasped hands, panting breast, and a face
+      of agony.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The old knight glanced at her out of the corners of his eyes, and saw
+      something that moved him to pity, for at bottom his heart was honest, and
+      though he treated her so roughly, as was the fashion of the times, he
+      loved his daughter more than all the world.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who are you, that would teach me my duty to my bone and blood?&rdquo; he
+      grumbled. Then he thought a while, and added, &ldquo;Hear me, now, Christopher
+      Harflete. To-morrow at the dawn I ride to London with Jeffrey Stokes on a
+      somewhat risky business.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What business, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you would know&mdash;that of a quarrel with yonder Spanish rogue of an
+      Abbot, who claims the best part of my lands, and has poisoned the ear of
+      that upstart, the Vicar-General Cromwell. I go to take the deeds and prove
+      him a liar and a traitor also, which Cromwell does not know. Now, is my
+      nest safe from you while I am away? Give me your word, and I&rsquo;ll believe
+      you, for at least you are an honest gentleman, and if you have poached a
+      kiss or two, that may be forgiven. Others have done the same before you
+      were born. Give me your word, or I must drag the girl through the snows to
+      London at my heels.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have it, sir,&rdquo; answered Christopher. &ldquo;If she needs my company she
+      must come for it to Cranwell Towers, for I&rsquo;ll not seek hers while you are
+      away.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good. Then one gift for another. I&rsquo;ll not answer my Lord of Despard&rsquo;s
+      letter till I get back again&mdash;not to please you, but because I hate
+      writing. It is a labour to me, and I have no time to spare to-night. Now,
+      have a cup of drink and be off with you. Love-making is thirsty work.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, gladly, sir, but hear me, hear me. Ride not to London with such
+      slight attendance after a quarrel with Abbot Maldon. Let me wait on you.
+      Although my fortunes be so low I can bring a man or two&mdash;six or
+      eight, indeed&mdash;while yours are away with the wains.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never, Christopher. My own hand has guarded my head these sixty years,
+      and can do so still. Also,&rdquo; he added, with a flash of insight, &ldquo;as you
+      say, the journey is dangerous, and who knows? If aught went wrong, you
+      might be wanted nearer home. Christopher, you shall never have my girl;
+      she&rsquo;s not for you. Yet, perhaps, if need were, you would strike a blow for
+      her even if it made you excommunicate. Get hence, wench. Why do you stand
+      there gaping on us, like an owl in sunlight? And remember, if I catch you
+      at more such tricks, you&rsquo;ll spend your days mumbling at prayers in a
+      nunnery, and much good may they do you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;At least I should find peace there, and gentle words,&rdquo; answered Cicely
+      with spirit, for she knew her father, and the worst of her fear had
+      departed. &ldquo;Only, sir, I did not know that you wished to swell the wealth
+      of the Abbots of Blossholme.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Swell their wealth!&rdquo; roared her father. &ldquo;Nay, I&rsquo;ll stretch their necks.
+      Get you to your chamber, and send up Jeffrey with the liquor.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, having no choice, Cicely curtseyed, first to her father and next to
+      Christopher, to whom she sent a message with her eyes that she dared not
+      utter with her lips, and so vanished into the shadows, where presently she
+      was heard stumbling against some article of furniture.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Show the maid a light, Christopher,&rdquo; said Sir John, who, lost in his own
+      thoughts, was now gazing into the fire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Seizing one of the two candles, Christopher sprang after her like a hound
+      after a hare, and presently the pair of them passed through the door and
+      down the long passage beyond. At a turn in it they halted, and once more,
+      without word spoken, she found her way into those long arms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will not forget me, even if we must part?&rdquo; sobbed Cicely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, sweet,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;Moreover, keep a brave heart; we do not part
+      for long, for God has given us to each other. Your father does not mean
+      all he says, and his temper, which has been stirred to-day, will soften.
+      If not, we must look to ourselves. I keep a swift horse or two, Cicely.
+      Could you ride one if need were?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have ever loved riding,&rdquo; she said meaningly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good. Then you shall never go to that fat hog&rsquo;s sty, for I&rsquo;ll stick him
+      first. And I have friends both in Scotland and in France. Which like you
+      best?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They say the air of France is softer. Now, away from me, or one will come
+      to seek us,&rdquo; and they tore themselves apart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Emlyn, your foster-mother, is to be trusted,&rdquo; he said rapidly; &ldquo;also she
+      loves me well. If there be need, let me hear of you through her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye,&rdquo; she answered, &ldquo;without fail,&rdquo; and glided from him like a ghost.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you been waiting to see the moon rise?&rdquo; asked Sir John, glancing at
+      Christopher from beneath his shaggy eyebrows as he returned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, sir, but the passages in this old house of yours are most wondrous
+      long, and I took a wrong turn in threading them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; said Sir John. &ldquo;Well, you have a talent for wrong turns, and such
+      partings are hard. Now, do you understand that this is the last of them?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I understand that you may say so, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And that I mean it, too, I hope. Listen, Christopher,&rdquo; he added, with
+      earnestness, but in a kindly voice. &ldquo;Believe me, I like you well, and
+      would not give you pain, or the maid yonder, if I could help it. Yet I
+      have no choice. I am threatened on all sides by priest and king, and you
+      have lost your heritage. She is the only jewel that I can pawn, and for
+      your own safety&rsquo;s sake and her children&rsquo;s sake, must marry well. Yonder
+      Despard will not live long, he drinks too hard; and then your day may
+      come, if you still care for his leavings&mdash;perhaps in two years,
+      perhaps in less, for she will soon see him out. Now, let us talk no more
+      of the matter, but if aught befalls me, be a friend to her. Here comes the
+      liquor&mdash;drink it up and be off. Though I seem rough with you, my hope
+      is that you may quaff many another cup at Shefton.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was seven o&rsquo;clock of the next morning, and Sir John, having eaten his
+      breakfast, was girding on his sword&mdash;for Jeffrey had already gone to
+      fetch the horses&mdash;when the door opened and his daughter entered the
+      great hall, candle in hand, wrapped in a fur cloak, over which her long
+      hair fell. Glancing at her, Sir John noted that her eyes were wide and
+      frightened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is it now, girl?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;You&rsquo;ll take your death of cold among
+      these draughts.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! father,&rdquo; she said, kissing him, &ldquo;I came to bid you farewell, and&mdash;and&mdash;to
+      pray you not to start.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not to start? And why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because, father, I have dreamed a bad dream. At first last night I could
+      not sleep, and when at length I did I dreamed that dream thrice,&rdquo; and she
+      paused.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go on, Cicely; I am not afraid of dreams, which are but foolishness&mdash;coming
+      from the stomach.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mayhap; yet, father, it was so plain and clear I can scarcely bear to
+      tell it to you. I stood in a dark place amidst black things that I knew to
+      be trees. Then the red dawn broke upon the snow, and I saw a little pool
+      with brown rushes frozen in its ice. And there&mdash;there, at the edge of
+      the pool, by a pollard willow with one white limb, you lay, your bare
+      sword in your hand and an arrow in your neck, shot from behind, while in
+      the trunk of the willow were other arrows, and lying near you two slain.
+      Then cloaked men came as though to carry them away, and I awoke. I say I
+      dreamed it thrice.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A jolly good morrow indeed,&rdquo; said Sir John, turning a shade paler. &ldquo;And
+      now, daughter, what do you make of this business?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I? Oh! I make that you should stop at home and send some one else to do
+      your business. Sir Christopher, for instance.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, then I should baulk your dream, which is either true or false. If
+      true, I have no choice, it must be fulfilled; if false, why should I heed
+      it? Cicely, I am a plain man and take no note of such fancies. Yet I have
+      enemies, and it may well chance that my day is done. If so, use your
+      mother wit, girl; beware of Maldon, look to yourself, and as for your
+      mother&rsquo;s jewels, hide them,&rdquo; and he turned to go.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She clasped him by the arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In that sad case what should I do, father?&rdquo; she asked eagerly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He stopped and stared at her up and down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I see that you believe in your dream,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;and therefore, although
+      it shall not stay a Foterell, I begin to believe in it too. In that case
+      you have a lover whom I have forbid to you. Yet he is a man after my own
+      heart, who would deal well by you. If I die, my game is played. Set your
+      own anew, sweet Cicely, and set it soon, ere that Abbot is at your heels.
+      Rough as I may have been, remember me with kindness, and God&rsquo;s blessing
+      and mine be on you. Hark! Jeffrey calls, and if they stand, the horses
+      will take cold. There, fare you well. Fear not for me, I wear a chain
+      shirt beneath my cloak. Get back to bed and warm you,&rdquo; and he kissed her
+      on the brow, thrust her from him and was gone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus did Cicely and her father part&mdash;for ever.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All that day Sir John and Jeffrey, his serving-man, trotted forward
+      through the snow&mdash;that is, when they were not obliged to walk because
+      of the depth of the drifts. Their plan was to reach a certain farm in a
+      glade of the woodland within two hours of sundown, and sleep there, for
+      they had taken the forest path, leaving again for the Fens and Cambridge
+      at the dawn. This, however, proved not possible because of the exceeding
+      badness of the road. So it came about that when the darkness closed in on
+      them a little before five o&rsquo;clock, bringing with it a cold, moaning wind
+      and a scurry of snow, they were obliged to shelter in a faggot-built
+      woodman&rsquo;s hut, waiting for the moon to appear among the clouds. Here they
+      fed the horses with corn that they had brought with them, and themselves
+      also from their store of dried meat and barley cakes, which Jeffrey
+      carried on his shoulder in a bag. It was a poor meal eaten thus in the
+      darkness, but served to stay their stomachs and pass away the time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At length a ray of light pierced the doorway of the hut.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She&rsquo;s up,&rdquo; said Sir John, &ldquo;let us be going ere the nags grow stiff.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Making no answer, Jeffrey slipped the bits back into the horses&rsquo; mouths
+      and led them out. Now the full moon had appeared like a great white eye
+      between two black banks of cloud and turned the world to silver. It was a
+      dreary scene on which she shone; a dazzling plain of snow, broken by
+      patches of hawthorns, and here and there by the gaunt shape of a pollard
+      oak, since this being the outskirt of the forest, folk came hither to lop
+      the tops of the trees for firing. A hundred and fifty yards away or so, at
+      the crest of a slope, was a round-shaped hill, made, not by Nature, but by
+      man. None knew what that hill might be, but tradition said that once,
+      hundreds or thousands of years before, a big battle had been fought around
+      it in which a king was killed, and that his victorious army had raised
+      this mound above his bones to be a memorial for ever.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The story was indeed that, being a sea-king, they had built a boat or
+      dragged it thither from the river shore and set him in it with all the
+      slain for rowers; also that he might be seen at nights seated on his horse
+      in armour, and staring about him, as when he directed the battle. At least
+      it is true that the mount was called King&rsquo;s Grave, and that people feared
+      to pass it after sundown.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As Jeffrey Stokes was holding his master&rsquo;s stirrup for him to mount, he
+      uttered an exclamation and pointed. Following the line of his outstretched
+      hand, in the clear moonlight Sir John saw a man, who sat, still as any
+      statue, upon a horse on the very point of King&rsquo;s Grave. He appeared to be
+      covered with a long cloak, but above it his helmet glittered like silver.
+      Next moment a fringe of black cloud hid the face of the moon, and when it
+      passed away the man and horse were gone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What did that fellow there?&rdquo; asked Sir John.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fellow?&rdquo; answered Jeffrey in a shaken voice, &ldquo;I saw none. That was the
+      Ghost of the Grave. My grandfather met him ere he came to his end in the
+      forest, none know how, for the wolves, of which there were plenty in his
+      day, picked his bones clean, and so have many others for hundreds of
+      years; always just before their doom. He is an ill fowl, that Ghost of the
+      Grave, and those who clap eyes on him do wisely to turn their horses&rsquo; 
+      heads homewards, as I would to-night if I had my way, master.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What use, Jeffrey? If the sight of him means death, death will come.
+      Moreover, I believe nothing of the tale. Your ghost was some forest reeve
+      or herdsman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A forest reeve or herdsman who wanders about in a steel helm on a fine
+      horse in snow-time when there are no trees to cut or cattle to mind! Well,
+      have it as you will, master; only God save me from such reeves and
+      herdmen, for I think they hail from hell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then he was a spy watching whither we go,&rdquo; answered Sir John angrily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If so, who sent him? The Abbot of Blossholme? In that case I would sooner
+      meet the devil, for this means mischief. I say that we had better ride
+      back to Shefton.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then do so, Jeffrey, if you are scared, and I will go on alone, who,
+      being on an honest business, fear not Satan or an abbot, either.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, master. Many a year ago, when we were younger, I stood by you on
+      Flodden Field when Sir Edward, Christopher Harflete&rsquo;s father, was killed
+      at our side, and those red-bearded Scotch bare-breeks pressed us hard, yet
+      I never itched to turn my back, even after that great fellow with an axe
+      got you down, and we thought that all was lost. Then shall I do so now?&mdash;though
+      it is true that I fear yon goblin more than all the Highlanders beyond the
+      Tweed. Ride on; man can die but once, and for my part I care not when it
+      comes, who have little to lose in an ill world.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So without more words they started forward, peering about them as they
+      went. Soon the forest thickened, and the track they followed wound its way
+      round great trunks of primeval oaks, or the edges of bog-holes, or through
+      brakes of thorns. Hard enough it was to find it at times, since the snow
+      made it one with the bordering ground, and the gloom of the oaks was
+      great. But Jeffrey was a woodman born, and from his childhood had known
+      the shape of every tree in that waste, so that they held safely to their
+      road. Well would it have been for them if they had not!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They came to a place where three other tracks crossed that which they rode
+      upon, and here Jeffrey Stokes, who was ahead, held up his hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is it?&rdquo; asked Sir John.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is the marks of ten or a dozen shod horses passed within two hours,
+      since the last snow fell. And who be they, I wonder?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Doubtless travellers like ourselves. Ride on, man; that farm is not a
+      mile ahead.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Jeffrey broke out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Master, I like it not,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Battle-horses have gone by here, not
+      chapmen&rsquo;s or farmers&rsquo; nags, and I think I know their breed. I say that we
+      had best turn about if we would not walk into some snare.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Turn you, then,&rdquo; grumbled Sir John indifferently. &ldquo;I am cold and weary,
+      and seek my rest.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pray God that you may not find it when you are colder,&rdquo; muttered Jeffrey,
+      spurring his horse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They went on through the dead winter silence, that was broken only by the
+      hoots of a flitting owl hungry for the food that it could not find, and
+      the swish of the feet of a galloping fox as it looped past them through
+      the snow. Presently they came to an open place ringed in by forest, so wet
+      that only marsh-trees would grow there. To their right lay a little
+      ice-covered mere, with sere, brown reeds standing here and there upon its
+      face, and at the end of it a group of stark pollarded willows, whereof the
+      tops had been cut for poles by those who dwelt in the forest farm near by.
+      Sir John looked at the place and shivered a little&mdash;perhaps because
+      the frost bit him. Or was it that he remembered his daughter&rsquo;s dream,
+      which told of such a spot? At any rate, he set his teeth, and his right
+      hand sought the hilt of his sword. His weary horse sniffed the air and
+      neighed, and the neigh was answered from close at hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank the saints! we are nearer to that farm than I thought,&rdquo; said Sir
+      John.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As he spoke the words a number of men appeared galloping down on them from
+      out of the shelter of a thorn-brake, and the moonlight shone on the bared
+      weapons in their hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thieves!&rdquo; shouted Sir John. &ldquo;At them now, Jeffrey, and win through to the
+      farm.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The man hesitated, for he saw that their foes were many and no common
+      robbers, but his master drew his sword and spurred his beast, so he must
+      do likewise. In twenty seconds they were among them, and some one
+      commanded them to yield. Sir John rushed at the fellow, and, rising in his
+      stirrups, cut him down. He fell all of a heap and lay still in the snow,
+      which grew crimson about him. One came at Jeffrey, who turned his horse so
+      that the blow missed, then took his weight upon the point of his sword, so
+      that this man, too, fell down and lay in the snow, moving feebly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The rest, thinking this greeting too warm for them, swung round and
+      vanished again among the thorns.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now ride for it,&rdquo; said Jeffrey.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I cannot,&rdquo; answered Sir John. &ldquo;One of those knaves has hurt my mare,&rdquo; and
+      he pointed to blood that ran from a great gash in the beast&rsquo;s foreleg,
+      which it held up piteously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Take mine,&rdquo; said Jeffrey; &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll dodge them afoot.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never, man! To the willows; we will hold our own there;&rdquo; and, springing
+      from the wounded beast, which tried to hobble after them, but could not,
+      for its sinews were cut, he ran to the shelter of the trees, followed by
+      Jeffrey on his horse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who are these rogues?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Abbot&rsquo;s men-at-arms,&rdquo; answered Jeffrey. &ldquo;I saw the face of him I
+      spitted.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now Sir John&rsquo;s jaw dropped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then we are sped, friend, for they dare not let us go. Cicely dreams
+      well.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      As he spoke an arrow whistled by them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jeffrey,&rdquo; he went on, &ldquo;I have papers on me that should not be lost, for
+      with them might go my girl&rsquo;s heritage. Take them,&rdquo; and he thrust a packet
+      into his hand, &ldquo;and this purse also. There&rsquo;s plenty in it. Away&mdash;anywhere,
+      and lie hid out of reach a while, or they&rsquo;ll still your tongue. Then I
+      charge you on your soul, come back with help and hang that knave Abbot&mdash;for
+      your Lady&rsquo;s sake, Jeffrey. She&rsquo;ll reward you, and so will God above.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The man thrust away purse and deeds in some deep pocket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How can I leave you to be butchered?&rdquo; he muttered, grinding his teeth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As the words left his lips he heard his master utter a gurgling sound, and
+      saw that an arrow, shot from behind, had pierced him through the throat;
+      saw, too, he who was skilled in war, that the wound was mortal. Then he
+      hesitated no longer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Christ rest you!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll do your bidding or die;&rdquo; and, turning
+      his horse, he drove the rowels into its sides, causing it to bound away
+      like a deer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For a moment the stricken Sir John watched him go. Then he ran out of his
+      cover, shaking his sword above his head&mdash;ran into the open moonlight
+      to draw the arrows. They came fast enough, but ere ever he fell, for that
+      steel shirt of his was strong, Jeffrey, lying low on his horse&rsquo;s neck, was
+      safe away, and though the murderers followed hard they never caught him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Nor, though they searched for days, could they find him at Shefton or
+      elsewhere, for Jeffrey, who knew that all roads were blocked, and who
+      dared not venture home, doubling like a hare across country, had won down
+      to the water, where a ship lay foreign bound, and by dawn was on the sea.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER III
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      A WEDDING
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      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. Then there were merry voices about the house where now was
+      silence, and she alone, with naught bout a spaniel dog for company. Also
+      most of the men were away with the wains laden with the year&rsquo;s clip of
+      wool, which her father had held until the price had heightened, nor in
+      this snow would they be back for another week, or perhaps longer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Oh! her heart was heavy as the winter clouds without, and young and fair
+      as she might be, almost she wished that she had gone when her brothers
+      went, and found her peace.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To cheer her spirits she drank from a cup of spiced ale, that the
+      manservant had placed beside her covered with a napkin, and was glad of
+      its warmth and comfort. Just then the door opened, and her foster-mother,
+      Mrs. Stower, entered. She was still a handsome woman in her prime, for her
+      husband had been carried off by a fever when she was but nineteen, and her
+      baby with him, whereon she had been brought to the Hall to nurse Cicely,
+      whose mother was very ill after her birth. Moreover, she was tall and
+      dark, with black and flashing eyes, for her father had been a Spaniard of
+      gentle birth, and, it was said, gypsy blood ran in her mother&rsquo;s veins.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There were but two people in the world for whom Emlyn Stower cared&mdash;Cicely,
+      her foster-child, and a certain playmate of hers, one Thomas Bolle, now a
+      lay-brother at the Abbey who had charge of the cattle. The tale was that
+      in their early youth he had courted her, not against her will, and that
+      when, after her parents&rsquo; tragic deaths, as a ward of the former Abbot of
+      Blossholme, she was married to her husband, not with her will, this Thomas
+      put on the robe of a monk of the lowest degree, being but a yeoman of good
+      stock though of little learning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Something in the woman&rsquo;s manner attracted Cicely&rsquo;s attention, and gave a
+      hint of tragedy. She paused at the door, fumbling with its latch, which
+      was not her way, then turned and stood upright against it, like a picture
+      in its frame.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is it, Nurse?&rdquo; asked Cicely in a shaken voice. &ldquo;From your look you
+      bear tidings.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Emlyn Stower walked forward, rested one hand upon the oak table and
+      answered&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, evil tidings if they be true. Prepare your heart, my sweet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quick with them, Emlyn,&rdquo; gasped Cicely. &ldquo;Who is dead? Christopher?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She shook her head, and Cicely sighed in relief, adding&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who, then? Oh! was that dream true?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, dear; you are an orphan.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl&rsquo;s head fell forward. Then she lifted it, and asked&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who told you? Give me all the truth or I shall die.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A friend of mine who has to do with the Abbey yonder; ask not his name.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know it, Emlyn; Thomas Bolle,&rdquo; she whispered back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A friend of mine,&rdquo; repeated the tall, dark woman, &ldquo;told me that Sir John
+      Foterell, your sire, was murdered last night in the forest by a gang of
+      armed men, of whom he slew two.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;From the Abbey?&rdquo; queried Cicely in the same whisper.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who knows? I think it. They say that the arrow in his throat was such as
+      they make there. Jeffrey Stokes was hunted, but escaped on to some ship
+      that had her anchor up.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll have his life for it, the coward!&rdquo; exclaimed Cicely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Blame him not yet. He met another friend of mine, and sent a message. It
+      was that he did but obey his master&rsquo;s last orders, and, as he had seen too
+      much and to linger here was certain death, if he lived, he would return
+      from over-seas with the papers when the times are safer. He prayed that
+      you would not doubt him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The papers! What papers, Emlyn?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She shrugged her broad shoulders.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How should I know? Doubtless some that your father was taking to London
+      and did not desire to lose. His iron chest stands open in his chamber.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now poor Cicely remembered that her father had spoken of certain &ldquo;deeds&rdquo;
+       which he must take with him, and began to sob.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Weep not, darling,&rdquo; said her foster-mother, smoothing Cicely&rsquo;s brown hair
+      with her strong hand. &ldquo;These things are decreed of God, and done with. Now
+      you must look to yourself. Your father is gone, but one remains.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely lifted her tear-stained face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I have you,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Me!&rdquo; she answered, with a quick smile. &ldquo;Nay, of what use am I? Your
+      nursing days are over. What did you tell me your father said to you before
+      he rode&mdash;about Sir Christopher? Hush! there&rsquo;s no time to talk; you
+      must away to Cranwell Towers.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why?&rdquo; asked Cicely. &ldquo;He cannot bring my father back to life, and it would
+      be thought strange indeed that at such a time I should visit a man in his
+      own house. Send and tell him the tidings. I bide here to bury my father,
+      and,&rdquo; she added proudly, &ldquo;to avenge him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If so, sweet, you bide here to be buried yourself in yonder Nunnery.
+      Hark, I have not told you all my news. The Abbot Maldon claims the
+      Blossholme lands under some trick of law. It was as to them that your
+      father quarrelled with him the other night; and with the land goes your
+      wardship, as once mine went under this monk&rsquo;s charter. Before sunset the
+      Abbot rides here with his men-at-arms to take them, and to set you for
+      safe-keeping in the Nunnery, where you will find a husband called Holy
+      Church.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Name of God! is it so?&rdquo; said Cicely, springing up; &ldquo;and the most of the
+      men are away! I cannot hold the Hall against that foreign Abbot and his
+      hirelings, and an orphaned heiress is but a chattel to be sold. Oh! now I
+      understand what my father meant. Order horses. I&rsquo;ll off to Christopher.
+      Yet, stay, Nurse. What will he do with me? It may seem shameless, and will
+      vex him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think he will marry you. I think to-night you will be a wife. If not,
+      I&rsquo;ll know the reason why,&rdquo; she added viciously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A wife! To-night!&rdquo; exclaimed the girl, turning crimson to her hair. &ldquo;And
+      my father but just dead! How can it be?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll talk of that with Harflete. Mayhap, like you, he&rsquo;ll wish to wait
+      and ask the banns, or to lay the case before a London lawyer. Meanwhile, I
+      have ordered horses and sent a message to the Abbot to say you come to
+      learn the meaning of these rumours, which will keep him still till
+      nightfall; and another to Cranwell Towers, that we may find food and
+      lodging there. Quick, now, and get your cloak and hood. I have the jewels
+      in their case, for Maldon seeks them more even than your lands, and with
+      them all the money I can find. Also I have bid the sewing-girl make a pack
+      of some garments. Come now, come, for that Abbot is hungry and will be
+      stirring. There is no time for talk.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Three hours later in the red glow of the sunset Christopher Harflete,
+      watching at his door, saw two women riding towards him across the snow,
+      and knew them while they were yet far off.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is true, then,&rdquo; he said to Father Roger Necton, the old clergyman of
+      Cranwell, whom he had summoned from the vicarage. &ldquo;I thought that fool of
+      a messenger must be drunk. What can have chanced, Father?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Death, I think, my son, for sure naught else would bring the Lady Cicely
+      here unaccompanied save by a waiting-woman. The question is&mdash;what
+      will happen now?&rdquo; and he glanced sideways at him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know well if I can get my way,&rdquo; answered Christopher, with a merry
+      laugh. &ldquo;Say now, Father, if it should so be that this lady were willing,
+      could you marry us?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Without a doubt, my son, with the consent of the parents;&rdquo; and again he
+      looked at him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And if there were no parents?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then with the consent of the guardian, the bride being under age.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And if no guardian had been declared or admitted?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then such a marriage duly solemnized, being a sacrament of the Church,
+      would hold fast until the crack of doom unless the Pope annulled it, and,
+      as you know, the Pope is out of favour in this realm on this very matter
+      of marriage. Let me explain the law to you, ecclesiastic and civil&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Christopher was already running towards the gate, so the old parson&rsquo;s
+      lecture remained undelivered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The two met in the snow, Emlyn Stower riding on ahead and leaving them
+      together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is it, sweetest?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;What is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! Christopher,&rdquo; she answered, weeping, &ldquo;my poor father is dead&mdash;murdered,
+      or so says Emlyn.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Murdered! By whom?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By the Abbot of Blossholme&rsquo;s soldiers&mdash;so says Emlyn, yonder in the
+      forest last eve. And the Abbot is coming to Shefton to declare me his ward
+      and thrust me into the Nunnery&mdash;that was Emlyn&rsquo;s tale. And so,
+      although it is a strange thing to do, having none to protect me, I have
+      fled to you&mdash;because Emlyn said I ought.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She is a wise woman, Emlyn,&rdquo; broke in Christopher; &ldquo;I always thought well
+      of her judgment. But did you only come to me because Emlyn told you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not altogether, Christopher. I came because I am distraught, and you are
+      a better friend than none at all, and&mdash;where else should I go? Also
+      my poor father with his last words to me, although he was so angry with
+      you, bade me seek your help if there were need&mdash;and&mdash;oh!
+      Christopher, I came because you swore you loved me, and, therefore, it
+      seemed right. If I had gone to the Nunnery, although the Prioress, Mother
+      Matilda, is good, and my friend, who knows, she might not have let me out
+      again, for the Abbot is her master, and <i>not</i> my friend. It is our
+      lands he loves, and the famous jewels&mdash;Emlyn has them with her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      By now they were across the moat and at the steps of the house, so,
+      without answering, Christopher lifted her tenderly from the saddle,
+      pressing her to his breast as he did so, for that seemed his best answer.
+      A groom came to lead away the horses, touching his bonnet, and staring at
+      them curiously; and, leaning on her lover&rsquo;s shoulder, Cicely passed
+      through the arched doorway of Cranwell Towers into the hall, where a great
+      fire burned. Before this fire, warming his thin hands, stood Father
+      Necton, engaged in eager conversation with Emlyn Stower. As the pair
+      advanced this talk ceased, evidently because it was of them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mistress Cicely,&rdquo; said the kindly-faced old man, speaking in a nervous
+      fashion, &ldquo;I fear that you visit us in sad case,&rdquo; and he paused, not
+      knowing what to add.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, indeed,&rdquo; she answered, &ldquo;if all I hear is true. They say that my
+      father is killed by cruel men&mdash;I know not for certain why or by whom&mdash;and
+      that the Abbot of Blossholme comes to claim me as his ward and immure me
+      in Blossholme Priory, whither I would not go. I have fled here to escape
+      him, having no other refuge, though you may think ill of me for this
+      deed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not I, my child. I should not speak against yonder Abbot, for he is my
+      superior in the Church, though, mind you, I owe him no allegiance, since
+      this benefice is not in his gift, nor am I a Benedictine. Therefore I will
+      tell you the truth. I hold the man not honest. All is provender that comes
+      to his maw; moreover, he is no Englishman, but a Spaniard, one sent here
+      to work against the welfare of this realm; to suck its wealth, stir up
+      rebellion, and make report of all that passes in it, for the benefit of
+      England&rsquo;s enemies.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yet he has friends at Court, or so said my father.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, aye, such folks have ever friends&mdash;their money buys them;
+      though mayhap an ill day is at hand for him and his likes. Well, your poor
+      father is gone, God knows how, though I thought for long that would be his
+      end, who ever spoke his mind, or more; and you with your wealth are the
+      morsel that tempts Maldon&rsquo;s appetite. And now what is to be done? This is
+      a hard case. Would you refuge in some other Nunnery?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; answered Cicely, glancing sideways at her lover.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then what&rsquo;s to be done?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! I know not,&rdquo; she said, bursting into a fit of weeping. &ldquo;How can I
+      tell you, who am mazed with grief and doubt? I had but a single friend&mdash;my
+      father, though at times he was a rough one. Yet he loved me in his way,
+      and I have obeyed his last counsel;&rdquo; and, all her courage gone, she sank
+      into a chair and rocked herself to and fro, her head resting on her hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is not true,&rdquo; said Emlyn in her bold voice. &ldquo;Am I who suckled you no
+      friend, and is Father Necton here no friend, and is Sir Christopher no
+      friend? Well, if you have lost your judgment, I have kept mine, and here
+      it is. Yonder, not two bowshots away, stands a church, and before me I see
+      a priest and a pair who would serve for bride and bridegroom. Also we can
+      rake up witnesses and a cup of wine to drink your health; and after that
+      let the Abbot of Blossholme do his worst. What say you, Sir Christopher?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You know my mind, Nurse Emlyn; but what says Cicely? Oh! Cicely, what say
+      <i>you</i>?&rdquo; and he bent over her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She raised herself, still weeping, and, throwing her arms about his neck,
+      laid her head upon his shoulder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think it is the will of God,&rdquo; she whispered, &ldquo;and why should I fight
+      against it, who am His servant?&mdash;and yours, Chris.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And now, Father, what say you?&rdquo; asked Emlyn, pointing to the pair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do not think there is much to say,&rdquo; answered the old clergyman, turning
+      his head aside, &ldquo;save that if it should please you to come to the church
+      in ten minutes&rsquo; time you will find a candle on the altar, and a priest
+      within the rails, and a clerk to hold the book. More we cannot do at such
+      short notice.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he paused for a while, and, hearing no dissent, walked down the hall
+      and out of the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Emlyn took Cicely by the hand, led her to a room that was shown to them,
+      and there made her ready for her bridal as best she might. She had no fine
+      dress in which to clothe her, nor, indeed, would there have been time to
+      don it. But she combed out her beautiful brown hair, and, opening that box
+      of Eastern jewels which were the great pride of the Foterells&mdash;being
+      the rarest and the most ancient in all the countryside&mdash;she decked
+      her with them. On her broad brow she set a circlet from which hung
+      sparkling diamonds that had been brought, the story said, by her mother&rsquo;s
+      ancestor, a Carfax, from the Holy Land, where once they were the peculiar
+      treasure of a paynim queen, and upon her bosom a necklet of large pearls.
+      Brooches and rings also she found for her breast and fingers, and for her
+      waist a jewelled girdle with a golden clasp, while to her ears she hung
+      the finest gems of all&mdash;two great pearls pink like the hawthorn-bloom
+      when it begins to turn. Lastly she flung over her head a veil of lace most
+      curiously wrought, and stood back with pride to look at her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now Cicely, who all this while had been silent and unresisting, spoke for
+      the first time, saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How came this here, Nurse?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your mother wore it at her bridal, and her mother too, so I have been
+      told. Also once before I wrapped it about you&mdash;when you were
+      christened, sweet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mayhap; but how came it here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In the bosom of my robe. Not knowing when we should get home again, I
+      brought it, thinking that perhaps one day you might marry, when it would
+      be useful. And now, strangely enough, the marriage has come.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Emlyn, Emlyn, I believe that you planned all this business, whereof God
+      alone knows the end.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is why He makes a beginning, dear, that His end may be fulfilled in
+      due season.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, but what is that end? Mayhap this is my shroud you wrap about me. In
+      truth, I feel as though death were near.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He is ever that,&rdquo; replied Emlyn unconcernedly. &ldquo;But so long as he doesn&rsquo;t
+      touch, what does it matter? Now hark you, sweetest, I&rsquo;ve Spanish and gypsy
+      blood in me with which go gifts, and so I&rsquo;ll tell you something for your
+      comfort. However oft he snatches, Death will not lay his bony hand on you
+      for many a long year&mdash;not till you are well-nigh as thin with age as
+      he is. Oh! you&rsquo;ll have your troubles like all of us, worse than many,
+      mayhap, but you are Luck&rsquo;s own child, who lived when the rest were taken,
+      and you&rsquo;ll win through and take others on your back, as a whale does
+      barnacles. So snap your fingers at death, as I do,&rdquo; and she suited the
+      action to the word, &ldquo;and be happy while you may, and when you&rsquo;re not
+      happy, wait till your turn comes round again. Now follow me and, though
+      your father is murdered, smile as you should in such an hour, for what man
+      wants a sad-faced bride?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They walked down the broad oaken stairs into the hall where Christopher
+      stood waiting for them. Glancing at him shyly, Cicely saw that he was clad
+      in mail beneath his cloak, and that his sword was girded at his side, also
+      that some men with him were armed. For a moment he stared at her
+      glittering beauty confused, then said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fear not this hint of war in love&rsquo;s own hour,&rdquo; and he touched his shining
+      armour. &ldquo;Cicely, these nuptials are strange as they are happy, and some
+      might try to break in upon them. Come now, my sweet lady;&rdquo; and bowing
+      before her he took her by the hand and led her from the house, Emlyn
+      walking behind them and the men with torches going before and following
+      after.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Outside it was freezing sharply, so that the snow crunched beneath their
+      feet. In the west the last red glow of sunset still lingered on the steely
+      sky, and over against it the great moon rose above the round edge of the
+      world. In the bushes of the garden, and the tall poplars that bordered the
+      moat, blackbirds and fieldfares chattered their winter evening song, while
+      about the grey tower of the neighbouring church the daws still wheeled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The picture of that scene whereof at the time she seemed to take no note,
+      always remained fixed in the mind of Cicely: the cold expanse of snow, the
+      inky trees, the hard sky, the lambent beams of the moon, the dull glow of
+      the torches caught and reflected by her jewels and her lover&rsquo;s mail, the
+      midwinter sound of birds, the barking of a distant hound, the black porch
+      of the church that drew nearer, the little oblong mounds which hid the
+      bones of hundreds who in their day had passed it as infants, as
+      bridegrooms and as brides, and at last as cold, white things that had been
+      men and women.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now they were in the nave of the old fane where the cold struck them like
+      a sword. The dim lights of the torches showed them that, short as had been
+      the time, the news of this marvellous marriage had spread about, for at
+      least a score of people were standing here and there in knots, or a few of
+      them seated on the oak benches near the chancel. All these turned to stare
+      at them eagerly as they walked towards the altar where stood the priest in
+      his robes, and since his sight was dim, behind him the old clerk with a
+      stable-lantern held on high to enable him to read from his book.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They reached the carven rood-screen, and at a sign kneeled down. In a
+      clear voice the clergyman began the service; presently, at another sign,
+      the pair rose, advanced to the altar-rails and again knelt down. The
+      moonlight, flowing through the eastern window, fell full on both of them,
+      turning them to cold, white statues, such as those that knelt in marble
+      upon the tomb at their side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All through the holy office Cicely watched these statues with fascinated
+      eyes, and it seemed to her that they and the old crusaders, Harfletes of a
+      long-past day who lay near by, were watching her with a wistful and kindly
+      interest. She made certain answers, a ring that was somewhat too small was
+      thrust upon her finger&mdash;all the rest of her life that ring hurt her
+      at times, but she would have never it moved, and then some one was kissing
+      her. At first she thought it must be her father, and remembering, nearly
+      wept till she heard Christopher&rsquo;s voice calling her wife, and knew that
+      she was wed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Father Roger, the old clerk still holding the lantern behind him, writing
+      something in a little vellum book, asking her the date of her birth and
+      her full name, which, as he had been present at her christening, she
+      thought strange. Then her husband signed the book, using the altar as a
+      table, not very easily for he was no great scholar, and she signed also in
+      her maiden name for the last time, and the priest signed, and at his
+      bidding Emlyn Stower, who could write well, signed too. Next, as though by
+      an afterthought, Father Roger called several of the congregation, who
+      rather unwillingly made their marks as witnesses. While they did so he
+      explained to them that, as the circumstances were uncommon, it was well
+      that there should be evidence, and that he intended to send copies of this
+      entry to sundry dignities, not forgetting the holy Father at Rome.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On learning this they appeared to be sorry that they had anything to do
+      with the matter, and one and all of them melted into the darkness of the
+      nave and out of Cicely&rsquo;s mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So it was done at last.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Father Necton blew on his little book till the ink was dry, then hid it
+      away in his robe. The old clerk, having pocketed a handsome fee from
+      Christopher, lit the pair down the nave to the porch, where he locked the
+      oaken door behind them, extinguished his lantern and trudged off through
+      the snow to the ale-house, there to discuss these nuptials and hot beer.
+      Escorted by their torch-bearers Cicely and Christopher walked silently
+      arm-in-arm back to the Towers, whither Emlyn, after embracing the bride,
+      had already gone on ahead. So having added one more ceremony to its
+      countless record, perhaps the strangest of them all, the ancient church
+      behind them grew silent as the dead within its graves.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Towers reached, the new-wed pair, with Father Roger and Emlyn, sat
+      down to the best meal that could be prepared for them at such short
+      notice; a very curious wedding feast. Still, though the company was so
+      small it did not lack for heartiness, since the old clergyman proposed
+      their health in a speech full of Latin words which they did not
+      understand, and every member of the household who had assembled to hear
+      him drank to it in cups of wine. This done, the beautiful bride, now
+      blushing and now pale, was led away to the best chamber, which had been
+      hastily prepared for her. But Emlyn remained behind a while, for she had
+      words to speak.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir Christopher,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;you are fast wed to the sweetest lady that
+      ever sun or moon shone on, and in that may hold yourself a lucky man. Yet
+      such deep joys seldom come without their pain, and I think that this is
+      near at hand. There are those who will envy you your fortune, Sir
+      Christopher.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yet they cannot change it, Emlyn,&rdquo; he answered anxiously. &ldquo;The knot that
+      was tied to-night may not be unloosed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never,&rdquo; broke in Father Roger. &ldquo;Though the suddenness and the
+      circumstances of it may be unusual, this marriage is a sacrament
+      celebrated in the face of the world with the full consent of both parties
+      and of the Holy Church. Moreover, before the dawn I&rsquo;ll send the record of
+      it to the bishop&rsquo;s registry and elsewhere, that it may not be questioned
+      in days to come, giving copies of the same to you and your lady&rsquo;s
+      foster-mother, who is her nearest friend at hand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It may not be loosed on earth or in heaven,&rdquo; replied Emlyn solemnly, &ldquo;yet
+      perchance the sword can cut it. Sir Christopher, I think that we should
+      all do well to travel as soon as may be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not to-night, surely, Nurse!&rdquo; he exclaimed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, not to-night,&rdquo; she answered, with a faint smile. &ldquo;Your wife has had a
+      weary day, and could not. Moreover, preparation must be made which is
+      impossible at this hour. But to-morrow, if the roads are open to you, I
+      think we should start for London, where she may make complaint of her
+      father&rsquo;s slaying and claim her heritage and the protection of the law.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is good counsel,&rdquo; said the vicar, and Christopher, with whom words
+      seemed to be few, nodded his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Meanwhile,&rdquo; went on Emlyn, &ldquo;you have six men in this house and others
+      round it. Send out a messenger and summon them all here at dawn, bidding
+      them bring provision with them, and what bows and arms they have. Set a
+      watch also, and after the Father and the messenger have gone, command that
+      the drawbridge be triced.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you fear?&rdquo; he asked, waking from his dream.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I fear the Abbot of Blossholme and his hired ruffians, who reck little of
+      the laws, as the soul of dead Sir John knows now, or can use them as a
+      cover to evil deeds. He&rsquo;ll not let such a prize slip between his fingers
+      if he can help it, and the times are turbulent.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alas! alas! it is true,&rdquo; said Father Roger, &ldquo;and that Abbot is a
+      relentless man who sticks at nothing, having much wealth and many friends
+      both here and beyond the seas. Yet surely he would never dare&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That we shall learn,&rdquo; interrupted Emlyn. &ldquo;Meanwhile, Sir Christopher,
+      rouse yourself and give the orders.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So Christopher summoned his men and spoke words to them at which they
+      looked very grave, but being true-hearted fellows who loved him, said they
+      would do his bidding.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A while later, having written out a copy of the marriage lines and
+      witnessed it, Father Roger departed with the messenger. The drawbridge was
+      hoisted above the moat, the doors were barred, and a man set to watch in
+      the gateway tower, while Christopher, forgetful of all else, even of the
+      danger in which they were, sought the company of her who waited for him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER IV
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      THE ABBOT&rsquo;S OATH
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      On the following morning, shortly after it was light, Christopher was
+      called from his chamber by Emlyn, who gave him a letter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Whence came this?&rdquo; he asked, turning it over suspiciously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A messenger has brought it from Blossholme Abbey,&rdquo; she answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wife Cicely,&rdquo; he called through the door, &ldquo;come hither if you will.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Presently she appeared, looking quaint and lovely in her long fur cloak,
+      and, having embraced her foster-mother, asked what was the matter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This, my darling,&rdquo; he answered, handing her the paper. &ldquo;I never loved
+      book-learnings over-much, and this morn I seem to hate them; read, you who
+      are more scholarly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I mistrust me of that great seal; it bodes us no good, Chris,&rdquo; she
+      replied doubtfully, and paling a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The message within is no medlar to soften by keeping,&rdquo; said Emlyn. &ldquo;Give
+      it me. I was schooled in a nunnery, and can read their scrawls.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So, nothing loth, Cicely handed her the paper, which she took in her
+      strong fingers, broke the seal, snapped the silk, unfolded, and read. It
+      ran thus&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To Sir Christopher Harflete, to Mistress Cicely Foterell, to Emlyn
+      Stower, the waiting-woman, and to all others whom it may concern.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I, Clement Maldon, Abbot of Blossholme, having heard of the death of Sir
+      John Foterell, Knt., at the cruel hands of the forest thieves and outlaws,
+      sent last night to serve the declaration of my wardship, according to my
+      prerogative established by law and custom, over the person and property of
+      you, Cicely, his only child surviving. My messengers returned saying that
+      you had fled from your home of Shefton Hall. They said further that it was
+      rumoured that you had ridden with your foster-mother, Emlyn Stower, to
+      Cranwell Towers, the house of Sir Christopher Harflete. If this be so, for
+      the sake of your good name it is needful that you should remove from such
+      company at once, as there is talk about you and the said Sir Christopher
+      Harflete. I purpose, therefore, God permitting me, to ride this day to
+      Cranwell Towers, and if you be there, as your lawful guardian and ghostly
+      father, to command you, being an infant under age, to accompany me thence
+      to the Nunnery of Blossholme. There I have determined, in the exercise of
+      my authority, you shall abide until a fitting husband is found for you,
+      unless, indeed, God should move your heart to remain within its walls as
+      one of the brides of Christ.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Clement, Abbot.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now when the reading of this letter was finished, the three of them stood
+      a little while staring at each other, knowing well that it meant trouble
+      for them all, till Cicely said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bring me ink and paper, Nurse. I will answer this Abbot.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So they were brought, and Cicely wrote in her round, girlish hand&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My Lord Abbot,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In answer to your letter, I would have you know that as my noble father
+      (whose cruel death must be inquired of and avenged) bade me with his last
+      words, I, fearing that a like fate would overtake me at the hands of his
+      murderers, did, as you suppose, seek refuge at this house. Here,
+      yesterday, I was married in the face of God and man in the church of
+      Cranwell, as you may learn from the paper sent herewith. It is not,
+      therefore, needful that you should seek a husband for me, since my dear
+      lord, Sir Christopher Harflete, and I are one till death do part us. Nor
+      do I admit that now, or at any time, you had or have right of wardship
+      over my person or the lands and goods which I hold and inherit. &ldquo;Your
+      humble servant,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cicely Harflete.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This letter Cicely copied out fair and sealed, and presently it was given
+      to the Abbot&rsquo;s messenger, who placed it in his pouch and rode off as fast
+      as the snow would let him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They watched him go from a window.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now,&rdquo; said Christopher, turning to his wife, &ldquo;I think, dear, we shall do
+      well to ride also as soon as may be. Yonder Abbot is sharp-set, and I
+      doubt whether letters will satisfy his appetite.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think so also,&rdquo; said Emlyn. &ldquo;Make ready and eat, both of you. I go to
+      see that the horses are saddled.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      An hour later everything was prepared. Three horses stood before the door,
+      and with them an escort of four mounted men, who were all having arms and
+      beasts to ride that Christopher could gather at such short notice, though
+      others of his tenants and servants had already assembled at the Towers in
+      answer to his summons, to the number of twelve, indeed. Without the snow
+      was falling fast, and although she tried to look brave and happy, Cicely
+      shivered a little as she saw it through the open door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We go on a strange honeymoon, my sweet,&rdquo; said Christopher uneasily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What matter, so long as we go together?&rdquo; she answered in a gay voice that
+      yet seemed to ring untrue, &ldquo;although,&rdquo; she added, with a little choke of
+      the throat, &ldquo;I would that we could have stayed here until I had found and
+      buried my father. It haunts me to think of him lying somewhere in the
+      snows like a perished ox.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is his murderers that I wish to bury,&rdquo; exclaimed Christopher; &ldquo;and, by
+      God&rsquo;s name, I swear I&rsquo;ll do it ere all is done. Think not, dear, that I
+      forget your griefs because I do not speak much of them, but bridals and
+      buryings are strange company. So while we may, let us take what joy we
+      can, since the ill that goes before ofttimes follows after also. Come, let
+      us mount and away to London to find friends and justice.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, having spoken a few words to his house-people, he lifted Cicely to
+      her horse, and they rode out into the softly-falling snow, thinking that
+      they had seen their last of the Towers for many a day. But this was not to
+      be. For as they passed along the Blossholme highway, purposing to leave
+      the Abbey on their left, when they were about three miles from Cranwell,
+      suddenly a tall fellow, who wore a great sheepskin coat with a monk&rsquo;s hood
+      to it and carried a thick staff in his hand, burst through the fence and
+      stood in front of them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who are you?&rdquo; asked Christopher, laying his hand upon his sword.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&rsquo;d know me well enough if my hood were back,&rdquo; he answered in a deep
+      voice; &ldquo;but if you want my name, it&rsquo;s Thomas Bolle, cattle-reeve to the
+      Abbey yonder.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your voice proves you,&rdquo; said Christopher, laughing. &ldquo;And now what is your
+      business, lay-brother Bolle?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To get up a bunch of yearling steers that have been running on the
+      forest-edge, living, like the rest of us, on what they can find, as the
+      weather is coming on hard enough to starve them. That&rsquo;s my business, Sir
+      Christopher. But as I see an old friend of mine there,&rdquo; and he nodded
+      towards Emlyn, who was watching him from her horse, &ldquo;with your leave I&rsquo;ll
+      ask her if she has any confession to make, since she seems to be on a
+      dangerous journey.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now Christopher made as though he would push on, for he was in no mood to
+      chat with cattle-reeves. But Emlyn, who had been eyeing the man, called
+      out&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come here, Thomas, and I will answer you myself, who always have a few
+      sins to spare for a priest&rsquo;s wallet, and need a blessing or two to warm
+      me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He strode forward, and, taking her horse by the bridle, led it a little
+      way apart, and as soon as they were out of earshot fell into an eager
+      conversation with its rider. A minute or so later Cicely, looking round&mdash;for
+      they had ridden forward at a slow pace&mdash;saw Thomas Bolle leap through
+      the other fence of the roadway and vanish at a run into the falling snow,
+      while Emlyn spurred her horse after them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stop,&rdquo; she said to Christopher; &ldquo;I have tidings for you. The Abbot, with
+      all his men-at-arms and servants, to the number of forty or more, waits
+      for us under shelter of Blossholme Grove yonder, purposing to take the
+      Lady Cicely by force. Some spy has told him of this journey.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I see no one,&rdquo; said Christopher, staring at the Grove, which lay below
+      them about a quarter of a mile away, for they were on the top of a rise.
+      &ldquo;Still, the matter is not hard to prove,&rdquo; and he called to the two best
+      mounted of his men and bade them ride forward and make report if any
+      lurked behind that wood.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So the men went off, while they remained where they were, silent, but
+      anxious enough. Ten minutes or so later, before they could see them, for
+      the snow was now falling quickly, they heard the sound of many horses
+      galloping. Then the two men appeared, calling out as they came&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Abbot and all his folk are after us. Back to Cranwell, ere you be
+      taken!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Christopher thought for a moment, then, remembering that with but four men
+      and cumbered by two women it was not possible to cut his way through so
+      great a force, and admonished by that sound of advancing hoofs, he gave a
+      sudden order. They turned about, and not too soon, for as they did so,
+      scarce two hundred yards away, the first of the Abbot&rsquo;s horsemen appeared
+      plunging towards them up the slope. Then the race began, and well for them
+      was it that their horses were good and fresh, since before ever they came
+      in sight of Cranwell Towers the pursuers were not ninety yards behind. But
+      here on the flat their beasts, scenting home, answered nobly to whip and
+      spur, and drew ahead a little. Moreover, those who watched within the
+      house saw them, and ran to the drawbridge. When they were within fifty
+      yards of the moat Cicely&rsquo;s horse stumbled, slipped, and fell, throwing her
+      into the snow, then recovered itself and galloped on alone. Christopher
+      reined up alongside of her, and, as she rose, frightened but unharmed, put
+      out his long arm, and, lifting her to the saddle in front of him, plunged
+      forward, while those behind shouted &ldquo;Yield!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Under this double burden his horse went but slowly. Still they reached the
+      bridge before any could lay hands upon them, and thundered over it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wind up,&rdquo; shouted Christopher, and all there, even the womenfolk, laid
+      hands upon the cranks. The bridge began to rise, but now five or six of
+      the Abbot&rsquo;s folk, dismounting, sprang at it, catching the end of it with
+      their hands when it was about six feet in the air, and holding on so that
+      it could not be lifted, but remained, moving neither up nor down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Leave go, you knaves,&rdquo; shouted Christopher; but by way of answer one of
+      them, with the help of his fellows, scrambled on to the end of the bridge,
+      and stood there, hanging to the chains.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Christopher snatched a bow from the hand of a serving-man, and the
+      arrow being already on the string, again shouted&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Get off at your peril!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In answer the man called out something about the commands of the Lord
+      Abbot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Christopher, looking past him, saw that others of the company had
+      dismounted and were running towards the bridge. If they reached it he knew
+      well that the game was played. So he hesitated no longer, but, aiming
+      swiftly, drew and loosed the bow. At that distance he could not miss. The
+      arrow struck the man where his steel cap joined the mail beneath, and
+      pierced him through the throat, so that he fell back dead. The others,
+      scared by his fate, loosed their hold, so that now the bridge, relieved of
+      the weight upon it, instantly rose up beyond their reach, and presently
+      came home and was made fast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As they afterwards discovered, this man, it may here be said, was a
+      captain of the Abbot&rsquo;s guard. Moreover, it was he who had shot the arrow
+      that killed Sir John Foterell some forty hours before, striking him
+      through the throat, as it was fated that he himself should be struck.
+      Thus, then, one of that good knight&rsquo;s murderers reaped his just reward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now the men ran back out of range, for they feared more arrows, while
+      Christopher watched them go in silence. Cicely, who stood by his side, her
+      hands held before her face to shut out the sight of death, let them fall
+      suddenly, and, turning to her husband, said, as she pointed to the corpse
+      that lay upon the blood-stained snow of the roadway&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How many more will follow him, I wonder? I think that is but the first
+      throw of a long game, husband.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, sweet,&rdquo; he answered, &ldquo;the second; the first was cast two nights gone
+      by King&rsquo;s Grave Mount in the forest yonder, and blood ever calls for
+      blood.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye,&rdquo; she answered, &ldquo;blood calls for blood.&rdquo; Then, remembering that she
+      was orphaned and what sort of a honeymoon hers was like to be, she turned
+      and sought her chamber, weeping.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now, while Christopher still stood irresolute, for he was oppressed by the
+      sense of this man-slaying, and knew not what he should do next, he saw
+      three men separate from the knot of soldiers and ride towards the Towers,
+      one of whom held a white cloth above his head in token of parley. Then
+      Christopher went up into the little gateway turret, followed by Emlyn, who
+      crouched down behind the brick battlement, so that she could see and hear
+      without being seen. Having reached the further side of the moat, he who
+      held the white cloth threw back the hood of his long cape, and they saw
+      that it was the Abbot of Blossholme himself, also that his dark eyes
+      flashed and that his olive-hued face was almost white with rage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why do you hunt me across my own park and come knocking so rudely at my
+      doors, my Lord Abbot?&rdquo; asked Christopher, leaning on the parapet of the
+      gateway.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why do you work murder on my servant, Christopher Harflete?&rdquo; answered the
+      Abbot, pointing to the dead man in the snow. &ldquo;Know you not that whoso
+      sheds blood, by man shall his blood be shed, and that under our ancient
+      charters, here I have the right to execute justice on you, as, by God&rsquo;s
+      holy Name, I swear that I will do?&rdquo; he added in a choked voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye,&rdquo; repeated Christopher reflectively, &ldquo;by man shall his blood be shed.
+      Perhaps that is why this fellow died. Tell me, Abbot, was he not one of
+      those who rode by moonlight round King&rsquo;s Grave lately, and there chanced
+      to meet Sir John Foterell?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The shot was a random one, yet it seemed that it went home; at least, the
+      Abbot&rsquo;s jaw dropped, and some words that were on his lips never passed
+      them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know naught of the meaning of your talk,&rdquo; he said presently in a
+      quieter voice, &ldquo;or of how my late friend and neighbour, Sir John&mdash;may
+      God rest his soul&mdash;came to his end. Yet it is of him, or rather of
+      his, that we must speak. It seems that you have stolen his daughter, a
+      woman under age, and by pretence of a false marriage, as I fear, brought
+      her to shame&mdash;a crime even fouler than this murder.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, by means of a true marriage I have brought her to such small honour
+      as may be the share of Christopher Harflete&rsquo;s lawful wife. If there be any
+      virtue in the rites of Holy Church, then God&rsquo;s own hand has bound us fast
+      as man can be tied to woman, and death is the only pope who can loose that
+      knot.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Death!&rdquo; repeated the Abbot in a slow voice, looking up at him very
+      curiously. For a little while he was silent, then went on, &ldquo;Well, his
+      court is always open, and he has many shrewd and instant messengers, such
+      as this,&rdquo; and he pointed to the arrow in the neck of the slain soldier.
+      &ldquo;Yet I am a man of peace, and although you have murdered my servant, I
+      would settle our cause more gently if I may. Listen now, Sir Christopher;
+      here is my offer. Yield up to me the person of Cicely Foterell&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of Cicely Harflete,&rdquo; interrupted Christopher.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of Cicely Foterell, and I swear to you that no violence shall be done to
+      her, nor shall she be given to a husband till the King or his
+      Vicar-General, or whatever court he may appoint, has passed judgment in
+      this matter and declared this mock marriage of yours null and void.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What!&rdquo; broke in Christopher scoffingly; &ldquo;does the Abbot of Blossholme
+      announce that the powers temporal of this realm have right of divorce? Ere
+      now I have heard him argue differently, and so have others, when the case
+      of Queen Catherine was in question.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot bit his lip, but continued, taking no heed&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nor will I lay any complaint against you as to the death of my servant
+      here, for which otherwise you should hang. That I will write down as an
+      accident, and, further, compensate his family. Now you have my offer&mdash;answer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what if I refuse this same generous offer to surrender her whom I
+      hold dearer than a thousand lives?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then, by virtue of my rights and authority, I will take her by force,
+      Christopher Harflete, and if harm should happen to come to you, now or
+      hereafter, on your own head be it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At this Christopher&rsquo;s rage broke out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you dare to threaten me, a loyal Englishman, you false priest and
+      foreign traitor,&rdquo; he shouted, &ldquo;whom all men know to be in the pay of
+      Spain, and using the cover of a monk&rsquo;s dress to plot against the land on
+      which you fatten like a horse-leech? Why was John Foterell murdered in the
+      forest two nights gone? You won&rsquo;t answer? Then I will. Because he rode to
+      Court to prove the truth about you and your treachery, and therefore you
+      butchered him. Why do you claim my wife as your ward? Because you wish to
+      steal her lands and goods to feed your plots and luxury. You think you
+      have bought friends at Court, and that for money&rsquo;s sake those in power
+      there will turn a blind eye to your crimes. So it may be for a while; but
+      wait, wait. All eyes are not blind yonder, nor all ears deaf. That head of
+      yours shall yet be lifted higher than you think&mdash;so high that it
+      sticks upon the top of Blossholme Towers, a warning to all who would sell
+      England to her enemies. John Foterell lies dead with your knave&rsquo;s arrow in
+      his throat, but Jeffrey Stokes is away with the writings. And now do your
+      worst, Clement Maldon. If you want my wife, come take her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot listened, listened intently, drinking in every ominous word. His
+      swarthy face went white with fear, then turned black with rage. The veins
+      upon his forehead gathered into knots; even from that distance Christopher
+      could see them. He looked so evil that his countenance became twisted and
+      ridiculous, and Christopher, noting it, burst into one of his hearty
+      laughs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot, who was not accustomed to mockery, whispered something to the
+      two men who were with him, whereon they lifted the crossbows which they
+      carried and pulled trigger. One quarel went wide and hit the wall of the
+      house behind, where it stuck fast in the joints of the stud-work. But the
+      other, better aimed, smote Christopher above the heart, causing him to
+      stagger, but being shot from below and turned by the mail he wore glanced
+      upwards over his left shoulder. The men, seeing that he was unhurt, pulled
+      their horses round and galloped off, but Christopher, setting another
+      arrow to the string of the bow he carried, drew it to his ear, covering
+      the Abbot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Loose, and make an end of him,&rdquo; muttered Emlyn from her shelter behind
+      the parapet. But Christopher thought a moment, then cried&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stay a while, Sir Abbot; I have more to say to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He took no heed who was also turning about.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stay!&rdquo; thundered Christopher, &ldquo;or I will kill that fine nag of yours;&rdquo;
+       then, as the Abbot still dragged upon the reins, he let the arrow fly. The
+      aim was true enough. Right through the arch of the neck it sped, cutting
+      the cord between the bones, so that the poor beast reared straight up and
+      fell in a heap, tumbling its rider off into the snow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, Clement Maldon,&rdquo; cried Christopher, &ldquo;will you listen, or will you
+      bide with your horse and servant and hear no more till Judgment Day? If
+      you do not guess it, learn that I have practised archery from my youth.
+      Should you doubt, hold up your hand and I&rsquo;ll send a shaft between your
+      fingers.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot, who was shaken but unhurt, rose slowly and stood there, the
+      dead horse on one side and the dead man on the other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Speak,&rdquo; he said in a muffled voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My Lord Abbot,&rdquo; went on Christopher, &ldquo;a minute ago you tried to murder
+      me, and, had not my mail been good, would have succeeded. Now your life is
+      in my hand, for, as you have seen, I do not miss. Those servants of yours
+      are coming to your help. Call to them to halt, or&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; and he
+      lifted the bow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot obeyed, and the men, understanding, stayed where they were, at a
+      distance, but within earshot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have a crucifix upon your breast,&rdquo; continued Christopher. &ldquo;Take it in
+      your right hand now and swear an oath.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again the Abbot obeyed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Swear thus,&rdquo; he said, Emlyn, who was crouched beneath the parapet,
+      prompting him from time to time; &ldquo;I, Clement Maldon, Abbot of Blossholme,
+      in the presence of Almighty God in heaven, and of Christopher Harflete and
+      others upon earth,&rdquo; and he jerked his head backwards towards the windows
+      of the house, where all therein were gathered, listening, &ldquo;make oath upon
+      the symbol of the Rood. I swear that I abandon all claim of wardship over
+      the body of Cicely Harflete, born Cicely Foterell, the lawful wife of
+      Christopher Harflete, and all claim to the lands and goods that she may
+      possess, or that were possessed by her father, John Foterell, Knight, or
+      by her mother, Dame Foterell, deceased. I swear that I will raise no suit
+      in any court, spiritual or temporal, of this or other realms against the
+      said Cicely Harflete or against the said Christopher Harflete, her
+      husband, nor seek to work injury to their bodies or their souls, or to the
+      bodies or the souls of any who cling to them, and that henceforth they may
+      live and die in peace from me or any whom I control. Set your lips to the
+      Rood and swear thus now, Clement Maldon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot hearkened, and so great was his rage, for he had no meek heart,
+      that he seemed to swell like an angry toad.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who gave you authority to administer oaths to me?&rdquo; he asked at length.
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll not swear,&rdquo; and he cast the crucifix down upon the snow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I&rsquo;ll shoot,&rdquo; answered Christopher. &ldquo;Come, pick up that cross.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Maldon stood silent, his arms folded on his breast. Christopher aimed
+      and loosed, and so great was his skill&mdash;for there were few archers in
+      England like to him&mdash;that the arrow pierced Maldon&rsquo;s fur cap and
+      carried it away without touching the shaven head beneath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The next shall be two inches lower,&rdquo; he said, as he set another on the
+      string. &ldquo;I waste no more good shafts.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, very slowly, to save his life, which he loved well enough, Maldon
+      bent down, and, lifting the crucifix from the snow, held it to his lips
+      and kissed it, muttering&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I swear.&rdquo; But the oath he swore was very different to that which
+      Christopher had repeated to him, for, like a hunted fox, he knew how to
+      meet guile with guile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now that I, a consecrated abbot, deeming it right that I should live on
+      to fulfil my work on earth, have done your bidding, have I leave to go
+      about my business, Christopher Harflete?&rdquo; he asked, with bitter irony.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not?&rdquo; asked Christopher. &ldquo;Only be pleased henceforth not to meddle
+      with me and my business. To-morrow I wish to ride to London with my lady,
+      and we do not seek your company on the road.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, having found his cap, the Abbot turned and walked back towards his
+      own men, drawing the arrow from it as he went, and presently all of them
+      rode away over the rise towards Blossholme.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now that is well finished, and I have an oath that he will scarcely dare
+      to break,&rdquo; said Christopher presently. &ldquo;What say you, Nurse?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I say that you are even a bigger simpleton than I took you to be,&rdquo;
+       answered Emlyn angrily, as she rose and stretched herself, for her limbs
+      were cramped. &ldquo;The oath, pshaw! By now he is absolved from it as given
+      under fear. Did you not hear me whisper to you to put an arrow through his
+      heart, instead of playing boy&rsquo;s pranks with his cap?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did not wish to kill an abbot, Nurse.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Foolish man, what is the difference in such a matter between him and one
+      of his servants? Moreover, he will only say that you tried to slay him,
+      and missed, and produce the cap and arrow in evidence against you. Well,
+      my talk serves nothing to mend a bad matter, and soon you will hear it
+      straighter from himself. Go now and make your house ready for attack, and
+      never dare to set a foot without its doors, for death waits you there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Emlyn was right. Within three hours an unarmed monk trudged up to Cranwell
+      Towers through the falling snow and cast across the moat a letter that was
+      tied to a stone. Then he nailed a writing to one of the oak posts of the
+      outer gate, and, without a word, departed as he had come. In the presence
+      of Christopher and Cicely, Emlyn opened and read this second letter, as
+      she had read the first. It was short, and ran&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Take notice, Sir Christopher Harflete, and all others whom it may
+      concern, that the oath which I, Clement Maldon, Abbot of Blossholme, swore
+      to you this day, is utterly void and of none effect, having been wrung
+      from me under the threat of instant death. Take notice, further, that a
+      report of the murder which you have done has been forwarded to the King&rsquo;s
+      grace and to the Sheriff and other officers of this county, and that by
+      virtue of my rights and authority, ecclesiastical and civil, I shall
+      proceed to possess myself of the person of Cicely Foterell, my ward, and
+      of the lands and other property held by her father, Sir John Foterell,
+      deceased, upon the former of which I have already entered on her behalf,
+      and by exercise of such force as may be needful to seize you, Christopher
+      Harflete, and to hand you over to justice. Further, by means of notice
+      sent herewith, I warn all that cling to you and abet you in your crimes
+      that they will do so at the peril of their souls and bodies.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Clement Maldon, Abbot of Blossholme.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER V
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      WHAT PASSED AT CRANWELL
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      A week had gone by. For the first three days of that time little of note
+      had happened at Cranwell Towers; that is, no assault was delivered. Only
+      Christopher and his dozen or so of house-servants and small tenants
+      discovered that they were quite surrounded. Once or twice some of them
+      rode out a little way, to be hunted back again by a much superior force,
+      which emerged from the copses near by or from cottages in the village, and
+      even from the porch of the church. With these men they never came to close
+      quarters, so that no lives were lost. In a fashion this was a disadvantage
+      to them, since they lacked the excitement of actual fighting, the dread of
+      which was ever present, but not its joy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Meanwhile in other ways things went ill with them. Thus, first of all
+      their beer gave out, and then such other cordials as they had, so that
+      they were reduced to water to drink. Next their fuel became exhausted, for
+      nearly all the stock of it was kept at the farmstead about a quarter of a
+      mile away, and on the second day of the siege this stead was fired and
+      burned with its contents, the cattle and horses being driven off, they
+      knew not where.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So it came about at length they could keep only one fire, in the kitchen,
+      and that but small, which in the end they were obliged to feed with the
+      doors of the outhouses, and even with the floorings torn out of the
+      attics, in order that they might cook their food. Nor was there much of
+      this; only a store of salt meat and some pickled pork and smoked bacon,
+      together with a certain amount of oatmeal and flour, that they made into
+      cakes and bread.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the fourth day, however, these gave out, so that they were reduced to a
+      scanty diet of hung flesh, with a few apples by way of vegetables, and hot
+      water to drink to warm them. At length, too, there was nothing more to
+      burn, and therefore they must eat their meat raw, and grew sick on it.
+      Moreover, a cold thaw set in, and the house grew icy, so that they moved
+      about it with chattering teeth, and at night, ill-nurtured as they were,
+      could scarce keep the life in them beneath all the coverings which they
+      had.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah! how long were those nights, with never a blaze upon the hearth or so
+      much as a candle to light them. At four o&rsquo;clock the darkness came down,
+      which did not lessen, for the moon grew low and the mists were thick,
+      until day broke about seven on the following morning. And all this time,
+      fearing attack, they must keep watch and ward through the gloom, so that
+      even sleep was denied them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For a while they bore up bravely, even the tenants, though news was
+      shouted to these that their steads had been harried, and their wives and
+      children hunted off to seek shelter where they might.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely and Emlyn never murmured. Indeed, this new-made wife kept her
+      dreadful honeymoon with a cheerful face, trudging through the black hours
+      around the circle of the moat at her husband&rsquo;s side, or from window-place
+      to window-place in the empty rooms, till at length they cast themselves
+      down upon some bed to sleep a while, giving over the watch to others. Only
+      Emlyn never seemed to sleep. But at length their companions did begin to
+      murmur.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One morning at the dawn, after a very bitter night, they waited upon
+      Christopher and told him that they were willing to fight for his sake and
+      his lady&rsquo;s, but that, as there was no hope of help, they could no longer
+      freeze and starve; in short, that they must either escape from the house
+      or surrender. He listened to them patiently, knowing that what they said
+      was true, and then consulted for a while with Cicely and Emlyn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Our case is desperate, dear wife. Now what shall we do, who have no
+      chance of succour, since none know of our plight? Yield, or strive to
+      escape through the darkness?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not yield, I think,&rdquo; answered Cicely, choking back a sob. &ldquo;If we yield
+      certainly they will separate us, and that merciless Abbot will bring you
+      to your death and me to a nunnery.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That may happen in any case,&rdquo; muttered Christopher, turning his head
+      aside. &ldquo;But what say you, Nurse?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I say fight for it,&rdquo; answered Emlyn boldly. &ldquo;It is certain that we cannot
+      stay here, for, to be plain, Sir Christopher, there are some among us whom
+      I do not trust. What wonder? Their stomachs are empty, their hands are
+      blue, their wives and children are they know not where, and the heavy
+      curse of the Church hangs over them, all of which things may be mended if
+      they play you false. Let us take what horses remain and slip away at dead
+      of night if we can; or if we cannot, then let us die, as many better folk
+      have done before.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So they agreed to try their fortune, thinking that it was so bad it could
+      not be worse, and spent the rest of that day in getting ready as best they
+      could. The seven horses still stood in the stable, and although they were
+      stiff from want of exercise, had been hay-fed and watered. On these they
+      proposed to ride, but first they must tell the truth to those who had
+      stood by them. So about three o&rsquo;clock of the afternoon Christopher called
+      all the men together beneath the gateway and sorrowfully set out his tale.
+      Here, he showed them, they could bide no longer, and to surrender meant
+      that his new-wed wife would soon be made a widow. Therefore they must fly,
+      taking with them as many as there were horses for them to ride, if they
+      cared to risk such a journey. If not, he and the two women would go alone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now four of the stoutest-hearted of them, men who had served him and his
+      father for many years, stepped forward, saying that, evil as these seemed
+      to be, they would follow his fortunes to the last. He thanked them
+      shortly, whereon one of the others asked what they were to do, and if he
+      proposed to desert them after leading them into this plight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;God knows I would rather die,&rdquo; he replied, with a swelling heart; &ldquo;but,
+      my friends, consider the case. If I bide here, what of my wife? Alas! it
+      has come to this: that you must choose whether you will slip out with us
+      and scatter in the woods, where I think you will not be followed, since
+      yonder Abbot has no quarrel against you; or whether you will wait here,
+      and to-morrow at the dawn, surrender. In either event you can say that I
+      compelled you to stand by us, and that you have shed no man&rsquo;s blood; also
+      I will give you a writing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So they talked together gloomily, and at last announced that when he and
+      their lady went they would go also and get off as best they could. But
+      there was a man among them, a small farmer named Jonathan Dicksey, who
+      thought otherwise. This Jonathan, who held his land under Christopher, had
+      been forced to this business of the defence of Cranwell Towers somewhat
+      against his will, namely, by the pressure of Christopher&rsquo;s largest tenant,
+      to whose daughter he was affianced. He was a sly young man, and even
+      during the siege, by means that need not be described, he had contrived to
+      convey a message to the Abbot of Blossholme, telling him that had it been
+      in his power he would gladly be in any other place. Therefore, as he knew
+      well, whatever had happened to others, his farm remained unharried. Now he
+      determined to be out of a bad business as soon as he might, for Jonathan
+      was one of those who liked to stand upon the winning side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Therefore, although he said &ldquo;Aye, aye,&rdquo; more loudly than his comrades, as
+      soon as the dusk had fallen, while the others were making ready the horses
+      and mounting guard, Jonathan thrust a ladder across the moat at the back
+      of the stable, and clambered along its rungs into the shelter of a
+      cattle-shed in the meadow, and so away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Half-an-hour later he stood before the Abbot in the cottage where he had
+      taken up his quarters, having contrived to blunder among his people and be
+      captured. To him at first Jonathan would say nothing, but when at length
+      they threatened to take him out and hang him, to save his life, as he
+      said, he found his tongue and told all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So, so,&rdquo; said the Abbot when he had finished. &ldquo;Now God is good to us. We
+      have these birds in our net, and I shall keep St. Hilary&rsquo;s at Blossholme
+      after all. For your services, Master Dicksey, you shall be my reeve at
+      Cranwell Towers when they are in my hands.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But here it may be said that in the end things went otherwise, since, so
+      far from getting the stewardship of Cranwell, when the truth came to be
+      known, Jonathan&rsquo;s maiden would have no more to do with him, and the folk
+      in those parts sacked his farm and hunted him out of the country, so that
+      he was never heard of among them again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Meanwhile, all being ready, Christopher at the Towers was closeted with
+      Cicely, taking his farewell of her in the dark, for no light was left to
+      them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This is a desperate venture,&rdquo; he said to her, &ldquo;nor can I tell how it will
+      end, or if ever I shall see your sweet face again. Yet, dearest, we have
+      been happy together for some few hours, and if I fall and you live on I am
+      sure that you will always remember me till, as we are taught, we meet
+      again where no enemy has the power to torment us, and cold and hunger and
+      darkness are not. Cicely, if that should be so and any child should come
+      to you, teach it to love the father whom it never saw.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now she threw her arms about him and wept, and wept, and wept.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you die,&rdquo; she sobbed, &ldquo;surely I will do so also, for although I am but
+      young I find this world a very evil place, and now that my father is gone,
+      without you, husband, it would be a hell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, nay,&rdquo; he answered; &ldquo;live on while you may; for who knows? Often out
+      of the worst comes the best. At least we have had our joy. Swear it now,
+      sweet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, if you will swear it also, for I may be taken and you left. In the
+      dark swords do not choose. Let us promise that we will both endure our
+      lives, together or separate, until God calls us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So they swore there in the icy gloom, and sealed the oath with kisses.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now the time was come at last, and they crept their way to the courtyard
+      hand in hand, taking some comfort because the night was very favourable to
+      their project. The snow had melted, and a great gale blew from the
+      sou&rsquo;-west, boisterous but not cold, which caused the tall elms that stood
+      about to screech and groan like things alive. In such a wind as this they
+      were sure that they would not be heard, nor could they be seen beneath
+      that murky, starless sky, while the rain which fell between the gusts
+      would wash out the footprints of their horses.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They mounted silently, and with the four men&mdash;for by now all the rest
+      had gone&mdash;rode across the drawbridge, which had been lowered in
+      preparation for their flight. Three hundred yards or so away their road
+      ran through an ancient marl-pit worked out generations before, in which
+      self-sown trees grew on either side of the path. As they drew near this
+      place suddenly, in the silence of the night, a horse neighed ahead of
+      them, and one of their beasts answered to the neigh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Halt!&rdquo; whispered Cicely, whose ears were made sharp by fear. &ldquo;I hear men
+      moving.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They pulled rein and listened. Yes; between the gusts of wind there was a
+      faint sound as of the clanking of armour. They strained their eyes in the
+      darkness, but could see nothing. Again the horse neighed and was answered.
+      One of their servants cursed the beast beneath his breath and struck it
+      savagely with the flat of his sword, whereon, being fresh, it took the bit
+      between its teeth and bolted. Another minute and there arose a great
+      clamour from the marl-pit in front of them&mdash;a noise of shoutings, of
+      sword-strokes, and then a heavy groan as from the lips of a dying man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;An ambush!&rdquo; exclaimed Christopher.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can we get round?&rdquo; asked Cicely, and there was terror in her voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; he answered, &ldquo;the stream is in flood; we should be bogged. Hark!
+      they charge us. Back to the Towers&mdash;there is no other way.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So they turned and fled, followed by shouts and the thunder of many horses
+      galloping. In two minutes they were there and across the bridge&mdash;the
+      women, Christopher, and the three men who were left.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Up with the bridge!&rdquo; cried Christopher, and they leapt from their saddles
+      and fumbled for the cranks; too late, for already the Abbot&rsquo;s horsemen
+      pressed it down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then a fight began. The horses of the enemy shrank back from the trembling
+      bridge, so their riders, dismounting, rushed forward, to be met by
+      Christopher and his three remaining men, who in that narrow place were as
+      good as a hundred. Wild, random blows were struck in the darkness, and, as
+      it chanced, two of the Abbot&rsquo;s people fell, whereon a deep voice cried&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come back and wait for light.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When they had gone, dragging off their wounded with them, Christopher and
+      his servants again strove to wind up the bridge, only to find that it
+      would not stir.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Some traitor has fouled the chains,&rdquo; he said in the quiet voice of
+      despair. &ldquo;Cicely and Emlyn, get you into the house. I, and any who will
+      bide with me, stay here to see this business out. When I am down, yield
+      yourself. Afterwards I think that the King will give you justice, if you
+      can come to him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll not go,&rdquo; she wailed; &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll die with you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, you shall go,&rdquo; he said, stamping his foot, and, as he spoke, an
+      arrow hissed between them. &ldquo;Emlyn, drag her hence ere she is shot. Swift,
+      I say, swift, or God&rsquo;s curse and mine rest on you. Unclasp your arms,
+      wife; how can I fight while you hang about my neck? What! Must I strike
+      you? Then, there and there!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She loosed her grasp, and, groaning, fell back upon the breast of Emlyn,
+      who half led, half carried her across the courtyard, where their scared
+      horses galloped loose.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Whither go we?&rdquo; sobbed Cicely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To the central tower,&rdquo; answered Emlyn; &ldquo;it seems safest there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      To this tower, whence the place took its name, they groped their way.
+      Unlike the rest of the house, which for the most part was of wood, it was
+      built of stone, being part of an older fabric dating from the Norman days.
+      Slowly they stumbled up the steps till at length they reached the roof,
+      for some instinct prompted them to find a spot whence they could see,
+      should the stars break out. Here, on this lofty perch, they crouched them
+      down and waited the end, whatever it might be&mdash;waited in silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A while passed&mdash;they never knew how long&mdash;till at length a
+      sudden flame shot up above the roof of the kitchens at the rear, which the
+      wind caught and blew on to the timbers of the main building, so that
+      presently this began to blaze also. The house had been fired, by whom was
+      never known, though it was said that the traitor, Jonathan Dicksey, had
+      returned and done it, either for a bribe or that his own sin might be
+      forgotten in this great catastrophe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The house burns,&rdquo; said Emlyn in her quiet voice. &ldquo;Now, if you would save
+      your life, follow me. Beneath this tower is a vault where no flame can
+      touch us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Cicely would not stir, for by the fierce and ever-growing light she
+      could see what passed beneath, and, as it chanced, the wind blew the smoke
+      away from them. There, beyond the drawbridge, were gathered the Abbey
+      guards, and there in the gateway stood Christopher and his three men with
+      drawn swords, while in the courtyard the horses galloped madly, screaming
+      in their fear. A soldier looked up and saw the two women standing on the
+      top of the tower, then called out something to the Abbot, who sat on
+      horseback near to him. He looked and saw also.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yield, Sir Christopher,&rdquo; he shouted; &ldquo;the Lady Cicely burns. Yield, that
+      we may save her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Christopher turned and saw also. For a moment he hesitated, then wheeled
+      round to run across the courtyard. Too late, for as he came the flames
+      burst through the main roof of the house, and the timber front of it,
+      blazing furiously, fell outwards, blocking the doorway, so that the place
+      became a furnace into which none might enter and live.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now a madness seemed to take hold of him. For a moment he stared up at the
+      figures of the two women standing high above the rolling smoke and
+      wrapping flame. Then, with his three men, he charged with a roar into the
+      crowd of soldiers who had followed him into the courtyard, striving, it
+      would seem, to cut his way to the Abbot, who lurked behind. It was a
+      dreadful sight, for he and those with him fought furiously, and many went
+      down. Presently, of the four only Christopher was left upon his feet.
+      Swords and spears smote upon his armour, but he did not fall; it was those
+      in front of him who fell. A great fellow with an axe got behind him and
+      struck with all his might upon his helm. The sword dropped from Harflete&rsquo;s
+      hand; slowly he turned about, looked upward, then stretched out his arms
+      and fell heavily to earth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot leapt from his horse and ran to him, kneeling at his side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dead!&rdquo; he cried, and began to shrive his passing soul, or so it seemed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dead,&rdquo; repeated Emlyn, &ldquo;and a gallant death!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dead!&rdquo; wailed Cicely, in so terrible a voice that all below heard it.
+      &ldquo;Dead, dead!&rdquo; and sank senseless on Emlyn&rsquo;s breast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At that moment the rest of the roof fell in, hiding the tower in spouts
+      and veils of flame. Here they might not stay if they would live. Lifting
+      her mistress in her strong arms, as she was wont to do when she was
+      little, Emlyn found the head of the stair, so that when the wind blew the
+      smoke aside for an instant, those below saw that both had vanished, as
+      they thought withered in the fire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now you can enter on the Shefton lands, Abbot,&rdquo; cried a voice from the
+      darkness of the gateway, though in the turmoil none knew who spoke; &ldquo;but
+      not for all England would I bear that innocent blood!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot&rsquo;s face turned ghastly, and though it was hot enough in that
+      courtyard his teeth chattered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is on the head of this woman-thief,&rdquo; he exclaimed with an effort,
+      looking down on Christopher, who lay at his feet. &ldquo;Take him up, that
+      inquest may be held on him, who died doing murder. Can none enter the
+      house? His pocket full of gold to him who saves the Lady Cicely!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can any enter hell and live?&rdquo; answered the same voice out of the smoke
+      and gloom. &ldquo;Seek her sweet soul in heaven, if you may come there, Abbot.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, with scared faces, they lifted up Christopher and the other dead and
+      wounded and carried them away, leaving Cranwell Towers to burn itself to
+      ashes, for so fierce was the heat that none could bide there longer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Two hours had gone by. The Abbot sat in the little room of a cottage at
+      Cranwell that he had occupied during the siege of the Towers. It was near
+      midnight, yet, weary as he was, he could not rest; indeed, had the night
+      been less foul and dark he would have spent the time in riding back to
+      Blossholme. His heart was ill at ease. Things had gone well with him, it
+      is true. Sir John Foterell was dead&mdash;slain by &ldquo;outlawed men;&rdquo; Sir
+      Christopher Harflete was dead&mdash;did not his body lie in the neat-house
+      yonder? Cicely, daughter of the one and wife to the other, was dead also,
+      burned in the fire at the Towers, so that doubtless the precious gems and
+      the wide lands he coveted would fall into his lap without further trouble.
+      For, Cromwell being bribed, who would try to snatch them from the powerful
+      Abbot of Blossholme, and had he not a title to them&mdash;of a sort?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And yet he was very ill at ease, for, as that voice had said&mdash;whose
+      voice was it? he wondered, somehow it seemed familiar&mdash;the blood of
+      these people lay on his head; and there came into his mind the text of
+      Holy Writ which he had quoted to Christopher, that he who shed man&rsquo;s blood
+      by man should his blood be shed. Also, although he had paid the
+      Vicar-General to back him, monks were in no great favour at the English
+      Court, and if this story travelled there, as it might, for even the
+      strengthless dead find friends, it was possible that questions would be
+      asked, questions hard to answer. Before Heaven he could justify himself
+      for all that he had done, but before King Henry, who would usurp the
+      powers of the very Pope, if the truth should chance to reach the royal ear&mdash;ah!
+      that was another matter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The room was cold after the heat of that great fire; his Southern blood,
+      which had been warm enough, grew chill; loneliness and depression took
+      hold of him; he began to wonder how far in the eyes of God above the end
+      justifies the means. He opened the door of the place, and holding on to it
+      lest the rough, wintry gale should tear it from its frail hinges, shouted
+      aloud for Brother Martin, one of his chaplains.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Presently Martin arrived, emerging from the cattleshed, a lantern in his
+      hand&mdash;a tall, thin man, with perplexed and melancholy eyes, long
+      nose, and a clever face&mdash;and, bowing, asked his superior&rsquo;s pleasure.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My pleasure, Brother,&rdquo; answered the Abbot, &ldquo;is that you shut the door and
+      keep out the wind, for this accursed climate is killing me. Yes, make up
+      the fire if you can, but the wood is too wet to burn; also it smokes.
+      There, what did I tell you? If this goes on we shall be hams by to-morrow
+      morning. Let it be, for, after all, we have seen enough of fires to-night,
+      and sit down to a cup of wine&mdash;nay, I forgot, you drink but water&mdash;well,
+      then, to a bite of bread and meat.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thank you, my Lord Abbot,&rdquo; answered Martin, &ldquo;but I may not touch flesh;
+      this is Friday.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Friday or no we have touched flesh&mdash;the flesh of men&mdash;up at the
+      Towers yonder this night,&rdquo; answered the Abbot, with an uneasy laugh.
+      &ldquo;Still, obey your conscience, Brother, and eat bread. Soon it will be
+      midnight, and the meat can follow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The lean monk bowed, and, taking a hunch of bread, began to bite at it,
+      for he was almost starving.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you come from watching by the body of that bloody and rebellious man
+      who has worked us so much harm and loss?&rdquo; asked the Abbot presently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The secretary nodded, then swallowing a crust, said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, I have been praying over him and the others. At least he was brave,
+      and it must be hard to see one&rsquo;s new-wed wife burn like a witch. Also, now
+      that I come to study the matter, I know not what his sin was who did but
+      fight bravely when he was attacked. For without doubt the marriage is
+      good, and whether he should have waited to ask your leave to make it is a
+      point that might be debated through every court in Christendom.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot frowned, not appreciating this open and judicial tone in matters
+      that touched him so nearly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have honoured me of late by choosing me as one of your confessors,
+      though I think you do not tell me everything, my Lord Abbot; therefore I
+      bare my mind to you,&rdquo; continued Brother Martin apologetically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Speak on then, man. What do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I mean that I do not like this business,&rdquo; he answered slowly, in the
+      intervals of munching at his bread. &ldquo;You had a quarrel with Sir John
+      Foterell about those lands which you say belong to the Abbey. God knows
+      the right of it, for I understand no law; but he denied it, for did I not
+      hear it yonder in your chamber at Blossholme? He denied it, and accused
+      you of treason enough to hang all Blossholme, of which again God knows the
+      truth. You threatened him in your anger, but he and his servant were armed
+      and won out, and next day the two of them rode for London with certain
+      papers. Well, that night Sir John Foterell was killed in the forest,
+      though his servant Stokes escaped with the papers. Now, who killed him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot looked at him, then seemed to take a sudden resolution.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Our people, those men-at-arms whom I have gathered for the defence of our
+      House and the Church. My orders to them were to seize him living, but the
+      old English bull would not yield, and fought so fiercely that it ended
+      otherwise&mdash;to my sorrow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The monk put down his bread, for which he seemed to have no further
+      appetite.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A dreadful deed,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;for which one day you must answer to God and
+      man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For which we all must answer,&rdquo; corrected the Abbot, &ldquo;down to the last
+      lay-brother and soldier&mdash;you as much as any of us, Brother, for were
+      you not present at our quarrel?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So be it, Abbot. Being innocent, I am ready. But that is not the end of
+      it. The Lady Cicely, on hearing of this murder&mdash;nay, be not wrath, I
+      know no other name for it&mdash;and learning that you claimed her as your
+      ward, flies to her affianced lover, Sir Christopher Harflete, and that
+      very day is married to him by the parish priest in yonder church.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was no marriage. Due notice had not been given. Moreover, how could my
+      ward be wed without my leave?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She had not been served with notice of your wardship, if such exists, or
+      so she declared,&rdquo; replied Martin in his quiet, obstinate voice. &ldquo;I think
+      that there is no court in Europe which would void this open marriage when
+      it learned that the parties lived a while as man and wife, and were so
+      received by those about them&mdash;no, not the Pope himself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He who says that he is no lawyer still sets out the law,&rdquo; broke in Maldon
+      sarcastically. &ldquo;Well, what does it matter, seeing that death has voided
+      it? Husband and wife, if such they were, are both dead; it is finished.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No; for now they lay their appeal in the Court of Heaven, to which every
+      one of us is summoned; and Heaven can stir up its ministers on earth. Oh!
+      I like it not, I like it not; and I mourn for those two, so loving, brave,
+      and young. Their blood and that of many more is on our hands&mdash;for
+      what? A stretch of upland and of marsh which the King or others may seize
+      to-morrow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot seemed to cower beneath the weight of these sad, earnest words,
+      and for a little while there was silence. Then he plucked up courage, and
+      said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am glad that you remember that their blood is on your hands as well as
+      mine, since now, perhaps, you will keep them hidden.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He rose and walked to the door and the window to see that none were
+      without, then returned and exclaimed fiercely&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fool, do you then think that these deeds were done to win a new estate?
+      True it is that those lands are ours by right, and we need their revenues;
+      but there is more behind. The whole Church of this realm is threatened by
+      that accursed son of Belial who sits upon the throne. Why, what is it now,
+      man?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Only that I am an Englishman, and love not to hear England&rsquo;s king called
+      a son of Belial. His sins, I know, are many and black, like those of
+      others&mdash;still, &lsquo;son of Belial!&rsquo; Let his Highness hear it, and that
+      name alone is enough to hang you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, then, angel of grace, if it suits you better. At the least we are
+      threatened. Against the law of God and man our blessed Queen, Catherine of
+      Spain, is thrust away in favour of the slut who fills her place. Even now
+      I have tidings from Kimbolton that she lies dying there of slow poison; so
+      they say and I believe. Also I have other tidings. Fisher and More being
+      murdered, Parliament next month will be moved to strike at the lesser
+      monasteries and steal their goods, and after them our turn will come. But
+      we will not bear it tamely, for ere this new year is out all England shall
+      be ablaze, and I, Clement Maldon, I&mdash;I will light the fire. Now you
+      have the truth, Martin. Will you betray me, as that dead knight would have
+      done?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, my Lord Abbot, your secrets are safe with me. Am I not your
+      chaplain, and does not this wilful and rebellious King of ours work much
+      mischief against God and His servants? Yet I tell you that I like it not,
+      and cannot see the end. We English are a stiff-necked folk whom you of
+      Spain do not understand and will never break, and Henry is strong and
+      subtle; moreover, his people love him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I knew that I could trust you, Martin, and the proof of it is that I have
+      spoken to you so openly,&rdquo; went on Maldon in a gentler voice. &ldquo;Well, you
+      shall hear all. The great Emperor of Germany and Spain is on our side, as,
+      seeing his blood and faith, he must be. He will avenge the wrongs of the
+      Church and of his royal aunt. I, who know him, am his agent here, and what
+      I do is done at his bidding. But I must have more money than he finds me,
+      and that is why I stirred in this matter of the Shefton lands. Also the
+      Lady Cicely had jewels of vast price, though I fear greatly lest they
+      should have been lost in the fire this night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Filthy lucre&mdash;the root of all evil,&rdquo; muttered Brother Martin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, and of all good. Money, money&mdash;I must have more money to bribe
+      men and buy arms, to defend that stronghold of Heaven, the Church. What
+      matters it if lives are lost so that the immortal Church holds her own?
+      Let them go. My friend, you are fearful; these deaths weigh upon your soul&mdash;aye,
+      and on mine. I loved that girl, whom as a babe I held in my arms, and even
+      her rough father, I loved him for his honest heart, although he always
+      mistrusted me, the Spaniard&mdash;and rightly. The knight Harflete, too,
+      who lies yonder, he was of a brave breed, but not one who would have
+      served our turn. Well, they are gone, and for these blood-sheddings we
+      must find absolution.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If we can.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! we can, we can. Already I have it in my pouch, under a seal you know.
+      And for our bodies, fear not. There is such a gale rising in England as
+      will blow out this petty breeze. A question of rights, some arrows shot, a
+      fire and lives lost&mdash;what of that when it agitates betwixt powers
+      temporal and spiritual, and which of them shall hold the sceptre in this
+      mighty Britain? Martin, I have a mission for you that may lead you to a
+      bishopric ere all is done, for that&rsquo;s your mind and aim, and if you would
+      put off your doubts and moodiness you&rsquo;ve got the brain to rule. That ship,
+      the <i>Great Yarmouth</i>, which sailed for Spain some days ago, has been
+      beat back into the river, and should weigh anchor again to-morrow morning.
+      I have letters for the Spanish Court, and you shall take them with my
+      verbal explanations, which I will give you presently, for they would hang
+      us, and may not be trusted to writing. She is bound for Seville, but you
+      will follow the Emperor wherever he may be. You will go, won&rsquo;t you?&rdquo; and
+      he glanced at him sideways.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I obey orders,&rdquo; answered Martin, &ldquo;though I know little of Spaniards or of
+      Spanish.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In every town the Benedictines have a monastery, and in every monastery
+      interpreters, and you shall be accredited to them all who are of that
+      great Brotherhood. Well, &lsquo;tis settled. Go, make ready as best you can; I
+      must write. Stay; the sooner this Harflete is under ground the better. Bid
+      that sturdy fellow, Bolle, find the sexton of the church and help dig his
+      grave, for we will bury him at dawn. Now go, go, I tell you I must write.
+      Come back in an hour, and I will give you money for your faring, also my
+      secret messages.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Brother Martin bowed and went.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A dangerous man,&rdquo; muttered the Abbot, as the door closed on him; &ldquo;too
+      honest for our game, and too much an Englishman. That native spirit peeps
+      beneath his cowl; a monk should have no country and no kin. Well, he will
+      learn a trick or two in Spain, and I&rsquo;ll make sure they keep him there a
+      while. Now for my letters,&rdquo; and he sat down at the rude table and began to
+      write.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Half-an-hour later the door opened and Martin entered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is it now?&rdquo; asked the Abbot testily. &ldquo;I said, &lsquo;Come back in an
+      hour.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, you said that, but I have good news for you that I thought you might
+      like to hear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Out with it, then, man. It&rsquo;s scarce now-a-days. Have they found those
+      jewels? No, how could they? the place still flares,&rdquo; and he glanced
+      through the window-place. &ldquo;What&rsquo;s the news?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Better than jewels. Christopher Harflete is not dead. While I was praying
+      over him he turned his head and muttered. I think he is only stunned. You
+      are skilled in medicine; come, look at him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A minute later and the Abbot knelt over the senseless form of Christopher
+      where it lay on the filthy floor of the neat-house. By the light of the
+      lanterns with deft fingers he felt his wounded head, from which the
+      shattered casque had been removed, and afterwards his heart and pulse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The skull is cut, but not broken,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;My judgment is that though
+      he may lie unsensed for days, if fed and tended this man will live, being
+      so young and strong. But if left alone in this cold place he will be dead
+      by morning, and perhaps he is better dead,&rdquo; and he looked at Martin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That would be murder indeed,&rdquo; answered the secretary. &ldquo;Come, let us bear
+      him to the fire and pour milk down his throat. We may save him yet. Lift
+      you his feet and I will take his head.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot did so, not very willingly, as it seemed to Martin, but rather
+      as one who has no choice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Half-an-hour later, when the hurts of Christopher had been dressed with
+      ointment and bound up, and milk poured down his throat, which he swallowed
+      although he was so senseless, the Abbot, looking at him, said to Martin&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You gave orders for this Harflete&rsquo;s burial, did you not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The monk nodded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then have you told any that he needs no grave at present?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No one except yourself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot thought a while, rubbing his shaven chin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think the funeral should go forward,&rdquo; he said presently. &ldquo;Look not so
+      frightened; I do not purpose to inter him living. But there is a dead man
+      lying in that shed, Andrew Woods, my servant, the Scotch soldier whom
+      Harflete slew. He has no friends here to claim him, and these two were of
+      much the same height and breadth. Shrouded in a blanket, none would know
+      one body from the other, and it will be thought that Andrew was buried
+      with the rest. Let him be promoted in his death, and fill a knight&rsquo;s
+      grave.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To what purpose would you play so unholy a trick, which must, moreover,
+      be discovered in a day, seeing that Sir Christopher lives?&rdquo; asked Martin,
+      staring at him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For a very good purpose, my friend. It is well that Sir Christopher
+      Harflete should seem to die, who, if he is known to be alive, has powerful
+      kin in the south who will bring much trouble on us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you mean&mdash;&mdash;? If so, before God I will have no hand in it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I said&mdash;seem to die. Where are your wits to-night?&rdquo; answered the
+      Abbot, with irritation. &ldquo;Sir Christopher travels with you to Spain as our
+      sick Brother Luiz, who, like myself, is of that country, and desires to
+      return there, as we know, but is too ill to do so. You will nurse him, and
+      on the ship he will die or recover, as God wills. If he recovers our
+      Brotherhood will show him hospitality at Seville, notwithstanding his
+      crimes, and by the time that he reaches England again, which may not be
+      for a long while, men will have forgotten all this fray in a greater that
+      draws on. Nor will he be harmed, seeing that the lady whom he pretends to
+      have married is dead beyond a doubt, as you can tell him should he find
+      his understanding.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A strange game,&rdquo; muttered Martin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Strange or no, it is my game which I must play. Therefore question not,
+      but be obedient, and silent also, on your oath,&rdquo; replied the Abbot in a
+      cold, hard voice. &ldquo;That covered litter which was brought here for the
+      wounded is in the next chamber. Wrap this man in blankets and a monk&rsquo;s
+      robe, and we will place him in it. Then let him be borne to Blossholme as
+      one of the dead by brethren who will ask no questions, and ere dawn on to
+      the ship <i>Great Yarmouth</i>, if he still lives. It lies near the quay
+      not half-a-mile from the Abbey gate. Be swift now, and help me. I will
+      overtake you with the letters, and see that you are furnished with all
+      things needful from our store. Also I must speak with the captain ere he
+      weighs anchor. Waste no more time in talking, but obey and be secret.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I obey, and I will be secret, as is my duty,&rdquo; answered Brother Martin,
+      bowing his head humbly. &ldquo;But what will be the end of all this business,
+      God and His angels know alone. I say that I like it not.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A <i>very</i> dangerous man,&rdquo; muttered the Abbot, as he watched Martin
+      go. &ldquo;He also must bide a while in Spain; a long while. I&rsquo;ll see to it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VI
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      EMLYN&rsquo;S CURSE
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      Just before the wild dawn broke on the morrow of the burning of the
+      Towers, a corpse, roughly shrouded, was borne from the village into the
+      churchyard of Cranwell, where a shallow grave had been dug for its last
+      home.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Whom do we bury in such haste?&rdquo; asked the tall Thomas Bolle, who had
+      delved the grave alone in the dark, for his orders were urgent, and the
+      sexton was fled away from these tumults.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That man of blood, Sir Christopher Harflete, who has caused us so much
+      loss,&rdquo; said the old monk who had been bidden to perform the office, as the
+      clergyman, Father Necton, had gone also, fearing the vengeance of the
+      Abbot for his part in the marriage of Cicely. &ldquo;A sad story, a very sad
+      story. Wedded by night, and now buried by night, both of them, one in the
+      flame and one in the earth. Truly, O God, Thy judgments are wonderful, and
+      woe to those who lift hands against Thine anointed ministers!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very wonderful,&rdquo; answered Bolle, as, standing in the grave, he took the
+      head of the body and laid it down between his straddled feet; &ldquo;so
+      wonderful that a plain man wonders what will be the wondrous end of them,
+      also why this noble young knight has grown so wondrously lighter than he
+      used to be. Trouble and hunger in those burnt Towers, I suppose. Why did
+      they not set him in the vault with his ancestors? It would have saved me a
+      lonely job among the ghosts that haunt this place. What do you say,
+      Father? Because the stone is cemented down and the entrance bricked up,
+      and there is no mason to be found? Then why not have waited till one could
+      be fetched? Oh, it is wonderful, all wonderful. But who am I that I should
+      dare to ask questions? When the Lord Abbot orders, the lay-brother obeys,
+      for he also is wonderful&mdash;a wonderful abbot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, he is tidy now&mdash;straight on his back and his feet pointing to
+      the east, at least I hope so, for I could take no good bearings in the
+      dark; and the whole wonderful story comes to its wonderful end. So give me
+      your hand out of this hole, Father, and say your prayers over the sinful
+      body of this wicked fellow who dared to marry the maid he loved, and to
+      let out the souls of certain holy monks, or rather of their hired
+      rufflers, for monks don&rsquo;t fight, because they wished to separate those
+      whom God&mdash;I mean the devil&mdash;had joined together, and to add
+      their temporalities to the estate of Mother Church.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then the old priest, who was shivering with cold, and understood little of
+      this dark talk, began to mumble his ritual, skipping those parts of it
+      which he could not remember. So another grain was planted in the
+      cornfields of death and immortality, though when and where it should grow
+      and what it should bear he neither knew nor cared, who wished to escape
+      from fears and fightings back to his accustomed cell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was done, and he and the bearers departed, beating their way against
+      the rough, raw wind, and leaving Thomas Bolle to fill in the grave, which,
+      so long as they were in sight, or rather hearing, he did with much vigour.
+      When they were gone, however, he descended into the hole under pretence of
+      trampling the loose soil, and there, to be out of the wind, sat himself
+      down upon the feet of the corpse and waited, full of reflections.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir Christopher dead,&rdquo; he muttered to himself. &ldquo;I knew his grandfather
+      when I was a lad, and my grandfather told me that he knew his
+      grandfather&rsquo;s great-grandfather&mdash;say three hundred years of them&mdash;and
+      now I sit on the cold toes of the last of the lot, butchered like a mad ox
+      in his own yard by a Spanish priest and his hirelings, to win his wife&rsquo;s
+      goods. Oh! yes, it is wonderful, all very wonderful; and the Lady Cicely
+      dead, burnt like a common witch. And Emlyn dead&mdash;Emlyn, whom I have
+      hugged many a time in this very churchyard, before they whipped her into
+      marrying that fat old grieve and made a monk of me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I had her first kiss, and, by the saints! how she cursed old Stower
+      all the way down yonder path. I stood behind that tree and heard her. She
+      said he would die soon, and he did, and his brat with him. She said she
+      would dance on his grave, and she did; I saw her do it in the moonlight
+      the night after he was buried; dressed in white she danced on his grave!
+      She always kept her promises, did Emlyn. That&rsquo;s her blood. If her mother
+      had not been a gypsy witch, she wouldn&rsquo;t have married a Spaniard when
+      every man in the place was after her for her beautiful eyes. Emlyn is a
+      witch too, or was, for they say she is dead; but I can&rsquo;t think it, she
+      isn&rsquo;t the sort that dies. Still, she must be dead, and that&rsquo;s good for my
+      soul. Oh! miserable man, what are you thinking? Get behind me, Satan, if
+      you can find room. A grave is no place for you, Satan, but I wish you were
+      in it with me, Emlyn. You <i>must</i> have been a witch, since, after you,
+      I could never fancy any other woman, which is against nature, for all&rsquo;s
+      fish that comes to a man&rsquo;s net. Evidently a witch of the worst sort, but,
+      my darling, witch or no I wish you weren&rsquo;t dead, and I&rsquo;ll break that
+      Abbot&rsquo;s neck for you yet, if it costs me my soul. Oh! Emlyn, my darling,
+      my darling, do you remember how we kissed in the copse by the river? Never
+      was there a woman who could love like you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So he moaned on, rocking himself to and fro on the legs of the corpse,
+      till at length a wild ray from the red, risen sun crept into the darksome
+      hole, lighting first of all upon a mouldering skull which Bolle had thrown
+      back among the soil. He rose up and pitched it out with a word that should
+      not have passed the lips of a lay-brother, even as such thoughts should
+      not have passed his mind. Then he set himself to a task which he had
+      planned in the intervals of his amorous meditations&mdash;a somewhat
+      grizzly task.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Drawing his knife from its sheath, he cut the rough stitching of the
+      grave-clothes, and, with numb hands, dragged them away from the body&rsquo;s
+      head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The light went out behind a cloud, but, not to waste time, he began to
+      feel the face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir Christopher&rsquo;s nose wasn&rsquo;t broken,&rdquo; he muttered to himself, &ldquo;unless it
+      were in that last fray, and then the bone would be loose, and this is
+      stiff. No, no, he had a very pretty nose.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The light came again, and Thomas peered down at the dead face beneath him;
+      then suddenly burst into a hoarse laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By all the saints! here&rsquo;s another of our Spaniard&rsquo;s tricks. It is drunken
+      Andrew the Scotchman, turned into a dead English knight. Christopher
+      killed him, and now he is Christopher. But where&rsquo;s Christopher?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He thought a little while, then, jumping out of the grave, began to fill
+      it in with all his might.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&rsquo;re Christopher,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;well, stop Christopher until I can prove
+      you&rsquo;re Andrew. Good-bye, Sir Andrew Christopher; I am off to seek your
+      betters. If you are dead, who may not be alive? Emlyn herself, perhaps,
+      after this. Oh, the devil is playing a merry game round old Cranwell
+      Towers to-night, and Thomas Bolle will take a hand in it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was right. The devil was playing a merry game. At least, so thought
+      others beside Thomas. For instance, that misguided but honest bigot,
+      Martin, as he contemplated the still senseless form of Christopher, who,
+      re-christened Brother Luiz, had been safely conveyed aboard the <i>Great
+      Yarmouth</i>, and now, whether dead or living, which he was not sure, lay
+      in the little cabin that had been allotted to the two of them. Almost did
+      Martin, as he looked at him and shook his bald head, seem to smell
+      brimstone in that close place, which, as he knew well, was the fiend&rsquo;s
+      favourite scent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The captain also, a sour-faced mariner with a squint, known in Dunwich,
+      whence he hailed, as Miser Goody, because of his earnestness in pursuing
+      wealth and his skill in hoarding it, seemed to feel the unhallowed
+      influence of his Satanic Majesty. So far everything had gone wrong upon
+      this voyage, which already had been delayed six weeks, that is, till the
+      very worst period of the year, while he waited for certain mysterious
+      letters and cargo which his owners said he must carry to Seville. Then he
+      had sailed out of the river with a fair wind, only to be beaten back by
+      fearful weather that nearly sank the ship.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Item: six of his best men had deserted because they feared a trip to Spain
+      at that season, and he had been obliged to take others at hazard. Among
+      them was a broad-shouldered, black-bearded fellow clad in a leather
+      jerkin, with spurs upon his heels&mdash;bloody spurs&mdash;that he seemed
+      to have found no time to take off. This hard rider came aboard in a skiff
+      after the anchor was up, and, having cast the skiff adrift, offered good
+      money for a passage to Spain or any other foreign port, and paid it down
+      upon the nail. He, Goody, had taken the money, though with a doubtful
+      heart, and given a receipt to the name of Charles Smith, asking no
+      questions, since for this gold he need not account to the owners.
+      Afterwards also the man, having put off his spurs and soldier&rsquo;s jerkin,
+      set himself to work among the crew, some of whom seemed to know him, and
+      in the storm that followed showed that he was stout-hearted and useful,
+      though not a skilled sailor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Still, he mistrusted him of Charles Smith, and his bloody spurs, and had
+      he not been so short-handed and taken the knave&rsquo;s broad pieces would have
+      liked to set him ashore again when they were driven back into the river,
+      especially as he heard that there had been man-slaying about Blossholme,
+      and that Sir John Foterell lay slaughtered in the forest. Perhaps this
+      Charles Smith had murdered him. Well, if so, it was no affair of his, and
+      he could not spare a hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now, when at length the weather had moderated, just as he was hauling up
+      his anchor, comes the Abbot of Blossholme, on whose will he had been
+      bidden to wait, with a lean-faced monk and another passenger, said to be a
+      sick religious, wrapped up in blankets and to all appearance dead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Why, wondered that astute mariner Goody, should a sick monk wear harness,
+      for he felt it through the blankets as he helped him up the ladder,
+      although monk&rsquo;s shoes were stuck upon his feet. And why, as he saw when
+      the covering slipped aside for a moment, was his crown bound up with
+      bloody cloths?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Indeed, he ventured to question the Abbot as to this mysterious matter
+      while his Lordship was paying the passage money in his cabin, only to get
+      a very sharp answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Were you not commanded to obey me in all things, Captain Goody, and does
+      obedience lie in prying out my business? Another word and I will report
+      you to those in Spain who know how to deal with mischief-makers. If you
+      would see Dunwich again, hold your peace.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your pardon, my Lord Abbot,&rdquo; said Goody; &ldquo;but things go so upon this ship
+      that I grow afraid. That is an ill voyage upon which one lifts anchor
+      twice in the same port.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will not make them go better, captain, by seeking to nose out my
+      affairs and those of the Church. Do you desire that I should lay its curse
+      upon you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, your Reverence, I desire that you should take the curse off,&rdquo;
+       answered Goody, who was very superstitious. &ldquo;Do that and I&rsquo;ll carry a
+      dozen sick priests to Spain, even though they choose to wear chain shirts&mdash;for
+      penance.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot smiled, then, lifting his hand, pronounced some words in Latin,
+      which, as he did not understand them, Goody found very comforting. As they
+      passed his lips the <i>Great Yarmouth</i> began to move, for the sailors
+      were hoisting up her anchor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As I do not accompany you on this voyage, fare you well,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;The
+      saints go with you, as shall my prayers. Since you will not pass the
+      Gibraltar Straits, where I hear many infidel pirates lurk, given good
+      weather your voyage should be safe and easy. Again farewell. I commend
+      Brother Martin and our sick friend to your keeping, and shall ask account
+      of them when we meet again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I pray it may not be this side of hell, for I do not like that Spanish
+      Abbot and his passengers, dead or living, thought Goody to himself, as he
+      bowed him from the cabin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A minute later the Abbot, after a few earnest, hurried words with Martin,
+      began to descend the ladder to the boat, that, manned by his own people,
+      was already being drawn slowly through the water. As he did so he glanced
+      back, and, in the clinging mist of dawn, which was almost as dense as
+      wool, caught sight of the face of a man who had been ordered to hold the
+      ladder, and knew it for that of Jeffrey Stokes, who had escaped from the
+      slaying of Sir John&mdash;escaped with the damning papers that had cost
+      his master&rsquo;s life. Yes, Jeffrey Stokes, no other. His lips shaped
+      themselves to call out something, but before ever a syllable had passed
+      them an accident happened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To the Abbot it seemed as though the whole ship had struck him violently
+      behind&mdash;so violently that he was propelled headfirst among the rowers
+      in the boat, and lay there hurt and breathless.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is it?&rdquo; called the captain, who heard the noise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Abbot slipped, or the ladder slipped, I know not which,&rdquo; answered
+      Jeffrey gruffly, staring at the toe of his sea-boot. &ldquo;At least he is safe
+      enough in the boat now,&rdquo; and, turning, he vanished aft into the mist,
+      muttering to himself&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A very good kick, though a little high. Yet I wish it had been off
+      another kind of ladder. That murdering rogue would look well with a rope
+      round his neck. Still I dared do no more and it served to stop his lying
+      mouth before he betrayed me. Oh, my poor master, my poor old master!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bruised and sore as he was&mdash;and he was very sore&mdash;within little
+      over an hour Abbot Maldon was back at the ruin of Cranwell Towers. It
+      seemed strange that he should go there, but in truth his uneasy heart
+      would not let him rest. His plans had succeeded only far too well. Sir
+      John Foterell was dead&mdash;a crime, no doubt, but necessary, for had the
+      knight lived to reach London with that evidence in his pocket, his own
+      life and those of many others might have paid the price of it, since who
+      knows what truths may be twisted from a victim on the rack? Maldon had
+      always feared the rack; it was a nightmare that haunted his sleep,
+      although the ambitious cunning of his nature and the cause he served with
+      heart and soul prompted him to put himself in continual danger of that
+      fate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In an unguarded moment, when his tongue was loosed with wine, he had
+      placed himself in the power of Sir John Foterell, hoping to win him to the
+      side of Spain, and afterwards, forgetting it, made of him a dreadful
+      enemy. Therefore this enemy must die, for had he lived, not only might he
+      himself have died in place of him, but all his plans for the rebellion of
+      the Church against the Crown must have come to nothing. Yes, yes, that
+      deed was lawful, and pardon for it assured should the truth become known.
+      Till this morning he had hoped that it never would be known, but now
+      Jeffrey Stokes had escaped upon the ship <i>Great Yarmouth</i>.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Oh, if only he had seen him a minute earlier; if only something&mdash;could
+      it have been that impious knave, Jeffrey? he wondered&mdash;had not struck
+      him so violently in the back and hurled him to the boat, where he lay
+      almost senseless till the vessel had glided from them down the river!
+      Well, she was gone, and Jeffrey in her. He was but a common serving-man,
+      after all, who, if he knew anything, would never have the wit to use his
+      knowledge, although it was true he had been wise enough to fly from
+      England.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No papers had been discovered upon Sir John&rsquo;s body, and no money. Without
+      doubt the old knight had found time to pass them on to Jeffrey, who now
+      fled the kingdom disguised as a sailor. Oh! what ill chance had put him on
+      board the same vessel with Sir Christopher Harflete?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Well, Sir Christopher would probably die; were Brother Martin a little
+      less of a fool he would certainly die, but the fact remained that this
+      monk, though able, in such matters <i>was</i> a fool, with a conscience
+      that would not suit itself to circumstances. If Christopher could be
+      saved, Martin would save him, as he had already saved him in the shed,
+      even if he handed him over to the Inquisition afterwards. Still, he might
+      slip through his fingers or the vessel might be lost, as was devoutly to
+      be prayed, and seemed not unlikely at this season of the year. Also, the
+      first opportunity must be taken to send certain messages to Spain that
+      might result in hampering the activities of Brother Martin, and of Sir
+      Christopher Harflete, if he lived to reach that land.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Meanwhile, reflected Maldon, other things had gone wrong. He had wished to
+      proclaim his wardship over Cicely and to immure her in a nunnery because
+      of her great possessions, which he needed for the cause, but he had not
+      wished her death. Indeed, he was fond of the girl, whom he had known from
+      a child, and her innocent blood was a weight that he ill could bear, he
+      who at heart always shrank from the shedding of blood. Still, Heaven had
+      killed her, not he, and the matter could not now be mended. Also, as she
+      was dead, her inheritance would, he thought, fall into his hands without
+      further trouble, for he&mdash;a mitred Abbot with a seat among the Lords
+      of the realm&mdash;had friends in London, who, for a fee, could stifle
+      inquiry into all this far-off business.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No, no, he must not be faint-hearted, who, after all, had much for which
+      to be thankful. Meanwhile the cause went on&mdash;that great cause of the
+      threatened Church to which he had devoted his life. Henry the heretic
+      would fall; the Spanish Emperor, whose spy he was and who loved him well,
+      would invade and take England. He would yet live to see the Holy
+      Inquisition at work at Westminster, and himself&mdash;yes, himself; had it
+      not been hinted to him?&mdash;enthroned at Canterbury, the Cardinal&rsquo;s red
+      hat he coveted upon his head, and&mdash;oh, glorious thought!&mdash;perhaps
+      afterwards wearing the triple crown at Rome.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Rain was falling heavily when the Abbot, with his escort of two monks and
+      half-a-dozen men-at-arms, rode up to Cranwell. The house was now but a
+      smoking heap of ashes, mingled with charred beams and burnt clay, in the
+      midst of which, scarcely visible through the clouds of steam caused by the
+      falling rain, rose the grim old Norman tower, for on its stonework the
+      flames had beat vainly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why have we come here?&rdquo; asked one of the monks, surveying the dismal
+      scene with a shudder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To seek the bodies of the Lady Cicely and her woman, and give them
+      Christian burial,&rdquo; answered the Abbot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;After bringing them to a most unchristian death,&rdquo; muttered the monk to
+      himself, then added aloud, &ldquo;You were ever charitable, my Lord Abbot, and
+      though she defied you, such is that noble lady&rsquo;s due. As for the nurse
+      Emlyn, she was a witch, and did but come to the end that she deserved, if
+      she be really dead.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What mean you?&rdquo; asked the Abbot sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I mean that, being a witch, the fire may have turned from her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pray God, then, that it turned from her mistress also! But it cannot be.
+      Only a fiend could have lived in the heat of that furnace; look, even the
+      tower is gutted.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, it cannot be,&rdquo; answered the monk; &ldquo;so, since we shall never find
+      them, let us chant the Burial Office over this great grave of theirs and
+      begone&mdash;the sooner the better, for yon place has a haunted look.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not till we have searched out their bones, which must be beneath the
+      tower yonder, whereon we saw them last,&rdquo; replied the Abbot, adding in a
+      low voice, &ldquo;Remember, Brother, the Lady Cicely had jewels of great price,
+      which, if they were wrapped in leather, the fire may have spared, and
+      these are among our heritage. At Shefton they cannot be found; therefore
+      they must be here, and the seeking of them is no task for common folk.
+      That is why I hurried hither so fast. Do you understand?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The monk nodded his head. Having dismounted, they gave their horses to the
+      serving-men and began to make an examination of the ruin, the Abbot
+      leaning on his inferior&rsquo;s arm, for he was in great pain from the blow in
+      the back that Jeffrey had administered with his sea-boot, and the bruises
+      which he had received in falling to the boat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      First they passed under the gatehouse, which still stood, only to find
+      that the courtyard beyond was so choked with smouldering rubbish that they
+      could make no entry&mdash;for it will be remembered that the house had
+      fallen outwards. Here, however, lying by the carcass of a horse, they
+      found the body of one of the men whom Christopher had killed in his last
+      stand, and caused it to be borne out. Then, followed by their people,
+      leaving the dead man in the gateway, they walked round the ruin, keeping
+      on the inner side of the moat, till they came to the little pleasaunce
+      garden at its back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look,&rdquo; said the monk in a frightened voice, pointing to some scorched
+      bushes that had been a bower.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot did so, but for a while could see nothing because of the wreaths
+      of steam. Presently a puff of wind blew these aside, and there, standing
+      hand in hand, he beheld the figures of two women. His men beheld them
+      also, and called aloud that these were the ghosts of Cicely and Emlyn. As
+      they spoke the figures, still hand in hand, began to walk towards them,
+      and they saw that they were Cicely and Emlyn indeed, but in the flesh,
+      quite unharmed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For a moment there was deep silence; then the Abbot asked&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Whence come you, Mistress Cicely?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Out of the fire,&rdquo; she answered in a small, cold voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Out of the fire! How did you live through the fire?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;God sent His angel to save us,&rdquo; she answered, again in that small voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A miracle,&rdquo; muttered the monk; &ldquo;a true miracle!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Or mayhap Emlyn Stower&rsquo;s witchcraft,&rdquo; exclaimed one of the men behind;
+      and Maldon started at his words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lead me to my husband, my Lord Abbot, lest, thinking me dead, his heart
+      should break,&rdquo; said Cicely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now again there was silence so deep that they could hear the patter of
+      every drop of falling rain. Twice the Abbot strove to speak, but could
+      not, but at the third effort his words came.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The man you call your husband, but who was not your husband, but your
+      ravisher, was slain in the fray last night, Cicely Foterell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She stood quite quiet for a while, as though considering his words, then
+      said, in the same unnatural voice&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You lie, my Lord Abbot. You were ever a liar, like your father the devil,
+      for the angel told me so in the midst of the fire. Also he told me that,
+      though I seemed to see him fall, Christopher is alive upon the earth&mdash;yes,
+      and other things, many other things;&rdquo; and she passed her hand before her
+      eyes and held it there, as though to shut out the sight of her enemy&rsquo;s
+      face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now the Abbot trembled in his terror, he who knew that he lied, though at
+      that time none else there knew it. It was as though suddenly he had been
+      haled before the Judgment-seat where all secrets must be bared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Some evil spirit has entered into you,&rdquo; he said huskily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She dropped her hand, pointing at him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, nay; I never knew but one evil spirit, and he stands before me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cicely,&rdquo; he went on, &ldquo;cease your blaspheming. Alas! that I must tell it
+      you. Sir Christopher Harflete is dead and buried in yonder churchyard.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What! So soon, and all uncoffined, he who was a noble knight? Then you
+      buried him living, and, living, in a day to come he shall rise up against
+      you. Hear my words, all. Christopher Harflete shall rise up living and
+      give testimony against this devil in a monk&rsquo;s robe, and afterwards&mdash;afterwards&mdash;&rdquo;
+       and she laughed shrilly, then suddenly fell down and lay still.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now Emlyn, the dark and handsome, as became her Spanish, or perhaps gypsy
+      blood, who all this while had stood silent, her arms folded upon her high
+      bosom, leaned down and looked at her. Then she straightened herself, and
+      her face was like the face of a beautiful fiend.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She is dead!&rdquo; she screamed. &ldquo;My dove is dead. She whom these breasts
+      nursed, the greatest lady of all the wolds and all the vales, the Lady of
+      Blossholme, of Cranwell and of Shefton, in whose veins ran the blood of
+      mighty nobles, aye, and of old kings, is dead, murdered by a beggarly
+      foreign monk, who not ten days gone butchered her father also yonder by
+      King&rsquo;s Grave&mdash;yonder by the mere. Oh! the arrow in his throat! the
+      arrow in his throat! I cursed the hand that shot it, and to-day that hand
+      is blue beneath the mould. So, too, I curse you, Maldonado, evil-gifted
+      one, Abbot consecrated by Satan, you and all your herd of butchers!&rdquo; and
+      she broke into the stream of Spanish imprecations whereof the Abbot knew
+      the meaning well.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Presently Emlyn paused and looked behind her at the smouldering ruins.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This house is burned,&rdquo; she cried; &ldquo;well, mark Emlyn&rsquo;s words: even so
+      shall your house burn, while your monks run squeaking like rats from a
+      flaming rick. You have stolen the lands; they shall be taken from you, and
+      yours also, every acre of them. Not enough shall be left to bury you in,
+      for, priest, you&rsquo;ll need no burial. The fowls of the air shall bury you,
+      and that&rsquo;s the nearest you will ever get to heaven&mdash;in their filthy
+      crops. Murderer, if Christopher Harflete is dead, yet he shall live, as
+      his lady swore, for his seed shall rise up against you. Oh! I forgot; how
+      can it, how can it, seeing that she is dead with him, and their bridal
+      coverlet has become a pall woven by the black monks? Yet it shall, it
+      shall. Christopher Harflete&rsquo;s seed shall sit where the Abbots of
+      Blossholme sat, and from father to son tell the tale of the last of them&mdash;the
+      Spaniard who plotted against England&rsquo;s king and overshot himself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her rage veered like a hurricane wind. Forgetting the Abbot, she turned
+      upon the monk at his side and cursed him. Then she cursed the hired
+      men-at-arms, those present and those absent, many by name, and lastly&mdash;greatest
+      crime of all&mdash;she cursed the Pope and the King of Spain, and called
+      to God in heaven and Henry of England upon earth to avenge her Lady
+      Cicely&rsquo;s wrongings, and the murder of Sir John Foterell, and the murder of
+      Christopher Harflete, on each and all of them, individually and
+      separately.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So fierce and fearful was her onslaught that all who heard her were
+      reduced to utter silence. The Abbot and the monk leaned against each
+      other, the soldiers crossed themselves and muttered prayers, while one of
+      them, running up, fell upon his knees and assured her that he had had
+      nothing to do with all this business, having only returned from a journey
+      last night, and been called thither that morning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Emlyn, who had paused from lack of breath, listened to him, and said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I take the curse off you and yours, John Athey. Now lift up my lady
+      and bear her to the church, for there we will lay her out as becomes her
+      rank; though not with her jewels, her great and priceless jewels, for
+      which she was hunted like a doe. She must lie without her jewels; her
+      pearls and coronet, and rings, her stomacher and necklets of bright gems,
+      that were worth so much more than those beggarly acres&mdash;those that
+      once a Sultan&rsquo;s woman wore. They are lost, though perhaps yonder Abbot has
+      found them. Sir John Foterell bore them to London for safe keeping, and
+      good Sir John is dead; footpads set on him in the forest, and an arrow
+      shot from behind pierced his throat. Those who killed him have the jewels,
+      and the dead bride must lie without them, adorned in the naked beauty that
+      God gave to her. Lift her, John Athey, and you monks, set up your funeral
+      chant; we&rsquo;ll to the church. The bride who knelt before the altar shall lie
+      there before the altar&mdash;Clement Maldonado&rsquo;s last offering to God.
+      First the father, then the husband, and now the wife&mdash;the sweet,
+      new-made wife!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So she raved on, while they stood before her dumb-founded, and the man
+      lifted up Cicely. Then suddenly this same Cicely, whom all thought dead,
+      opened her eyes and struggled from his arms to her feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;See,&rdquo; screamed Emlyn; &ldquo;did I not tell you that Harflete&rsquo;s seed should
+      live to be avenged upon all your tribe, and she stands there who will bear
+      it? Now where shall we shelter till England hears this tale? Cranwell is
+      down, though it shall rise again, and Shefton is stolen. Where shall we
+      shelter?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thrust away that woman,&rdquo; said the Abbot in a hoarse voice, &ldquo;for her
+      witchcrafts poison the air. Set the Lady Cicely on a horse and bear her to
+      our Nunnery of Blossholme, where she shall be tended.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The men advanced to do his bidding, though very doubtfully. But Emlyn,
+      hearing his words, ran to the Abbot and whispered something in his ear in
+      a foreign tongue that caused him to cross himself and stagger back from
+      her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have changed my mind,&rdquo; he said to the servants. &ldquo;Mistress Emlyn reminds
+      me that between her and her lady there is the tie of foster-motherhood.
+      They may not be separated as yet. Take them both to the Nunnery, where
+      they shall dwell, and as for this woman&rsquo;s words, forget them, for she was
+      mad with fear and grief, and knew not what she said. May God and His
+      saints forgive her, as I do.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VII
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      THE ABBOT&rsquo;S OFFER
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      The Nunnery at Blossholme was a peaceful place, a long, grey-gabled house
+      set under the shelter of a hill and surrounded by a high wall. Within this
+      wall lay also the great garden&mdash;neglected enough&mdash;and the
+      chapel, a building that still was beautiful in its decay.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once, indeed, Blossholme Priory, which was older than the Abbey, had been
+      rich and famous. Its foundress in the time of the first Edward, a certain
+      Lady Matilda, one of the Plantagenets, who retired from the world after
+      her husband had been killed in the Crusade, being childless, endowed it
+      with all her lands. Other noble ladies who accompanied her there, or
+      sought its refuge in after days, had done likewise, so that it grew in
+      power and in wealth, till at its most prosperous time over twenty nuns
+      told their beads within its walls. Then the proud Abbey rose upon the
+      opposing hill, and obtained some royal charter that the Pope confirmed,
+      under which the Priory of Blossholme was affiliated to the Abbey of
+      Blossholme, and the Abbot of Blossholme became the spiritual lord of its
+      religious. From that day forward its fortunes began to decline, since
+      under this pretext and that the abbots filched away its lands to swell
+      their own estates.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So it came about that at the date of our history the total revenue of this
+      Nunnery was but £130 a year of the money of the day, and even of this sum
+      the Abbot took tithe and toll. Now in all the great house, that once had
+      been so full, there dwelt but six nuns, one of whom was, in fact, a
+      servant, while an aged monk from the Abbey celebrated Mass in the fair
+      chapel where lay the bones of so many who had gone before. Also on certain
+      feasts the Abbot himself attended, confessed the nuns, and granted them
+      absolution and his holy blessing. On these days, too, he would examine
+      their accounts, and if there were money in hand take a share of it to
+      serve his necessities, for which reason the Prioress looked forward to his
+      coming with little joy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was to this ancient home of peace that the distraught Cicely and her
+      servant Emlyn were conveyed upon the morrow of the great burning. Indeed,
+      Cicely knew it well enough already, since as a child during three years or
+      more she had gone there daily to be taught by the Prioress Matilda, for
+      every head of the Priory took this name in turn to the honour of their
+      foundress and in accordance with the provisions of her will. Happy years
+      they were, as these old nuns loved her in her youth and innocence, and
+      she, too, loved them every one. Now, by the workings of fate, she was
+      borne back to the same quiet room where she had played and studied&mdash;a
+      new-made wife, a new-made widow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But of all this poor Cicely knew nothing till three weeks or more had gone
+      by, when at length her wandering brain cleared and she opened her eyes to
+      the world again. At the moment she was alone, and lay looking about her.
+      The place was familiar. She recognized the deep windows, the faded
+      tapestries of Abraham cutting Isaac&rsquo;s throat with a butcher&rsquo;s knife, and
+      Jonah being shot into the very gateway of a castle where his family
+      awaited him, from the mouth of a gigantic carp with goggle eyes, for the
+      simple artist had found his whale&rsquo;s model in a stewpond. Well she
+      remembered those delightful pictures, and how often she had wondered
+      whether Isaac could escape bleeding to death, or Jonah&rsquo;s wife, with the
+      outspread arms, withstand the sudden shock of her husband&rsquo;s unexpected
+      arrival out of the interior of the whale. There also was the splendid
+      fireplace of wrought stone, and above it, cunningly carved in gilded oak,
+      gleamed many coats-of-arms without crests, for they were those of sundry
+      noble prioresses.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yes, this was certainly the great guest-chamber of the Blossholme Priory,
+      which, since the nuns had now few guests and many places in which to put
+      them, had been given up to her, Sir John Foterell&rsquo;s heiress, as her
+      schoolroom. There she lay, thinking that she was a child again, a happy,
+      careless child, or that she dreamed, till presently the door opened and
+      Mother Matilda appeared, followed by Emlyn, who bore a tray, on which
+      stood a silver bowl that smoked. There was no mistaking Mother Matilda in
+      her black Benedictine robe and her white whimple, wearing the great silver
+      crucifix which was her badge of office, and the golden ring with an
+      emerald bezel whereon was cut St. Catherine being broken on the wheel&mdash;the
+      ancient ring which every Prioress of Blossholme had worn from the
+      beginning. Moreover, who that had ever seen it could forget her sweet,
+      old, high-bred face, with the fine lips, the arched nose, and the quick,
+      kind grey eyes!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely strove to rise and to do her reverence, as had been her custom
+      during those childish years, only to find that she could not, for lo! she
+      fell back heavily upon her pillow. Thereon Emlyn, setting down the tray
+      with a clatter upon a table, ran to her, and putting her arms about her,
+      began to scold, as was her fashion, but in a very gentle voice; and Mother
+      Matilda, kneeling by her bed, gave thanks to Jesus and His blessed saints&mdash;though
+      why she thanked Him at first Cicely did not understand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Am I ill, reverend Mother?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not now, daughter, but you were very ill,&rdquo; answered the Prioress in her
+      sweet, low voice. &ldquo;Now we think that God has healed you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How long have I been here?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Mother began to reckon, counting her beads, one for every day&mdash;for
+      in such places time slips by&mdash;but long before she had finished Emlyn
+      replied quickly&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cranwell Towers was burned three weeks yesternight.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Cicely remembered, and with a bitter groan turned her face to the
+      wall, while the Mother reproached Emlyn, saying she had killed her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think not,&rdquo; answered the nurse in a low voice. &ldquo;I think she has that
+      which will not let her die&rdquo;&mdash;a saying that puzzled the Prioress at
+      this time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Emlyn was right. Cicely did not die. On the contrary, she grew strong and
+      well in her body, though it was long before her mind recovered. Indeed,
+      she glided about the place like a ghost in her black mourning robe, for
+      now she no longer doubted that Christopher was dead, and she, the wife of
+      a week, widowed as well as orphaned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then in her utter desolation came comfort; a light broke on the darkness
+      of her soul like the moon above a tortured midnight sea. She was no longer
+      quite alone; the murdered Christopher had left his image with her. If she
+      lived a child would be born to him, and therefore she would surely live.
+      One evening, on her knees, she whispered her secret to the Prioress
+      Matilda, whereat the old nun blushed like a girl, yet, after a moment&rsquo;s
+      silent prayer, laid a thin hand upon her head in blessing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Lord Abbot declares that your marriage was no true marriage, my
+      daughter, though why I do not understand, since the man was he whom your
+      heart chose, and you were wed to him by an ordained priest before God&rsquo;s
+      altar and in presence of the congregation.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I care not what he says,&rdquo; answered Cicely in a stubborn voice. &ldquo;If I am
+      not a true wife, then no woman ever was.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear daughter,&rdquo; answered Mother Matilda, &ldquo;it is not for us unlearned
+      women to question the wisdom of a holy Abbot who doubtless is inspired
+      from on high.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If he is inspired it is not from on high, Mother. Would God or His saints
+      teach him to murder my father and my husband, to seize my heritage, or to
+      hold my person in this gentle prison? Such inspirations do not come from
+      above, Mother.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hush! hush!&rdquo; said the Prioress, glancing round her nervously; &ldquo;your woes
+      have crazed you. Besides, you have no proof. In this world there are so
+      many things that we cannot understand. Being an abbot, how could he do
+      wrong, although to us his acts seem wrong? But let us not talk of these
+      matters, of which, indeed, I only know from that rough-tongued Emlyn of
+      yours, who, I am told, was not afraid to curse him terribly. I was about
+      to say that whatever may be the law of it, I hold your marriage good and
+      true, and its issue, should such come to you, pure and holy, and night by
+      night I will pray that it shall be crowned with Heaven&rsquo;s richest
+      blessings.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thank you, dear Mother,&rdquo; answered Cicely, as she rose and left her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When she had gone the Prioress rose also, and, with a troubled face, began
+      to walk up and down the refectory, for it was here that they had spoken
+      together. Truly she could not understand, for unless all these tales were
+      false&mdash;and how could they be false?&mdash;this Abbot, whom her
+      high-bred English nature had always mistrusted, this dark, able Spanish
+      monk was no saint, but a wicked villain? There must be some explanation.
+      It was only that <i>she</i> did not understand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Soon the news spread throughout the Nunnery, and if the sisters had loved
+      Cicely before, now they loved her twice as well. Of the doubts as to the
+      validity to her marriage, like their Prioress, they took no heed, for had
+      it not been celebrated in a church? But that a child was to be born among
+      them&mdash;ah! that was a joyful thing, a thing that had not happened for
+      quite two hundred years, when, alas!&mdash;so said tradition and their
+      records&mdash;there had been a dreadful scandal which to this day was
+      spoken of with bated breath. For be it known at once this Nunnery,
+      whatever may or may not have been the case with some others, was one of
+      which no evil could be said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Beneath their black robes, however, these old nuns were still as much
+      women as the mothers who bore them, and this news of a child stirred them
+      to the marrow. Among themselves in their hours of recreation they talked
+      of little else, and even their prayers were largely occupied with this
+      same matter. Indeed, poor, weak-witted, old Sister Bridget, who hitherto
+      had been secretly looked down upon because she was the only one of the
+      seven who was not of gentle birth, now became very popular. For Sister
+      Bridget in her youth had been married and borne two children, both of whom
+      had been carried off by the smallpox after she was widowed, whereon, as
+      her face was seamed by this same disease, so that she had no hope of
+      another husband, as her neighbours said, or because her heart was broken,
+      as she said, she entered into religion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now she constituted herself Cicely&rsquo;s chief attendant, and although that
+      lady was quite well and strong, persecuted her with advice and with
+      noxious mixtures which she brewed, till Emlyn, descending on her like a
+      storm, hunted her from the room and cast her medicines through the window.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That these sisters should be thus interested in so small a matter was not,
+      indeed, wonderful, seeing that if their lives had been secluded before,
+      since the Lady Cicely came amongst them they were ten times more so. Soon
+      they discovered that she and her servant, Emlyn Stower, were, in fact,
+      prisoners, which meant that they, her hostesses, were prisoners also. None
+      were allowed to enter the Nunnery save the silent old monk who confessed
+      them and celebrated the Mass, nor, by an order of the Abbot, were they
+      suffered to go abroad upon any business whatsoever.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For the rest, as their only means of communication with those who dwelt
+      beyond was the surly gardener, who was deaf and set there to spy on them,
+      little news ever reached them. They were almost dead to the world, which,
+      had they known it, was busy enough just then with matters that concerned
+      them and all other religious houses.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At length one day, when Cicely and Emlyn were seated in the garden beneath
+      a flowering hawthorn-tree&mdash;for now June had come and with it warm
+      weather&mdash;of a sudden Sister Bridget hurried up saying that the Abbot
+      of Blossholme desired their presence. At this tidings Cicely turned faint,
+      and Emlyn rated Bridget, asking if her few wits had left her, or if she
+      thought that name was so pleasant to her mistress that she should suddenly
+      bawl it in her ear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thereon the poor old soul, who was not too strong-brained and much afraid
+      of Emlyn since she had thrown her medicines out of the window, began to
+      weep, protesting that she had meant no harm, till Cicely, recovering,
+      soothed her and sent her back to say that she would wait upon his
+      lordship.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you afraid of him, Mistress?&rdquo; asked Emlyn, as they prepared to
+      follow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A little, Nurse. He has shown himself a man to be afraid of, has he not?
+      My father and my husband are in his net, and will he spare the last fish
+      in the pool&mdash;a very narrow pool?&rdquo; and she glanced at the high walls
+      about her. &ldquo;I fear lest he should take you from me, and wonder why he has
+      not done so already.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because my father was a Spaniard, and through him I know that which would
+      ruin him with his friends, the Pope and the Emperor. Also, he believes
+      that I have the evil eye, and dreads my curse. Still, one day he may try
+      to murder me; who knows? Only then the secret of the jewels will go with
+      me, for that is mine alone; not yours even, for if you had it they would
+      squeeze it out of you. Meanwhile he will try to profess you a nun, but
+      push him off with soft words. Say that you will think of it after your
+      child is born. Till then he can do nothing, and, if Mother Matilda&rsquo;s fresh
+      tidings are true, by that time perchance there will be no more nuns in
+      England.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now very quietly and by the side door they were entering the old
+      reception-hall, that was only used for the entertainment of visitors and
+      on other great occasions, and close to them saw the Abbot seated in his
+      chair, while the Prioress stood before him, rendering her accounts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Whether you can spare it or no,&rdquo; they heard him say sharply, &ldquo;I must have
+      the half-year&rsquo;s rent. The times are evil; we servants of the Lord are
+      threatened by that adulterous king and his proud ministers, who swear they
+      will strip us to the shirt and turn us out to starve. I&rsquo;m but just from
+      London, and, although our enemy Anne Boleyn has lost her wanton head, I
+      tell you the danger is great. Money must be had to stir up rebellion, for
+      who can arm without it, and but little comes from Spain. I am in treaty to
+      sell the Foterell lands for what they will fetch, but as yet can give no
+      title. Either that stiff-necked girl must sign a release, or she must
+      profess, for otherwise, while she lives, some lawyer or relative might
+      upset the sale. Is she yet prepared to take her first vows? If not, I
+      shall hold you much to blame.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; answered the Prioress; &ldquo;there are reasons. You have been away, and
+      have not heard&rdquo;&mdash;she hesitated and looked about her nervously, to see
+      Cicely and Emlyn standing behind them. &ldquo;What do you there, daughter?&rdquo; she
+      asked, with as much asperity as she ever showed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In truth I know not, Mother,&rdquo; answered Cicely. &ldquo;Sister Bridget told us
+      that the Lord Abbot desired our presence.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I bid her say that you were to wait him in my chamber,&rdquo; said the Prioress
+      in a vexed voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; broke in the Abbot, &ldquo;it would seem that you have a fool for a
+      messenger; if it is that pockmarked hag, her brain has been gone for
+      years. Ward Cicely, I greet you, though after the sorrows that have fallen
+      on you, whereof by your leave we will not speak, since there is no use in
+      stirring up such memories, I grieve to see you in that worldly garb, who
+      thought you would have changed it for a better. But ere you entered the
+      holy Mother here spoke of some obstacle that stood between you and God.
+      What is it? Perchance my counsel may be of service. Not this woman, as I
+      trust,&rdquo; and he frowned at Emlyn, who at once answered, in her steady voice&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, my Lord Abbot, I stand not between her and God and His holiness, but
+      between her and man and his iniquity. Still I can tell you of that
+      obstacle&mdash;which comes from God&mdash;if you so need.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now the old Prioress, blushing to her white hair, bent forward and
+      whispered in the Abbot&rsquo;s ear words at which he sprang up as though a wasp
+      had stung him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pest on it! it cannot be,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Well, well, there it is, and must be
+      swallowed with the rest. Pity, though,&rdquo; he added, with a sneer on his dark
+      face, &ldquo;since many a year has gone by since these walls have seen a
+      bastard, and, as things are, that may pull them down about your ears.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know such brats are dangerous,&rdquo; interrupted Emlyn, looking Maldon full
+      in the eyes; &ldquo;my father told me of a young monk in Spain&mdash;I forget
+      his name&mdash;who brought certain ladies to the torture in some such
+      matter. But who talks of bastards in the case of Dame Cicely Harflete,
+      widow of Sir Christopher Harflete, slain by the Abbot of Blossholme?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Silence, woman. Where there is no lawful marriage there can be no lawful
+      child&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To take that lawful inheritance that it lawfully inherits. Say, my Lord
+      Abbot, did Sir Christopher make you his heir also?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, before he could answer, Cicely, who had been silent all this while,
+      broke in&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Heap what insults you will on me, my Lord Abbot, and having robbed me of
+      my father, my husband, and my heart, rob me of my goods also, if you can.
+      In my case it matters little. But slander not my child, if one should be
+      born to me, nor dare to touch its rights. Think not that you can break the
+      mother as you broke the girl, for there you will find that you have a
+      she-wolf by the ear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked at her, they all looked at her, for in her eyes was something
+      that compelled theirs. Clement Maldon, who knew the world and how a
+      she-wolf can fight for its cub, read in them a warning which caused him to
+      change his tone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tut, tut, daughter,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;what is the good of vapouring of a child
+      that is not and may never be? When it comes I will christen it, and we
+      will talk.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When it comes you will not lay a finger on it. I&rsquo;d rather that it went
+      unbaptized to its grave than marked with your cross of blood.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He waved his hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There is another matter, or rather two, of which I must speak to you, my
+      daughter. When do you take your first vows?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We will talk of it after my child is born. &lsquo;Tis a child of sin, you say,
+      and I am unrepentant, a wicked woman not fit to take a holy vow, to which,
+      moreover, you cannot force me,&rdquo; she replied, with bitter sarcasm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Again he waved his hand, for the she-wolf showed her teeth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The second matter is,&rdquo; he went on, &ldquo;that I need your signature to a
+      writing. It is nothing but a form, and one I fear you cannot read, nor in
+      faith can I,&rdquo; and with a somewhat doubtful smile he drew out a crabbed
+      indenture and spread it before her on the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What?&rdquo; she laughed, brushing aside the parchment. &ldquo;Have you remembered
+      that yesterday I came of age, and am, therefore, no more your ward, if
+      such I ever was? You should have sold my inheritance more swiftly, for now
+      the title you can give is rotten as last year&rsquo;s apples, and I&rsquo;ll sign
+      nothing. Bear witness, Mother Matilda, and you, Emlyn Stower, that I have
+      signed and will sign nothing. Clement Maldon, Abbot of Blossholme, I am a
+      free woman of full age, even though, as you say, I am a wanton. Where is
+      your right to chain up a wanton who is no religious? Unlock these gates
+      and let me go.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now he felt the wolf&rsquo;s fangs, and they were sharp.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Whither would you go?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Whither but to the King, to lay my cause before him, as my father would
+      have done last Christmas-time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a bold speech, but foolish. The she-wolf had loosed her hold to
+      growl&mdash;to growl at a hunter with a bloody sword.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think your father never reached his Grace with his sack of falsehoods;
+      nor might you, Cicely Foterell. The times are rough, rebellion is in the
+      air, and many wild men hunt the woods and roads. No, no; for your own sake
+      you bide here in safety till&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Till you murder me. Oh! it is in your mind. Do you remember the angel who
+      spoke with me in the fire and told me my husband was not dead?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A lying spirit, then; no angel.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am not so sure,&rdquo; and again she passed her hand across her eyes, as she
+      had done in that dreadful dawn at Cranwell. &ldquo;Well, I prayed to God to help
+      me, and last night that angel came again and spoke in my sleep. He told me
+      to fear you not at all, my Lord Abbot; however sore my case and however
+      near my death might seem, since God had shaped a stone to drop upon your
+      head. He showed it me; it was like an axe.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now the old Prioress held up her hands and gasped in horror, but the Abbot
+      leapt from his seat in rage&mdash;or was it fear?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wanton, you named yourself,&rdquo; he exclaimed; &ldquo;but I name you witch also,
+      who, if you had your deserts, should die the death of a witch by fire.
+      Mother Matilda, I command you, on your oath, keep this witch fast and make
+      report to me of all her sorceries. It is not fitting that such a one
+      should walk abroad to bring evil on the innocent. Witch and wanton, begone
+      to your chamber!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely listened, then, without another word, broke into a little scornful
+      laugh, and, turning, left the room, followed by the Prioress.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Emlyn did not go; she stayed behind, a smile on her dark, handsome
+      face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&rsquo;ve lost the throw, though all your dice were loaded,&rdquo; she said
+      boldly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot turned on her and reviled her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Woman,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;if she is a witch, you&rsquo;re the familiar, and certainly
+      you shall burn even though she escape. It is you who taught her how to
+      call up the devil.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then you had best keep me living, my Lord Abbot, that I may teach her how
+      to lay him. Nay, threaten not. Why, the rack might make me speak, and the
+      birds of the air carry the matter!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His face paled; then suddenly he asked&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where are those jewels? I need them. Give me the jewels and you shall go
+      free, and perchance your accursed mistress with you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I told you,&rdquo; she answered. &ldquo;Sir John took them to London, and if they
+      were not found upon his body, then either he threw them away or Jeffrey
+      Stokes carried them to wherever he has gone. Drag the mere, search the
+      forest, find Jeffrey and ask him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You lie, woman. When you and your mistress fled from Shefton a servant
+      there saw you with the box that held those jewels in your hand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;True, my Lord Abbot, but it no longer held them; only my mistress&rsquo;s
+      love-letters, which she would not leave behind.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then where is the box, and where are those letters?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We grew short of fuel in the siege, and burned both. When a woman has her
+      man she doesn&rsquo;t want his letters. Surely, Maldonado,&rdquo; she added, with
+      meaning, &ldquo;you should know that it is not always wise to keep old letters.
+      What, I wonder, would you give for some that I have seen and that are <i>not</i>
+      burned?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Accursed spawn of Satan,&rdquo; hissed the Abbot, &ldquo;how dare you flaunt me thus?
+      When Cicely was wed to Christopher she wore those very gems; I have it
+      from those who saw her decked in them&mdash;the necklace on her bosom, the
+      priceless rosebud pearls hanging from her ears.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oho! oho!&rdquo; said Emlyn; &ldquo;so you own that she was wed, the pure soul whom
+      but now you called a wanton. Look you, Sir Abbot, we will fence no more.
+      She wore the jewels. Jeffrey took nothing hence save your death-warrant.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then where are they?&rdquo; he asked, striking his fist upon the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where? Why, where you&rsquo;ll never follow them&mdash;gone up to heaven in the
+      fire. Thinking we might be robbed, I hid them behind a secret panel in her
+      chamber, purposing to return for them later. Go, rake out the ashes; you
+      might find a cracked diamond or two, but not the pearls; they fly in fire.
+      There, that&rsquo;s the truth at last, and much good may it do to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot groaned. Like most Spaniards he was emotional, and could not
+      help it; his bitterness burst from his heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Emlyn laughed at him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;See how the wise and mighty of this world overshoot themselves,&rdquo; she
+      said. &ldquo;Clement Maldonado, I have known you for some twenty years, and when
+      I was called the Beauty of Blossholme, and the Abbot who went before you
+      made me the Church&rsquo;s ward, though I ever hated you, who hunted down my
+      father, you had softer words for me than those you name me by to-day.
+      Well, I have watched you rise and I shall watch you fall, and I know your
+      heart and its desires. Money is what you lust for and must have, for
+      otherwise how will you gain your end? It was the jewels that you needed,
+      not the Shefton lands, which are worth little now-a-days, and will soon be
+      worth less. Why, one of those pink pearls placed among the Jews would buy
+      three parishes, with their halls thrown in. For the sake of those jewels
+      you have brought death on some and misery on some, and on your own soul
+      damnation without end, though had you but been wise and consulted me&mdash;why,
+      they, or some of them, might have been yours. Sir John was no fool; he
+      would have parted with a pearl or two, of which he did not know the value,
+      to end a feud against the Church and safeguard his title and his daughter.
+      And now, in your madness, you&rsquo;ve burnt them&mdash;burnt a king&rsquo;s ransom,
+      or what might have pulled down a king. Oh! had you but guessed it, you&rsquo;d
+      have hacked off the hand that put a torch to Cranwell Towers, for now the
+      gold you need is lacking to you, and therefore all your grand schemes will
+      fail, and you&rsquo;ll be buried in their ruin, as you thought we were in
+      Cranwell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot, who had listened to this long and bitter speech in patience,
+      groaned again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are a clever woman,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;we understand each other, coming from
+      the same blood. You know the case; what is your counsel to me now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That which you will not take, being foredoomed for your sins. Still I&rsquo;ll
+      give it honestly. Set the Lady Cicely free, restore her lands, confess
+      your evil doings. Fly the kingdom before Cromwell turns on you and Henry
+      finds you out, taking with you all the gold that you can gather, and bribe
+      the Emperor Charles to give you a bishopric in Granada or elsewhere&mdash;not
+      near Seville, for reasons that you know. So shall you live honoured, and
+      one day, after you have been dead a long while and many things are
+      forgotten, perchance be beatified as Saint Clement of Blossholme.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot looked at her reflectively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If I sought safety only and old age comforts your counsel might be good,
+      but I play for higher stakes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You set your head against them,&rdquo; broke in Emlyn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not so, woman, for in any case that head must win. If it stays upon my
+      shoulders it will wear an archbishop&rsquo;s mitre, or a cardinal&rsquo;s hat, or
+      perhaps something nobler yet; and if it parts from them, why, then a
+      heavenly crown of glory.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your head? <i>Your</i> head?&rdquo; exclaimed Emlyn, with a contemptuous laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not?&rdquo; he answered gravely. &ldquo;You chance to know of some errors of my
+      youth, but they are long ago repented of, and for such there is plentiful
+      forgiveness,&rdquo; and he crossed himself. &ldquo;Were it not so, who would escape?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Emlyn, who had been standing all this while, sat herself down, set her
+      elbows on the table and rested her chin upon her clenched hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;True,&rdquo; she said, looking him in the eyes; &ldquo;none of us would escape. But,
+      Clement Maldon, how about the unrepented errors of your age? Sir John
+      Foterell, for instance; Sir Christopher Harflete, for instance; my Lady
+      Cicely, for instance; to say nothing of black treason and a few other
+      matters?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Even were all these charges true, which I deny, they are no sins, seeing
+      that they would have been done, every one of them, not for my own sake,
+      but for that of the Church, to overset her enemies, to rebuild her
+      tottering walls, to secure her eternally in this realm.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And to lift you, Clement Maldon, to the topmost pinnacle of her temple,
+      whence Satan shows you all the kingdoms of the world, swearing that they
+      shall be yours.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Apparently the Abbot did not resent this bold speech; indeed, Emlyn&rsquo;s apt
+      illustration seemed to please him. Only he corrected her gently, saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not Satan, but Satan&rsquo;s Lord.&rdquo; Then he paused a while, looked round the
+      chamber to see that the doors were shut and make sure that they were
+      alone, and went on, &ldquo;Emlyn Stower, you have great wits and courage&mdash;more
+      than any woman that I know. Also you have knowledge both of the world and
+      of what lies beyond it, being what superstitious fools call a witch, but
+      I, a prophetess or a seer. These things come to you with your blood, I
+      suppose, seeing that your mother was of a gypsy tribe and your father a
+      high-bred Spanish gentleman, very learned and clever, though a pestilent
+      heretic, for which cause he fled for his life from Spain.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To find his dark death in England. The Holy Inquisition is patent and has
+      a long arm. If I remember right, also it was this business of the heresy
+      of my father that first brought you to Blossholme, where, after his
+      vanishing and the public burning of that book of his, you so greatly
+      prospered.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are always right, Emlyn, and therefore I need not tell you further
+      that we had been old enemies in Spain, which is why I was chosen to hunt
+      him down and how you come to know certain things.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She nodded, and he went on&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So much for the heretic father&mdash;now for the gypsy mother. She died,
+      by her own hand it is said, to escape the punishment of the law.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No need to beat about the bush, Abbot; let&rsquo;s have truth between old
+      friends. You mean, to escape being burnt by you as a witch, because she
+      had the letters which were not burned and threatened to use them&mdash;as
+      I do.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why rake up such tales, Emlyn?&rdquo; he interposed blandly. &ldquo;At least she
+      died, but not until she had taught you all she knew. The rest of the
+      history is short. You fell in love with old yeoman Bolle&rsquo;s son, or said
+      you did&mdash;that same great, silly Thomas who is now a lay-brother at
+      the Abbey&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Or said I did,&rdquo; she repeated. &ldquo;At least he fell in love with me, and
+      perhaps I wished an honest man to protect me, who in those days was young
+      and fair. Moreover, he was not silly then. That came upon him after he
+      fell into <i>your</i> hands. Oh! have done with it,&rdquo; she went on, in a
+      voice of suppressed passion. &ldquo;The witch&rsquo;s fair daughter was the Church&rsquo;s
+      ward, and you ruled the Abbot of that time, and he forced me into marriage
+      with old Peter Stower, as his third wife. I cursed him, and he died, as I
+      warned him that he would, and I bore a child, and it died. Then with what
+      was left to me I took refuge with Sir John Foterell, who ever was my
+      friend, and became foster-mother to his daughter, the only creature, save
+      one, that I have loved in this wide, wicked world. That&rsquo;s all the story;
+      and now what more do you want of me, Clement Maldonado&mdash;evil-gifted
+      one?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Emlyn, I want what I always wanted and you always refused&mdash;your
+      help, your partnership. I mean the partnership of that brain of yours&mdash;the
+      help of the knowledge that you have&mdash;no more. At Cranwell Towers you
+      called down evil on me. Take off that ban, for I&rsquo;ll speak truth, it weighs
+      heavy on my mind. Let us bury the past; let us clasp hands and be friends.
+      You have the true vision. Do you remember that when you thought Cicely
+      dead, you said that her seed should rise up against me, and now it seems
+      that it will be so.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What would you give me?&rdquo; asked Emlyn curiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will give you wealth; I will give you what you love more&mdash;power,
+      and rank too, if you wish it. The whole Church shall listen to you. What
+      you desire shall be done in this realm&mdash;yes, and across the world. I
+      speak no lie; I pledge my soul on it, and the honour of those I serve,
+      which I have authority to do. In return all I ask of you is your wisdom&mdash;that
+      you should read the future for me, that you should show me which way to
+      walk.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing more?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, two things&mdash;that you should find me those burned jewels and
+      with them the old letters that were not burned, and that this child of the
+      Lady Cicely shall not chance to live to take what you promised to it. Her
+      life I give you, for a nun more or less can matter little.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A noble offer, and in this case I am sure you will pay what <i>you</i>
+      promise&mdash;should you live. But what if I refuse?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then,&rdquo; answered the Abbot, dropping his fist upon the table, &ldquo;then death
+      for both of you&mdash;the witch&rsquo;s death, for I dare not let you go to work
+      my ruin. Remember, I am master here, you are my prisoners. Few know that
+      you live in this place, except a handful of weak-brained women who will
+      fear to speak&mdash;puppets that must dance when I pull the string&mdash;and
+      I&rsquo;ll see that no soul shall come near these walls. Choose, then, between
+      death and all its terrors or life and all its hopes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      On the table there stood a wooden bowl filled with roses. Emlyn drew it to
+      her, and taking the roses into her hands, threw them to the floor. Then
+      she waited for the water to steady, saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The riddle is hard; perhaps, if in truth I have such power, I shall find
+      its answer here.&rdquo; Presently, as he gazed at her, fascinated, she breathed
+      upon the water and stared into it for a long while. At length she looked
+      up, and said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Death or Life; that was the choice you gave me. Well, Clement Maldonado,
+      on behalf of myself and the Lady Cicely, and her husband Sir Christopher,
+      and the child that shall be born, and of God who directs all these things,
+      I choose&mdash;death.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a solemn silence. Then the Abbot rose, and said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good! On your own head be it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again there was a silence, and, as she made no answer, he turned and
+      walked towards the door, leaving her still staring into the bowl.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good!&rdquo; she repeated, as he laid his hand upon the latch. &ldquo;I have told you
+      that I choose death, but I have not told you whose death it is I choose.
+      Play your game, my Lord Abbot, and I&rsquo;ll play mine, remembering that God
+      holds the stakes. Meanwhile I confirm the words I spoke in my rage at
+      Cranwell. Expect evil, for I see now that it shall fall on you and all
+      with which you have to do.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then with a sudden movement she upset the bowl upon the table and watched
+      him go.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VIII
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      EMLYN CALLS HER MAN
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      One by one the weeks passed over the heads of Cicely and Emlyn in their
+      prison, and brought them neither hope nor tidings. Indeed, although they
+      could not see its cords, they felt that the evil net which held them was
+      drawing ever tighter. There were fear and pity as well as love in the eyes
+      of Mother Matilda when she looked at Cicely, which she did only if she
+      thought that no one observed her. The nuns also were afraid, though it was
+      clear that they knew not of what. One evening Emlyn, finding the Prioress
+      alone, sprang questions on her, asking what was in the wind, and why her
+      lady, a free woman of full age, was detained there against her will.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The old nun&rsquo;s face grew secret. She answered that she did not know of
+      anything unusual, and that, as regarded the detention, she must obey the
+      commands of her spiritual superior.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then,&rdquo; burst out Emlyn, &ldquo;I tell you that you do so at your peril. I tell
+      you that whether my lady lives or dies, there are those who will call you
+      to a strict account, aye, and those who will listen to the prayer of the
+      helpless. Mother Matilda, England is not the land it was when as a girl
+      they buried you in these mouldy walls. Where does God say that you have
+      the right to hold free women like felons in a jail? Tell me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I cannot,&rdquo; moaned Mother Matilda, wringing her thin hands. &ldquo;The right is
+      very hard to find, this place is strictly guarded, and whatever I may
+      think, I must do what I am bid, lest my soul should suffer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your soul! You cloistered women think always of your miserable souls, but
+      of those of other folk, aye, and of their bodies too, nothing. Then you&rsquo;ll
+      not help me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I cannot, I cannot, who am myself in bonds,&rdquo; she replied again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So be it, Mother; then I&rsquo;ll help myself, and when I do, God help <i>you</i>
+      all,&rdquo; and with a contemptuous shrug of her broad shoulders she walked
+      away, leaving the poor old Prioress almost in tears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Emlyn&rsquo;s threats were bold as her own heart, but how could she execute even
+      a tenth of them? The right was on their side, indeed, but, as many a
+      captive has found in those and other days, right is no Joshua&rsquo;s trumpet to
+      cause high walls to fall. Moreover, Cicely would not aid her. Now that her
+      husband was dead she took interest in one thing only&mdash;his child who
+      was to be.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For the rest she seemed to care nothing. Since she had no friends with
+      whom she could communicate, and her wealth, as she understood, had been
+      taken from her, what better place, she asked, could there be for that
+      child to see the light than in this quiet Nunnery? When it was born and
+      she was well again she would consider other matters. Meanwhile she was
+      languid, and why was Emlyn always prating to her of freedom? If she were
+      free, what should she do and whither should she go? The nuns were very
+      kind to her; they loved her as she did them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So she talked on, and Emlyn, listening, did not dare to tell her the
+      truth: that here she feared for the life of her child, dreading lest that
+      news might bring about the death of both of them. So she let her be, and
+      fell back on her own wits.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      First she thought of escape, only to abandon the idea, for her mistress
+      was in no state to face its perils. Moreover, whither should they go? Then
+      rescue came into her mind, but, alas! who would rescue them? The great men
+      in London, perhaps, as a matter of policy, but great men are hard to come
+      at, even for the free. If she were free she might find means to make them
+      listen, but she was not, nor could she leave her lady at such a time. What
+      remained, then? So to contrive that they should be set free.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Perhaps it might be done at a price&mdash;that of Cicely&rsquo;s jewels, of
+      which she alone knew the hiding-place, and with them a deed of indemnity
+      against her persecutors. Emlyn was not minded to give either. Moreover,
+      she guessed that it might be in vain. Once outside those walls, they knew
+      too much to be allowed to live. And yet within those walls Cicely&rsquo;s child
+      would not be allowed to live&mdash;the child that was heir to all. What,
+      then, could loose them and make them safe?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Terror, perhaps&mdash;such terror as that through which the Israelites
+      escaped from bondage. Oh! if she could but find a Moses to call down the
+      plagues of Egypt upon this Pharaoh of an Abbot&mdash;those plagues with
+      which she had threatened him&mdash;but although she believed that they
+      would fall (why did she believe it? she wondered), she was as yet impotent
+      to fulfil.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now Thomas Bolle! If only she could have words with that faithful Thomas
+      Bolle, the fierce and cunning man whom they thought foolish!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This idea of Thomas Bolle took possession of Emlyn&rsquo;s mind&mdash;Thomas
+      Bolle, who had loved her all his life, who would die to serve her. She
+      strove in vain to get in touch with him. The old gardener was so deaf that
+      he could not, or would not, understand. The silly Bridget gave the letter
+      that she wrote to him to the Prioress by mistake, who burnt it before her
+      eyes and said nothing. The monks who brought provisions to the Nunnery
+      were always received by three of the sisters, set to spy on each other and
+      on them, so that she could not come near to them alone. The priest who
+      celebrated Mass was an old enemy of hers; with him she could do nothing,
+      and no one else was allowed to approach the place except once or twice the
+      Abbot, who was closeted for hours with the Prioress, but spoke to her no
+      more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Why, wondered Emlyn, should less than half-a-mile of space be such a
+      barrier between her and Thomas Bolle? If he stood within twenty yards of
+      her she could make him understand; why not, then, when he stood within
+      five hundred? This idea possessed her; these limitations of nature made
+      her mad. She refused to accept them. Night by night, lying brooding in her
+      bed, while Cicely slept in peace at her side, she threw out her strong
+      soul towards the soul of her old lover, Thomas Bolle, commanding him to
+      listen, to obey, to come.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At first nothing happened. Afterwards she had a vague sense of being
+      answered; although she could not see or hear him, she felt his presence.
+      Then one afternoon, looking from an upper dormer window, she saw a scuffle
+      going on outside the gateway, and heard angry voices. Thomas Bolle was
+      trying to force his way in at the door, whence he was repelled by the
+      Abbot&rsquo;s men who always watched there.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the evening she gathered the truth from the nuns, who did not know that
+      she was listening to what they said. It seemed that Thomas, whom they
+      spoke of as a madman or as drunk, had tried to break into the Nunnery.
+      When he was asked what he wanted, he answered that he did not know, but he
+      must speak with Emlyn Stower. At this tidings she smiled to herself, for
+      now she knew that he had heard her, and that in this way or in that he
+      would obey her summons and come.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Two days later Thomas came&mdash;thus.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The September evening was fading into night, and Emlyn, leaving Cicely
+      resting on her bed, which now she often did for a while before the
+      supper-hour, had gone into the garden to enjoy the pleasant air. There she
+      walked until she wearied of its sameness, then entered the old chapel by a
+      side door and sat herself down to think in the chancel, not far from a
+      life-sized statue of the Virgin, in painted oak, which stood here because
+      of its peculiarities, for the back half of it seemed to be built into the
+      masonry. Also the eye-sockets were empty, which suggested to the observant
+      Emlyn either that they had once held jewels or that this was no likeness
+      of the holy Mother, but rather one of the blind St. Lucy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      While Emlyn mused there quite alone&mdash;for at this hour none entered
+      the place, nor would until the next morning&mdash;she thought that she
+      heard strange noises, as of some one stirring, which came from the
+      neighbourhood of the statue. Now many would have been scared and departed;
+      but not so Emlyn, who only sat still and listened. Presently, without
+      moving her head, she looked also. As it happened, the light of the setting
+      sun, pouring through the west window, fell almost full upon the figure,
+      and by it she saw, or thought she saw, that the eye-sockets were no longer
+      empty; there were eyes in them which moved and flashed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now for a moment even Emlyn was frightened. Then she reasoned with
+      herself, reflecting that a priest or one of the nuns was watching her from
+      behind the statue, which they might do for as long as they pleased. Or
+      perhaps this was a miracle, such as she had heard so much of but never
+      seen. Well, why should she fear spies or miracles? She would sit where she
+      was and see what happened. Nor had she long to wait, for presently a
+      voice, a hoarse, manly voice, whispered&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Emlyn! Emlyn Stower!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she answered, also in a whisper. &ldquo;Who speaks?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who do you think?&rdquo; asked the voice, with a chuckle. &ldquo;A devil, perhaps.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, if it be a friendly devil I don&rsquo;t know that I mind, who need
+      company in this lone place. So appear, man or devil,&rdquo; answered Emlyn
+      stoutly. But in secret she crossed herself beneath her cape, for in those
+      days folk believed in the appearance of devils for no good purposes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The statue began to creak, then opened like a door, though very
+      unwillingly, as though its hinges had been fixed for a long, long time and
+      rusted in the damp, which was indeed the case. Inside of it, like a corpse
+      in an upright coffin, appeared a figure, a square, strong figure, clad in
+      a tattered monk&rsquo;s robe, surmounted by a large head with fiery red hair and
+      beetling brows, beneath which shone two wild grey eyes. Emlyn, whose heart
+      had stood still&mdash;for, after all, Satan is awkward company for a
+      mortal woman&mdash;waited till it gave a jump in her breast and went on
+      again as usual. Then she said quietly&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What are you doing here, Thomas Bolle?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is what I want to know, Emlyn. Night and day for weeks you have been
+      calling me, and so I came.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I have been calling you; but how did you come?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By the old monk&rsquo;s road. They have forgotten it long ago, but my
+      grandfather told me of it when I was a boy, and at last a fox showed me
+      where it ran. It&rsquo;s a dark road, and when first I tried it I thought I
+      should be poisoned, but now the air is none so bad. It ran to the Abbey
+      once, and may still, but my door and Mrs. Fox&rsquo;s is in the copse by the
+      park wall, where none would ever look for it. If you would like a cub to
+      play with, I will bring you one. Or perhaps you want something more than
+      cubs,&rdquo; he added, with his cunning laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, Thomas, I want much more. Man,&rdquo; she said fiercely, &ldquo;will you do what
+      I tell you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That depends, Mistress Emlyn. Have I not done what you told me all my
+      life, and for no reward?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She moved across the chancel and sat herself down against him, pushing the
+      image door almost to and speaking to him through the crack.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you have had no reward, Thomas,&rdquo; she said in a gentle voice, &ldquo;whose
+      fault was it? Not mine, I think. I loved you once when we were young, did
+      I not? I would have given myself to you, body and soul, would I not? Well,
+      who came between us and spoiled our lives?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The monks,&rdquo; groaned Thomas; &ldquo;the accursed monks, who married you to
+      Stower because he paid them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, the accursed monks. And now our youth has gone, and love&mdash;of
+      that sort&mdash;is behind us. I have been another man&rsquo;s wife, Thomas, who
+      might have been yours. Think of it&mdash;your loving wife, the mother of
+      your children. And you&mdash;they have tamed you and made you their
+      servant, their cattle-herd, the strong fellow to fetch and carry, the
+      half-wit, as they call you, who can still be trusted to run an errand and
+      hold his tongue, the Abbey mule that does not dare to kick, the grieve of
+      your own stolen lands&mdash;you, whose father was almost a gentleman.
+      That&rsquo;s what they have done for you, Thomas; and for me, the Church&rsquo;s ward&mdash;well,
+      I will not speak of it. Now, if you had your will, what would you do for
+      them?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do for them? Do for them?&rdquo; gasped Thomas, worked up to fury by this
+      recital of his wrongs. &ldquo;Why, if I dared I&rsquo;d cut their throats, every one,
+      and grallock them like deer,&rdquo; and he ground his strong white teeth. &ldquo;But I
+      am afraid. They have my soul, and month by month I must confess. You
+      remember, Emlyn, I warned you when you and the lady would have ridden to
+      London before the siege. Well, afterward&mdash;I must confess it&mdash;the
+      Abbot heard it himself, and oh! sore, sore was my penance. Before I had
+      done with it my ribs showed through my skin and my back was like a red
+      osier basket. There&rsquo;s only one thing I didn&rsquo;t tell them, because, after
+      all, it is no sin to grub the earth off the face of a corpse.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; said Emlyn, looking at him. &ldquo;You&rsquo;re not to be trusted. Well, I
+      thought as much. Good-bye, Thomas Bolle, you coward. I&rsquo;ll find me a man
+      for a friend, not a whimpering, priest-ridden hound who sets a Latin
+      blessing which he does not understand above his honour. God in heaven! to
+      think I should ever have loved such a thing. Oh! I am shamed, I am shamed.
+      I&rsquo;ll go wash my hands. Shut your trap and get you gone down your rat-run,
+      Thomas Bolle, and, living or dead, never dare to speak to me again. Also
+      forget not to tell your monks how I called you to my side&mdash;for that&rsquo;s
+      witchcraft, you know, and I shall burn for it, and your soul gain benefit.
+      God in heaven! to think that once you were Thomas Bolle,&rdquo; and she made as
+      though to go away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He stretched out his great arm and caught her by the robe, exclaiming&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What would you have me do, Emlyn? I can&rsquo;t bear your scorn. Take it off me
+      or I go kill myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s what you had best do. You&rsquo;ll find the devil a better master than a
+      foreign abbot. Farewell for ever.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, nay; what&rsquo;s your will? Soul or no soul, I&rsquo;ll work it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will you? Will you indeed? If so, stay a moment,&rdquo; and she ran down the
+      chapel, bolting the doors; then returned to him, saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now come forth, Thomas, and since you are once more a man, kiss me as you
+      used to do twenty years ago and more. You&rsquo;ll not confess to that, will
+      you? There. Now, kneel before the altar here and swear an oath. Nay,
+      listen to it before you swear, for it is wide.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Emlyn said the oath to him. It was a great and terrible oath. Under it he
+      bound himself to be her slave and join himself with her in working woe to
+      the monks of Blossholme, and especially to their Abbot, Clement Maldon, in
+      payment of the wrongs that these had done to them both; in payment for the
+      murder of Sir John Foterell and of Christopher Harflete, and of the
+      imprisonment and robbery of Cicely Harflete, the daughter of the one and
+      the wife of the other. He bound himself to do those things which she
+      should tell him. He bound himself neither in the confessional nor, should
+      it come to that, on the bed of torture or the scaffold to breathe a word
+      of all their counsel. He prayed that if he did so his soul might pay the
+      price in everlasting torment, and of all these things he took Heaven to be
+      his witness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now,&rdquo; said Emlyn, when she had finished setting out this fearful vow,
+      &ldquo;will you be a man and swear and thereby avenge the dead and save the
+      innocent from death; or will you who have my secret be a crawling monk and
+      go back to Blossholme Abbey and betray me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He thought a moment, rubbing his red head, for the thing frightened him,
+      as well it might. The scales of the balance of his mind hung evenly, and
+      Emlyn knew not which way they would turn. She saw, and put out all her
+      woman&rsquo;s strength. Resting her hand upon his shoulder, she leaned forward
+      and whispered into his ear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you remember, Thomas, how first we told our young love that spring day
+      down in the copse by the water, and how sweet the daffodils bloomed about
+      our feet&mdash;the daffodils and the wood-lilies? Do you remember how we
+      swore ourselves each to each for all our lives, aye, and all the lives
+      that were to come, and how for us two the earth was turned to heaven? And
+      then&mdash;do you remember how that monk walked by&mdash;it was this
+      Clement Maldon&mdash;and froze us with his cruel eyes, and said, &lsquo;What do
+      you with the witch&rsquo;s daughter? She is not for you.&rsquo; And&mdash;oh! Thomas,
+      I can no more of it,&rdquo; and she broke down and sobbed, then added, &ldquo;Swear
+      nothing; get you gone and betray me, if you will. I&rsquo;ll bear you no malice,
+      even when I die for it, for after more than twenty years of monkcraft, how
+      could I hope that you would still remain a man? Come, get you gone
+      swiftly, ere they take us together, and your fair fame is besmirched.
+      Quick, now, and leave me and my lady and her unborn child to the doom
+      Maldon brews for us. Alas! for the copse by the river; alas! for the
+      withered lilies!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thomas heard; the big blue veins stood out upon his forehead, his great
+      breast heaved, his utterance choked. At length the words came in a thick
+      torrent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll not go, dearie; I&rsquo;ll swear what you will, by your eyes and by your
+      lips, by the flowers on which we trod, by all the empty years of aching
+      woe and shame, by God upon His throne in heaven, and by the devil in his
+      fires in hell. Come, come,&rdquo; and he ran to the altar and clasped the
+      crucifix that stood there. &ldquo;Say the words again, or any others that you
+      will, and I&rsquo;ll repeat them and take the oath, and may fiery worms eat me
+      living for ever and ever if I break a letter of it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With a little smile of triumph in her dark eyes Emlyn bent over the
+      kneeling man and whispered&mdash;whispered through the gathering bloom,
+      while he whispered after her, and kissed the Rood in token.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was done, and they drew away from the altar back to the painted saint.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So you are a man after all,&rdquo; she said, laughing aloud. &ldquo;Now, man&mdash;my
+      man&mdash;who, if we live through this, shall be my husband if you will&mdash;yes,
+      my husband, for I&rsquo;ll pay, and be proud of it&mdash;listen to my commands.
+      See you, I am Moses, and yonder in the Abbey sits Pharaoh with a hardened
+      heart, and you are the angel&mdash;the destroying angel with the sword of
+      the plagues of Egypt. To-night there will be fire in the Abbey&mdash;such
+      fire as fell on Cranwell Towers. Nay, nay, I know; the church will not
+      burn, nor all the great stone halls. But the dormitories, and the
+      storehouses, and the hayricks, and the cattle-byres, they&rsquo;ll flame bravely
+      after this time of drought, and if the wains are ashes, how will they draw
+      in their harvest? Will you do it, my man?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Surely. Have I not sworn?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then away to the work, and afterwards&mdash;to-morrow or next day&mdash;come
+      back and make report. Just now I am much moved to solitary prayer, so wait
+      till you see me here alone upon my knees. Stay! Wrap yourself in
+      grave-clothes, for then if you are seen they will think you are a ghost,
+      such as they say haunt this place. Fear not, by then I will have more work
+      for you. Have you mastered it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He nodded his head. &ldquo;All. All, especially your promise. Oh! I&rsquo;ll not die
+      now; I&rsquo;ll live to claim it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good. There&rsquo;s on account,&rdquo; and again she kissed him. &ldquo;Go.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He reeled in the intoxication of his joy; then said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;One word; my head swims; I forgot. Sir Christopher is not dead, or wasn&rsquo;t&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo; she almost hissed at him. &ldquo;In Christ&rsquo;s name be quick;
+      I hear voices without.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They buried another man for Christopher. I scraped him up and saw.
+      Christopher was sent foreign, sore wounded, on the ship&mdash;pest! I have
+      forgotten its name&mdash;the same ship that took Jeffrey Stokes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Blessings on your head for that tidings,&rdquo; exclaimed Emlyn, in a strange,
+      low voice. &ldquo;Away; they are coming to the door!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The wooden figure creaked to and stared at her blandly, as it had stared
+      for generations. For a moment Emlyn stood still, her hand upon her heart.
+      Then she walked swiftly down the chapel, unlocked the door, and in the
+      porch, just entering it, met the Prioress Matilda, another nun, and old
+      Bridget, who was chattering.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! it is you, Mistress Stower,&rdquo; said Mother Matilda, with evident
+      relief. &ldquo;Sister Bridget here swore that she heard a man talking in the
+      chapel when she came to shut the outer window at sunset.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did she?&rdquo; answered Emlyn indifferently. &ldquo;Then her luck&rsquo;s better than my
+      own, who long for the sound of a man&rsquo;s voice in this home of babbling
+      women. Nay, be not shocked, good Mother; I am no nun, and God did not
+      create the world all female, or we should none of us be here. But, now you
+      speak of it, I think there&rsquo;s something strange about that chapel. It is a
+      place where some might fear to be alone, for twice when I knelt there at
+      my prayers I have heard odd sounds, and once, when there was no sun, a
+      cold shadow fell upon me. Some ghost of the dead, I suppose, of whom so
+      many lie about. Well, ghosts I never feared; and now I must away to fetch
+      my lady&rsquo;s supper, for she eats in her room to-night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When she had gone the Prioress shook her head and remarked in her gentle
+      fashion&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A strange woman and a rough, but, my sisters, we must not judge her
+      harshly, for she is of a different world to ours, and I fear has met with
+      sorrows there, such as we are protected from by our holy office.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; answered the sister, &ldquo;but I think also that she has met with the
+      ghost that haunts the chapel, of which there are many records, and that
+      once I saw myself when I was a novice. The Prioress Matilda&mdash;I mean
+      the fourth of that name, she who was mixed up with Edward the Lame, the
+      monk, and died suddenly after the&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Peace, sister; let us have no scandal about that departed&mdash;woman,
+      who left the earth two hundred years ago. Also, if her unquiet spirit
+      still haunts the place, as many say, I know not why it should speak with
+      the voice of a man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps it was the monk Edward&rsquo;s voice that Bridget heard,&rdquo; replied the
+      sister, &ldquo;for no doubt he still hangs about her skirts as he did in life,
+      if all tales are true. Well, Mistress Emlyn says that she does not mind
+      ghosts, and I can well believe it, for she is a witch&rsquo;s daughter, and has
+      a strange look in her eyes. Did you ever see such bold eyes, Mother?
+      However it may be, I hate ghosts, and rather would I pass a month on bread
+      and water than be alone in that chapel at or after sundown. My back creeps
+      to think of it, for they say that the unhallowed babe walks too, and
+      gibbers round the font seeking baptism&mdash;ugh!&rdquo; and she shuddered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Peace, sister, peace to your goblin talk,&rdquo; said Mother Matilda again.
+      &ldquo;Let us think of holier things lest the foul fiend draw near to us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      That night, about one in the morning, the foul fiend drew very near to
+      Blossholme, and he came in the shape of fire. Suddenly the nuns were
+      aroused from their beds by the sound of bells tolling wildly. Running to
+      the window-places, they saw great sheets of flame leaping from the Abbey
+      roofs. They threw open the casements and stared out terrified. Sister
+      Bridget was sent even to wake the deaf gardener and his wife, who lived in
+      the gateway, and command them to go forth and learn what passed, and the
+      meaning of the shouts they heard, for they feared that Blossholme was
+      attacked by some army.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A long while went by, and Bridget returned with a confused tale, which, as
+      it had been gathered by an imbecile from a deaf gardener, was not easy to
+      understand. Meanwhile the shoutings went on and the fire at the Abbey
+      burnt ever more fiercely, so that the nuns thought that their last hour
+      had come, and knelt down to pray at the casement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Just then Cicely and Emlyn appeared among them, and stared at the great
+      fire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Suddenly Cicely turned round, and, fixing her large blue eyes on Emlyn,
+      said, in the hearing of them all&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Abbey burns. Why, Nurse, they told me that you said it would be so,
+      yonder amid the ashes of Cranwell Towers. Surely you are foresighted.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fire calls for fire,&rdquo; answered Emlyn grimly, and the nuns around looked
+      at her with doubtful eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a very fierce fire, which appeared to have begun in the
+      dormitories, whence, even at that distance, they saw half-clad monks
+      escaping through the windows, some by means of bed-coverings tied together
+      and some by jumping, notwithstanding the height. Presently the roof of the
+      building fell in, sending up showers of glowing embers, which lit upon the
+      thatch of the farm byres and sheds, and upon the ricks built and building
+      in the stackyard, so that all these caught also, and before dawn were
+      utterly consumed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One by one the watchers in the Nunnery wearied of the lamentable sight,
+      and muttering prayers, departed terrified to their beds. But Emlyn sat on
+      at the open casement till the rim of the splendid September sun showed
+      above the hills. There she sat, her head resting on her hand, her strong
+      face set like that of a statue. Only her dark eyes, in which the flames
+      were reflected, seemed to smile hardly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thomas is a great tool,&rdquo; she muttered to herself at length, &ldquo;and the
+      first cut has bitten to the bone. Well, there shall be worse to come. You
+      will live to beg Emlyn&rsquo;s mercy yet, Clement Maldonado.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER IX
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      THE BLOSSHOLME WITCHINGS
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      On the afternoon of that day the Abbot came again to visit the Nunnery,
+      and sent for Cicely and Emlyn. They found him alone in the guest-hall,
+      walking up and down its length with a troubled face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cicely Foterell,&rdquo; he said, without any form of greeting, &ldquo;when last we
+      met you refused to sign the deed which I brought with me. Well, it matters
+      nothing, for that purchaser has gone back upon his bargain.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Saying that he liked not the title?&rdquo; suggested Cicely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye; though who taught you of titles and the ins and outs of law? But
+      what need to ask&mdash;&mdash;?&rdquo; and he glowered at Emlyn. &ldquo;Well, let it
+      pass, for now I have a paper with me that you <i>must</i> sign. Read it if
+      you will. It is harmless&mdash;only an instruction to the tenants of the
+      lands your father held to pay their rents to me this Michaelmas, as warden
+      of that property.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do they refuse, then, seeing that you hold it all, my Lord Abbot?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, some one has been at work among them, and the stubborn churls will
+      not without instruction under your hand and seal. The farms your father
+      worked himself I have reaped, but last night every grain of corn and every
+      fleece of wool were burned in the fire.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I pray you keep account of them, my Lord, that you may pay me their
+      value when we come to settle our score, seeing that I never gave you leave
+      to shear my sheep and harvest my corn.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are pleased to be saucy, girl,&rdquo; he replied, biting his lip. &ldquo;I have
+      no time to bandy words&mdash;sign, and do you witness, Emlyn Stower.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely took the document, glanced at it, then slowly tore it into four
+      pieces and threw it to the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Rob me and my unborn child if you can and will, at least I&rsquo;ll be no
+      thief&rsquo;s partner,&rdquo; she said quietly. &ldquo;Now, if you want my name, go forge
+      it, for I sign nothing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot&rsquo;s face grew very evil.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you remember, woman,&rdquo; he asked, &ldquo;that here you are in my power? Do you
+      not know that rebellious sinners such as you are can be shut in a dark
+      dungeon and fed on the bread and water of affliction and beaten with the
+      rods of penance? Will you do my bidding, or shall these things fall on
+      you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely&rsquo;s beautiful face flushed up, and for a moment her blue eyes filled
+      with the tears of shame and terror. Then they cleared again, and she
+      looked at him boldly and answered&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know that a murderer can be a torturer also. Why should not he who
+      butchered the father scourge the daughter too? But I know also that there
+      is a God who protects the innocent, though sometimes He is slow to lift
+      His hand, and to Him I appeal, my Lord Abbot. I know, moreover, that I am
+      Foterell and Carfax, and that no man or woman of my blood has ever yet
+      yielded to fear or pain. I sign nothing,&rdquo; and, turning, she left the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now the Abbot and Emlyn were alone. Suddenly, before she could speak, for
+      her tongue was tied with rage, he began to rate and curse her and to
+      threaten horrible things against her and her mistress, such things as only
+      a cruel Spaniard could imagine. At length he paused for breath, and she
+      broke in&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Peace, wicked man, lest the roof fall on you, for I am sure that every
+      cruel word you speak shall become a snake to strike you. Will you not take
+      warning by what befell you last night, or must there be more such
+      lessons?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oho!&rdquo; he answered; &ldquo;so you know of that, do you? As I thought, your
+      witchcraft was at work there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How can I help knowing what the whole sky blazoned? The fat monks of
+      Blossholme must draw their girdles tight this winter. Those stolen lands
+      bring no luck, it seems, and John Foterell&rsquo;s blood has turned to fire. Be
+      warned, I say, be warned. Nay, I&rsquo;ll hear no more of your foul tongue. Lay
+      a finger on that poor lady if you dare, and pay the price,&rdquo; and she too
+      turned and went.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ere he left the Nunnery the Abbot had an interview with Mother Matilda.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely must be disciplined, he said; gently at first, afterwards with
+      roughness, even to scourging, if need were&mdash;for her soul&rsquo;s sake. Also
+      her servant Emlyn must be kept away from her&mdash;for her soul&rsquo;s sake,
+      since without doubt she was a dangerous witch. Also, when the time of the
+      birth of the child came on, he would send a wise woman to wait upon her,
+      one who was accustomed to such cases&mdash;for her body&rsquo;s sake and that of
+      her child. In the midst of the great trouble that had fallen upon them
+      through the terrible fire at the Abbey, which had cost them such fearful
+      loss, to say nothing of the lives of two of the servants and others burned
+      and maimed, he had not much time to talk of such small things; but did she
+      understand?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then it was that Mother Matilda, the meek and gentle, brought pain and
+      astonishment to the heart of the Lord Abbot, her spiritual superior.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She did not understand in the least. Such discipline as he suggested,
+      whatever might be her faults and frailty, was, she declared with vigour,
+      entirely unsuited to the case of the Lady Cicely, who, in her opinion, had
+      suffered much for a small cause, and who, moreover, was about to become a
+      mother, and therefore should be treated with every gentleness. For her
+      part, she washed her hands of the whole business, and rather than enforce
+      such commands would lay the case before the Vicar-General in London, who,
+      she understood, was ready to look into such matters. Or at least she would
+      set the Lady Harflete and her servant outside the gates and call upon the
+      charitable to assist them. Of course, however, if his Lordship chose to
+      send a skilled woman to wait upon her in her trouble, she could have no
+      objection, provided that this woman were a person of good repute. But in
+      the circumstances it was idle to talk to her of bread and water and dark
+      cells and scourgings. Such things should never happen while she was
+      Prioress. Before they did, she and her sisters would walk out of the
+      Nunnery and leave the King&rsquo;s Courts to judge of the matter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now the state of the Abbot was very like to that of a terrier dog which,
+      being accustomed to worry and torment a certain ewe-sheep, comes upon the
+      same after it has lambed and finds a new creature&mdash;one that, instead
+      of running in affright, turns upon it and, with head and hood and all its
+      weight of mutton, butts, and leaps, and tramples. Then what chance has
+      that dog against the terrible and unsuspected fury of the sheep, born, as
+      it thought, for it to tear? Then what can it do but run, panting and
+      discomfited, to its kennel? So it was with the Abbot at the onslaught of
+      Mother Matilda in the defence of her lamb&mdash;Cicely. With Emlyn he had
+      been prepared to exchange bite for bite&mdash;but Mother Matilda! his own
+      pet quarry. It was too much. He could only go away, cursing all women and
+      their infinite variety, on which no man might build. Who would have
+      thought it of Mother Matilda, of all people on the earth!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So it came to pass that at the Nunnery, notwithstanding these terrible
+      threats, things went on much as they had done before, since the times were
+      such that even an all-powerful and remote Lord Abbot, with &ldquo;right of
+      gallows,&rdquo; could not drive matters to an extremity. Cicely was not shut
+      into the dungeon and fed on bread and water, much less was she scourged.
+      Nor was she separated from her nurse Emlyn, although it is true that the
+      Prioress reproved her for her resistance to established authority, and
+      when she had finished her lecture, kissed and blessed her, and called her
+      &ldquo;her sweet child, her dove and joy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But if there was sameness at the Nunnery, at the Abbey there was constant
+      change and excitement. Only three days after the fire the great flock of
+      eight hundred lambs rushed one night over the Red Cliff on the fell,
+      where, as all shepherds in that country know, there is a sheer drop of
+      forty feet. Never was lamb&rsquo;s flesh so cheap in Blossholme and the country
+      round as on the morrow of that night, while every hind within ten miles
+      could have a winter coat for the skinning. Moreover, it was said and sworn
+      to by the shepherds that the devil himself, with horns and hoofs, and
+      mounted on a jackass, had been seen driving the same lambs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Next the ghost of Sir John Foterell appeared, clad in armour, sometimes
+      mounted and sometimes afoot, but always at night-time. First this dreadful
+      spirit was perceived walking in the gardens of Shefton Hall, where it met
+      the Abbot&rsquo;s caretaker&mdash;for the place was now shut up&mdash;as he went
+      to set a springe for hares. He was a man advanced in years, yet few horses
+      ever covered the distance between Shefton and Blossholme Abbey more
+      quickly than he did that night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Nor would he or any other return to his charge, so that henceforth Shefton
+      was left as a dwelling for the ghost, which, as all might see from time to
+      time, shone in the window-places like a candle. Moreover, the said ghost
+      travelled far and wide, for on dark, windy nights it knocked upon the
+      doors of those that in its lifetime had been its tenants, and in a hollow
+      voice declared that it had been murdered by the Abbot of Blossholme and
+      his underlings, who held its daughter in durance, and, under threats of
+      unearthly vengeance, commanded all men to bring him to justice, and to pay
+      him neither fees nor homage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So much terror did this ghost cause that Thomas Bolle, the swift of foot,
+      was set to watch for it, and returned announcing that he had seen it and
+      that it called him by his name, whereon he, being a bold fellow and
+      believing that it was but a man, sent an arrow straight through it, at
+      which it laughed and forthwith vanished away. More; in proof of these
+      things he led the Abbot and his monks to the very place, and showed them
+      where he had stood and where the ghost stood&mdash;yes, and the arrow, of
+      which all the feathers had been mysteriously burnt off and the wood seared
+      as though by fire, sunk deep into a tree beyond. Then, as this thing had
+      become a scandal and a dread, the Abbot, in his robes, solemnly laid the
+      ghost, Thomas Bolle showing him exactly where it had passed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This spirit being well and truly laid (like a foundation-stone), the Abbot
+      and his monks returned homeward through the wood, but as they went a
+      dreadful voice, which all recognized as that of Sir John Foterell, called
+      these words from the shadows of an impenetrable thicket&mdash;for now the
+      night was falling&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Clement Maldonado, Abbot of Blossholme, I, whom thou didst murder, summon
+      thee to meet me within a year before the throne of God.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thereon all fled; yes, even the Abbot fled, or rather, as he said, his
+      horse did, Thomas Bolle, who had lagged behind, outrunning them every one
+      and getting home the first, saying <i>Aves</i> as he went.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After this, although the whole countryside hunted for it, Sir John&rsquo;s ghost
+      was seen no more. Doubtless its work was done; but the Abbot explained
+      matters differently. Other and worse things were seen, however.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One moonlight night a disturbance was heard among the cows, that bellowed
+      and rushed about the field into which they had been turned after milking.
+      Thinking that dogs had got amongst them, the herd and a watchman&mdash;for
+      now no man would stir alone after sunset at Blossholme&mdash;went to see
+      what was happening, and presently fell down half dead with fright. For
+      there, leaning over the gate and laughing at them, was the foul fiend
+      himself&mdash;the fiend with horns and tail, and in his hand an instrument
+      like a pitchfork.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      How the pair got home again, they never knew, but this is certain, that
+      after that night no one could milk those cows; moreover, some of them
+      slipped their calves, and became so wild that they must be slaughtered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Next came rumours that even the Nunnery itself was haunted, especially the
+      chapel. Here voices were heard talking, and Emlyn Stower, who was praying
+      there, came out vowing that she had seen a ball of fire which rolled up
+      and down the aisle, and in the centre of it a man&rsquo;s head, that seemed to
+      try to talk to her, but could not.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Into this matter inquiry was held by the Abbot himself, who asked Emlyn if
+      she knew the face that was in the ball of fire. She answered that she
+      thought so. It seemed very like to one of his own guards, named Andrew
+      Woods, or more commonly Drunken Andrew, a Scotchman whom Sir Christopher
+      Harflete was said to have killed on the night of the great burning. At
+      least his Lordship would remember that this Andrew had a broken nose, and
+      so had the head in the fire, but, as it appeared to have changed a great
+      deal since death, she could not be quite certain. All she was sure of was
+      that it seemed to be trying to give her some message.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now, recalling the trick that had been played with the said Andrew&rsquo;s body,
+      the Abbot was silent. Only he asked shrewdly, if Emlyn had seen so
+      terrible a thing there, how it came about that she was not afraid to be
+      alone in the chapel, which he was informed she frequented much. She
+      answered, with a laugh, that it was men she dreaded, not spirits, good or
+      ill.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; he exclaimed, with a burst of rage, &ldquo;you do not dread them, woman,
+      because you are a witch, and summon them; nor shall we be free from these
+      wizardries until the fire has you and your company.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If so,&rdquo; replied Emlyn coolly, &ldquo;I will ask dead Andrew for his message to
+      you next time we meet, unless he chooses to deliver it to you himself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So they parted, but that very night there happened the worst thing of all.
+      It was about one in the morning when the Abbot, whose window was set open,
+      was wakened by a voice that spoke with a Scotch accent and repeatedly
+      called him by his name, summoning him to look out and see. He and others
+      rose and looked, but could see nothing, for the night was very dark and
+      rain fell. When the dawn came, however, their search was rewarded, for
+      there, set upon a pinnacle of the Abbey church, and staring straight into
+      the window of his Lordship&rsquo;s sleeping-room, from which it was but a few
+      yards distant, was the dreadful head of Andrew Woods!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Furiously the Abbot asked who had done this horrible thing, but the monks,
+      who were sure that it was the same being that had bewitched the cows, only
+      shrugged their shoulders, and suggested that the grave of Andrew should be
+      opened to see if he had lost his head. This was done at length, although,
+      for his own reasons, the Abbot forbade it, talking of the violation of the
+      dead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Well, the grave was opened when Maldon was away on one of his mysterious
+      journeys, and lo! no Andrew was there, but only a beam of oakwood stuffed
+      out with straw to the shape of a man and sewn up in a blanket. For the
+      real Andrew, or rather what was left of him, lay, it may be remembered, in
+      another grave that was supposed to be filled by Sir Christopher Harflete.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From this day forward the whole countryside for fifty miles round rang
+      with the tales of what were known as the Blossholme witchings, of which a
+      proof was still to be seen by all men in the withered head of Andrew
+      perched upon its pinnacle, whence none could be found to remove it for
+      love or money. Only it was noted that the Abbot changed his
+      sleeping-chamber, after which, except for a sickness which struck the
+      monks&mdash;it was thought from the drinking of sour beer&mdash;these
+      bedevilments were abated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Indeed, at that time men had other things to think of, since the air was
+      thick with rumours of impending change. The King threatened the Church,
+      and the Church prepared to resist the King. There was talk of the
+      suppression of the monasteries&mdash;some, in fact, had already been
+      suppressed&mdash;and more talk of a rising of the faithful in the shires
+      of York and Lincoln; high matters which called Abbot Maldon much away from
+      home.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One day he returned weary, but satisfied, from a long journey, and amongst
+      the news that awaited him found a message from the Prioress, over which he
+      pondered while he ate his food. Also there was a letter from Spain, which
+      he studied eagerly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Some nine months had passed since the ship <i>Great Yarmouth</i> sailed,
+      and during this time all that had been heard of her was that she had never
+      reached Seville, so that, like every one else, the Abbot believed she had
+      foundered in the deep seas. This was a sad event which he had borne with
+      resignation, seeing that, although it meant the loss of his letters, which
+      were of importance, she had aboard of her several persons whom he wished
+      to see no more, especially Sir Christopher Harflete and Sir John
+      Foterell&rsquo;s serving-man, Jeffrey Stokes, who was said to carry with him
+      certain inconvenient documents. Even his secretary and chaplain, Brother
+      Martin, could be spared, being, Maldon felt, a character better suited to
+      heaven than to an earth where the best of men must be prepared sometimes
+      to compromise with conscience.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In short, the vanishing of the <i>Great Yarmouth</i> was the wise decree
+      of a far-seeing Providence, that had removed certain stumbling-blocks from
+      his feet, which of late had been forced to travel over a rough and thorny
+      road. For the dead tell no tales, although it was true that the ghost of
+      Sir John Foterell and the grinning head of Drunken Andrew on his pinnacle
+      seemed to be instances to the contrary. Christopher Harflete and Jeffrey
+      Stokes at the bottom of the Bay of Biscay could bring no awkward charges,
+      and left him none to deal with save an imprisoned and forgotten girl and
+      an unborn child.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now things were changed again, however, for the Spanish letter in his hand
+      told him that the <i>Great Yarmouth</i> had not sunk, since two members of
+      her crew who escaped&mdash;how, it was not said&mdash;declared that she
+      had been captured by Turkish or other infidel pirates and taken away
+      through the Straits of Gibraltar to some place unknown. Therefore, if he
+      had survived the voyage, Christopher Harflete might still be living, and
+      so might Jeffrey Stokes and Brother Martin. Yet this was not likely, for
+      probably they would have perished in the fight, being hot-headed
+      Englishmen, all three of them, or at the best have been committed to the
+      Turkish galleys, whence not one man in a thousand ever returned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the whole, then, he had little cause to fear them, who were dead, or as
+      good as dead, especially in the midst of so many more pressing dangers.
+      All he had to fear, all that stood between him, or rather the Church, and
+      a very rich inheritance was the girl in the Nunnery and an unborn child,
+      and&mdash;yes, Emlyn Stower. Well, he was sure that the child would not
+      live, and probably the mother would not live. As for Emlyn, as she
+      deserved, she would be burned for a witch, ere long too, now that he had
+      time to see to it, and, if she survived her sickness, although he grieved
+      for her, Cicely, her accomplice, should justly accompany her to the stake.
+      Meanwhile, as Mother Matilda&rsquo;s message told him, this matter of the child
+      was urgent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot called a monk who was waiting on him and bade him send word to a
+      woman known as Goody Megges, bidding her come at once. Within ten minutes
+      she entered, having, as she explained, been warned to be close at hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This Goody Megges, who had some local repute as a &ldquo;wise woman,&rdquo; was a
+      person of about fifty years of age, remarkable for her enormous size, a
+      flat face with small oblong eyes and a little, twisted mouth, which had
+      caused her to be nicknamed &ldquo;the Flounder.&rdquo; She greeted the Abbot with much
+      reverence, curtseying till he thought she would fall backwards, and having
+      received his fatherly blessing, sank into a chair, that seemed to vanish
+      beneath her bulk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will wonder why I summon you here, friend, since this is no place for
+      the services of those of your trade,&rdquo; began the Abbot, with a smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no, my Lord,&rdquo; answered the woman; &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve heard it is to wait upon Sir
+      Christopher Harflete&rsquo;s wife in her trouble.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wish that I could call her by the honoured name of wife,&rdquo; said the
+      Abbot, with a sigh. &ldquo;But a mock-marriage does not make a wife, Mistress
+      Megges, and, alas! the poor babe, if ever it should be born, will be but a
+      bastard, marked from its birth with the brand of shame.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now, the Flounder, who was no fool, began to take her cue.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is sad, very sad, your Holiness&mdash;no, that&rsquo;s wrong; but never
+      mind, it will be right before all&rsquo;s done, and a good omen, I say, coming
+      so sudden and chancy&mdash;your Lordship, I mean&mdash;not but what
+      there&rsquo;s lots of the sort about here, as is generally the case round a&mdash;I
+      mean everywhere. Moreover, they generally grow up bad and ungrateful, as I
+      know well from my own three&mdash;not but what, of course, I was married
+      fast enough. Well, what I was going to say was, that when things is so,
+      sometimes it is a true blessing if the little innocents should go off at
+      the first, and so be spared the finger of shame and the sniff of scorn,&rdquo;
+       and she paused.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Mistress Megges, or at least in such a case it is not for us to rail
+      at the decree of Heaven&mdash;provided, of course, that the infant has
+      lived long enough to be baptized,&rdquo; he added hastily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, your Eminence, no. That&rsquo;s just what I said to that Smith girl last
+      spring, when, being a heavy sleeper, I happened to overlie her brat and
+      woke up to find it flat and blue. When she saw it she took on, bellowing
+      like a heifer that has lost its first calf, and I said to her, &lsquo;Mary, this
+      isn&rsquo;t me; it&rsquo;s Heaven. Mary, you should be very thankful, since my burden
+      has rid you of your burden, and you can bury such a tiny one for next to
+      nothing. Mary, cry a little if you like, for that&rsquo;s natural with the
+      first, but don&rsquo;t come here flying in the face of Heaven with your
+      railings, and gates, and posts&mdash;especially the rails, for Heaven
+      hates &lsquo;em.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; asked the Abbot, with mild interest, &ldquo;and pray what did Mary do
+      then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do, the graceless wench? Why, she said, &lsquo;Is it rails you&rsquo;re talking of,
+      you pig-smothering old sow? Then here&rsquo;s a rail for you,&rsquo; and she pulled
+      the top bar off my own fence&mdash;for we were talking by the door&mdash;oak
+      it was, and three by two&mdash;and knocked me flat&mdash;here&rsquo;s the scar
+      of it on my head&mdash;singing out, &lsquo;Is that enough, or will you have the
+      gate and the posts too?&rsquo; Oh! If there&rsquo;s one thing I hate, it is railing,
+      &lsquo;specially if made of hard oak and held edgeways.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So the wicked old hag babbled on, after her hideous fashion, while the
+      Abbot stared at the ceiling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Enough of these sad stories of vice and violence. Such mischances will
+      happen, and of course you were not to blame. Now, good Mistress Megges,
+      will you undertake this case, which cannot be left to ignorant nuns?
+      Though times are hard here, since of late many losses have fallen on our
+      house, your skill shall be well paid.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The woman shuffled her big feet and stared at the floor, then looked up
+      suddenly with a glance that seemed to bore to his heart like a bradawl,
+      and asked&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And if perchance the blessed babe should fly to heaven through my
+      fingers, as in my time I have known dozens of them do, should I still get
+      that pay?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then,&rdquo; the Abbot answered, with a smile&mdash;a somewhat sickly smile&mdash;&ldquo;then
+      I think, mistress, you should have double pay, to console you for your
+      sorrow and for any doubts that might be thrown upon your skill.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now that&rsquo;s noble trading,&rdquo; she replied, with an evil leer, &ldquo;such as one
+      might hope for from an Abbot. But, my Lord, they say the Nunnery is
+      haunted, and I can&rsquo;t face ghosts. Man or woman, with rails or without &lsquo;em,
+      Mother Flounder doesn&rsquo;t mind, but ghosts&mdash;no! Also Mistress Stower is
+      a witch, and might lay a curse on me; and those nuns are full of crinks
+      and cranks, and can pray an honest soul to death.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, come, my time is short. What is it you want, woman? Out with it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The inn there at the ford&mdash;your Lordship, will need a tenant next
+      month. It&rsquo;s a good paying house for those who know how to keep their
+      mouths shut and to look the other way, and through vile scandal and evil
+      slanderers, such as the Smith girl, my business isn&rsquo;t what it was. Now if
+      I could have it without rent for the first two years, till I had time to
+      work up the trade&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot, who could bear no more of the creature, rose from his chair and
+      said sharply&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will remember. Yes, I will promise. Go now; the reverent Mother is
+      advised of your coming. And report to me night and morning of the progress
+      of the case. Why, woman, what are you doing?&rdquo; for she had suddenly slid to
+      her knees and grasped his robes with her thick, filthy hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Absolution, holy Lordship; I ask absolution and blessing&mdash;<i>pax
+      Meggiscum</i>, and the rest of it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Absolution? There is nothing to absolve.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! yes, my Lord, there is plenty, though I am wondering who will absolve
+      <i>you</i> for your half. Also there are rows of little angels that
+      sometimes won&rsquo;t let me sleep, and that&rsquo;s why I can&rsquo;t stomach ghosts. I&rsquo;d
+      rather sup in winter on cold small ale and half-cooked pork than face even
+      a still-born ghost.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Begone!&rdquo; said the Abbot, in such a voice that she scrambled to her feet
+      and went, unblessed and unabsolved.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the door had closed behind her he went to the window and flung it
+      wide, although the night was foul.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By all the saints!&rdquo; he muttered, &ldquo;that beastly murderess poisons the air.
+      Why, I wonder, does God allow such filthy things to live? Cannot she ply
+      her hell-trade less grossly? Oh! Clement Maldonado, how low are you sunk
+      that you must use tools like these, and on such a business. And yet there
+      is no other way. Not for myself, but for the Church, O Lord! The great
+      plot thickens, and all men clamour to me, its head and spring, for money.
+      Give me money, and within six months Yorkshire and the North will be up,
+      and without a year Henry the Anti-Christ will be dead and the Princess
+      Mary fast upon the throne, with the Emperor and the Pope for watchdogs.
+      That stiff-necked Cicely must die and her babe must die, and then I&rsquo;ll
+      twist the secret of the jewels out of the witch, Emlyn&mdash;on the rack,
+      if need be. Those jewels&mdash;I&rsquo;ve seen them so often; why, they would
+      feed an army; but while Cicely or her brat lives where is my claim to
+      them? So, alas! they must die, but oh! the hag is right. Who shall give me
+      absolution for a deed I hate? Not for me, not for me, O my Patron, but for
+      the Church!&rdquo; and flinging himself to the floor before the holy image of
+      his chosen Saint, he rested his head upon its feet and wept.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER X
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      MOTHER MEGGES AND THE GHOST
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      Flounder Megges, with all the paraphernalia of her trade, was established
+      as nurse to Cicely at the Nunnery. This establishment, it is true, had not
+      been easy since Emlyn, who knew something of the woman&rsquo;s repute, and
+      suspected more, resisted it with all her strength, but here the Prioress
+      intervened in her gentle way. She herself, she explained, did not like
+      this person, who looked so odd, drank so much beer and talked so fast. Yet
+      she had made inquiries and found that she was extraordinarily skilled in
+      matters of that nature. Indeed, it was said that she had succeeded in
+      cases that were wonderfully difficult which the leech had abandoned as
+      hopeless, though of course there had been other cases where she had not
+      succeeded. But these, she was informed, were generally those of poor
+      people who did not pay her well. Now in this instance her pay would be
+      ample, for she, Mother Matilda, had promised her a splendid fee out of her
+      private store, and for the rest, since no man doctor might enter there,
+      who else was competent? Not she or the other nuns, for none of them had
+      been married save old Bridget, who was silly and had long ago forgotten
+      all such things. Not Emlyn even, who was but a girl when her own child was
+      born, and since then had been otherwise employed. Therefore there was no
+      choice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To this reasoning Emlyn agreed perforce, though she mistrusted her of the
+      fat wretch, whose appearance poor Cicely also disliked. Still, for very
+      fear Emlyn was humble and civil to her, for if she were not, who could
+      know if she would put out all her skill upon behalf of her mistress?
+      Therefore she did her bidding like a slave, and spiced her beer and made
+      her bed and even listened to her foul jests and talk unmurmuringly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The business was over at length, and the child, a noble boy, born into the
+      world. Had not the Flounder produced it in triumph laid upon a little
+      basket covered with a lamb-skin, and had not Emlyn and Mother Matilda and
+      all the nuns kissed and blessed it? Had it not also, for fear of accident
+      (such was the fatherly forethought of the Abbot), been baptized at once by
+      a priest who was waiting, under the names of John Christopher Foterell,
+      John after its grandfather and Christopher after its father, with Foterell
+      for a surname, since the Abbot would not allow that it should be called
+      Harflete, being, as he averred, base-born?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So this child was born, and Mother Megges swore that of all the two
+      hundred and three that she had issued into the world it was the finest,
+      nine and a half pounds in weight at the very least. Also, as its voice and
+      movements testified, it was lusty and like to live, for did not the
+      Flounder, in sight of all the wondering nuns, hold it up hanging by its
+      hands to her two fat forefingers, and afterwards drink a whole quart of
+      spiced ale to its health and long life?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But if the babe was like to live, Cicely was like to die. Indeed, she was
+      very, very ill, and perhaps would have passed away had it not been for a
+      device of Emlyn&rsquo;s. For when she was at her worst and the Flounder, shaking
+      her head and saying that she could do no more, had departed to her eternal
+      ale and a nap, Emlyn crept up and took her mistress&rsquo;s cold hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Darling,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;hear me,&rdquo; but Cicely did not stir. &ldquo;Darling,&rdquo; she
+      repeated, &ldquo;hear me, I have news for you of your husband.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely&rsquo;s white face turned a little on the pillow and her blue eyes
+      opened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of my husband?&rdquo; she whispered. &ldquo;Why, he is gone, as I soon shall be. What
+      news of him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That he is not gone, that he lives, or so I believe, though heretofore I
+      have hid it from you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The head was lifted for a moment, and the eyes stared at her with
+      wondering joy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you trick me, Nurse? Nay, you would never do that. Give me the milk, I
+      want it now. I&rsquo;ll listen. I promise you I&rsquo;ll not die till you have told
+      me. If Christopher lives why should I die who only hoped to find him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So Emlyn whispered all she knew. It was not much, only that Christopher
+      had not been buried in the grave where he was said to be buried, and that
+      he had been taken wounded aboard the ship <i>Great Yarmouth</i>, of the
+      fate of which ship fortunately she had heard nothing. Still, slight as
+      they might be, to Cicely these tidings were a magic medicine, for did they
+      not mean the rebirth of hope, hope that for nine long months had been dead
+      and buried with Christopher? From that moment she began to mend.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the Flounder, having slept off her drink, returned to the sick-bed,
+      she stared at her amazed and muttered something about witchcraft, she who
+      had been sure that she would die, as in those days so many women did who
+      fell into hands like hers. Indeed, she was bitterly disappointed, knowing
+      that this death was desired by her employer, who now after all might let
+      the Ford Inn to another. Moreover, the child was no waster, but one who
+      was set for life. Well, that at least she could mend, and if it were done
+      quickly the shock might kill the mother. Yet the thing was not so easy as
+      it looked, for there were many loving eyes upon that babe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When she wished to take it to her bed at night Emlyn forbade her fiercely,
+      and on being appealed to, the Prioress, who knew the creature&rsquo;s drunken
+      habits and had heard rumours of the fate of the Smith infant and others,
+      gave orders that it was not to be. So, since the mother was too weak to
+      have it with her, the boy was laid in a little cot at her side. And always
+      day and night one or more of the sweet-faced nuns stood at the head of
+      that cot watching as might a guardian angel. Also it took only Nature&rsquo;s
+      food since from the first Cicely would nurse it, so that she could not mix
+      any drug with its milk that would cause it to sleep itself away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So the days went on, bringing black wrath, despair almost, to the heart of
+      Mother Megges, till at length there came the chance she sought. One fine
+      evening, when the nuns were gathered at vespers, but as it happened not in
+      the chapel, because since the tale of the hauntings they shunned the place
+      after high noon, Cicely, whose strength was returning to her, asked Emlyn
+      to change her garments and remake her bed. Meanwhile, the babe was given
+      to Sister Bridget, who doted on it, with instructions to take it to walk
+      in the garden for a time, since the rain had passed off and the afternoon
+      was now very soft and pleasant. So she went, and there presently was met
+      by the Flounder, who was supposed to be asleep, but had followed her, a
+      person of whom the half-witted Bridget was much afraid.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What are you doing with my babe, old fool?&rdquo; she screeched at her,
+      thrusting her fat face to within an inch of the nun&rsquo;s. &ldquo;You&rsquo;ll let it fall
+      and I shall be blamed. Give me the angel or I will twist your nose for
+      you. Give it me, I say, and get you gone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In her fear and flurry old Bridget obeyed and departed at a run. Then,
+      recovering herself a little, or drawn by some instinct, she returned, hid
+      herself in a clump of lilac bushes and watched.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Presently she saw the Flounder, after glancing about to make sure that she
+      was alone, enter the chapel, carrying the child, and heard her bolt the
+      door after her. Now Bridget, as she said afterwards, grew very frightened,
+      she knew not why, and, acting on impulse, ran to the chancel window and,
+      climbing on to a wheelbarrow that stood there, looked through it. This is
+      what she saw.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mother Megges was kneeling in the chancel, as she thought at first, to say
+      her prayers, till she perceived, for a ray from the setting sun showed it
+      all, that on the paving before her lay the infant and that this she-devil
+      was thrusting her thick forefinger down its throat, for already it grew
+      black in the face, and as she thrust muttering savagely. So horror-struck
+      was Bridget that she could neither move nor cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, while she stood petrified, suddenly there appeared the figure of a
+      man in rusty armour. The Flounder looked up, saw him and, withdrawing her
+      finger from the mouth of the child, let out yell after yell. The man, who
+      said nothing, drew a sword and lifted it, whereon the murderess screamed&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The ghost! The ghost! Spare me, Sir John, I am poor and he paid me. Spare
+      me for Christ&rsquo;s sake!&rdquo; and so saying, she rolled on to the floor in a fit,
+      and there turned and twisted until she lay still.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then the man, or the ghost of a man, having looked at her, sheathed his
+      sword and lifting up the babe, which now drew its breath again and cried,
+      marched with it down the aisle. The next thing of which Bridget became
+      aware was that he stood before her, the infant in his arms, holding it out
+      to her. His face she could not see, for the vizor was down, but he spoke
+      in a hollow voice, saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This gift from Heaven to the Lady Harflete. Bid her fear nothing, for one
+      devil I have garnered and the others are ripe for reaping.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bridget took the child and sank down on to the ground, and at that moment
+      the nuns, alarmed by the awful yells, rushed through the side door, headed
+      by Mother Matilda. They too saw the figure, and knew the Foterell
+      cognizance upon its helm and shield. But it waited not to speak to them,
+      only passed behind some trees and vanished.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Their first care was for the infant, which they thought the man was
+      stealing; then, after they were sure that it had taken no real hurt, they
+      questioned old Bridget, but could get nothing from her, for all she did
+      was to gibber and point first to the barrow and next to the chancel
+      window. At length Mother Matilda understood and, climbing on to the
+      barrow, looked through the window as Bridget had done. She looked, she
+      saw, and fell back fainting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      An hour had gone by. The child, unhurt save for a little bruising of its
+      tender mouth, was asleep upon its mother&rsquo;s breast. Bridget, having
+      recovered, at length had told all her tale to every one of them save
+      Cicely, who as yet knew nothing, for she and Emlyn did not hear the
+      screams, their rooms being on the other side of the building. The Abbot
+      had been sent for, and, accompanied by monks, arrived in the midst of a
+      thunder-storm and pouring rain. He, too, had heard the tale, heard it with
+      a pale face while his monks crossed themselves. At length he asked of the
+      woman Megges. They replied that living or dead she was, as they supposed,
+      still in the chapel, which none of them had dared to enter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, let us see,&rdquo; said the Abbot, and they went there to find the door
+      locked as Bridget had said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Smiths were sent for and broke it in while all stood in the pouring rain
+      and watched. It was open at last, and they entered with torches and
+      tapers, for now the darkness was dense, the Abbot leading them. They came
+      to the chancel, where something lay upon the floor, and held down the
+      torches to look. Then they saw that which caused them all to turn and fly,
+      calling on the saints to protect them. In her life Mother Megges had not
+      been lovely, but in the death that had overtaken her&mdash;&mdash;!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was morning. The Lord Abbot and his monks were assembled in the
+      guest-chamber, and opposite to them were the Lady Prioress and her nuns,
+      and with them Emlyn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Witchcraft!&rdquo; shouted the Abbot, smiting his fist upon the table, &ldquo;black
+      witchcraft! Satan himself and his foulest demons walk the countryside and
+      have their home in this Nunnery. Last night they manifested themselves&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By saving a babe from a cruel death and bringing a hateful murderess to
+      doom,&rdquo; broke in Emlyn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Silence, Sorceress,&rdquo; shouted the Abbot. &ldquo;Get thee behind me, Satan. I
+      know you and your familiars,&rdquo; and he glared at the Prioress.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What may you mean, my Lord Abbot?&rdquo; asked Mother Matilda, bridling up. &ldquo;My
+      sisters and I do not understand. Emlyn Stower is right. Do you call that
+      witchcraft which works so good an end? The ghost of Sir John Foterell
+      appeared here&mdash;we admit it who saw that ghost. But what did the
+      spirit do? It slew the hellish woman whom you sent among us and it rescued
+      the blessed babe when her finger was down its throat to choke out its pure
+      life. If that be witchcraft I stand by it. Tell us what did the wretch
+      mean when she cried out to the spirit to spare her because she was poor
+      and had been bribed for her iniquity? Who bribed her, my Lord Abbot? None
+      in this house, I&rsquo;ll swear. And who changed Sir John Foterell from flesh to
+      spirit? Why is he a ghost to-day?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Am I here to answer riddles, woman, and who are you that you dare put
+      such questions to me? I depose you, I set your house under ban. The
+      judgment of the Church shall be pronounced against you all. Dare not to
+      leave your doors until the Court is composed to try you. Think not you
+      shall escape. Your English land is sick and heresy stalks abroad; but,&rdquo; he
+      added slowly, &ldquo;fire can still bite and there is store of faggots in the
+      woods. Prepare your souls for judgment. Now I go.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do as it pleases you,&rdquo; answered the enraged Mother Matilda. &ldquo;When you set
+      out your case we will answer it; but, meanwhile, we pray that you take
+      what is left of your dead hireling with you, for we find her ill company
+      and here she shall have no burial. My Lord Abbot, the charter of this
+      Nunnery is from the monarch of England, whatever authority you and those
+      that went before you have usurped. It was granted by the first Edward, and
+      the appointment of every prioress since his day has been signed by the
+      sovereign and no other. I hold mine under the manual of the eighth Henry.
+      You cannot depose me, for I appeal from the Abbot to the King. Fare you
+      well, my Lord,&rdquo; and, followed by her little train of aged nuns, she swept
+      from the room like an offended queen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After the terrible death of the child-murderess and the restoration of her
+      babe to her unharmed, Cicely&rsquo;s recovery was swift. Within a week she was
+      up and walking, and within ten days as strong, or stronger, than ever she
+      had been. Nothing more had been heard of the Abbot, and though all knew
+      that danger threatened them from this quarter they were content to enjoy
+      the present hour of peace and wait till it was at hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But in Cicely&rsquo;s awakened mind there arose a keen desire to learn more of
+      what her nurse had hinted to her when she lay upon the very edge of death.
+      Day by day she plied Emlyn with questions till at length she knew all;
+      namely, that the tidings came from Thomas Bolle, and that he, dressed in
+      her father&rsquo;s armour, was the ghost who had saved her boy from death. Now
+      nothing would serve her but that she must see Thomas herself, as she said,
+      to thank him, though truly, as Emlyn knew well, to draw from his own lips
+      every detail and circumstance that she could gather concerning
+      Christopher.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For a while Emlyn held out against her, for she knew the dangers of such a
+      meeting; but in the end, being able to refuse her lady nothing, she gave
+      way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At length at the appointed hour of sunset Emlyn and Cicely stood in the
+      chapel, whither the latter told the nuns she wished to go to return thanks
+      for her deliverance from many dangers. They knelt before the altar, and
+      while they made pretence to pray there heard knocks, which were the signal
+      of the presence of Thomas Bolle. Emlyn answered them with other knocks,
+      which told that all was safe, whereon the wooden image turned and Thomas
+      appeared, dressed as before in Sir John Foterell&rsquo;s armour. So like did he
+      seem to her dead father in this familiar mail that for a moment Cicely
+      thought it must be he, and her knees trembled until he knelt before her,
+      kissing her hand, asking after her health and that of the infant and
+      whether she were satisfied with his service.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed and indeed yes,&rdquo; she answered; &ldquo;and oh, friend! all that I have
+      henceforth is yours should I ever have anything again, who am but a
+      prisoned beggar. Meanwhile, my blessing and that of Heaven rest upon you,
+      you gallant man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank me not, Lady,&rdquo; answered the honest Thomas. &ldquo;To speak truth it was
+      Emlyn whom I served, for though monks parted us we have been friends for
+      many a year. As for the matter of the child and that spawn of hell, the
+      Flounder, be grateful to God, not to me, for it was by mere chance that I
+      came here that evening, which I had not intended to do. I was going about
+      my business with the cattle when something seemed to tell me to arm and
+      come. It was as though a hand pushed me, and the rest you know, and so I
+      think by now does Mother Megges,&rdquo; he added grimly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, yes, Thomas; and in truth I do thank God, Whose finger I see in all
+      this business, as I thank you, His instrument. But there are other things
+      whereof Emlyn has spoken to me. She said&mdash;ah! she said my husband,
+      whom I thought slain and buried, in truth was only wounded and not buried,
+      but shipped over-sea. Tell me that story, friend, omitting nothing, but
+      swiftly for our time is short. I thirst to hear it from your own lips.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So in his slow, wandering way he told her, word by word, all that he had
+      seen, all that he had learned, and the sum of it was that Sir Christopher
+      had been shipped abroad upon the <i>Great Yarmouth</i>, sorely wounded but
+      not dead, and that with him had sailed Jeffrey Stokes and the monk Martin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s ten months gone,&rdquo; said Cicely. &ldquo;Has naught been heard of this
+      ship? By now she should be home again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thomas hesitated, then answered&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No tidings came of her from Spain. Then, although I said nothing of it
+      even to Emlyn, she was reported lost with all hands at sea. Then came
+      another story&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! that other story?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lady, two of her crew reached the Wash. I did not see them, and they have
+      shipped again for Marseilles in France. But I spoke with a shepherd who is
+      half-brother to one of them, and he told me that from him he learned that
+      the <i>Great Yarmouth</i> was set upon by two Turkish pirates and captured
+      after a brave fight in which the captain Goody and others were killed.
+      This man and his comrade escaped in a boat and drifted to and fro till
+      they were picked up by a homeward-bound caravel which landed them at Hull.
+      That&rsquo;s all I know&mdash;save one thing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;One thing! Oh, what thing, Thomas? That my husband is dead?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, nay, the very opposite, that he is alive, or was, for these men saw
+      him and Jeffrey Stokes and Martin the priest, no craven as I know,
+      fighting like devils till the Turks overwhelmed them by numbers, and,
+      having bound their hands, carried them all three unwounded on board one of
+      their ships, wishing doubtless to make slaves of such brave fellows.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now, although Emlyn would have stopped her, still Cicely plied him with
+      questions, which he answered as best he could, till suddenly a sound
+      caught his ear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look at the window!&rdquo; he exclaimed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They looked, and saw a sight that froze their blood, for there staring at
+      them through the glass was the dark face of the Abbot, and with it other
+      faces.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Betray me not, or I shall burn,&rdquo; he whispered. &ldquo;Say only that I came to
+      haunt you,&rdquo; and silently as a shadow he glided to his niche and was gone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What now, Emlyn?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;One thing only&mdash;Thomas must be saved. A bold face and stand to it.
+      Is it our fault if your father&rsquo;s ghost should haunt this chapel? Remember,
+      your father&rsquo;s ghost, no other. Ah! here they come.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      As she spoke the door was thrown wide, and through it came the Abbot and
+      his rout of attendants. Within two paces of the women they halted, hanging
+      together like bees, for they were afraid, while a voice cried, &ldquo;Seize the
+      witches!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely&rsquo;s terror passed from her and she faced them boldly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What would you with us, my Lord Abbot?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We would know, Sorceress, what shape was that which spoke with you but
+      now, and whither has it gone?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The same that saved my child and called the Sword of God down upon the
+      murderess. It wore my father&rsquo;s armour, but its face I did not see. It has
+      gone whence it came, but where that is I know not. Discover if you can.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Woman, you trifle with us. What said the Thing?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It spoke of the slaughter of Sir John Foterell by King&rsquo;s Grave Mount and
+      of those who wrought it,&rdquo; and she looked at him steadily until his eyes
+      fell before hers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What else?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It told me that my husband is not dead. Neither did you bury him as you
+      put about, but shipped him hence to Spain, whence it prophesied he will
+      return again to be revenged upon you. It told me that he was captured by
+      the infidel Moors, and with him Jeffrey Stokes, my father&rsquo;s servant, and
+      the priest Martin, your secretary. Then it looked up and vanished, or
+      seemed to vanish, though perhaps it is among us now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye,&rdquo; answered the Abbot, &ldquo;Satan, with whom you hold converse, is always
+      among us. Cicely Foterell and Emlyn Stower, you are foul witches,
+      self-confessed. The world has borne your sorceries too long, and you shall
+      answer for them before God and man, as I, the Lord Abbot of Blossholme,
+      have right and authority to make you do. Seize these witches and let them
+      be kept fast in their chamber till I constitute the Court Ecclesiastic for
+      their trial.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So they took hold of Cicely and Emlyn and led them to the Nunnery. As they
+      crossed the garden they were met by Mother Matilda and the nuns, who, for
+      a second time within a month, ran out to see what was the tumult in the
+      chapel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is it now, Cicely?&rdquo; asked the Prioress.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now we are witches, Mother,&rdquo; she answered, with a sad smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye,&rdquo; broke in Emlyn, &ldquo;and the charge is that the ghost of the murdered
+      Sir John Foterell was seen speaking to us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, why?&rdquo; exclaimed the Prioress. &ldquo;If the spirit of a woman&rsquo;s father
+      appears to her is she therefore to be declared a witch? Then is poor
+      Sister Bridget a witch also, for this same spirit brought the child to
+      her?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye,&rdquo; said the Abbot, &ldquo;I had forgotten her. She is another of the crew,
+      let her be seized and shut up also. Greatly do I hope, when it comes to
+      the hour of trial, that there may not be found to be more of them,&rdquo; and he
+      glanced at the poor nuns with menace in his eye.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So Cicely and Emlyn were shut within their room and strictly guarded by
+      monks, but otherwise not ill-treated. Indeed, save for their confinement,
+      there was little change in their condition. The child was allowed to be
+      with Cicely, the nuns were allowed to visit her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Only over both of them hung the shadow of great trouble. They were aware,
+      and it seemed to them purposely suffered to be aware, that they were about
+      to be tried for their lives upon monstrous and obscene charges; namely,
+      that they had consorted with a dim and awful creature called the Enemy of
+      Mankind, whom, it was supposed, human beings had power to call to their
+      counsel and assistance. To them who knew well that this being was Thomas
+      Bolle, the thing seemed absurd. Yet it could not be denied that the said
+      Thomas at Emlyn&rsquo;s instigation had worked much evil on the monks of
+      Blossholme, paying them, or rather their Abbot, back in his own coin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yet what was to be done? To tell the facts would be to condemn Thomas to
+      some fearful fate which even then they would be called upon to share,
+      although possibly they might be cleared of the charge of witchcraft.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Emlyn set the matter before Cicely, urging neither one side nor the other,
+      and waited her judgment. It was swift and decisive.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This is a coil that we cannot untangle,&rdquo; said Cicely. &ldquo;Let us betray no
+      one, but put our trust in God. I am sure,&rdquo; she added, &ldquo;that God will help
+      us as He did when Mother Megges would have murdered my boy. I shall not
+      attempt to defend myself by wronging others. I leave everything to Him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Strange things have happened to many who trusted in God; to that the
+      whole evil world bears witness,&rdquo; said Emlyn doubtfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;May be,&rdquo; answered Cicely in her quiet fashion, &ldquo;perhaps because they did
+      not trust enough or rightly. At least there lies my path and I will walk
+      in it&mdash;to the fire if need be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There is some seed of greatness in you; to what will it grow, I wonder?&rdquo;
+       replied Emlyn, with a shrug of her shoulders.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the morrow this faith of Cicely&rsquo;s was put to a sharp test. The Abbot
+      came and spoke with Emlyn apart. This was the burden of his song&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Give me those jewels and all may yet be well with you and your mistress,
+      vile witches though you are. If not, you burn.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      As before she denied all knowledge of them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Find me the jewels or you burn,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;Would you pay your lives
+      for a few miserable gems?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now Emlyn weakened, not for her own sake, and said she would speak with
+      her mistress.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He bade her do so.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thought that those jewels were burned, Emlyn, do you then know where
+      they are?&rdquo; asked Cicely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, I have said nothing of it to you, but I know. Speak the word and I
+      give them up to save you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely thought a while and kissed her child, which she held in her arms,
+      then laughed aloud and answered&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not so. That Abbot shall never be richer for any gem of mine. I have told
+      you in what I trust, and it is not jewels. Whether I burn or whether I am
+      saved, he shall not have them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good,&rdquo; said Emlyn, &ldquo;that is my mind also, I only spoke for your sake,&rdquo;
+       and she went out and told the Abbot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He came into Cicely&rsquo;s chamber and raged at them. He said that they should
+      be excommunicated, then tortured and then burned; but Cicely, whom he had
+      thought to frighten, never winced.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If so, so let it be,&rdquo; she replied, &ldquo;and I will bear all as best I can. I
+      know nothing of these jewels, but if they still exist they are mine, not
+      yours, and I am innocent of any witchcraft. Do your work, for I am sure
+      that the end shall be far other than you think.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What!&rdquo; said the Abbot, &ldquo;has the foul fiend been with you again that you
+      talk thus certainly? Well, Sorceress, soon you will sing another tune,&rdquo;
+       and he went to the door and summoned the Prioress.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Put these women upon bread and water,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;and prepare them for the
+      rack, that they may discover their accomplices.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mother Matilda set her gentle face, and answered&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It shall not be done in this Nunnery, my Lord Abbot. I know the law, and
+      you have no such power. Moreover, if you move them hence, who are my
+      guests, I appeal to the King, and meanwhile raise the country on you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Said I not that they had accomplices?&rdquo; sneered the Abbot, and went his
+      way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But of the torture no more was heard, for that appeal to the King had an
+      ill sound in his ears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XI
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      DOOMED
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      It was the day of trial. From dawn Cicely and Emlyn had seen people
+      hurrying in and out of the gates of the Nunnery, and heard workmen making
+      preparation in the guest-hall below their chamber. About eight one of the
+      nuns brought them their breakfast. Her face was scared and white; she only
+      spoke in whispers, looking behind her continually as though she knew she
+      was being watched.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Emlyn asked who their judges were, and she answered&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Abbot, a strange, black-faced Prior, and the Old Bishop. Oh! God help
+      you, my sisters; God help us all!&rdquo; and she fled away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now for a moment Emlyn&rsquo;s heart failed her, since before such a tribunal
+      what chance had they? The Abbot was their bitter enemy and accuser; the
+      strange Prior, no doubt, one of his friends and kindred; while the
+      ecclesiastic spoken of as the &ldquo;Old Bishop&rdquo; was well known as perhaps the
+      cruelest man in England, a scourge of heretics&mdash;that is, before
+      heresy became the fashion&mdash;a hunter-out of witches and wizards, and a
+      time-server to boot. But to Cicely she said nothing, for what was the use,
+      seeing that soon she would learn all?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They ate their food, knowing both of them that they would need strength.
+      Then Cicely nursed her child, and, placing it in Emlyn&rsquo;s arms, knelt down
+      to pray. While she was still praying the door opened and a procession
+      appeared. First came two monks, then six armed men of the Abbot&rsquo;s guard,
+      then the Prioress and three of her nuns. At the sight of the beautiful
+      young woman kneeling at her prayers the guards, rough men though they
+      were, stopped, as if unwilling to disturb her, but one of the monks cried
+      brutally&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Seize the accursed hypocrite, and if she will not come, drag her with
+      you,&rdquo; at the same time stretching out his hand as though to grasp her arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Cicely rose and faced him, saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do not touch me; I follow. Emlyn, give me the child, and let us go.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So they went in the midst of the armed men, the monks preceding, the nuns,
+      with bowed heads, following after. Presently they entered the large hall,
+      but on its threshold were ordered to pause while way was made for them.
+      Cicely never forgot the sight of it as it appeared that day. The lofty,
+      arched roof of rich chestnut-wood, set there hundreds of years before by
+      hands that spared neither work nor timber, amongst the beams of which the
+      bright light of morning played so clearly that she could see the spiders&rsquo; 
+      webs, and in one of them a sleepy autumn wasp caught fast. The mob of
+      people gathered to watch her public trial&mdash;faces, many of them, that
+      she had known from childhood.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      How they stared at her as she stood there by the head of the steps, her
+      sleeping child held in her arms! They were a packed audience and had been
+      prepared to condemn her&mdash;that she could see and hear, for did not
+      some of them point and frown, and set up a cry of &ldquo;Witch!&rdquo; as they had
+      been told to do? But it died away. The sight of her, the daughter of one
+      of their great men and the widow of another, standing in her innocent
+      beauty, the slumbering babe upon her breast, seemed to quell them, till
+      the hardest faces grew pitiful&mdash;full of resentment, too, some of
+      them, but not against her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then the three judges on the bench behind the table, at which sat the
+      monkish secretaries; the hard-faced, hook-nosed &ldquo;Old Bishop&rdquo; in his
+      gorgeous robes and mitre, his crozier resting against the panelling behind
+      him, peering about him with beady eyes. The sullen, heavy-jawed Prior,
+      from some distant county, on his left, clad in a simple black gown with a
+      girdle about his waist. And on the right Clement Maldon, Abbot of
+      Blossholme and enemy of her house, suave, olive-faced, foreign-looking,
+      his black, uneasy eyes observing all, his keen ears catching every word
+      and murmur as he whispered something to the Bishop that caused him to
+      smile grimly. Lastly, placed already in the roped space and guarded by a
+      soldier, poor old Bridget, the half-witted, who was gabbling words to
+      which no one paid any heed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The path was clear now, and they were ordered to walk on. Half-way up the
+      hall something red attracted Cicely&rsquo;s attention, and, glancing round, she
+      saw that it was the beard of Thomas Bolle. Their eyes met, and his were
+      full of fear. In an instant she understood that he dreaded lest he should
+      be betrayed and given over to some awful doom.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fear nothing,&rdquo; she whispered as she passed, and he heard her, or perhaps
+      Emlyn&rsquo;s glance told him that he was safe. At least, a sign of relief broke
+      from him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now they had entered the roped space, and stood there.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your name?&rdquo; asked one of the secretaries, pointing to Cicely with the
+      feather of his quill.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All know it, it is Cicely Harflete,&rdquo; she answered gently, whereon the
+      clerk said roughly that she lied, and the old wrangle began again as to
+      the validity of her marriage, the Abbot maintaining that she was still
+      Cicely Foterell, the mother of a base-born child.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Into this argument the Bishop entered with some zest, asking many
+      questions, and seeming more or less to take her side, since, where matters
+      of religion were not concerned, he was a keen lawyer, and just enough. At
+      length, however, he swept the thing away, remarking brutally that if half
+      he had heard were true, soon the name by which she had last been called in
+      life would not concern her, and bade the clerks write her down as Cicely
+      Harflete or Foterell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Emlyn gave her name, and Sister Bridget&rsquo;s was written without
+      question. Next the charge against them was read. It was long and
+      technical, mixed up with Latin words and phrases, and all that Cicely made
+      out of it was that they were accused of many horrible crimes, and of
+      having called up the devil and consorted with him in the shape of a
+      monster with horns and hoofs, and of her father&rsquo;s ghost. When it was
+      finished they were commanded to answer, and pleaded Not Guilty, or rather
+      Cicely and Emlyn did, for Bridget broke into a long tale that could not be
+      followed. She was ordered to be silent, after which no one took any more
+      heed of what she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now the Bishop asked whether these women had been put to the question, and
+      when he was told No, said that it seemed a pity, as evidently they were
+      stubborn witches, and some discipline of the sort might have saved
+      trouble. Again he asked if the witch&rsquo;s marks had been found on them&mdash;that
+      is, the spot where the devil had sealed their bodies, on which, as was
+      well known, his chosen could feel no pain. He even suggested that the
+      trial should be adjourned until they had been pricked all over with a nail
+      to find this spot, but ultimately gave up the point to save time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A last question was raised by the beetle-browed Prior, who submitted that
+      the infant ought also to be accused, since he, too, was said to have
+      consorted with the devil, having, according to the story, been rescued
+      from death by him and afterwards been carried in his arms and given to the
+      nun Bridget, which was the only evidence against the said Bridget. If she
+      was guilty, why, then, was the infant innocent? Ought not they to burn
+      together, since a babe that had been nursed by the Evil One was obviously
+      damned?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The legal-minded Bishop found this argument interesting, but ultimately
+      decided that it was safer to overrule it on account of the tender age of
+      the criminal. He added that it did not matter, since doubtless the foul
+      fiend would claim his own ere long.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lastly, before the witnesses were called, Emlyn asked for an advocate to
+      defend them, but the Bishop replied, with a chuckle, that it was quite
+      unnecessary, since already they had the best of all advocates&mdash;Satan
+      himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;True, my Lord,&rdquo; said Cicely, looking up, &ldquo;we have the best of all
+      advocates, only you have mis-named him. The God of the innocent is our
+      advocate, and in Him I trust.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Blaspheme not, Sorceress,&rdquo; shouted the old man; and the evidence
+      commenced.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To follow it in detail is not necessary, and, indeed, would be long, for
+      it took many hours. First of all Emlyn&rsquo;s early life was set out, much
+      being made of the fact that her mother was a gypsy who had committed
+      suicide and that her father had fallen under the ban of the Inquisition,
+      an heretical work of his having been publicly burned. Then the Abbot
+      himself gave evidence, since, where the charge was sorcery, no one seemed
+      to think it strange that the same man should both act as judge and be the
+      principal witness for the prosecution. He told of Cicely&rsquo;s wild words
+      after the burning of Cranwell Towers, from which burning she and her
+      familiar, Emlyn, had evidently escaped by magic, without the aid of which
+      it was plain they could not have lived. He told of Emlyn&rsquo;s threats to him
+      after she had looked into the bowl of water; of all the dreadful things
+      that had been seen and done at Blossholme, which no doubt these witches
+      had brought about&mdash;here he was right&mdash;though how he knew not. He
+      told of the death of the midwife and of the appearance which she presented
+      afterwards&mdash;a tale that caused his audience to shudder; and, lastly,
+      he told of the vision of the ghost of Sir John Foterell holding converse
+      with the two accused in the chapel of the Nunnery, and its vanishing away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When at length he had finished Emlyn asked leave to cross-examine him, but
+      this was refused on the ground that persons accused of such crimes had no
+      right to cross-examine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then the Court adjourned for a while to eat, some food being brought for
+      the prisoners, who were forced to take it where they stood. Worse still,
+      Cicely was driven to nurse her child in the presence of all that audience,
+      who stared and gibed at her rudely, and were angry because Emlyn and some
+      of the nuns stood round her to form a living screen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the judges returned the evidence went on. Though most of it was
+      entirely irrelevant, its volume was so great that at length the Old Bishop
+      grew weary, and said he would hear no more. Then the judges went on to
+      put, first to Cicely and afterwards to Emlyn, a series of questions of a
+      nature so abominable that after denying the first of them indignantly,
+      they stood silent, refusing to answer&mdash;proof positive of their guilt,
+      as the black-browed Prior remarked in triumph. Lastly, these hideous
+      queries being exhausted, Cicely was asked if she had anything to say.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Somewhat,&rdquo; she answered; &ldquo;but I am weary, and must be brief. I am no
+      witch; I do not know what it means. The Abbot of Blossholme, who sits as
+      my judge, is my grievous enemy. He claimed my father&rsquo;s lands&mdash;which
+      lands I believe he now holds&mdash;and cruelly murdered my said father by
+      King&rsquo;s Grave Mount in the forest as he was riding to London to make
+      complaint of him and reveal his treachery to his Grace the King and his
+      Council&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is a lie, witch,&rdquo; broke in the Abbot, but, taking no heed, Cicely went
+      on&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Afterwards he and his hired soldiers attacked the house of my husband,
+      Sir Christopher Harflete, and burnt it, slaying, or striving to slay&mdash;I
+      know not which&mdash;my said husband, who has vanished away. Then he
+      imprisoned me and my servant, Emlyn Stower, in this Nunnery, and strove to
+      force me to sign papers conveying all my own and my child&rsquo;s property to
+      him. This I refused to do, and therefore it is that he puts me on my
+      trial, because, as I am told, those who are found guilty of witchcraft are
+      stripped of all their possessions, which those take who are strong enough
+      to keep them. Lastly, I deny the authority of this Court, and appeal to
+      the King, who soon or late will hear my cry and avenge my wrongs, and
+      maybe my murder, upon those who wrought them. Good people all, hear my
+      words. I appeal to the King, and to him under God above I entrust my
+      cause, and, should I die, the guardianship of my orphan son, whom the
+      Abbot sent his creature to murder&mdash;his vile creature, upon whose head
+      fell the Almighty&rsquo;s justice, as it will fall on yours, you slaughterers of
+      the innocent.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So spoke Cicely, and, having spoken, worn out with fatigue and misery,
+      sank to the floor&mdash;for all these hours there had been no stool for
+      her to sit on&mdash;and crouched there, still holding her child in her
+      arms&mdash;a piteous sight indeed, which touched even the superstitious
+      hearts of the crowd who watched her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now this appeal of hers to the King seemed to scare the fierce Old Bishop,
+      who turned and began to argue with the Abbot. Cicely, listening, caught
+      some of his words, such as&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;On your head be it, then. I judge only of the cause ecclesiastic, and
+      shall direct it to be so entered upon the records. Of the execution of the
+      sentence or the disposal of the property I wash my hands. See you to it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So spoke Pilate,&rdquo; broke in Cicely, lifting her head and looking him in
+      the eyes. Then she let it fall again, and was silent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now Emlyn opened her lips, and from them burst a fierce torrent of words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you know,&rdquo; she began, &ldquo;who and what is this Spanish priest who sits to
+      judge us of witchcraft? Well, I will tell you. Years ago he fled from
+      Spain because of hideous crimes that he had committed there. Ask him of
+      Isabella the nun, who was my father&rsquo;s cousin, and her end and that of her
+      companions. Ask him of&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At this point a monk, to whom the Abbot had whispered something, slipped
+      behind Emlyn and threw a cloth over her face. She tore it away with her
+      strong hands, and screamed out&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He is a murderer, he is a traitor. He plots to kill the King. I can prove
+      it, and that&rsquo;s why Foterell died&mdash;because he knew&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot shouted something, and again the monk, a stout fellow named
+      Ambrose, got the cloth over her mouth. Once more she wrenched herself
+      loose, and, turning towards the people, called&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have I never a friend, who have befriended so many? Is there no man in
+      Blossholme who will avenge me of this brute Ambrose? Aye, I see some.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then this Ambrose, and others aiding him, fell upon her, striking her on
+      the head and choking her, till at length she sank, half stunned and
+      gasping, to the ground.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now, after a hurried word or two with his colleagues, the Bishop sprang
+      up, and as darkness gathered in the hall&mdash;for the sun had set&mdash;pronounced
+      the sentence of the Court.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      First he declared the prisoners guilty of the foulest witchcraft. Next he
+      excommunicated them with much ceremony, delivering their souls to their
+      master, Satan. Then, incidentally, he condemned their bodies to be burnt,
+      without specifying when, how, or by whom. Out of the gloom a clear voice
+      spoke, saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You exceed your powers, Priest, and usurp those of the King. Beware!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A tumult followed, in which some cried &ldquo;Aye&rdquo; and some &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; and when at
+      length it died down the Bishop, or it may have been the Abbot&mdash;for
+      none could see who spoke&mdash;exclaimed&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Church guards her own rights; let the King see to his.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He will, he will,&rdquo; answered the same voice. &ldquo;The Pope is in his bag.
+      Monks, your day is done.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again there was tumult, a very great tumult. In truth the scene, or rather
+      the sounds, were strange. The Bishop shrieking with rage upon the bench,
+      like a hen that has been caught upon her perch at night, the black-browed
+      Prior bellowing like a bull, the populace surging and shouting this and
+      that, the secretary calling for candles, and when at length one was
+      brought, making a little star of light in that huge gloom, putting his
+      hand to his mouth and roaring&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What of this Bridget? Does she go free?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Bishop made no answer; it seemed as though he were frightened at the
+      forces which he had let loose; but the Abbot hallooed back&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Burn the hag with the others,&rdquo; and the secretary wrote it down upon his
+      brief.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then the guards seized the three of them to lead them away, and the
+      frightened babe set up a thin, piercing wail, while the Bishop and his
+      companions, preceded by one of the monks bearing the candle&mdash;it was
+      that Ambrose who had choked Emlyn&mdash;marched in procession down the
+      hall to gain the great door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ere ever they reached it the candle was dashed from the hand of Ambrose,
+      and a fearful tumult arose in the dense darkness, for now all light had
+      vanished. There were screams, and sounds of fighting, and cries for help.
+      These died away; the hall emptied by degrees, for it seemed that none
+      wished to stay there. Torches were lit, and showed a strange scene.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Bishop, the Abbot, and the foreign Prior lay here and there, buffeted,
+      bleeding, their robes torn off them, so that they were almost naked, while
+      by the Bishop was his crozier, broken in two, apparently across his own
+      head. Worse of all, the monk Ambrose leaned against a pillar; his feet
+      seemed to go forward but his face looked backward, for his neck was
+      twisted like that of a Michaelmas goose.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Bishop looked about him and felt his hurts; then he called to his
+      people&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bring me my cloak and a horse, for I have had enough of Blossholme and
+      its wizardries. Settle your own matters henceforth, Abbot Maldon, for in
+      them I find no luck,&rdquo; and he glanced at his broken staff.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus ended the great trial of the Blossholme witches.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely had sunk to sleep at last, and Emlyn watched her, for, since there
+      was nowhere else to put them, they were back in their own room, but
+      guarded by armed men, lest they should escape. Of this, as Emlyn knew
+      well, there was little chance, for even if they were once outside the
+      Priory walls, how could they get away without friends to help, or food to
+      eat, or horses to carry them? They would be run down within a mile.
+      Moreover, there was the child, which Cicely would never leave, and, after
+      all she had undergone, she herself was not fit to travel. Therefore it was
+      that Emlyn sat sleepless, full of bitter wrath and fear, for she could see
+      no hope. All was black as the night about them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The door opened, and was shut and locked again. Then, from behind the
+      curtain, appeared the tall figure of the Prioress, carrying a candle that
+      made a star of light upon the shadows. As she stood there holding it up
+      and looking about her, something came into Emlyn&rsquo;s mind. Perhaps she would
+      help, she who loved Cicely. Did she not look like a figure of hope, with
+      her sweet face and her taper in the gloom? Emlyn advanced to meet her, her
+      finger on her lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She sleeps; wake her not,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Have you come to tell us that we
+      burn to-morrow?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, Emlyn; the Old Bishop has commanded that it shall not be for a week.
+      He would have time to get across England first. Indeed, had it not been
+      for the beating of him in the dark and the twisting of the neck of Brother
+      Ambrose, I believe that he would not have suffered it at all, for fear of
+      trouble afterwards. But now he is full of rage, and swears that he was set
+      upon by evil spirits in the hall, and that those who loosed them shall not
+      live. Emlyn, <i>who</i> killed Father Ambrose? Was it men or&mdash;&mdash;?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Men, I think, Mother. The devil does not twist necks except in monkish
+      dreams. Is it wonderful that my lady&mdash;the greatest lady of all these
+      parts and the most foully treated&mdash;should have friends left to her?
+      Why, if they were not curs, ere now her people would have pulled that
+      Abbey stone from stone and cut the throat of every man within its walls.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Emlyn,&rdquo; said the Prioress again, &ldquo;in the name of Jesus and on your soul,
+      tell me true, is there witchcraft in all this business? And if not, what
+      is its meaning?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As much witchcraft as dwells in your gentle heart; no more. A man did
+      these things; I&rsquo;ll not give you his name, lest it should be wrung from
+      you. A man wore Foterell&rsquo;s armour, and came here by a secret hole to take
+      counsel with us in the chapel. A man burnt the Abbey dormers and the
+      stacks, and harried the beasts with a goatskin on his head, and dragged
+      the skull of drunken Andrew from his grave. Doubtless it was his hand also
+      that twisted Ambrose&rsquo;s neck because he struck me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The two women looked each other in the eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; said the Prioress. &ldquo;I think I can guess now; but, Emlyn, you choose
+      rough tools. Well, fear not; your secret is safe with me.&rdquo; She paused a
+      moment; then went on, &ldquo;Oh! I am glad, who feared lest the Fiend&rsquo;s finger
+      was in it all, as, in truth, they believe. Now I see my path clear, and
+      will follow it to the death. Yes, yes; I will save you all or die.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What path, Mother?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Emlyn, you have heard no tidings for these many months, but I have.
+      Listen; there is much afoot. The King, or the Lord Cromwell, or both, make
+      war upon the lesser Houses, dissolving them, seizing their goods, turning
+      the religious out of them upon the world to starve. His Grace sends Royal
+      Commissioners to visit them, and be judge and jury both. They were coming
+      here, but I have friends and some fortune of my own, who was not born
+      meanly or ill-dowered, and I found a way to buy them off. One of these
+      Commissioners, Thomas Legh, as I heard only to-day, makes inquisition at
+      the monastery of Bayfleet, in Yorkshire, some eighty miles away, of which
+      my cousin, Alfred Stukley, whose letter reached me this morning, is the
+      Prior. Emlyn, I&rsquo;ll go to this rough man&mdash;for rough he is, they say.
+      Old and feeble as I am, I&rsquo;ll seek him out and offer up the ancient House I
+      rule to save your life and Cicely&rsquo;s&mdash;yes, and Bridget&rsquo;s also.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will go, Mother! Oh! God&rsquo;s blessing be on you. But how will you go?
+      They will never suffer it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old nun drew herself up, and answered&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who has the right to say to the Prioress of Blossholme that she shall not
+      travel whither she will? No Spanish Abbot, I think. Why, but now that
+      proud priest&rsquo;s servants would have forbidden me to enter your chamber in
+      my own House, but I read them a lesson they will not forget. Also I have
+      horses at my command, but it is true I need an escort, who am not too
+      strong and little versed in the ways of the outside world, where I have
+      scarcely strayed for many years. Now I have bethought me of that
+      red-haired lay-brother, Thomas Bolle. I am told that though foolish, he is
+      a valiant man whom few care to face; moreover, that he understands horses
+      and knows all roads. Do you think, Emlyn Stower, that Thomas Bolle will be
+      my companion on this journey, with leave from the Abbot, or without it?&rdquo;
+       and again she looked her in the eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He might, he might; he is a venturous man, or so I remember him in my
+      youth,&rdquo; answered Emlyn. &ldquo;Moreover, his forefathers have served the
+      Harfletes and the Foterells for generations in peace and war, and
+      doubtless, therefore, he loves my lady yonder. But the trouble is to get
+      at him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No trouble at all, Emlyn; he is one of the watch outside the gate. But,
+      woman, what token?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Emlyn thought for a moment, then drew a ring off her finger in which was
+      set a cornelian heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Give him this,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;and say that the wearer bade him follow the
+      bearer to the death, for the sake of that wearer&rsquo;s life and another&rsquo;s. He
+      is a simple soul, and if the Abbot does not catch him first I believe that
+      he will go.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mother Matilda took the ring and set it on her own finger. Then she walked
+      to where Cicely lay sleeping, looked at her and the boy upon her breast.
+      Stretching out her thin hands, she called down the blessing and protection
+      of Almighty God upon them both, then turned to depart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Emlyn caught her by the robe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stay,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;You think I do not understand; but I do. You are giving
+      up everything for us. Even if you live through it, this House, which has
+      been your charge for many years, will be dissolved; your sheep will be
+      scattered to starve in their toothless age; the fold that has sheltered
+      them for four hundred years will become a home of wolves. I understand
+      full well, and she&rdquo;&mdash;pointing to the sleeping Cicely&mdash;&ldquo;will
+      understand also.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say nothing to her,&rdquo; murmured Mother Matilda; &ldquo;I may fail.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You may fail, or you may succeed. If you fail and we burn, God shall
+      reward you. If you succeed and we are saved, on her behalf I swear that
+      you shall not suffer. There is wealth hidden away&mdash;wealth worth many
+      priories; you and yours shall have your share of it, and that Commissioner
+      shall not go lacking. Tell him that there is some small store to pay him
+      for his trouble, and that the Abbot of Blossholme would rob him of it.
+      Now, my Lady Margaret&mdash;for that, I think, used to be your name, and
+      will be again when you have done with priests and nuns&mdash;bless me also
+      and begone, and know that, living or dead, I hold you great and holy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So the Prioress blessed her ere she glided thence in her stately fashion,
+      and the oaken door opened and shut behind her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Three days later the Abbot visited them alone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Foul and accursed witches,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I come to tell you that next Monday
+      at noon you burn upon the green in front of the Abbey gate, who, were it
+      not for the mercy of the Church, should have been tortured also till you
+      discovered your accomplices, of whom I think that you have many.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Show me the King&rsquo;s warrant for this slaughter,&rdquo; said Cicely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will show you nothing save the stake, witch. Repent, repent, ere it be
+      too late. Hell and its eternal fires yawn for you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do they yawn for my child also, my Lord Abbot?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your brat will be taken from you ere you enter the flames and laid upon
+      the ground, since it is baptized and too young to burn. If any have pity
+      on it, good; if not, where it lies, there it will be buried.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So be it,&rdquo; answered Cicely. &ldquo;God gave it; God save it. In God I put my
+      trust. Murderer, leave me to make my peace with Him,&rdquo; and she turned and
+      walked away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now the Abbot and Emlyn were face to face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do we really burn on Monday?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Without doubt, unless faggots will not take fire. Yet,&rdquo; he added slowly,
+      &ldquo;if certain jewels should chance to be found and handed over, the case
+      might be remitted to another Court.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And the torment prolonged. My Lord Abbot, I fear that those jewels will
+      never be found.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, then you burn&mdash;slowly, perhaps, for much rain has fallen of
+      late and the wood is green. They say the death is dreadful.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Doubtless one day you will find it so, Clement Maldonado, here or
+      hereafter. But of that we will talk together when all is done&mdash;of
+      that and many other things. I mean before the Judgment-seat of God. Nay,
+      nay, I do not threaten after your fashion&mdash;it shall be so. Meanwhile
+      I ask the boon of a dying woman. There are two whom I would see&mdash;the
+      Prioress Matilda, in whose charge I desire to leave a certain secret, and
+      Thomas Bolle, a lay-brother in your Abbey, a man who once engaged himself
+      to me in marriage. For your own sake, deny me not these favours.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They should be granted readily enough were it in my power, but it is
+      not,&rdquo; answered the Abbot, looking at her curiously, for he thought that to
+      them she might tell what she had refused to him&mdash;the hiding-place of
+      the jewels, which afterwards he could wring out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not, my Lord Abbot?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because the Prioress has gone hence, secretly, upon some journey of her
+      own, and Thomas Bolle has vanished away I knew not where. If they, or
+      either of them, return ere Monday you shall see them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And if they do not return I shall see them afterwards,&rdquo; replied Emlyn,
+      with a shrug of her shoulders. &ldquo;What does it matter? Fare you well till we
+      meet at the fire, my Lord Abbot.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      On the Sunday&mdash;that is, the day before the burning&mdash;the Abbot
+      came again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Three days ago,&rdquo; he said, addressing them both, &ldquo;I offered you a chance
+      of life upon certain conditions, but, obstinate witches that you are, you
+      refused to listen. Now I offer you the last boon in my power&mdash;not
+      life, indeed; it is too late for that&mdash;but a merciful death. If you
+      will give me what I seek, the executioner shall dispatch you both before
+      the fire bites&mdash;never mind how. If not&mdash;well, as I have told
+      you, there has been much rain, and they say the faggots are somewhat
+      green.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely paled a little&mdash;who would not, even in those cruel days?&mdash;then
+      asked&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what is it that you seek, or that we can give? A confession of our
+      guilt, to cover up your crime in the eyes of the world? If so, you shall
+      never have it, though we burn by inches.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I seek that, but for your own sakes, not for mine, since those who
+      confess and repent may receive absolution. Also I seek more&mdash;the rich
+      jewels which you have in hiding, that they may be used for the purposes of
+      the Church.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then it was that Cicely showed the courage of her blood.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never, never!&rdquo; she cried, turning on him with eyes ablaze. &ldquo;Torture and
+      slay me if you will, but my wealth you shall not thieve. I know not where
+      these jewels are, but wherever they may be, there let them lie till my
+      heirs find them, or they rot.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot&rsquo;s face grew very evil.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is that your last word, Cicely Foterell?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She bowed her head, and he repeated the question to Emlyn, who answered&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What my mistress says, I say.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So be it!&rdquo; he exclaimed. &ldquo;Doubtless you sorceresses put your trust in the
+      devil. Well, we shall see if he will help you to-morrow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;God will help us,&rdquo; replied Cicely in a quiet voice. &ldquo;Remember my words
+      when the time comes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he went.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XII
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      THE STAKE
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      It was an awful night. Let those who have followed this history think of
+      the state of these two women, one of them still but a girl, who on the
+      morrow, amidst the jeers and curses of superstitious men, were to suffer
+      the cruelest of deaths for no crime at all, unless the traffickings of
+      Emlyn with Thomas Bolle, in which Cicely had small share, could be held a
+      crime. Well, thousands quite as blameless were called on to undergo that,
+      and even worse fates in the days which some name good and old, the days of
+      chivalry and gallant knights, when even little children were tormented and
+      burned by holy and learned folk who feared a visible or at least a
+      tangible devil and his works.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Doubtless their cruelty was that of terror. Doubtless, although he had
+      other ends to gain which to him were sacred, the Abbot Maldon did believe
+      that Cicely and Emlyn had practised horrible witchcraft; that they had
+      conversed with Satan in order to revenge themselves upon him, and
+      therefore were too foul to live. The &ldquo;Old Bishop&rdquo; believed it also, and so
+      did the black-browed Prior and the most of the ignorant people who lived
+      around and knew of the terrible things which had happened in Blossholme.
+      Had not some of them actually seen the fiend with horns and hoofs and tail
+      driving the Abbey cattle, and had not others met the ghost of Sir John
+      Foterell, which doubtless was but that fiend in another shape? Oh, these
+      women were guilty, without doubt they were guilty and deserved the stake!
+      What did it matter if the husband and father of one of them had been
+      murdered and the other had suffered grievous but forgotten wrongs?
+      Compared to witchcraft murder was but a light and homely crime, one that
+      would happen when men&rsquo;s passions and needs were involved, quite a familiar
+      thing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was an awful night. Sometimes Cicely slept a little, but the most of it
+      she spent in prayer. The fierce Emlyn neither slept nor prayed, except
+      once or twice that vengeance might fall upon the Abbot&rsquo;s head, for her
+      whole soul was up in arms and it galled her to think that she and her
+      beloved mistress must die shamefully while their enemy lived on triumphant
+      and in honour. Even the infant seemed nervous and disturbed, as though
+      some instinct warned it of terror at hand, for although it was well
+      enough, against its custom it woke continually and wailed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Emlyn,&rdquo; said Cicely towards morning, but before the light had come, after
+      at length she had soothed it to rest, &ldquo;do you think that Mother Matilda
+      will be able to help us?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no; put it from your mind, dearie. She is weak and old, the road is
+      rough and long, and mayhap she has never reached the place. It was a great
+      venture for her to try such a journey, and if she came there, why, perhaps
+      the Commissioner man had gone, or perhaps he will not listen, or perhaps
+      he cannot come. What would he care about the burning of two witches a
+      hundred miles away, this leech who is sucking himself full upon the
+      carcass of some fat monastery? No, no, never count on her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;At least she is brave and true, Emlyn, and has done her best, for which
+      may Heaven&rsquo;s blessing rest upon her always. Now, what of Thomas Bolle?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing, except that he is a red-headed jackass that can bray but daren&rsquo;t
+      kick,&rdquo; answered Emlyn viciously. &ldquo;Never speak to me of Thomas Bolle. Had
+      he been a man long ago he&rsquo;d have broken the neck of that rogue Abbot
+      instead of dressing himself up like a he-goat and hunting his cows.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If what they say is true he did break the neck of Father Ambrose,&rdquo;
+       replied Cicely, with a faint smile. &ldquo;Perhaps he made a mistake in the
+      dark.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If so it is like Thomas Bolle, who ever wished the right thing and did
+      the wrong. Talk no more of him, since I would not meet my end in a bad
+      spirit. Thomas Bolle, who lets us die for his elfish pranks! A pest on the
+      half-witted cur, say I. And after I had kissed him too!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely wondered vaguely to what she referred, then, thinking it well not
+      to inquire, said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not so, a blessing on him, say I, who saved my child from that hateful
+      hag.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then there was silence for a while, the matter of poor Thomas Bolle and
+      his conduct being exhausted between them, who indeed were in no mood for
+      argument about people whom they would never see again. At last Cicely
+      spoke once more through the darkness&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Emlyn, I will try to be brave; but once, do you remember, I burnt my hand
+      as a child when I stole the sweetmeats from the cooling pot, and ah! it
+      hurt me. I will try to die as those who went before me would have died,
+      but if I should break down think not the less of me, for the spirit is
+      willing though the flesh be weak.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Emlyn ground her teeth in silence, and Cicely went on&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But that is not the worst of it, Emlyn. A few minutes and it will be over
+      and I shall sleep, as I think, to awake elsewhere. Only if Christopher
+      should really live, how he will mourn when he learns&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I pray that he does,&rdquo; broke in Emlyn, &ldquo;for then ere long there will be a
+      Spanish priest the less on earth and one the more in hell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And the child, Emlyn, the child!&rdquo; she went on in a trembling voice, not
+      heeding the interruption. &ldquo;What will become of my son, the heir to so much
+      if he had his rights, and yet so friendless? They&rsquo;ll murder him also,
+      Emlyn, or let him die, which is the same thing, since how otherwise will
+      they get title to his lands and goods?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If so, his troubles will be done and he will be better with you in
+      heaven,&rdquo; Emlyn answered, with a dry sob. &ldquo;The boy and you in heaven midst
+      the blessed saints, and the Abbot and I in hell settling our score there
+      with the devil for company, that&rsquo;s all I ask. There, there, I blaspheme,
+      for injustice makes me mad; it clogs my heart and I throw it up in bitter
+      words, for your sake, dear, and his, not my own. Child, you are good and
+      gentle, to such as you the Ear of God is open. Call to him; ask for light,
+      He will not refuse. Do you remember in the fire at the Towers, when we
+      crouched in that vault and the walls crumbled overhead, you said you saw
+      His angel bending over us and heard his speech. Call to Him, Cicely, and
+      if He will not listen, hear me. I have a means of death about me. Ask not
+      what it is, but if at the end I turn on you and strike, blame me not here
+      or hereafter, for it will be love&rsquo;s blow, my last service.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It seemed as though Cicely did not understand those heavy words, at the
+      least she took no heed of them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll pray again,&rdquo; she whispered, &ldquo;though I fear that heaven&rsquo;s doors are
+      closed to me; no light comes through,&rdquo; and she knelt down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For long, long she prayed, till at length weariness overcame her, and
+      Emlyn heard her breathing softly like one asleep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let her sleep,&rdquo; she murmured to herself. &ldquo;Oh! if I were sure&mdash;she
+      should never wake again to see the dawn. I have half a mind to do it, but
+      there it is, I am not sure. If there is a God He will never suffer such a
+      thing. I&rsquo;d have paid the jewels, but what&rsquo;s the use? They would have
+      killed her all the same, for else where&rsquo;s their title? No, my heart bids
+      me wait.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely awoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Emlyn,&rdquo; she said in a low, thrilling voice, &ldquo;do you hear me, Emlyn? That
+      angel has been with me again. He spoke to me,&rdquo; and she paused.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, well, what did he say?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know, Emlyn,&rdquo; she answered, confused; &ldquo;it has gone from me. But,
+      Emlyn, have no fear, all is well with us, and not only with us but with
+      Christopher and the babe also. Oh, yes, with Christopher and the babe
+      also,&rdquo; and she let her fair head fall upon the couch and burst into a
+      flood of happy tears. Then, rising, she took up the child and kissed it,
+      laid herself down and slept sweetly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Just then the dawn broke, a glorious dawn, and Emlyn held out her arms to
+      it in an ecstasy of gratitude. For with that light her terror passed away
+      as the darkness passed. She believed that God had spoken to Cicely and for
+      a while her heart was at peace.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When about eight o&rsquo;clock that morning the door was opened to allow a nun
+      to bring them their food, she saw a sight which filled her with amazement.
+      Her own eyes, poor woman, were red with tears, for, like all in the
+      Priory, she loved Cicely, whom as a child she had nursed on her knee, and
+      with the other sisters had spent a sleepless night in prayer for her, for
+      Emlyn, and for Bridget, who was to be burned with them. She had expected
+      to find the victims prostrate and perhaps senseless with fear, but behold!
+      there they sat together in the window-place, dressed in their best
+      garments and talking quietly. Indeed, as she entered one of them&mdash;it
+      was Cicely&mdash;laughed a little at something that the other had said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good-morning to you, Sister Mary,&rdquo; said Cicely. &ldquo;Tell me now, has the
+      Prioress returned?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, nay, we know not where she is; no word has come from her. Well, at
+      least she will be spared a dreadful sight. Have you any message for her
+      ear? If so, give it swiftly ere the guard call me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thank you,&rdquo; said Cicely; &ldquo;but I think that I shall be the bearer of my
+      own messages.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What? Do you, then, mean that our Mother is dead? Must we suffer woe upon
+      woe? Oh! who could have told you these sorrowful tidings?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, sister, I think that she is alive and that I, yet living, shall talk
+      with her again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Sister Mary looked bewildered, for how, she wondered, could close
+      prisoners know these things? Staring round to see that she was not
+      observed, she thrust two little packets into Cicely&rsquo;s hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wear these at the last, both of you,&rdquo; she whispered. &ldquo;Whatever they say
+      we believe you innocent, and for your sake we have done a great crime.
+      Yes, we have opened the reliquary and taken from it our most precious
+      treasure, a fragment of the cord that bound St. Catherine to the wheel,
+      and divided it into three, one strand for each of you. Perhaps, if you are
+      really guiltless, it will work a miracle. Perhaps the fire will not burn
+      or the rain will extinguish it, or the Abbot may relent.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That last would be the greatest miracle of all,&rdquo; broke in Emlyn, with
+      grim humour. &ldquo;Still we thank you from our hearts and will wear the relics
+      if they do not take them from us. Hark! they are calling you. Farewell,
+      and all blessings be on your gentle heads.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again the loud voices of the guards called, and Sister Mary turned and
+      fled, wondering if these women were not witches, how it came about that
+      they could be so brave, so different from poor Bridget, who wailed and
+      moaned in her cell below.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely and Emlyn ate their food with good appetite, knowing that they
+      would need support that day, and when it was done sat themselves again by
+      the window-place, through which they could see hundreds of people, mounted
+      and on foot, passing up the slope that led to the green in front of the
+      Abbey, though this green they could not see because of a belt of trees.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Listen,&rdquo; said Emlyn presently. &ldquo;It is hard to say, but it may be that
+      your vision of the night was but a merciful dream, and, if so, within a
+      few hours we shall be dead. Now I have the secret of the hiding-place of
+      those jewels, which, without me, none can ever find; shall I pass it on,
+      if I get the chance, to one whom I can trust? Some good soul&mdash;the
+      nuns, perhaps&mdash;will surely shelter your boy, and he might need them
+      in days to come.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely thought a while, then answered&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not so, Emlyn. I believe that God has spoken to me by His angel, as He
+      spoke to Peter in the prison. To do this would be to tempt God, showing
+      that we have no trust in Him. Let that secret lie where it is, in your
+      breast.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Great is your faith,&rdquo; said Emlyn, looking at her with admiration. &ldquo;Well,
+      I will stand or fall by it, for I think there is enough for two.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Convent bell chimed ten, and they heard a sound of feet and voices
+      below.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They come for us,&rdquo; said Emlyn; &ldquo;the burning is set for eleven, that after
+      the sight folk may get away in comfort to their dinners. Now summon that
+      great Faith of yours and hold him fast for both our sakes, since mine
+      grows faint.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The door opened and through it came monks followed by guards, the officer
+      of whom bade them rise and follow. They obeyed without speaking, Cicely
+      throwing her cloak about her shoulders.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&rsquo;ll be warm enough without that, Witch,&rdquo; said the man, with a hideous
+      chuckle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; she answered, &ldquo;I shall need it to wrap my child in when we are
+      parted. Give me the babe, Emlyn. There, now we are ready; nay, no need to
+      lead us, we cannot escape and shall not vex you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;God&rsquo;s truth, the girl has spirit!&rdquo; muttered the officer to his
+      companions, but one of the priests shook his head and answered&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Witchcraft! Satan will leave them presently.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A few more minutes and, for the first time during all those weary months,
+      they passed the gate of the Priory. Here the third victim was waiting to
+      join them, poor, old, half-witted Bridget, clad in a kind of sheet, for
+      her habit had been stripped off. She was wild-eyed and her grey locks hung
+      loose about her shoulders, as she shook her ancient head and screamed
+      prayers for mercy. Cicely shivered at the sight of her, which indeed was
+      dreadful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Peace, good Bridget,&rdquo; she said as they passed, &ldquo;being innocent, what have
+      you to fear?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The fire, the fire!&rdquo; cried the poor creature. &ldquo;I dread the fire.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then they were led to their place in the procession and saw no more of
+      Bridget for a while, although they could not escape the sound of her
+      lamentations behind them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a great procession. First went the monks and choristers, singing a
+      melancholy Latin dirge. Then came the victims in the midst of a guard of
+      twelve armed men, and after these the nuns who were forced to be present,
+      while behind and about were all the folk for twenty miles round, a crowd
+      without number. They crossed the footbridge, where stood the Ford Inn for
+      which the Flounder had bargained as the price of murder. They walked up
+      the rise by the right of way, muddy now with the autumn rains, and through
+      the belt of trees where Thomas Bolle&rsquo;s secret passage had its exit, and so
+      came at last to the green in front of the towering Abbey portal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Here a dreadful sight awaited them, for on this green were planted three
+      fourteen-inch posts of new-felled oak six feet or more in height, such as
+      no fire would easily burn through, and around each of them a kind of bower
+      of faggots open to the front. Moreover, to the posts hung new wagon
+      chains, and near by stood the village blacksmith and his apprentice, who
+      carried a hand anvil and a sledge hammer for the cold welding of those
+      chains.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At a distance from these stakes the procession was halted. Then out from
+      the gate of the Abbey came the Abbot in his robes and mitre, preceded by
+      acolytes and followed by more monks. He advanced to where the condemned
+      women stood and halted, while a friar stepped forward and read their
+      sentence to them, of which, being in Latin or in crabbed, legal words,
+      they understood nothing at all. Then in sonorous tones he adjured them for
+      the sake of their sinful souls to make full confession of their guilt,
+      that they might receive pardon before they suffered in the flesh for their
+      hideous crime of sorcery.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To this invitation Cicely and Emlyn shook their heads, saying that being
+      innocent of any sorceries they had nothing to confess. But old Bridget
+      gave another answer. She declared in a high, screaming voice that she was
+      a witch, as her mother and grandmother had been before her. She described,
+      while the crowd listened with intense interest, how Emlyn Stower had
+      introduced her to the devil, who was clad in red hose and looked like a
+      black boy with a hump on his back and a tuft of red hair hanging from his
+      nose, also many unedifying details of her interviews with this same fiend.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Asked what he said to her, she answered that he told her to bewitch the
+      Abbot of Blossholme because he was such a holy man that God had need of
+      him and he did too much good upon the earth. Also he prevented Emlyn
+      Stower and Cicely Foterell from working his, the devil&rsquo;s, will, and
+      enabled them to keep alive the baby who would be a great wizard. He told
+      her moreover that midwife Megges was an angel (here the crowd laughed)
+      sent to kill the said infant, who really was his own child, as might be
+      seen by its black eyebrows and cleft tongue, also its webbed feet, and
+      that he would appear in the shape of the ghost of Sir John Foterell to
+      save it and give it to her, which he did, saying the Lord&rsquo;s Prayer
+      backwards, and that she must bring it up &ldquo;in the faith of the Pentagon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus the poor crazed thing raved on, while sentence by sentence a scribe
+      wrote down her gibberish, causing her at last to make her mark to it, all
+      of which took a very long time. At the end she begged that she might be
+      pardoned and not burnt, but this, she was informed, was impossible.
+      Thereon she became enraged and asked why then had she been led to tell so
+      many lies if after all she must burn, a question at which the crowd roared
+      with laughter. On hearing this the priest, who was about to absolve her,
+      changed his mind and ordered her to be fastened to her stake, which was
+      done by the blacksmith with the help of his apprentice and his portable
+      anvil.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Still, her &ldquo;confession&rdquo; was solemnly read over to Cicely and Emlyn, who
+      were asked whether, after hearing it, they still persisted in a denial of
+      their guilt. By way of answer Cicely lifted the hood from her boy&rsquo;s face
+      and showed that his eyebrows were not black, but light-coloured. Also she
+      bared his feet, passing her little finger between his toes, and asking
+      them if they were webbed. Some of them answered, &ldquo;No,&rdquo; but a monk roared,
+      &ldquo;What of that? Cannot Satan web and unweb?&rdquo; Then he snatched the infant
+      from Cicely&rsquo;s arms and laid it down upon the stump of an oak that had been
+      placed there to receive it, crying out&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let this child live or die as God pleases.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Some brute who stood by aimed a blow at it with a stick, yelling, &ldquo;Death
+      to the witch&rsquo;s brat!&rdquo; but a big man, whom Emlyn recognized as one of old
+      Sir John&rsquo;s tenants, caught the falling stick from his hand and dealt him
+      such a clout with it that he fell like a stone, and went for the rest of
+      his life with but one eye and the nose flattened on the side of his face.
+      Thenceforward no one tried to harm the babe, who, as all know, because of
+      what befell him on this day, went in after life by the nickname of
+      Christopher Oak-stump.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot&rsquo;s men stepped forward to tie Cicely to her stake, but ere they
+      laid hands on her she took off her wool-lined cloak and threw it to the
+      yeoman who had struck down the fellow with his own stick, saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Friend, wrap my boy in this and guard him till I ask him from you again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, Lady,&rdquo; answered the great man, bending his knee; &ldquo;I have served the
+      grandsire and the sire, and so I&rsquo;ll serve the son,&rdquo; and throwing aside the
+      stick he drew a sword and set himself in front of the oak boll where the
+      infant lay. Nor did any venture to meddle with him, for they saw other men
+      of a like sort ranging themselves about him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now slowly enough the smith began to rivet the chain round Cicely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Man,&rdquo; she said to him, &ldquo;I have seen you shoe many of my father&rsquo;s nags.
+      Who could have thought that you would live to use your honest skill upon
+      his daughter!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      On hearing these words the fellow burst into tears, cast down his tools
+      and fled away, cursing the Abbot. His apprentice would have followed, but
+      him they caught and forced to complete the task. Then Emlyn was chained up
+      also, so that at length all was ready for the last terrible act of the
+      drama.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now the head executioner&mdash;he was the Abbey cook&mdash;placed some
+      pine splinters to light in a brazier that stood near by, and while waiting
+      for the word of command, remarked audibly to his mate that there was a
+      good wind and that the witches would burn briskly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The spectators were ordered back out of earshot, and went at last, some of
+      them muttering sullenly to each other. For here the company could not be
+      picked as it had been at the trial, and the Abbot noted anxiously that
+      among them the victims had many friends. It was time the deed was done ere
+      their smouldering love and pity flowed out into bloody tumult, he thought
+      to himself. So, advancing quickly, he stood in front of Emlyn and asked
+      her in a low voice if she still refused to give up the secret of the
+      jewels, seeing that there was yet time for him to command that they should
+      die mercifully and not by the fire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let the mistress judge, not the maid,&rdquo; answered Emlyn in a steady voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He turned and repeated the question to Cicely, who replied&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have I not told you&mdash;never. Get you behind me, O evil man, and go,
+      repent your sins ere it be too late.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot stared at her, feeling that such constancy and courage were
+      almost superhuman. He had an acute, imaginative mind which could fancy
+      himself in like case and what his state would be. Though he was in such
+      haste a great curiosity entered into him to know whence she drew her
+      strength, which even then he tried to satisfy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you mad or drugged, Cicely Foterell?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;Do you not know how
+      fire will feel when it eats up that delicate flesh of yours?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do not know and I shall never know,&rdquo; she answered quietly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you mean that you will die before it touches you, building on some
+      promise of your master, Satan?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I shall die before the fire touches me; but not here and now, and I
+      build upon a promise from the Master of us all in heaven.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He laughed, a shrill, nervous laugh, and called out loud to the people
+      around&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This witch says that she will not burn, for Heaven has promised it to
+      her. Do you not, Witch?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I say so; bear witness to my words, good people all,&rdquo; replied Cicely
+      in clear and ringing tones.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, we&rsquo;ll see,&rdquo; shouted the Abbot. &ldquo;Man, bring flame, and let Heaven&mdash;or
+      hell&mdash;help her if it can!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The cook-executioner blew at his brands, but he was nervous, or clumsy,
+      and a minute or more went by before they flamed. At length one was fit for
+      the task, and unwillingly enough he stooped to lift it up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then it was that in the midst of the intense silence, for of all that
+      multitude none seemed even to breathe, and old Bridget, who had fainted,
+      cried no more, a bull&rsquo;s voice was heard beyond the brow of the hill,
+      roaring&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>In the King&rsquo;s name, stay! In the King&rsquo;s name, stay!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      All turned to look, and there between the trees appeared a white horse,
+      its sides streaked with blood, that staggered rather than galloped towards
+      them, and on the horse a huge, red-bearded man, clad in mail and holding
+      in his hand a woodman&rsquo;s axe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fire the faggots!&rdquo; shouted the Abbot, but the cook, who was not by nature
+      brave, had already let fall his torch, which went out on the damp ground.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      By now the horse was rushing through them, treading them under foot. With
+      great, convulsive bounds it reached the ring and, as the rider leapt from
+      its back, rolled over and lay there panting, for its strength was done.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is Thomas Bolle!&rdquo; exclaimed a voice, while the Abbot cried again&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fire the faggots! Fire the faggots!&rdquo; and a soldier ran to fetch another
+      brand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Thomas was before him. Snatching up the brazier by its legs he smote
+      downwards with it so that the burning charcoal fell all about the soldier
+      and the iron cage remained fixed upon his head, shouting as he smote&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You sought fire&mdash;take it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The man rolled upon the ground screaming in pain and terror till some one
+      dragged the cage off his head, leaving his face barred like a grilled
+      herring. None took further heed of what became of him, for now Thomas
+      Bolle stood in front of the stakes waving his great axe, and repeating,
+      &ldquo;In the King&rsquo;s name, stay! In the King&rsquo;s name, stay!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What mean you, knave?&rdquo; exclaimed the furious Abbot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What I say, Priest. One step nearer and I&rsquo;ll split your crown.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot fell back and Thomas went on&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A Foterell! A Foterell! A Harflete! A Harflete! O ye who have eaten their
+      bread, come, scatter these faggots and save their flesh. Who&rsquo;ll stand with
+      me against Maldon and his butchers?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I,&rdquo; answered voices, &ldquo;and I, and I, and I!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I too,&rdquo; hallooed the yeoman by the oak stump, &ldquo;only I watch the
+      child. Nay, by God I&rsquo;ll bring it with me!&rdquo; and, snatching up the screaming
+      babe under his left arm, he ran to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On came the others also, hurling the faggots this way and that.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Break the chains,&rdquo; roared Bolle again, and somehow those strong hands did
+      it; indeed, the only hurt that Cicely took that day was from their hacking
+      at these chains. They were loose. Cicely snatched the child from the
+      yeoman, who was glad enough to be rid of it, having other work to do, for
+      now the Abbot&rsquo;s men-at-arms were coming on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ring the women round,&rdquo; roared Bolle, &ldquo;and strike home for Foterell,
+      strike home for Harflete! Ah, priest&rsquo;s dog, in the King&rsquo;s name&mdash;this!&rdquo;
+       and the axe sank up to the haft into the breast of the captain who had
+      told Cicely that she would be warm enough that day without her cloak.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then there began a great fight. The party of Foterell, of whom there may
+      have been a score, captained by Bolle, made a circle round the three green
+      oak stakes, within which stood Cicely and Emlyn and old Bridget, still
+      tied to her post, for no one had thought or found time to cut her loose.
+      These were attacked by the Abbot&rsquo;s guard, thirty or more of them, urged on
+      by Maldon himself, who was maddened by the rescue of his victims and full
+      of fear lest Cicely&rsquo;s words should be fulfilled and she herself set down
+      henceforth, not as a witch, but as a prophetess favoured by God.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On came the soldiers and were beaten back. Thrice they came on and thrice
+      they were beaten back with loss, for Bolle&rsquo;s axe was terrible to face and,
+      now that they had found a leader and their courage, the yeoman lads who
+      stood with him were sturdy fighters. Also tumult broke out among the
+      hundreds who watched, some of them taking one side and some the other, so
+      that they fell upon each other with sticks and stones and fists, even the
+      women joining in the fray, biting and tearing like bagged cats. The scene
+      was hideous and the sounds those of a sacked city, for many were hurt and
+      all gave tongue, while shrill and clear above this hateful music rose the
+      yells of Bridget, who had awakened from her faint and imagined all was
+      over and that she fathomed hell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thrice the attackers were rolled back, but of those who defended a third
+      were down, and now the Abbot took another counsel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bring bows,&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;and shoot them, for they have none!&rdquo; and men ran
+      off to do his bidding.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then it was that Emlyn&rsquo;s wit came to their aid, for when Bolle shook his
+      red head and gasped out that he feared they were lost, since how could
+      they fight against arrows, she answered&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If so, why stand here to be spitted, fool? Come, let us cut our way
+      through ere the shafts begin to fly, and take refuge among the trees or in
+      the Nunnery.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Women&rsquo;s counsel is good sometimes,&rdquo; said Bolle. &ldquo;Form up, Foterells, and
+      march.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; broke in Cicely, &ldquo;loose Bridget first, lest they should burn her
+      after all; I&rsquo;ll not stir else.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So Bridget was hacked free, and together with the wounded men, of whom
+      there were several, dragged and supported thence. Then began a running
+      fight, but one in which they still held their own. Yet they would have
+      been overwhelmed at last, for the women and the wounded hampered them, had
+      not help come. For as they hewed their path towards the belt of trees with
+      the Abbot&rsquo;s fierce fellows, some of whom were French or Spanish, hanging
+      on their flanks, suddenly, in the gap where the roadway ran, appeared a
+      horse galloping and on it a woman, who clung to its mane with both hands,
+      and after her many armed men.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look, Emlyn, look!&rdquo; exclaimed Cicely. &ldquo;Who is that?&rdquo; for she could not
+      believe her eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who but Mother Matilda,&rdquo; answered Emlyn; &ldquo;and by the saints, she is a
+      strange sight!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A strange sight she was indeed, for her hood was gone, her hair, that was
+      ever so neat, flew loose, her robe was ruckled up about her knees, the
+      rosary and crucifix she wore streamed on the air behind her and beat
+      against her back, and her garb had burst open at the front; in short,
+      never was holy, aged Prioress seen in such a state before. Down she came
+      on them like a whirlwind, for her frightened horse scented its Blossholme
+      stable, clinging grimly to her unaccustomed seat, and crying as she sped&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For God&rsquo;s love, stop this mad beast!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bolle caught it by the bridle and threw it to its haunches so that, its
+      rider speeding on, flew over its head on to the broad breast of the yeoman
+      who had watched the child, and there rested thankfully. For, as Mother
+      Matilda said afterwards with her gentle smile, never before did she know
+      what comfort there was to be found in man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When at length she loosed her arms from about his neck the yeoman stood
+      her on her feet, saying that this was worse than the baby, and her
+      wandering eyes fell upon Cicely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So I am in time! Oh! never more will I revile that horse,&rdquo; she exclaimed,
+      and sinking to her knees then and there she gasped out some prayer of
+      thankfulness. Meanwhile, those who followed her had reined up in front,
+      and the Abbot&rsquo;s soldiers with the accompanying crowd had halted behind,
+      not knowing what to make of these strangers, so that Bolle and his party
+      with the women were now between the two.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From among the new-comers rode out a fat, coarse man, with a pompous air
+      as of one who is accustomed to be obeyed, who inquired in a laboured
+      voice, for he was breathless from hard riding, what all this turmoil
+      meant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ask the Abbot of Blossholme,&rdquo; said some one, &ldquo;for it is his work.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Abbot of Blossholme? That&rsquo;s the man I want,&rdquo; puffed the fat stranger.
+      &ldquo;Appear, Abbot of Blossholme, and give account of these doings. And you
+      fellows,&rdquo; he added to his escort, &ldquo;range up and be ready, lest this said
+      priest should prove contumacious.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now the Abbot stepped forward with some of his monks and, looking the
+      horseman up and down, said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who may it be that demands account so roughly of a consecrated Abbot?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A consecrated Abbot? A consecrated peacock, a tumultuous, turbulent,
+      traitorous priest, a Spanish rogue ruffler who, I am told, keeps about him
+      a band of bloody mercenaries to break the King&rsquo;s peace and slay loyal
+      English folk. Well, consecrated Abbot, I&rsquo;ll tell you who I am. I am Thomas
+      Legh, his Grace&rsquo;s Visitor and Royal Commissioner to inspect the Houses
+      called religious, and I am come hither upon complaint made by yonder
+      Prioress of Blossholme Nunnery, as to your dealings with certain of his
+      Highness&rsquo;s subjects whom, she says, you have accused of witchcraft for
+      purposes of revenge and unlawful gain. That is who I am, my fine fowl of
+      an Abbot.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now when he heard this pompous speech the rage in Maldon&rsquo;s face was
+      replaced by fear, for he knew of this Doctor Legh and his mission, and
+      understood what Thomas Bolle had meant by his cry of, &ldquo;In the King&rsquo;s
+      name!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XIII
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      THE MESSENGER
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who makes all this tumult?&rdquo; shouted the Commissioner. &ldquo;Why do I see blood
+      and wounds and dead men? And how were you about to handle these women, one
+      of whom by her mien is of no low degree?&rdquo; and he stared at Cicely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The tumult,&rdquo; answered the Abbot, &ldquo;was caused by yonder fool, Thomas
+      Bolle, a lay-brother of my monastery, who rushed among us armed and
+      shouting &lsquo;In the King&rsquo;s name, stay.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then why did you not stay, Sir Abbot? Is the King&rsquo;s name one to be mocked
+      at? Know that I sent on the man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He had no warrant, Sir Commissioner, unless his bull&rsquo;s voice and great
+      axe are a warrant, and I did not stay because we were doing justice upon
+      the three foulest witches in the realm.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Doing justice? Whose justice and what justice? Say, had you a warrant for
+      your justice? If so, show it me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;These witches have been condemned by a Court Ecclesiastic, the judges
+      being a bishop, a prior and myself, and in pursuance of that judgment were
+      about to suffer for their sins by fire,&rdquo; replied Maldon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A Court Ecclesiastic!&rdquo; roared Dr. Legh. &ldquo;Can Courts Ecclesiastic, then,
+      toast free English folk to death? If you would not stand your trial for
+      attempted murder, show me your warrant signed by his Grace the King, or by
+      his Justices of Assize. What! You do not answer. Have you none? I thought
+      as much. Oho, Clement Maldon, you hang-faced Spanish dog, learn that eyes
+      have been on you for long, and now it seems that you would usurp the
+      King&rsquo;s prerogative besides&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; and he checked himself, then
+      went on, &ldquo;Seize that priest, and keep him fast while I make inquiry of
+      this business.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now some of the Commissioner&rsquo;s guard surrounded Maldon, nor did his own
+      men venture to interfere with them, for they had enough of fighting and
+      were frightened by this talk about the King&rsquo;s warrant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then the Commissioner turned to Cicely, and said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are Sir John Foterell&rsquo;s only child, are you not, who allege yourself
+      to be wife to Sir Christopher Harflete, or so says yonder Prioress? Now,
+      what was about to happen to you, and why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; answered Cicely, &ldquo;I and my waiting-woman and the old sister,
+      Bridget, were condemned to die by fire at those stakes upon a charge of
+      sorcery. Although it is true,&rdquo; she added, &ldquo;that I knew we should not
+      perish thus.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How did you know that, Lady? By all tokens your bodies and hot flame were
+      near enough together,&rdquo; and he glanced towards the stakes and the scattered
+      faggots.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir, I knew it because of a vision that God sent to me in my sleep last
+      night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, she swore that at the stake,&rdquo; exclaimed a voice, &ldquo;and we thought her
+      mad.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now can you deny that she is a witch?&rdquo; broke in Maldon. &ldquo;If she were not
+      one of Satan&rsquo;s own, how could she see visions and prophecy her own
+      deliverance?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If visions and prophecies are proof of witchcraft, then, Priest, all Holy
+      Writ is but a seething pot of sorcery,&rdquo; answered Legh. &ldquo;Then the Blessed
+      Virgin and St. Elizabeth were witches, and Paul and John should have been
+      burnt as wizards. Continue, Lady, leaving out your dreams until a more
+      convenient time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; went on Cicely, &ldquo;we have worked no sorcery, and my crime is that I
+      will not name my child a bastard and sign away my lands and goods to
+      yonder Abbot, the murderer of my father and perhaps of my husband. Oh!
+      listen, listen, you and all folk here, and briefly as I may I will tell my
+      tale. Have I your leave to speak?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Commissioner nodded, and she set out her story from the beginning, so
+      sweetly, so simply and with such truth and earnestness, that the concourse
+      of people packed close about her, hung upon her every word, and even Dr.
+      Legh&rsquo;s coarse face softened as he heard. For the half of an hour or more
+      she spoke, telling of her father&rsquo;s death, of her flight and marriage, of
+      the burning of Cranwell Towers, and her widowing, if such it were; of her
+      imprisonment in the Priory and the Abbot&rsquo;s dealings with her and Emlyn; of
+      the birth of her child and its attempted murder by the midwife, his
+      creature; of their trial and condemnation, they being innocent, and of all
+      they had endured that day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you are innocent,&rdquo; shouted a priest as she paused for breath, &ldquo;what
+      was that Thing dressed in the livery of Satan which worked evil at
+      Blossholme? Did we not see it with our eyes?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Just then some one uttered an exclamation and pointed to the shadow of the
+      trees where a strange form was moving. Another moment and it came out into
+      the light. One more and all that multitude scattered like frightened
+      sheep, rushing this way and that; yes, even the horses took the bits
+      between their teeth and bolted. For there, visible to all, Satan himself
+      strolled towards them. On his head were horns, behind his back hung down a
+      tail, his body was shaggy like a beast&rsquo;s, and his face hideous and of many
+      colours, while in his hand he held a pronged fork with a long handle. This
+      way and that rushed the throng, only the Commissioner, who had dismounted,
+      stood still, perhaps because he was too afraid to stir, and with him the
+      women and some of the nuns, including the Prioress, who fell upon their
+      knees and began to utter prayers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On came the dreadful thing till it reached the King&rsquo;s Visitor, bowing to
+      him and bellowing like a bull, then very deliberately untied some strings
+      and let its horrid garb fall off, revealing the person of Thomas Bolle!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What means this mummery, knave?&rdquo; gasped Dr. Legh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mummery do you call it, sir?&rdquo; answered Thomas with a grin. &ldquo;Well, if so,
+      &lsquo;tis on the faith of such mummery that priests burn women in merry
+      England. Come, good people, come,&rdquo; he roared in his great voice, &ldquo;come,
+      see Satan in the flesh. Here are his horns,&rdquo; and he held them up, &ldquo;once
+      they grew upon the head of Widow Johnson&rsquo;s billy-goat. Here&rsquo;s his tail,
+      many a fly has it flicked off the belly of an Abbey cow. Here&rsquo;s his ugly
+      mug, begotten of parchment and the paint-box. Here&rsquo;s his dreadful fork
+      that drives the damned to some hotter corner; it has been death to whole
+      stones of eels down in the marsh-fleet yonder. I have some hell-fire too
+      among the bag of tricks; you&rsquo;ll make the best of brimstone and a little
+      oil dried out upon the hearth. Come, see the devil all complete and naught
+      to pay.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Back trooped the crowd a little fearfully, taking the properties which he
+      held, and handling them, till first one and then all of them began to
+      laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Laugh not,&rdquo; shouted Bolle. &ldquo;Is it a matter of laughter that noble ladies
+      and others whose lives are as dear to some,&rdquo; and he glanced at Emlyn,
+      &ldquo;should grill like herrings because a poor fool walks about clad in skins
+      to keep out the cold and frighten villains? Hark you, I played this trick.
+      I am Beelzebub, also the ghost of Sir John Foterell. I entered the Priory
+      chapel by a passage that I know, and saved yonder babe from murder and
+      scared the murderess down to hell; yes, from the sham devil to the true.
+      Why did I do it? Well, to protect the innocent and scourge the wicked in
+      his pride. But the wicked seized the innocent and the innocent said
+      nothing, fearing lest I should suffer with them, and&mdash;&mdash;O God,
+      you know the rest!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was a near thing, a very near thing, but I&rsquo;m not the half-wit I&rsquo;ve
+      feigned to be for years. Moreover, I had a good horse and a heavy axe, and
+      there are still true hearts round Blossholme; the dead men that lie yonder
+      show it. Heaven has still its angels on the earth, though they wear
+      strange shapes. There stands one of them, and there another,&rdquo; and he
+      pointed first to the fat and pompous Visitor, and next to the dishevelled
+      Prioress, adding: &ldquo;And now, Sir Commissioner, for all that I have done in
+      the cause of justice I ask pardon of you who wear the King&rsquo;s grace and
+      majesty as I wore old Nick&rsquo;s horns and hoofs, since otherwise the Abbot
+      and his hired butchers, who hold themselves masters of King and people,
+      will murder me for this as they have done by better men. Therefore pardon,
+      your Mightiness, pardon,&rdquo; and he kneeled down before him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have it, Bolle; in the King&rsquo;s name you have it,&rdquo; replied Legh, who
+      was more flattered by the titles and attributes poured upon him by the
+      cunning Thomas than a closer consideration might have warranted. &ldquo;For all
+      that you have done, or left undone, I, the Commissioner of his Grace,
+      declare that you shall go scot free and that no action criminal or civil
+      shall lie against you, and this my secretary shall give to you in writing.
+      Now, good fellow, rise, but steal Satan&rsquo;s plumes no more lest you should
+      feel his claws and beak, for he is an ill fowl to mock. Bring hither that
+      Spaniard Maldon. I have somewhat to say to him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now they looked this way and that, but no Abbot could they see. The guards
+      swore that they had never taken eye off him, even when they all ran before
+      the devil, yet certainly he was gone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The knave has given us the slip,&rdquo; bellowed the Commissioner, who was
+      purple with rage. &ldquo;Search for him! Seize him, for which my command shall
+      be your warrant. Draw the wood. I&rsquo;ll to the Abbey, where perchance the fox
+      has gone to earth. Five golden crowns to the man who nets the slimy
+      traitor.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now every one, burning with zeal to show their loyalty and to win the
+      crowns, scattered on the search, so that presently the three &ldquo;witches,&rdquo;
+       Thomas Bolle, Mother Matilda, and the nuns, were left standing almost
+      alone and staring at each other and the dead and wounded men who lay
+      about.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let us to the Priory,&rdquo; said Mother Matilda, &ldquo;for by the sun I judge that
+      it is time for evening prayer, and there seem to be none to hinder us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thomas went to her horse, which grazed close at hand, and led it up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, good friend,&rdquo; she exclaimed, with energy, &ldquo;while I live no more of
+      that evil beast for me. Henceforth I&rsquo;ll walk till I am carried. Keep it,
+      Thomas, as a gift; it is bought and paid for. Sister, your arm.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have I done well, Emlyn?&rdquo; Bolle asked, as he tightened the girths.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know,&rdquo; she answered, looking at him sideways. &ldquo;You played the cur
+      at first, leaving us to burn for your sins, but afterwards, well, you
+      found the wits you say you never lost. Also your manners mended, and
+      yonder captain knave learned that you can handle an axe, so we&rsquo;ll say no
+      more about it, lad, for doubtless that Abbot and his spies were sore
+      task-masters and broke your spirit with their penances and talk of hell to
+      come. Here, lift my lady on to this horse, for she is spent, and let me
+      lean upon your shoulder, Thomas. It&rsquo;s weary work standing at a stake.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely&rsquo;s recollections of the remainder of that day were always shadowy
+      and tangled. She remembered a prayer of thanksgiving in which she took
+      small part with her lips, she whose heart was one great thanksgiving. She
+      remembered the good sister who had given them the relics of St. Catherine
+      assuring her, as she received them back with care, that these and these
+      alone had worked the miracle and saved their lives. She remembered eating
+      food and straining her boy to her breast, and then she remembered no more
+      till she woke to see the morning sun streaming into that same room whence
+      on the previous day they had been led out to suffer the most horrible of
+      deaths.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yes, she woke, and see, near by was Emlyn making ready her garments, as
+      she had done these many years, and at her side lay the boy crowing in the
+      sunlight and waving his little arms, the blessed boy who knew not the
+      terrors he had passed. At first she thought that she had dreamed a very
+      evil dream, till by degrees all the truth came back to her, and she
+      shivered at its memory, yes, even as the weight of it rolled off her heart
+      she shivered and whitened like an aspen in the wind. Then she rose and
+      thanked God for His mercies, which were great.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Oh, if the strength of that horse of Thomas Bolle&rsquo;s had failed one short
+      five minutes sooner, she, in whom the red blood still ran so healthily,
+      would have been but a handful of charred bones. Or if her faith had left
+      her so that she had yielded to the Abbot and shortened all his talk at the
+      place of burning, then Bolle would have come too late. But it proved
+      sufficient to her need, and for this also truly she should be thankful to
+      its Giver.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After they had eaten, a message came to them from the Prioress, who
+      desired to see them in her chamber. Thither they went, rejoiced to find
+      that they were no longer prisoners but had liberty to come and go, and
+      found her seated in a tall chair, for she was too stiff to walk. Cicely
+      ran to her, knelt down and kissed her, and she laid her left hand upon her
+      head in blessing, for the right was cut with the chafing of the reins.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Surely, Cicely,&rdquo; she said, smiling, &ldquo;it is I who should kneel to you,
+      were I in any state to do so. For now I have heard all the tale, and it
+      seems that we have a prophetess among us, one favoured with visions from
+      on high, which visions have been most marvellously fulfilled.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is so, Mother,&rdquo; she answered briefly, for this was a matter of which
+      she would never talk at length, either then or thereafter, &ldquo;but the
+      fulfilment came through you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My daughter, I was but the minister, you were the chosen seer, still let
+      the holy business lie a while. Perhaps you will tell me of it afterwards,
+      and meantime the world and its affairs press us hard. Your deliverance has
+      been bought at no small cost, my daughter, for know that yonder coarse and
+      ungodly man, the King&rsquo;s Visitor, told me as we rode that this Nunnery must
+      be dissolved, its house and revenues seized, and I and my sisters turned
+      out to starve in our old age. Indeed, to bring him here at all I was
+      forced to petition that it might be so in a writing that I signed. See,
+      then, how great is my love for you, dear Cicely.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mother,&rdquo; she answered, &ldquo;it cannot be, it shall not be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alas! child, how will you prevent it? These Visitors, and those who
+      commission them, are hungry folk. I hear they take the lands and goods of
+      poor religious such as we are, and if these are fortunate, give one or two
+      of them a little pittance to get bread. Once I had moneys of my own, but I
+      spent them to buy back the Valley Farm which the Abbot had seized, and of
+      late to satisfy his extortions,&rdquo; and she wept a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mother, listen. I have wealth hidden away, I know not where exactly, but
+      Emlyn knows. It is my very own, the Carfax jewels that came to me from my
+      mother. It was because of these that we were brought to the stake, since
+      the Abbot offered us life in return for them, and when it was too late to
+      save us, a more merciful death than that by fire. But I forbade Emlyn to
+      yield the secret; something in my heart told me to do so, now I know why.
+      Mother, the price of those gems shall buy back your lands, and mayhap buy
+      also permission from his Grace the King for the continuance of your house,
+      where you and yours shall worship as those who went before you have done
+      for many generations. I swear it in my own name and in that of my child
+      and of my husband also&mdash;if he lives.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your husband if he lives might need this wealth, sweet Cicely.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then, Mother, except to save his life, or liberty or honour, I tell you I
+      will refuse it to him, who, when he learns what you have done for me and
+      our son, would give it you and all else he has besides&mdash;nay, would
+      pay it as an honourable debt.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, Cicely, in God&rsquo;s name and my own I thank you, and we&rsquo;ll see, we&rsquo;ll
+      see! Only be advised, lest Dr. Legh should learn of this treasure. But
+      where is it, Emlyn? Fear not to tell me who can be secret, for it is well
+      that more than one should know, and I think that your danger is past.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, speak, Emlyn,&rdquo; said Cicely, &ldquo;for though I never asked before,
+      fearing my own weakness, I am curious. None can hear us here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then, Mistress, I will tell you. You remember that on the day of the
+      burning of Cranwell we sought refuge on the central tower, whence I
+      carried you senseless to the vault. Now in that vault we lay all night,
+      and while you swooned I searched with my fingers till I found a stone that
+      time and damp had loosened, behind which was a hollow. In that hollow I
+      hid the jewels that I carried wrapt in silk in the bosom of my robe. Then
+      I filled up the hole with dust scraped from the floor, and replaced the
+      stone, wedging it tight with bits of mortar. It is the third stone
+      counting from the eastern angle in the second course above the floor line.
+      There I set them, and there doubtless they lie to this day, for unless the
+      tower is pulled down to its foundations none will ever find them in that
+      masonry.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At this moment there came a knocking on the door. When it was opened by
+      Emlyn a nun entered, saying that the King&rsquo;s Visitor demanded to speak with
+      the Prioress.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Show him here since I cannot come to him,&rdquo; said Mother Matilda, &ldquo;and you,
+      Cicely and Emlyn, bide with me, for in such company it is well to have
+      witnesses.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A minute later Dr. Legh appeared accompanied by his secretaries,
+      gorgeously attired and puffing from the stairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To business, to business,&rdquo; he said, scarcely stopping to acknowledge the
+      greetings of the Prioress. &ldquo;Your convent is sequestrated upon your own
+      petition, Madam, therefore I need not stop to make the usual inquiries,
+      and indeed I will admit that from all I hear it has a good repute, for
+      none allege scandal against you, perhaps because you are all too old for
+      such follies. Produce now your deeds, your terrier of lands and your
+      rent-rolls, that I may take them over in due form and dissolve the
+      sisterhood.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will send for them, Sir,&rdquo; answered the Prioress humbly; &ldquo;but,
+      meanwhile, tell us what we poor religious are to do? I am turned sixty
+      years of age, and have dwelt in this house for forty of them; none of my
+      sisters are young, and some of them are older than myself. Whither shall
+      we go?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Into the world, Madam, which you will find a fine, large place. Cease
+      snuffling prayers and from all vulgar superstitions&mdash;by the way,
+      forget not to hand over any reliquaries of value, or any papistical
+      emblems in precious metals that you may possess, including images, of
+      which my secretaries will take account&mdash;and go out into the world.
+      Marry there if you can find husbands, follow useful trades there. Do what
+      you will there, and thank the King who frees you from the incumbrance of
+      silly vows and from the circle of a convent&rsquo;s walls.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To give us liberty to starve outside of them. Sir, do you understand your
+      work? For hundreds of years we have sat at Blossholme, and during all
+      those generations have prayed to God for the souls of men and ministered
+      to their bodies. We have done no harm to any creature, and what wealth
+      came to us from the earth or from the benefactions of the pious we have
+      dispensed with a liberal hand, taking nothing for ourselves. The poor by
+      multitudes have fed at our gates, their sick we have nursed, their
+      children we have taught; often we have gone hungry that they might be
+      full. Now you drive us forth in our age to perish. If that is the will of
+      God, so be it, but what must chance to England&rsquo;s poor?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is England&rsquo;s business, Madam, and the poor&rsquo;s. Meanwhile I have told
+      you that I have no time to waste, since I must away to London to make
+      report concerning this Abbot of yours, a veritable rogue, of whose
+      villainous plots I have discovered many things. I pray you send a
+      messenger to bid them hurry with the deeds.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Just then a nun entered bearing a tray, on which were cakes and wine.
+      Emlyn took it from her, and pouring the wine into cups offered them to the
+      Visitor and his secretaries.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good wine,&rdquo; he said, after he had drunk, &ldquo;a very generous wine. You nuns
+      know the best in liquor; be careful, I pray you, to include it in your
+      inventory. Why, woman, are you not one of those whom that Abbot would have
+      burnt? Yes, and there is your mistress, Dame Foterell, or Dame Harflete,
+      with whom I desire a word.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am at your service, Sir,&rdquo; said Cicely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, Madam, you and your servant have escaped the stake to which, as
+      near as I can judge, you were sentenced upon no evidence at all. Still,
+      you were condemned by a competent ecclesiastical Court, and under that
+      condemnation you must therefore remain until or unless the King pardons
+      you. My judgment is, then, that you stay here awaiting his command.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Sir,&rdquo; said Cicely, &ldquo;if the good nuns who have befriended me are to
+      be driven forth, how can I dwell on in their house alone? Yet you say I
+      must not leave it, and indeed if I could, whither should I go? My
+      husband&rsquo;s hall is burnt, my own the Abbot holds. Moreover, if I bide here,
+      in this way or in that he will have my life.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The knave has fled away,&rdquo; said Dr. Legh, rubbing his fat chin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, but he will come back again, or his people will, and, Sir, you know
+      these Spaniards are good haters, and I have defied him long. Oh, Sir, I
+      crave the protection of the King for my child&rsquo;s sake and my own, and for
+      Emlyn Stower also.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Commissioner went on rubbing his chin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You can give much evidence against this Maldon, can you not?&rdquo; he asked at
+      length.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye,&rdquo; broke in Emlyn, &ldquo;enough to hang him ten times over, and so can I.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you have large estates which he has seized, have you not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have, Sir, who am of no mean birth and station.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lady,&rdquo; he said, with more deference in his voice, &ldquo;step aside with me, I
+      would speak with you privately,&rdquo; and he walked to the window, where she
+      followed him. &ldquo;Now tell me, what was the value of these properties of
+      yours?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know not rightly, Sir, but I have heard my father say about £300 a
+      year.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His manner became more deferential still, since for those days such wealth
+      was great.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed, my Lady. A large sum, a very comfortable fortune if you can get
+      it back. Now I will be frank with you. The King&rsquo;s Commissioners are not
+      well paid and their costs are great. If I so arrange your matters that you
+      come to your own again and that the judgment of witchcraft pronounced
+      against you and your servant is annulled, will you promise to pay me one
+      year&rsquo;s rent of these estates to meet the various expenses I must incur on
+      your behalf?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now it was Cicely&rsquo;s turn to think.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Surely,&rdquo; she answered at length, &ldquo;if you will add a condition&mdash;that
+      these good sisters shall be left undisturbed in their Nunnery.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He shook his fat head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is not possible now. The thing is too public. Why, the Lord Cromwell
+      would say I had been bribed, and I might lose my office.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, then,&rdquo; went on Cicely, &ldquo;if you will promise that one year of grace
+      shall be given to them to make arrangements for their future.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That I can do,&rdquo; he answered, nodding, &ldquo;on the ground that they are of
+      blameless life, and have protected you from the King&rsquo;s enemy. But this is
+      an uncertain world; I must ask you to sign an indenture, and its form will
+      be that you acknowledge to have received from me a loan of £300 to be
+      repaid with interest when you recover your estates.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Draw it up and I will sign, Sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good, Madam; and now that we may get this business through, you will
+      accompany me to London, where you will be safe from harm. We&rsquo;ll not ride
+      to-day, but to-morrow morning at the light.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then my servant Emlyn must come also, Sir, to help me with the babe, and
+      Thomas Bolle too, for he can prove that the witchcraft upon which we were
+      condemned was but his trickery.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, yes; but the costs of travel for so many will be great. Have you,
+      perchance, any money?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Sir, about £50 in gold that is sewn up in one of Emlyn&rsquo;s robes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! A sufficient sum. Too much indeed to be risked upon your persons in
+      these rough times. You will let me take charge of half of it for you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;With pleasure, Sir, trusting you as I do. Keep to your bargain and I will
+      keep to mine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good. When Thomas Legh is fairly dealt with, Thomas Legh deals fairly, no
+      man can say otherwise. This afternoon I will bring the deed, and you&rsquo;ll
+      give me that £25 in charge.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, followed by Cicely, he returned to where the Prioress sat, and said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mother Matilda, for so I understand you are called in religion, the Lady
+      Harflete has been pleading with me for you, and because you have dealt so
+      well by her I have promised in the King&rsquo;s name that you and your nuns
+      shall live on here undisturbed for one year from this day, after which you
+      must yield up peaceable possession to his Majesty, whom I will beg that
+      you shall be pensioned.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thank you, Sir,&rdquo; the Prioress answered. &ldquo;When one is old a year of
+      grace is much, and in a year many things may happen&mdash;for instance, my
+      death.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank me not&mdash;a plain man who but follows after justice and duty.
+      The documents for your signature shall be ready this afternoon, and by the
+      way, the Lady Harflete and her servant, also that stout, shrewd fellow,
+      Thomas Bolle, ride with me to London to-morrow. She will explain all. At
+      three of the clock I wait upon you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Visitor and his secretaries bustled out of the room as pompously as
+      they had entered, and when they had gone Cicely explained to Mother
+      Matilda and Emlyn what had passed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think that you have done wisely,&rdquo; said the Prioress, when she had
+      listened. &ldquo;That man is a shark, but better give him your little finger
+      than your whole body. Certainly, you have bargained well for us, for what
+      may not happen in a year? Also, dear Cicely, you will be safer in London
+      than at Blossholme, since with the great sum of £300 to gain that
+      Commissioner will watch you like the apple of his eye and push your
+      cause.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Unless some one promises him the greater sum of £1000 to scotch it,&rdquo;
+       interrupted Emlyn. &ldquo;Well, there was but one road to take, and paper
+      promises are little, though I grudge the good £25 in gold. Meanwhile,
+      Mother, we have much to make ready. I pray you send some one to find
+      Thomas Bolle, who will not be far away, for since we are no longer
+      prisoners I wish to go out walking with him on an errand of my own that
+      perchance you can guess. Wealth may be useful in London town for all our
+      sakes. Also horses and a packbeast must be got, and other things.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In due course Thomas Bolle was found fast asleep in a neighbour&rsquo;s house,
+      for after his adventures and triumph he had drunk hard and rested long.
+      When she discovered the truth Emlyn rated him well, calling him a beer-tub
+      and not a man, and many other hard names, till at last she provoked him to
+      answer, that had it not been for the said beer-tub she would be but
+      ash-dust this day. Thereon she turned the talk and told them their needs,
+      and that he must ride with them to London. To this he replied that good
+      horses should be saddled by the dawn, for he knew where to lay hands on
+      them, since some were left in the Abbot&rsquo;s stables that wanted exercise;
+      further, that he would be glad to leave Blossholme for a while, where he
+      had made enemies on the yesterday, whose friends yet lay wounded or
+      unburied. After this Emlyn whispered something in his ear, to which he
+      nodded assent, saying that he would bustle round and be ready.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That afternoon Emlyn went out riding with Thomas Bolle, who was fully
+      armed, as she said, to try two of the horses that should carry them on the
+      morrow, and it was late when she returned out of the dark night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you got them?&rdquo; asked Cicely, when they were together in their room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye,&rdquo; she answered, &ldquo;every one; but some stones have fallen, and it was
+      hard to win an entrance to that vault. Indeed, had it not been for Thomas
+      Bolle, who has the strength of a bull, I could never have done it.
+      Moreover, the Abbot has been there before us and dug over every inch of
+      the floor. But the fool never thought of the wall, so all&rsquo;s well. I&rsquo;ll sew
+      half of them into my petticoat and half into yours, to share the risk. In
+      case of thieves, the money that hungry Visitor has left to us, for I paid
+      him over half when you signed the deeds, we will carry openly in pouches
+      upon our girdles. They&rsquo;ll not search further. Oh, I forgot, I&rsquo;ve something
+      more besides the jewels, here it is,&rdquo; and she produced a packet from her
+      bosom and laid it on the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What&rsquo;s this?&rdquo; asked Cicely, looking suspiciously at the worn sail-cloth
+      in which it was wrapped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How can I tell? Cut it and see. All I know is that when I stood at the
+      Nunnery door as Thomas led away the horses, a man crept on me out of the
+      rain swathed in a great cloak and asked if I were not Emlyn Stower. I said
+      Yea, whereon he thrust this into my hand, bidding me not fail to give it
+      to the Lady Harflete, and was gone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It has an over-seas look about it,&rdquo; murmured Cicely, as with eager,
+      trembling fingers she cut the stitches. At length they were undone and a
+      sealed inner wrapping also, revealing, amongst other documents, a little
+      packet of parchments covered with crabbed, unreadable writing, on the back
+      of which, however, they could decipher the names of Shefton and Blossholme
+      by reason of the larger letters in which they were engrossed. Also there
+      was a writing in the scrawling hand of Sir John Foterell, and at the foot
+      of it his name and, amongst others, those of Father Necton and of Jeffrey
+      Stokes. Cicely stared at the deeds, then said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Emlyn, I know these parchments. They are those that my father took with
+      him when he rode for London to disprove the Abbot&rsquo;s claim, and with them
+      the evidence of the traitorous words he spoke last year at Shefton. Yes,
+      this inner wrapping is my own; I took it from the store of worn linen in
+      the passage-cupboard. But how come they here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Emlyn made no answer, only lifted the wrappings and shook them, whereon a
+      strip of paper that they had not seen fell to the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This may tell us,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Read, if you can; it has words on its inner
+      side.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely snatched at it, and as the writing was clear and clerkly, read with
+      ease save for the chokings of her throat. It ran&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My Lady Harflete,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;These are the papers that Jeffrey Stokes saved when your father fell.
+      They were given for safekeeping to the writer of these words, far away
+      across the sea, and he hands them on unopened. Your husband lives and is
+      well again, also Jeffrey Stokes, and though they have been hindered on
+      their journey, doubtless he will find his way back to England, whither,
+      believing you to be dead, as I did, he has not hurried. There are reasons
+      why I, his friend and yours, cannot see you or write more, since my duty
+      calls me hence. When it is finished I will seek you out if I still live.
+      If not, wait in peace until your joy finds you, as I think it will.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;One who loves your lord well, and for his sake you also.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely laid down the paper and burst into a flood of weeping.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, cruel, cruel!&rdquo; she sobbed, &ldquo;to tell so much and yet so little. Nay,
+      what an ungrateful wretch am I, since Christopher truly lives, and I also
+      live to learn it, I, whom he deems dead.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By my soul,&rdquo; said Emlyn, when she had calmed her, &ldquo;that cloaked man is a
+      prince of messengers. Oh, had I but known what he bore I&rsquo;d have had all
+      the story, if I must cling to him like Potiphar&rsquo;s wife to Joseph. Well,
+      well, Joseph got away and half a herring is better than no fish, also this
+      is good herring. Moreover, you have got the deeds when you most wanted
+      them and what is better, a written testimony that will bring the traitor
+      Maldon to the scaffold.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XIV
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      JACOB AND THE JEWELS
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      Cicely&rsquo;s journey to London was strange enough to her, who never before had
+      travelled farther than fifty miles from her home, and but once as a child
+      spent a month in a town when visiting an aunt at Lincoln. She went in
+      ease, it is true, for Commissioner Legh did not love hard travelling, and
+      for this reason they started late and halted early, either at some good
+      inn, if in those days any such places could be called good, or perhaps in
+      a monastery where he claimed of the best that the frightened monks had to
+      offer. Indeed, as she observed, his treatment of these poor folk was
+      cruel, for he blustered and threatened and inquired, accusing them of
+      crimes that they had not committed, and finally, although he had no
+      mission to them at the time, extracted great gifts, saying that if these
+      were not forthcoming he would make a note and return later. Also he got
+      hold of tale-bearers, and wrote down all their scandalous and lying
+      stories told against those whose bread they ate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus, long before they saw Charing Cross, Cicely came to hate this proud,
+      avaricious and overbearing man, who hid a savage nature under a cloak of
+      virtue, and whilst serving his own ends, mouthed great words about God and
+      the King. Still, she who was schooled in adversity, learned to hide her
+      heart, fearing to make an enemy of one who could ruin her, and forced
+      Emlyn, much against her will, to do the same. Moreover, there were worse
+      things than that since, being beautiful, some of his companions talked to
+      her in a way she could not misunderstand, till at length Thomas Bolle,
+      coming on one of them, thrashed him as he had never been thrashed before,
+      after which there was trouble that was only appeased by a gift.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yet on the whole things went well. No one molested the King&rsquo;s Visitor or
+      those with him, the autumn weather held fine, the baby boy kept his
+      health, and the country through which they passed was new to her and full
+      of interest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At last one evening they rode from Barnet into the great city, which she
+      thought a most marvellous place, who had never seen such a multitude of
+      houses or of men running to and fro about their business up and down the
+      narrow streets that at night were lit with lamps. Now there had been a
+      great discussion where they were to lodge, Dr. Legh saying that he knew of
+      a house suitable to them. But Emlyn would not hear of this place, where
+      she was sure they would be robbed, for the wealth that they carried
+      secretly in jewels bore heavily on her mind. Remembering a cousin of her
+      mother&rsquo;s of the name of Smith, a goldsmith, who till within a year or two
+      before was alive and dwelling in Cheapside, she said that they would seek
+      him out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thither then they rode, guided by one of the Visitor&rsquo;s clerks, not he whom
+      Bolle had beaten, but another, and at last, after some search, found a
+      dingy house in a court and over it a sign on which were painted three
+      balls and the name of Jacob Smith. Emlyn dismounted and, the door being
+      open, entered, to be greeted by an old, white-bearded man with horn
+      spectacles thrust up over his forehead and dark eyes like her own, since
+      the same gypsy blood ran strong in both of them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What passed between them Cicely did not hear, but presently the old man
+      came out with Emlyn, and looked her and Bolle up and down sharply for a
+      long while as though to take their measures. At length he said that he
+      understood from his cousin, whom he now saw for the first time for over
+      thirty years, that the two of them and their man desired lodgings, which,
+      as he had empty rooms, he would be pleased to give them if they would pay
+      the price.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely asked how much this might be, and on his naming a sum, ten silver
+      shillings a week for the three of them and their horses, that would be
+      stabled close by, told Emlyn to pay him a pound on account. This he took,
+      biting the gold to see that it was good, but bidding them in to inspect
+      the rooms before he pouched it. They did so, and finding them clean and
+      commodious if somewhat dark, closed the bargain with him, after which they
+      dismissed the clerk to take their address to Dr. Legh, who had promised to
+      advise them so soon as he could put their business forward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When he was gone and Thomas Bolle, conducted by Smith&rsquo;s apprentice, had
+      led off the three horses and the packbeast, the old man changed his
+      manner, and conducting them into a parlour at the back of his shop, sent
+      his housekeeper, a middle-aged woman with a pleasant face, to make ready
+      food for them while he produced cordials from squat Dutch bottles which he
+      made them drink. Indeed he was all kindness to them, being, as he
+      explained, rejoiced to see one of his own blood, for he had no relations
+      living, his wife and their two children having died in one of the London
+      sicknesses. Also he was Blossholme born, though he had left that place
+      fifty years before, and had known Cicely&rsquo;s grandfather and played with her
+      father when he was a boy. So he plied them with question after question,
+      some of which they thought it was not to answer, for he was a merry and
+      talkative old man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aha!&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;you would prove me before you trust me, and who can blame
+      you in this naughty world? But perhaps I know more about you all than you
+      think, since in this trade my business is to learn many things. For
+      instance, I have heard that there was a great trying of witches down at
+      Blossholme lately, whereat a certain Abbot came off worst, also that the
+      famous Carfax jewels had been lost, which vexed the said holy Abbot. They
+      were jewels indeed, or so I have heard, for among them were two pink
+      pearls worth a king&rsquo;s ransom&mdash;or so I have heard. Great pity that
+      they should be lost, since my Lady there would own them otherwise, and
+      much should I have liked, who am a little man in that trade, to set my old
+      eyes upon them. Well, well, perhaps I shall, perhaps I shall yet, for that
+      which is lost is sometimes found again. Now here comes your dinner; eat,
+      eat, we&rsquo;ll talk afterwards.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This was the first of many pleasant meals which they shared with their
+      host, Jacob Smith. Soon Emlyn found from inquiries that she made among his
+      neighbours without seeming to do so, that this cousin of hers bore an
+      excellent name and was trusted by all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then why should we not trust him also?&rdquo; asked Cicely, &ldquo;who must find
+      friends and put faith in some one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Even with the jewels, Mistress?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Even with the jewels, for such things are his business, and they would be
+      safer in his strong chest than tacked into our garments, where the thought
+      of them haunts me night and day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let us wait a while,&rdquo; said Emlyn, &ldquo;for once they were in that box how do
+      we know if we should get them out again?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      On the morrow of this talk the Visitor Legh came to see them, and had no
+      cheerful tale to tell. According to him the Lord Cromwell declared that as
+      the Abbot of Blossholme claimed these Shefton estates, the King stood, or
+      would soon stand, in the shoes of the said Abbot of Blossholme, and
+      therefore the King claimed them and could not surrender them. Moreover,
+      money was so wanted at Court just then, and here Legh looked hard at them,
+      &ldquo;that there could be no talk of parting with anything of value except in
+      return for a consideration,&rdquo; and he looked at them harder still.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And how can my Lady give that,&rdquo; broke in Emlyn sharply, for she feared
+      lest Cicely should commit herself. &ldquo;To-day she is but a homeless pauper,
+      save for a few pounds in gold, and even if she should come to her own
+      again, as your Worship knows, her first year&rsquo;s profits are all promised.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; said the Doctor sadly, &ldquo;doubtless the case is hard. Only,&rdquo; he added,
+      with cunning emphasis, &ldquo;a tale has just reached me that the Lady Harflete
+      has wealth hidden away which came to her from her mother; trinkets of
+      value and such things.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now Cicely coloured, for the man&rsquo;s little eyes pierced her like gintlets,
+      and her powers of deceit were very small. But this was not so with Emlyn,
+      who, as she said, could play thief to catch a thief.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Listen, Sir,&rdquo; she said, with a secret air, &ldquo;you have heard true. There
+      were some things of value&mdash;why should we hide it from you, our good
+      friend? But, alas! that greedy rogue, the Abbot of Blossholme, has them.
+      He has stripped my poor Lady as bare as a fowl for roasting. Get them back
+      from him, Sir, and on her behalf I say she&rsquo;ll give you half of them, will
+      you not, my Lady?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Surely,&rdquo; said Cicely. &ldquo;The Doctor, to whom we owe so much, will be most
+      welcome to the half of any movables of mine that he can recover from the
+      Abbot Maldon,&rdquo; and she paused, for the fib stuck in her throat. Moreover,
+      she knew herself to be the colour of a peony.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Happily the Commissioner did not notice her blushes, or if he did, he put
+      them down to grief and anger.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Abbot Maldon,&rdquo; he grumbled, &ldquo;always the Abbot Maldon. Oh! what a
+      wicked thief must be that high-stomached Spaniard who does not scruple
+      first to make orphans and then to rob them? A black-hearted traitor, too.
+      Do you know that at this moment he stirs up rebellion in the north? Well,
+      I&rsquo;ll see him on the rack before I have done. Have you a list of those
+      movables, Madam?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely said no, and Emlyn added that one should be made from memory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good; I&rsquo;ll see you again to-morrow or the next day, and meanwhile fear
+      not, I&rsquo;ll be as active in your business as a cat after a sparrow. Oh, my
+      rat of a Spanish Abbot, you wait till I get my claws into your fat back.
+      Farewell, my Lady Harflete, farewell. Mistress Stower, I must away to deal
+      with other priests almost as wicked,&rdquo; and he departed, still muttering
+      objurgations on the Abbot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, I think the time has come to trust Jacob Smith,&rdquo; said Emlyn, when
+      the door closed behind him, &ldquo;for he may be honest, whereas this Doctor is
+      certainly a villain; also, the man has heard something and suspects us.
+      Ah! there you are, Cousin Smith, come in, if you please, since we desire
+      to talk with you for a minute. Come in, and be so good as to lock the door
+      behind you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Five minutes later all the jewels, whereof not one was wanting, lay on the
+      table before old Jacob, who stared at them with round eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Carfax gems,&rdquo; he muttered, &ldquo;the Carfax gems of which I have so often
+      heard; those that the old Crusader brought from the East, having sacked
+      them from a Sultan; from the East, where they talk of them still. A
+      sultan&rsquo;s wealth, unless, indeed, they came straight from the New Jerusalem
+      and were an angel&rsquo;s gauds. And do you say that you two women have carried
+      these priceless things tacked in your cloaks, which, as I have seen, you
+      throw down here and there and leave behind you? Oh, fools, fools, even
+      among women incomparable fools! Fellow-travellers with Dr. Legh also, who
+      would rob a baby of its bauble.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fools or no,&rdquo; exclaimed Emlyn tartly, &ldquo;we have got them safe enough after
+      they have run some risks, as I pray that you may keep them, Cousin Smith.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Jacob threw a cloth over the gems, and slowly transferred them to his
+      pocket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This is an upper floor,&rdquo; he explained, &ldquo;and the door is locked, yet some
+      one might put a ladder up to the window. Were I in the street I should
+      know by the glitter in the light that there were precious things here.
+      Stay, they are not safe in my pocket even for an hour,&rdquo; and going to the
+      wall he did something to a panel in the wainscot causing it to open and
+      reveal a space behind it where lay sundry wrapped-up parcels, among which
+      he placed, not all, but a portion of the gems. Then he went to other
+      panels that opened likewise, showing more parcels, and in the holes behind
+      these he distributed the rest of the treasure.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, foolish women,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;since you have trusted me, I will trust
+      you. You have seen my big strong-boxes in my office, and doubtless thought
+      I keep all my little wares there. Well, so does every thief in London, for
+      they have searched them twice and gained some store of pewter; I remember
+      that some of it was discovered again in the King&rsquo;s household. But behind
+      these panels all is safe, though no woman would ever have thought of a
+      device so simple and so sure.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For a moment Emlyn could find no answer, perhaps because of her
+      indignation, but Cicely asked sweetly&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you ever have fires in London, Master Smith? It seems to me that I
+      have heard of such things, and then&mdash;in a hurry, you know&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Smith thrust up his horned spectacles and looked at her in mild
+      astonishment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To think,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;that I should live to learn wisdom out of the mouth
+      of babes and sucklers&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sucklings,&rdquo; suggested Cicely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sucklers or sucklings, it means the same thing&mdash;women,&rdquo; he replied
+      testily; then added, with a chuckle, &ldquo;Well, well, my Lady, you are right.
+      You have caught out Jacob at his own game. I never thought of fire, though
+      it is true we had one next door last year, when I ran out with my bed and
+      forgot all about the gold and stones. I&rsquo;ll have new hiding-places made in
+      the masonry of the cellar, where no fire would hurt. Ah! you women would
+      never have thought of that, who carry treasure sewn up in a nightshift.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now Emlyn could bear it no longer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And how would you have us carry it, Cousin Smith?&rdquo; she asked indignantly.
+      &ldquo;Tied about our necks, or hanging from our heels? Well do I remember my
+      mother telling me that you were always a simple youth, and that your saint
+      must have been a very strong one who brought you safe to London and showed
+      you how to earn a living there, or else that you had married a woman of
+      excellent intelligence&mdash;though it is plain now she has long been
+      dead. Well, well,&rdquo; she added, with a laugh, &ldquo;cling to your man&rsquo;s vanities,
+      you son of a woman, and since you are so clever, give us of your wisdom,
+      for we need it. But first let me tell you that I have rescued those very
+      jewels from a fire, and by hiding them in masonry in a vault.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is the fashion of the female to wrangle when she has the worst of the
+      case,&rdquo; said Jacob, with a twinkle in his eye. &ldquo;So, daughter of man, set
+      out your trouble. Perchance the wisdom that I have inherited from my
+      mothers straight back to Eve may help that which your mothers lacked. Now,
+      have you done with jests. I listen, if it pleases you to tell me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So, having first invoked the curse of Heaven on him if ever he should
+      breathe a word, Emlyn, with the help of Cicely, repeated the whole matter
+      from the beginning, and the candles were lighted ere ever her tale was
+      done. All this while Jacob Smith sat opposite to them, saying little, save
+      now and again to ask a shrewd question. At length, when they had finished,
+      he exclaimed&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Truly women are fools!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We have heard that before, Master Smith,&rdquo; replied Cicely; &ldquo;but this time&mdash;why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not to have unbosomed to me before, which would have saved you a week of
+      time, although, as it happens, I knew more of your story than you chose to
+      tell, and therefore the days have not been altogether wasted. Well, to be
+      brief, this Dr. Legh is a ravenous rogue.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;O Solomon, to have discovered that!&rdquo; exclaimed Emlyn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;One whose only aim is to line his nest with your feathers, some of which
+      you have promised him, as, indeed, you were right to do. Now he has got
+      wind of these jewels, which is not wonderful, seeing that such things
+      cannot be hid. If you buried them in a coffin, six foot underground, still
+      they would shine through the solid earth and declare themselves. This is
+      his plan&mdash;to strip you of everything ere his master, Cromwell, gets a
+      hold of you; and if you go to him empty-handed, what chance has your suit
+      with Vicar-General Cromwell, the hungriest shark of all&mdash;save one?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We understand,&rdquo; said Emlyn; &ldquo;but what is your plan, Cousin Smith?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mine? I don&rsquo;t know that I have one. Still, here is that which might do.
+      Though I seem so small and humble, I am remembered at Court&mdash;when
+      money is wanted, and just now much money is wanted, for soon they will be
+      in arms in Yorkshire&mdash;and therefore I am much remembered. Now, if you
+      care to give Dr. Legh the go-by and leave your cause to me, perhaps I
+      might serve you as cheaply as another.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;At what charge?&rdquo; blurted out Emlyn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man turned on her indignantly, asking&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cousin, how have I defrauded you or your mistress, that you should insult
+      me to my face? Go to! you do not trust me. Go to, with your jewels, and
+      seek some other helper!&rdquo; and he went to the panelling as though to collect
+      them again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, nay, Master Smith,&rdquo; said Cicely, catching him by the arm; &ldquo;be not
+      angry with Emlyn. Remember that of late we have learned in a hard school,
+      with Abbot Maldon and Dr. Legh for masters. At least I trust you, so
+      forsake me not, who have no other to whom to turn in all my troubles,
+      which are many,&rdquo; and as she spoke the great tears that had gathered in her
+      blue eyes fell upon the child&rsquo;s face, and woke him, so that she must turn
+      aside to quiet him, which she was glad to do.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Grieve not,&rdquo; said the kind-hearted old man, in distress; &ldquo;&lsquo;tis I should
+      grieve, whose brutal words have made you weep. Moreover, Emlyn is right;
+      even foolish women should not trust the first Jack with whom they take a
+      lodging. Still, since you swear that you do in your kindness, I&rsquo;ll try to
+      show myself not all unworthy, my Lady Harflete. Now, what is it you want
+      from the King? Justice on the Abbot? That you&rsquo;ll get for nothing, if his
+      Grace can give it, for this same Abbot stirs up rebellion against him. No
+      need, therefore, to set out his past misdeeds. A clean title to your large
+      inheritance, which the Abbot claims? That will be more difficult, since
+      the King claims through him. At best, money must be paid for it. A
+      declaration that your marriage is good and your boy born in lawful
+      wedlock? Not so hard, but will cost something. The annulment of the
+      sentence of witchcraft on you both? Easy, for the Abbot passed it. Is
+      there aught more?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Master Smith; the good nuns who befriended me&mdash;I would save
+      their house and lands to them. Those jewels are pledged to do it, if it
+      can be done.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A matter of money, Lady&mdash;a mere matter of money. You will have to
+      buy the property, that is all. Now, let us see what it will cost, if
+      fortune goes with me,&rdquo; and he took pen and paper and began to write down
+      figures.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Finally he rose, sighing and shaking his head. &ldquo;Two thousand pounds,&rdquo; he
+      groaned; &ldquo;a vast sum, but I can&rsquo;t lessen it by a shilling&mdash;there are
+      so many to be bought. Yes; £1000 in gifts and £1000 as loan to his
+      Majesty, who does not repay.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Two thousand pounds!&rdquo; exclaimed Cicely in dismay; &ldquo;oh! how shall I find
+      so much, whose first year&rsquo;s rents are already pledged?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Know you the worth of those jewels?&rdquo; asked Jacob, looking at her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay; the half of that, perhaps.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let us say double that, and then right cheap.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, if so,&rdquo; replied Cicely, with a gasp, &ldquo;where shall we sell them? Who
+      has so much money?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll try to find it, or what is needful. Now, Cousin Emlyn,&rdquo; he added
+      sarcastically, &ldquo;you see where my profit lies. I buy the gems at half their
+      value, and the rest I keep.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In your own words: go to!&rdquo; said Emlyn, &ldquo;and keep your gibes until we have
+      more leisure.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man thought a while, and said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It grows late, but the evening is pleasant, and I think I need some air.
+      That crack-brained, red-haired fellow of yours will watch you while I am
+      gone, and for mercy&rsquo;s sake be careful with those candles. Nay, nay; you
+      must have no fire, you must go cold. After what you said to me, I can
+      think of naught but fire. It is for this night only. By to-morrow evening
+      I&rsquo;ll prepare a place where Abbot Maldon himself might sit unscorched in
+      the midst of hell. But till then make out with clothes. I have some furs
+      in pledge that I will send up to you. It is your own fault, and in my
+      youth we did not need a fire on an autumn day. No more, no more,&rdquo; and he
+      was gone, nor did they see him again that night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the following morning, as they sat at their breakfast, Jacob Smith
+      appeared, and began to talk of many things, such as the badness of the
+      weather&mdash;for it rained&mdash;the toughness of the ham, which he said
+      was not to be compared to those they cured at Blossholme in his youth, and
+      the likeness of the baby boy to his mother.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed, no,&rdquo; broke in Cicely, who felt that he was playing with them; &ldquo;he
+      is his father&rsquo;s self; there is no look of me in him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; answered Jacob; &ldquo;well, I&rsquo;ll give my judgment when I see the father.
+      By the way, let me read that note again which the cloaked man brought to
+      Emlyn.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely gave it to him, and he studied it carefully; then said, in an
+      indifferent voice&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The other day I saw a list of Christian captives said to have been
+      recovered from the Turks by the Emperor Charles at Tunis, and among them
+      was one &lsquo;Huflit,&rsquo; described as an English señor, and his servant. I wonder
+      now&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely sprang upon him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! cruel wretch,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;to have known this so long and not to have
+      told me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Peace, Lady,&rdquo; he said, retreating before her; &ldquo;I only learned it at
+      eleven of the clock last night, when you were fast asleep. Yesterday is
+      not this same day, and therefore &lsquo;tis the other day, is it not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Surely you might have woke me. But, swift, where is he now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How can I know? Not here, at least. But the writing said&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, what did the writing say?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am trying to think&mdash;my memory fails me at times; perhaps you will
+      find the same thing when you have my years, should it please Heaven&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! that it might please Heaven to make you speak! What said the
+      writing?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! I have it now. It said, in a note appended amidst other news, for&mdash;did
+      I tell you this was a letter from his Grace&rsquo;s ambassador in Spain? and,
+      oh! his is the vilest scrawl to read. Nay, hurry me not&mdash;it said that
+      this &lsquo;Sir Huflit&rsquo;&mdash;the ambassador has put a query against his name&mdash;and
+      his servant&mdash;yes, yes, I am sure it said his servant too&mdash;well,
+      that they both of them, being angry at the treatment they had met with
+      from the infidel Turks&mdash;no, I forgot to add there were three of them,
+      one a priest, who did otherwise. Well, as I said, being angry, they
+      stopped there to serve with the Spaniards against the Turks till the end
+      of that campaign. There, that is all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How little is your all!&rdquo; exclaimed Cicely. &ldquo;Yet, &lsquo;tis something. Oh! why
+      should a married man stop across the seas to be revenged on poor ignorant
+      Turks?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why should he not?&rdquo; interrupted Emlyn, &ldquo;when he deems himself a widower,
+      as does your lord?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I forgot; he thinks me dead, who doubtless himself will be dead, if
+      he is not so already, seeing that those wicked, murderous Turks will kill
+      him,&rdquo; and she began to weep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should have added,&rdquo; said Jacob hastily, &ldquo;that in a second letter, of
+      later date, the ambassador declares that the Emperor&rsquo;s war against the
+      Turks is finished for this season, and that the Englishmen who were with
+      him fought with great honour and were all escaped unharmed, though this
+      time he gives no names.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All escaped! If my husband were dead, who could not die meanly or without
+      fame, how could he say that they were all escaped? Nay, nay; he lives,
+      though who knows if he will return? Perchance he will wander off
+      elsewhere, or stay and wed again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Impossible,&rdquo; said old Jacob, bowing to her; &ldquo;having called you wife&mdash;impossible.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Impossible,&rdquo; echoed Emlyn, &ldquo;having such a score to settle with yonder
+      Maldon! A man may forget his love, especially if he deems her buried. But
+      as he stayed foreign to fight the Turk, who wronged him, so he&rsquo;ll come
+      home to fight the Abbot, who ruined him and slew his bride.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There followed a silence, which the goldsmith, who felt it somewhat
+      painful, hastened to break, saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, doubtless he will come home; for aught we know he may be here
+      already. But meanwhile we also have our score against this Abbot, a bad
+      one, though think not for his sake that all Abbots are bad, for I have
+      known some who might be counted angels upon earth, and, having gone to
+      martyrdom, doubtless to-day are angels in heaven. Now, my Lady, I will
+      tell you what I have done, hoping that it will please you better than it
+      does me. Last night I saw the Lord Cromwell, with whom I have many
+      dealings, at his house in Austin Friars, and told him the case, of which,
+      as I thought, that false villain Legh had said nothing to him, purposing
+      to pick the plums out of the pudding ere he handed on the suet to his
+      master. He read your deeds and hunted up some petition from the Abbot,
+      with which he compared them; then made a note of my demands and asked
+      straight out&mdash;How much?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I told him £1000 on loan to the King, which would not be asked for back
+      again, the said loan to be discharged by the grant to me&mdash;that is, to
+      you&mdash;of all the Abbey lands, in addition to your own, when the said
+      Abbey lands are sequestered, as they will be shortly. To this he agreed,
+      on behalf of his Grace, who needs money much, but inquired as to himself.
+      I replied £500 for him and his jackals, including Dr. Legh, of which no
+      account would be asked. He told me it was not enough, for after the
+      jackals had their pickings nothing would be left for him but the bones; I,
+      who asked so much, must offer more, and he made as though to dismiss me.
+      At the door I turned and said I had a wonderful pink pearl that he, who
+      loved jewels, might like to see&mdash;a pink pearl worth many abbeys. He
+      said, &lsquo;Show it;&rsquo; and, oh! he gloated over it like a maid over her first
+      love-letter. &lsquo;If there were two of these, now!&rsquo; he whispered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Two, my Lord!&rsquo; I answered; &lsquo;there&rsquo;s no fellow to that pearl in the whole
+      world,&rsquo; though it is true that as I said the words, the setting of its
+      twin, that was pinned to my inner shirt, pricked me sorely, as if in
+      anger. Then I took it up again, and for the second time began to bow
+      myself out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Jacob,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;you are an old friend, and I&rsquo;ll stretch my duty for
+      you. Leave the pearl&mdash;his Grace needs that £1000 so sorely that I
+      must keep it against my will,&rsquo; and he put out his hand to take it, only to
+      find that I had covered it with my own.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;First the writing, then its price, my Lord. Here is a memorandum of it
+      set out fair, to save you trouble, if it pleases you to sign.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He read it through, then, taking a pen, scored out the clause as regards
+      acquittal of the witchcraft, which, he said, must be looked into by the
+      King in person or by his officers, but all the rest he signed, undertaking
+      to hand over the proper deeds under the great seal and royal hand upon
+      payment of £1000. Being able to do no better, I said that would serve, and
+      left him your pearl, he promising, on his part, to move his Majesty to
+      receive you, which I doubt not he will do quickly for the sake of the
+      £1000. Have I done well?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed, yes,&rdquo; exclaimed Cicely. &ldquo;Who else could have done half so well&mdash;&mdash;?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      As the words left her lips there came a loud knocking at the door of the
+      house, and Jacob ran down to open it. Presently he returned with a
+      messenger in a splendid coat, who bowed to Cicely and asked if she were
+      the Lady Harflete. On her replying that such was her name, he said that he
+      bore to her the command of his Grace the King to attend upon him at three
+      o&rsquo;clock of that afternoon at his Palace of Whitehall, together with Emlyn
+      Stower and Thomas Bolle, there to make answer to his Majesty concerning a
+      certain charge of witchcraft that had been laid against her and them,
+      which summons she would neglect at her peril.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir, I will be there,&rdquo; answered Cicely; &ldquo;but tell me, do I come as a
+      prisoner?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; replied the herald, &ldquo;since Master Jacob Smith, in whom his Grace
+      has trust, has consented to be answerable for you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And for the £1000,&rdquo; muttered Jacob, as, with many salutations, he showed
+      the royal messenger to the door, not neglecting to thrust a gold piece
+      into his hand that he waved behind him in farewell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XV
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      THE DEVIL AT COURT
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      It was half-past two of the clock when Cicely, who carried her boy in her
+      arms, accompanied by Emlyn, Thomas Bolle and Jacob Smith, found herself in
+      the great courtyard of the Palace of Whitehall. The place was full of
+      people waiting there upon one business or another, through whom messengers
+      and armed men thrust their way continually, crying, &ldquo;Way! In the King&rsquo;s
+      name, way!&rdquo; So great was the press, indeed, that for some time even Jacob
+      could command no attention, till at length he caught sight of the herald
+      who had visited his house in the morning, and beckoned to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was looking for you, Master Smith, and for the Lady Harflete,&rdquo; the man
+      said, bowing to her. &ldquo;You have an appointment with his Grace, have you
+      not? but God knows if it can be kept. The ante-chambers are full of folk
+      bringing news about the rebellion in the north, and of great lords and
+      councillors who wait for commands or money, most of them for money. In
+      short the King has given order that all appointments are cancelled; he can
+      see no one to-day. The Lord Cromwell told me so himself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jacob took a golden angel from his pouch and began to play with it between
+      his fingers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I understand, noble herald,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Still, do you think that you could
+      find me a messenger to the Lord Cromwell? If so, this trifle&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll try, Master Smith,&rdquo; he answered, stretching out his hand for the
+      piece of money. &ldquo;But what is the message?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, say that Pink Pearl would learn from his Lordship where he can lay
+      hands upon £1000 without interest.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A strange message, to which I will hazard an answer&mdash;nowhere,&rdquo; said
+      the herald, &ldquo;yet I&rsquo;ll find some one to deliver it. Step within this
+      archway and wait out of the rain. Fear not, I will be back presently.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They did as he bid them, gladly enough, for it had begun to drizzle and
+      Cicely was afraid lest her boy, with whom London did not agree too well,
+      should take cold. Here, then, they stood amusing themselves in watching
+      the motley throng that came and went. Bolle, to whom the scene was
+      strange, gaped at them with his mouth open; Emlyn took note of every one
+      with her quick eyes, while old Jacob Smith whispered tales concerning
+      individuals as they passed, most of which were little to their credit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As for Cicely, soon her thoughts were far away. She knew that she was at a
+      crisis of her fortune; that if things went well with her this day she
+      might look to be avenged upon her enemies, and to spend the rest of her
+      life in wealth and honour. But it was not of such matters that she
+      dreamed, whose heart was set on Christopher, without whom naught availed.
+      Where was he, she wondered. If Jacob&rsquo;s tale were true, after passing many
+      dangers, but a little while ago he lived and had his health. Yet in those
+      times death came quickly, leaping like the lightning from unexpected
+      clouds or even out of a clear sky, and who could say? Besides, he believed
+      her gone, and that being so would be careless of himself, or perchance,
+      worst thought of all, would take some other wife, as was but right and
+      natural. Oh! then indeed&mdash;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At this moment a sound of altercation woke her to the world again, and she
+      looked up to see that Thomas Bolle was bringing trouble on them. A coarse
+      fat lout with a fiery and a knotted nose, being somewhat in liquor, had
+      amused himself by making mock of his country looks and red hair, and
+      asking whether they used him for a scarecrow in his native fields.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thomas bore it for a while, only answering with another question: whether
+      he, the fat fellow, hired out his nose to London housewives to light their
+      fires. The man, feeling that the laugh was against him, and noticing the
+      child in Cicely&rsquo;s arms pointed it out to his friends, inquiring whether
+      they did not think it was exactly like its dad. Then Thomas&rsquo;s rage burnt
+      up, although the jest was silly and aimless enough.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You low, London gutter-hound!&rdquo; he exclaimed; &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll learn you to insult
+      the Lady Harflete with your ribald japes,&rdquo; and stretching out his big fist
+      he seized his enemy&rsquo;s purple nose in a grip of iron and began to twist it
+      till the sot roared with pain. Thereon guards ran up and would have
+      arrested Bolle for breaking the peace in the King&rsquo;s palace. Indeed,
+      arrested he must have been, notwithstanding all Jacob Smith could do to
+      save him, had not at that moment a man appeared at whose coming the crowd
+      that had gathered, separated, bowing; a man of middle age with a quick,
+      clever face, who wore rich clothes and a fur-trimmed velvet cap and gown.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely knew him at once for Cromwell, the greatest man in England after
+      the King, and marked him well, knowing that he held her fate and that of
+      her child in the hollow of his hand. She noted the thin-lipped mouth,
+      small as a woman&rsquo;s, the sharp nose, the little brownish eyes set close
+      together and surrounded by wrinkled skin that gave them a cunning look,
+      and noting was afraid. Before her stood a man who, though at present he
+      seemed to be her friend, if he chanced to become her enemy, as once he had
+      been bribed to be her father&rsquo;s, would show her no more pity than the
+      spider shows a fly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Indeed she was right, for many were the flies that had been snared and
+      sucked in the web of Cromwell, who, in his full tide of power and pomp,
+      forgot the fate of his master, Wolsey, in his day a greater spider still.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What passes here?&rdquo; Cromwell said in a sharp voice. &ldquo;Men, is this the
+      place to brawl beneath his Grace&rsquo;s very windows? Ah! Master Smith, is it
+      you? Explain.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My Lord,&rdquo; answered Jacob, bowing, &ldquo;this is Lady Harflete&rsquo;s servant and he
+      is not to blame. That fat knave insulted her and, being quick-tempered,
+      her man, Bolle, wrang his nose.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I see that he wrang it. Look, he is wringing it still. Friend Bolle,
+      leave go, or presently you will have in your hand that which is of no
+      value to you. Guard, take this beer-tub and hold his head beneath the pump
+      for five minutes by the clock to wash him, and if he comes back again set
+      him in the stocks. Nay, no words, fellow, you are well served. Master
+      Smith, follow me with your party.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again the crowd parted as they walked after Cromwell to a side door that
+      was near at hand, to find themselves alone with him in a small chamber.
+      Here he stopped and, turning, surveyed them all narrowly, especially
+      Cicely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose, Master Smith,&rdquo; he said, pointing to Bolle, who was wiping his
+      hands clean with the rushes from the floor, &ldquo;this is the man that you told
+      me played the devil yonder at Blossholme. Well, he can play the fool also.
+      In another minute there would have been a tumult and you would have lost
+      your chance of seeing his Grace, for months perhaps, since he has
+      determined to ride from London to-morrow morning northwards, though it is
+      true he may change his mind ere then. This rebellion troubles him much,
+      and were it not for the loan you promise, when loans are needed, small
+      hope would you have had of audience. Now come quickly and be careful that
+      you do not cross the King&rsquo;s temper, for it is tetchy to-day. Indeed, had
+      it not been for the Queen, who is with him and minded to see this Lady
+      Harflete, that they would have burnt as a witch, you must have waited till
+      a more convenient season which may never come. Stay, what is in that great
+      sack you carry, Bolle?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The devil&rsquo;s livery, may it please your Lordship.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The devil&rsquo;s livery, many wear that in London. Still, bring the gear, it
+      may make his Grace laugh, and if so I&rsquo;ll give you a gold piece, who have
+      had enough of oaths and scoldings, aye,&rdquo; he added, with a sour grin, &ldquo;and
+      of blows too. Now follow me into the Presence, and speak only when you are
+      spoken to, nor dare to answer if he rates you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They went from the room down a passage and through another door, where the
+      guards on duty looked suspiciously at Bolle and his sack, but at a word
+      from Cromwell let them through into a large room in which a fire burned
+      upon the hearth. At the end of this room stood a huge, proud-looking man
+      with a flat and cruel face, broad as an ox&rsquo;s skull, as Thomas Bolle said
+      afterwards, who was dressed in some rich, sombre stuff and wore a velvet
+      cap upon his head. He held a parchment in his hand, and before him on the
+      other side of an oak table sat an officer of state in a black robe, who
+      wrote upon another parchment, whereof there were many scattered about on
+      the table and the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Knave,&rdquo; shouted the King, for they guessed that it was he, &ldquo;you have cast
+      up these figures wrong. Oh, that it should be my lot to be served by none
+      but fools!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pardon, your Grace,&rdquo; said the secretary in a trembling voice, &ldquo;thrice
+      have I checked them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Would you gainsay me, you lying lawyer,&rdquo; bellowed the King again. &ldquo;I tell
+      you they must be wrong, since otherwise the sum is short by £1100 of that
+      which I was promised. Where are the £1100? You must have stolen them,
+      thief.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I steal, oh, your Grace, I steal!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, why not, since your betters do. Only you are clumsy, you lack skill.
+      Ask my Lord Cromwell there to give you lessons. He learned under the best
+      of masters, and is a merchant by trade to boot. Oh, get you gone and take
+      your scribblings with you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The poor officer hastened to avail himself of this invitation. Hurriedly
+      collecting his parchments he bowed himself from the presence of his irate
+      Sovereign. At the door, about twelve feet away, however, he turned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My gracious Liege,&rdquo; he began, &ldquo;the casting of the count is right. Upon my
+      honour as a Christian soul I can look your Majesty in the face with truth
+      in my eye&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now on the table there was a massive inkstand made from the horn of a ram
+      mounted with silver feet. This Henry seized and hurled with all his
+      strength. The aim was good, for the heavy horn struck the wretched scribe
+      upon the nose so that the ink squirted all over his face, and felled him
+      to the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now there is more in your eye than truth,&rdquo; shouted the King. &ldquo;Be off, ere
+      the stool follows the inkpot.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Two ladies who stood by the fire talking together and taking no heed, for
+      to such rude scenes they seemed to be accustomed, looked up and laughed a
+      little, then went on talking, while Cromwell smiled and shrugged his
+      shoulders. Then in the midst of the silence which followed Thomas Bolle,
+      who had been watching open-mouthed, ejaculated in his great voice&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A bull&rsquo;s eye! A noble bull! Myself cannot throw straighter.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Silence, fool,&rdquo; hissed Emlyn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who spoke?&rdquo; asked the king, looking towards them sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Please, my Liege, it was I, Thomas Bolle.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thomas Bolle! Can you sling a stone, Thomas Bolle, whoever you may be?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, Sire, but not better than you, I think. That was a gallant shot.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thomas Bolle, you are right. Seeing the hurry and the unhandiness of the
+      missile, it was excellent. Let the knave stand up again and I&rsquo;ll bet you a
+      gold noble to a brass nail that you&rsquo;ll not do as well within an inch. Why,
+      the fellow&rsquo;s gone! Will you try on my Lord Cromwell? Nay, this is no time
+      for fooling. What&rsquo;s your business, Thomas Bolle, and who are those women
+      with you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now Cromwell stepped forward, and with cringing gestures began to explain
+      something to the King in a low voice. Meanwhile, the two ladies became
+      suddenly interested in Cicely, and one of them, a pale but pretty woman,
+      splendidly dressed, stepped forward to her, saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you the Lady Harflete of whom we have heard, she who was to have been
+      burnt as a witch? Yes? And is that your child? Oh! what a beautiful child.
+      A boy, I&rsquo;ll swear. Come to me, sweet, and in after years you can tell that
+      a queen has nursed you,&rdquo; and she stretched out her arms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As good fortune would have it the child was awake, and attracted by the
+      Queen&rsquo;s pleasant voice, or perhaps by the necklace of bright gems that she
+      wore, he held out his little hands towards her and went quite contentedly
+      to her breast. Jane Seymour, for it was she, began to fondle him with
+      delight, then, followed by her lady, ran to the King, saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;See, Harry, see what a beautiful boy, and how he loves me. God send us
+      such a son as this!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The King glanced at the child, then answered&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, he would do well enow. Well, it rests with you, Jane. Nurse him,
+      nurse him, perhaps the sex is catching. I and all England would see you
+      brought to bed of that sickness, Sweet. What said you, Cromwell?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The great minister went on with his explanations, till the King, wearying
+      of him, called out&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come here, Master Smith.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jacob advanced, bowing, and stood still.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, Master Smith, the Lord Cromwell tells me that if I sign these
+      papers, you, on behalf of the Lady Harflete, will loan me £1000 without
+      interest, which as it chances I need. Where, then, is this £1000?&mdash;for
+      I will have no promises, not even from you, who are known to keep them,
+      Master Smith.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jacob thrust his hand beneath his robe, and from various inner pockets
+      drew out bags of gold, which he set in a row upon the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here they are, your Grace,&rdquo; he said quietly. &ldquo;If you should wish for them
+      they can be weighed and counted.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;God&rsquo;s truth! I think I had better keep them, lest some accident should
+      happen to you on the way home, Master Smith. You might fall into the
+      Thames and sink.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your Grace is right, the parchments will be lighter to carry, even,&rdquo; he
+      added meaningly, &ldquo;with your Highness&rsquo;s name added.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can&rsquo;t sign,&rdquo; said the King doubtfully, &ldquo;all the ink is spilt.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jacob produced a small ink-horn, which like most merchants of the day he
+      carried hung to his girdle, drew out the stopper and with a bow set it on
+      the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In truth you are a good man of business, Master Smith, too good for a
+      mere king. Such readiness makes me pause. Perhaps we had better meet again
+      at a more leisured season.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jacob bowed once more, and stretching out his hand slowly lifted the first
+      of the bags of gold as though to replace it in his pocket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cromwell, come hither,&rdquo; said the King, whereon Jacob, as though in
+      forgetfulness, laid the bag back upon the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Repeat the heads of this matter, Cromwell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My Liege, the Lady Harflete seeks justice on the Spaniard Maldon, Abbot
+      of Blossholme, who is said to have murdered her father, Sir John Foterell,
+      and her husband, Sir Christopher Harflete, though rumour has it that the
+      latter escaped his clutches and is now in Spain. Item: the said Abbot has
+      seized the lands which this Dame Cicely should have inherited from her
+      father, and demands their restitution.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By God&rsquo;s wounds! justice she shall have and for nothing if we can give it
+      her,&rdquo; answered the King, letting his heavy fist fall upon the table. &ldquo;No
+      need to waste time in setting out her wrongs. Why, &lsquo;tis the same Spanish
+      knave Maldon who stirs up all this hell&rsquo;s broth in the north. Well, he
+      shall boil in his own pot, for against him our score is long. What more?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A declaration, Sire, of the validity of the marriage between Christopher
+      Harflete and Cicely Foterell, which without doubt is good and lawful
+      although the Abbot disputes it for his own ends; and an indemnity for the
+      deaths of certain men who fell when the said Abbot attacked and burnt the
+      house of the said Christopher Harflete.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It should have been granted the more readily if Maldon had fallen also,
+      but let that pass. What more?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The promise, your Grace, of the lands of the Abbey of Blossholme and of
+      the Priory of Blossholme in consideration of the loan of £1000 advanced to
+      your Grace by the agent of Cicely Harflete, Jacob Smith.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A large demand, my Lord. Have these lands been valued?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, Sire, by your Commissioner, who reports it doubtful if with all
+      their tenements and timber they would fetch £1000 in gold.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Our Commissioner? A fig for his valuing, doubtless he has been bribed.
+      Still, if we repay the money we can hold the land, and since this Dame
+      Harflete and her husband have suffered sorely at the hands of Maldon and
+      his armed ruffians, why, let it pass also. Now, is that all? I weary of so
+      much talk.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But one thing more, your Grace,&rdquo; put in Cromwell hastily, for Henry was
+      already rising from his chair. &ldquo;Dame Cicely Harflete, her servant, Emlyn
+      Stower, and a certain crazed old nun were condemned of sorcery by a Court
+      Ecclesiastic whereof the Abbot Maldon was a member, the said Abbot
+      alleging that they had bewitched him and his goods.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then he was pleader and judge in one?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is so, your Grace. Already without the royal warrant they were bound
+      to the stake for burning, the said Maldon having usurped the prerogative
+      of the Crown, when your Commissioner, Legh, arrived and loosed them, but
+      not without fighting, for certain men were killed and wounded. Now they
+      humbly crave your Majesty&rsquo;s royal pardon for their share in this
+      man-slaying, if any, as also does Thomas Bolle yonder, who seems to have
+      done the slaying&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well can I believe it,&rdquo; muttered the King.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And a declaration of the invalidity of their trial and condemning, and of
+      their innocence of the foul charge laid against them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Innocence!&rdquo; exclaimed Henry, growing impatient and fixing on the last
+      point. &ldquo;How do we know they were innocent, though it is true that if Dame
+      Harflete is a witch she is the prettiest that ever we have heard of or
+      seen. You ask too much, after your fashion, Cromwell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I crave your Grace&rsquo;s patience for one short minute. There is a man here
+      who can prove that they were innocent; yonder red-haired Bolle.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What? He who praised our shooting? Well, Bolle, since you are so good a
+      sportsman, we will listen to you. Prove and be brief.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now all is finished,&rdquo; murmured Emlyn to Cicely, &ldquo;for assuredly fool
+      Thomas will land us in the mire.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your Grace,&rdquo; said Bolle in his big voice, &ldquo;I obey in four words&mdash;I
+      was the devil.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The devil you were, Thomas Bolle. Now, your meaning?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your Grace, Blossholme was haunted, I haunted it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How could you do otherwise if you lived there?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll show your Grace,&rdquo; and without more ado, to the horror of Cicely,
+      Thomas tumbled from his sack all his hellish garb and set to work to
+      clothe himself. In a minute, for he was practised at the game, the hideous
+      mask was on his head, and with it the horns and skin of the widow&rsquo;s
+      billy-goat; the tail and painted hides were tied about him, and in his
+      hand he waved the eel spear, short-handled now. Thus arrayed he capered
+      before the astonished King and Queen, shaking the tail that had a wire in
+      it and clattering his hoofs upon the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, good devil! Most excellent devil!&rdquo; exclaimed his Majesty, clapping
+      his hands. &ldquo;If I had met thee I&rsquo;d have run like a hare. Stay, Jane, peep
+      you through yonder door and tell me who are gathered there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Queen obeyed and, returned, said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There be a bishop and a priest, I cannot see which, for it grows dark,
+      with chaplains and sundry of the lords of Council waiting audience.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good. Then we&rsquo;ll try the devil on these devil-tamers. Friend Satan, go
+      you to that door, slip through it softly and rush upon them roaring,
+      driving them through this chamber so that we may see which of them will be
+      bold enough to try to lay you. Dost understand, Beelzebub?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thomas nodded his horns and departed silently as a cat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now open the door and stand on one side,&rdquo; said the King.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cromwell obeyed, nor had they long to wait. Presently from the hall beyond
+      there rose a most fearful clamour. Then through the door shot the bishop
+      panting, after him came lords, chaplains, and secretaries, and last of all
+      the priest, who, being very fat and hampered by his gown, could not run so
+      fast, although at his back Satan leapt and bellowed. No heed did they take
+      of the King&rsquo;s Majesty or of aught else, whose only thought was flight as
+      they tore down the chamber to the farther door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, noble, noble!&rdquo; hallooed the King, who was shaking with laughter.
+      &ldquo;Give him your fork, devil, give him your fork,&rdquo; and having the royal
+      command Bolle obeyed with zeal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In thirty seconds it was all over; the rout had come and gone, only Thomas
+      in his hideous attire stood bowing before the King, who exclaimed&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thank thee, Thomas Bolle, thou hast made me laugh as I have not laughed
+      for years. Little wonder that thy mistress was condemned for witchcraft.
+      Now,&rdquo; he added, changing his tone, &ldquo;off with that mummery, and, Cromwell,
+      go, catch one of those fools and tell them the truth ere tales fly round
+      the palace. Jane, cease from merriment, there is a time for all things.
+      Come hither, Lady Harflete, I would speak with you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely approached and curtseyed, leaving her boy in the Queen&rsquo;s arms,
+      where he had gone to sleep, for she did not seem minded to part with him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are asking much of us,&rdquo; he said suddenly, searching her with a shrewd
+      glance, &ldquo;relying, doubtless, on your wrongs, which are deep, or your face,
+      which is sweet, or both. Well, these things move Kings mayhap more than
+      others, also I knew old Sir John, your father, a loyal man and a brave, he
+      fought well at Flodden; and young Harflete, your husband, if he still
+      lives, had a good name like his forebears. Moreover your enemy, Maldon, is
+      ours, a treacherous foreign snake such as England hates, for he would set
+      her beneath the heel of Spain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, Dame Harflete, doubtless when you go hence you will bear away
+      strange stories of King Harry and his doings. You will say he plays the
+      fool, pelting his servants with inkpots when he is wrath, as God knows he
+      has often cause to be, and scaring his bishops with sham Satans, as after
+      all why should he not since it is a dull world? You&rsquo;ll say, too, that he
+      takes his teaching from his ministers, and signs what these lay before him
+      with small search as to the truth or falsity. Well, that&rsquo;s the lot of
+      monarchs who have but one man&rsquo;s brain and one man&rsquo;s time; who needs must
+      trust their slaves until these become their masters, and there is naught
+      left,&rdquo; here his face grew fierce, &ldquo;save to kill them, and find more and
+      worse. New servants, new wives,&rdquo; and he glanced at Jane, who was not
+      listening, &ldquo;new friends, false, false, all three of them, new foes, and at
+      the last old Death to round it off. Such has been the lot of kings from
+      David down, and such I think it shall always be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He paused a while, brooding heavily, then looked up and went on, &ldquo;I know
+      not why I should speak thus to a chit like you, except it be, that young
+      though you are, you also have known trouble and the feel of a sick heart.
+      Well, well, I have heard more of you and your affairs than you might
+      think, and I forget nothing&mdash;that&rsquo;s my gift. Dame Harflete, you are
+      richer than you have been advised to say, and I repeat you ask much of me.
+      Justice is your due from your Sovereign, and you shall have it; but these
+      wide Abbey lands, this Priory of Blossholme, whose nuns have befriended
+      you and whom you desire to save, this embracing pardon for others who had
+      shed blood, this cancelling outside of the form of law of a sentence
+      passed by a Court duly constituted, if unjust, all in return for a loan of
+      a pitiful £1000? You huckster well, Lady Harflete, one would think that
+      your father had been a chapman, not rough John Foterell, you who can drive
+      so shrewd a bargain with your King&rsquo;s necessities.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sire, Sire,&rdquo; broke in Cicely in confusion, &ldquo;I have no more, my lands are
+      wasted by Abbot Maldon, my husband&rsquo;s hall is burnt by his soldiers, my
+      first year&rsquo;s rents, if ever I should receive them, are promised&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To whom?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She hesitated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To whom?&rdquo; he thundered. &ldquo;Answer, Madam.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To your Royal Commissioner, Dr. Legh.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! I thought as much, though when he spoke of you he did not tell it,
+      the snuffling rogue.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The jewels that came to me from my mother are in pawn for that £1000, and
+      I have no more.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A palpable lie, Dame Harflete, for if so, how have you paid Cromwell? He
+      did not bring you here for nothing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, my Liege, my Liege,&rdquo; said Cicely, sinking to her knees, &ldquo;ask not a
+      helpless woman to betray those who have befriended her in her most sore
+      and honest need. I said I have nothing, unless those gems are worth more
+      than I know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I believe you, Dame Harflete. We have plucked you bare between us,
+      have we not? Still, perchance, you will be no loser in the end. Now,
+      Master Smith, there, does not work for love alone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sire,&rdquo; said Jacob, &ldquo;that is true, I copy my masters. I have this lady&rsquo;s
+      jewels in pledge, and I hope to make a profit on them. Still, Sire, there
+      is among them a pink pearl of great beauty that it might please the Queen
+      to wear. Here it is,&rdquo; and he laid it upon the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, what a lovely thing,&rdquo; said Jane; &ldquo;never have I seen its like.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then study it well, Wife, for you look your last upon it. When we cannot
+      pay our soldiers to keep our crown upon our head, and preserve the
+      liberties of England against the Spaniard and the Pope of Rome, it is no
+      time to give you gems that I have not bought. Take that gaud and sell it,
+      Master Smith, for whatever it will fetch among the Jews, and add the price
+      to the £1000, lessened by one tenth for your trouble. Now, Dame Harflete,
+      you have bought the favour of your King, for whoever else may, I&rsquo;ll not
+      lie. Ah! here comes Cromwell. My Lord, you have been long.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your Grace, yonder priest is in a fit from fright, and thinks himself in
+      hell. I had to tarry with him till the doctor came.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Doubtless he&rsquo;ll get better now that you are gone. Poor man, if a sham
+      devil frights him so, what will he do at last? Now, Cromwell, I have made
+      examination of this business and I will sign your papers, all of them.
+      Dame Harflete here tells me how hard you have worked for her, all for
+      nothing, Cromwell, and that pleases me, who at times have wondered how you
+      grew so rich, as your learner, Wolsey, did before you. <i>He</i> took
+      bribes, Cromwell!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My Liege,&rdquo; he answered in a low voice, &ldquo;this case was cruel, it moved my
+      pity&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As it has ours, leaving us the richer by £1000 and the price of a pearl.
+      There, five, are they all signed? Take them, Master Smith, as the Lady
+      Harflete is your client, and study them to-night. If aught be wrong or
+      omitted, you have our royal word that we will set it straight. This is our
+      command&mdash;note it, Cromwell&mdash;that all things be done quickly as
+      occasion shall arise to give effect to these precepts, pardons and patents
+      which you, Cromwell, shall countersign ere they leave this room. Also,
+      that no further fee, secret or declared, shall be taken from the Lady
+      Harflete, whom henceforth, in token of our special favour, we create and
+      name the Lady of Blossholme, from her husband or her child, as to any of
+      these matters, and that Commissioner Legh, on receipt thereof, shall pay
+      into our treasury any sum or sums that Dame Harflete may have promised to
+      him. Write it down, my Lord Cromwell, and see that our words are carried
+      out, lest it be the worse for you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Vicar-General hastened to obey, for there was something in the King&rsquo;s
+      eye that frightened him. Meanwhile the Queen, after she had seen the
+      coveted pearl disappear into Jacob&rsquo;s pocket, thrust back the child into
+      Cicely&rsquo;s arms, and without any word of adieu or reverence to the King,
+      followed by her lady, departed from the room, slamming the door behind
+      her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Her Grace is cross because that gem&mdash;your gem, Lady Harflete&mdash;was
+      refused to her,&rdquo; said Henry, then added in an angry growl, &ldquo;&lsquo;Fore God!
+      does she dare to play off her tempers upon me, and so soon, when I am
+      troubled about big matters? Oho! Jane Seymour is the Queen to-day, and
+      she&rsquo;d let the world know it. Well, what makes a queen? A king&rsquo;s fancy and
+      a crown of gold, which the hand that set it on can take off again, head
+      and all, if it stick too tight. And then where&rsquo;s your queen? Pest upon
+      women and the whims that make us seek their company! Dame Harflete, you&rsquo;d
+      not treat your lord so, would you? You have never been to Court, I think,
+      or I should have known your eyes again. Well, perhaps it is well for you,
+      and that&rsquo;s why you are gentle and loving.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If I am gentle, Sire, it is trouble that has gentled me, who have
+      suffered so much, and know not even now whether after one week of marriage
+      I am wife or widow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Widow? Should that be so, come to me and I will find you another and a
+      nobler spouse. With your face and possessions it will not be difficult.
+      Nay, do not weep, for your sake I trust that this lucky man may live to
+      comfort you and serve his King. At least he&rsquo;ll be no Spaniard&rsquo;s tool and
+      Pope&rsquo;s plotter.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well will he serve your Grace if God gives him the chance, as my murdered
+      father did.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We know it, Lady. Cromwell, will you never have finished with those
+      writings? The Council waits us, and so does supper, and a word or two with
+      her Grace ere bedtime. You, Thomas Bolle, you are no fool and can hold a
+      sword; tell me, shall I go up north to fight the rebels, or bide here and
+      let others do it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bide here, your Grace,&rdquo; answered Thomas promptly. &ldquo;&lsquo;Twixt Wash and Humber
+      is a wild land in winter and arrows fly about there like ducks at night,
+      none knowing whence they come. Also your Grace is over-heavy for a horse
+      on forest roads and moorland, and if aught should chance, why, they&rsquo;d
+      laugh in Spain and Rome, or nearer, and who would rule England with a girl
+      child on its throne?&rdquo; and he stared hard at Cromwell&rsquo;s back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Truth at last, and out of the lips of a red-haired bumpkin,&rdquo; muttered the
+      King, also staring at the unconscious Cromwell, who was engaged on his
+      writing and either feigned deafness or did not hear. &ldquo;Thomas Bolle, I said
+      that you were no fool, although some may have thought you so, is there
+      aught you would have in payment for your counsel&mdash;save money, for
+      that we have none?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, Sire, freedom from my oath as a lay-brother of the Abbey of
+      Blossholme, and leave to marry.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To marry whom?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Her, Sire,&rdquo; and he pointed to Emlyn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What! The other handsome witch? See you not that she has a temper? Nay,
+      woman, be silent, it is written in your face. Well, take your freedom and
+      her with it, but, Thomas Bolle, why did you not ask otherwise when the
+      chance came your way? I thought better of you. Like the rest of us, you
+      are but a fool after all. Farewell to you, Fool Thomas, and to you also,
+      my fair Lady of Blossholme.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XVI
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      THE VOICE IN THE FOREST
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      The four were back safe in their lodging in Cheapside, whither, after the
+      deeds had been sealed, three soldiers escorted them by command.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have we done well, have we done well?&rdquo; asked Jacob, rubbing his hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It would seem so, Master Smith,&rdquo; replied Cicely, &ldquo;thanks to you; that is,
+      if all the King said is really in those writings.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is there sure enough,&rdquo; said Jacob; &ldquo;for know, that with the aid of a
+      lawyer and three scriveners, I drafted them myself in the Lord Cromwell&rsquo;s
+      office this morning, and oh, I drew them wide. Hard, hard we worked with
+      no time for dinner, and that was why I was ten minutes late by the clock,
+      for which Emlyn here chided me so sharply. Still, I&rsquo;ll read them through
+      again, and if aught is left out we will have it righted, though these are
+      the same parchments, for I set a secret mark upon them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, nay,&rdquo; said Cicely, &ldquo;leave well alone. His Grace&rsquo;s mood may change,
+      or the Queen&mdash;that matter of the pearl.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, the pearl, it grieved me to part with that beautiful pearl. But there
+      was no way out, it must be sold and the money handed over, our honour is
+      on it. Had I refused, who knows? Yes, we may thank God, for if the most of
+      your jewels are gone, the wide Abbey lands have come and other things.
+      Nothing is forgot. Bolle is unfrocked and may wed; Cousin Stower has got a
+      husband&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Emlyn, who until now had been strangely silent, burst out in wrath&mdash;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Am I, then, a beast that I should be given to this man like a heriot at
+      yonder King&rsquo;s bidding?&rdquo; she exclaimed, pointing with her finger at Bolle,
+      who stood in the corner. &ldquo;Who gave you the right, Thomas, to demand me in
+      marriage?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, since you ask me, Emlyn, it was you yourself; once, many years ago,
+      down in the mead by the water, and more lately in the chapel of Blossholme
+      Priory before I began to play the devil.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Play the devil! Aye, you have played the devil with me. There in the
+      King&rsquo;s presence I must stand for an hour or more while all talked and
+      never let a word slip between my lips, and at last hear myself called by
+      his Grace a woman of temper and you a fool for wishing to marry me. Oh, if
+      ever we do marry, I&rsquo;ll prove his words.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then perhaps, Emlyn, we who have got on a long while apart, had best stay
+      so,&rdquo; answered Thomas calmly. &ldquo;Yet, why you should fret because you must
+      keep your tongue in its case for an hour, or because I asked leave to
+      marry you in all honour, I do not know. I have worked my best for you and
+      your mistress at some hazard, and things have not gone so ill, seeing that
+      now we are quit of blame and in a fair way to peace and comfort. If you
+      are not content, why then, the King was right, and I&rsquo;m a fool, and so
+      good-bye, I&rsquo;ll trouble you no more in fair weather or in foul. I have
+      leave to marry, and there are other women in the world should I need one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tread on their tails and even worms will turn,&rdquo; soliloquized Jacob, while
+      Emlyn burst into tears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely ran to console her, and Bolle made as though he would leave the
+      room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Just then there came a great knocking on the street door, and the sound of
+      a voice crying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In the King&rsquo;s name! In the King&rsquo;s name, open!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s Commissioner Legh,&rdquo; said Thomas. &ldquo;I learned the cry from him, and
+      it is a good one at a pinch, as some of you may remember.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Emlyn dried her tears with her sleeve; Cicely sat down and Jacob shovelled
+      the parchments into his big pockets. Then in burst the Commissioner, to
+      whom some one had opened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What&rsquo;s this I hear?&rdquo; he cried, addressing Cicely, his face as red as a
+      turkey cock&rsquo;s. &ldquo;That you have been working behind my back; that you have
+      told falsehoods of me to his Grace, who called me knave and thief; that I
+      am commanded to pay my fees into the Treasury? Oh, ungrateful wench, would
+      to God that I had let you burn ere you disgraced me thus.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you bring so much heat into my poor house, learned Doctor, surely all
+      of us will soon burn,&rdquo; said Jacob suavely. &ldquo;The Lady Harflete said nothing
+      that his Highness did not force her to say, as I know who was present, and
+      among so many pickings cannot you spare a single dole? Come, come, drink a
+      cup of wine and be calm.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Dr. Legh, who had already drunk several cups of wine, would not be
+      calm. He reviled first one of them and then the other, but especially
+      Emlyn, whom he conceived to be the cause of all his woes, till at length
+      he called her by a very ill name. Then came forward Thomas Bolle, who all
+      this while had been standing in the corner, and took him by the neck.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In the King&rsquo;s name!&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;nay, complain not, &lsquo;tis your own cry and I
+      have warrant for it,&rdquo; and he knocked Legh&rsquo;s head against the door-post.
+      &ldquo;In the King&rsquo;s name, get out of this,&rdquo; and he gave him such a kick as
+      never Royal Commissioner had felt before, shooting him down the passage.
+      &ldquo;For the third time in the King&rsquo;s name!&rdquo; and he hurled him out in a heap
+      into the courtyard. &ldquo;Begone, and know if ever I see your pudding face
+      again, in the King&rsquo;s name, I&rsquo;ll break your neck!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus did Visitor Legh depart out of the life of Cicely, though in due
+      course she paid him her first year&rsquo;s rent, nor ever asked who took the
+      benefit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thomas,&rdquo; said Emlyn, when he returned smiling at the memory of that
+      farewell kick, &ldquo;the King was right, I am quick-tempered at times, no ill
+      thing for it has helped me more than once. Forget, and so will I,&rdquo; and she
+      gave him her hand, which he kissed, then went to see about the supper.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      While they ate, which they did heartily who needed food, there came
+      another knock.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go, Thomas,&rdquo; said Jacob, &ldquo;and say we see none to-night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So Thomas went and they heard talk. Then he re-entered followed by a
+      cloaked man, saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here is a visitor whom I dare not deny,&rdquo; whereon they all rose, thinking
+      in their folly that it was the King himself, and not one almost as mighty
+      in England for a while&mdash;the Lord Cromwell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pardon me,&rdquo; said Cromwell, bowing in his courteous manner, &ldquo;and if you
+      will, let me be seated with you, and give me a bite and a sup, for I need
+      them, who have been hard-worked to-day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So he sat down among them, and ate and drank, talking pleasantly of many
+      things, and telling them that the King had changed his mind at the
+      Council, as he thought, because of the words of Thomas Bolle, which he
+      believed had stuck there, and would not go north to fight the rebels after
+      all, but would send the Duke of Norfolk and other lords. Then when he had
+      done he pushed away his cup and platter, looked at his hosts and said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now to business. My Lady Harflete, fortune has been your friend this day,
+      for all you asked has been granted to you, which, as his Grace&rsquo;s temper
+      has been of late, is a wondrous thing. Moreover, I thank you that you did
+      not answer a certain question as to myself which I learn he put to you
+      urgently.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My Lord,&rdquo; said Cicely, &ldquo;you have befriended me. Still, had he pressed me
+      further, God knows. Commissioner Legh did not thank me to-night,&rdquo; and she
+      told him of the visit they had just received, and of its ending.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A rough man and a greedy, who doubtless henceforth will be your enemy,&rdquo;
+       replied Cromwell. &ldquo;Still you were not to blame, for who can reason with a
+      bull in his own yard? Well, while I have power I&rsquo;ll not forget your
+      faithfulness, though in truth, my Lady of Blossholme, I sit upon a
+      slippery height, and beneath waits a gulf that has swallowed some as
+      great, and greater. Therefore I will not deny it, I lay by while I may,
+      not knowing who will gather.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He brooded a while, then went on, with a sigh&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The times are uncertain; thus, you who have the promise of wealth may yet
+      die a beggar. The lands of Blossholme Abbey, on which you hold a bond that
+      will never be redeemed, are not yet in the King&rsquo;s hands to give. A black
+      storm is bursting in the north and, I say this in secret, the fury of it
+      may sweep Henry from the throne. If it should be so, away with you to any
+      land where you are not known, for then after this day&rsquo;s work here a rope
+      will be your only heritage. More, this Queen, unlike Anne who is gone, is
+      a friend to the party of the Church, and though she affects to care little
+      for such things, is bitter about that pearl, and therefore against you,
+      its owner. Have you no jewel left that you could spare which I might take
+      to her? As for the pearl itself, which Master Smith here swore to me was
+      not to be found in the whole world when he showed me its fellow, it must
+      be sold as the King commanded,&rdquo; and he looked at Jacob somewhat sourly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now Cicely spoke with Jacob, who went away and returned presently with a
+      brooch in which was set a large white diamond surrounded by five small
+      rubies.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Take her this with my duty, my Lord,&rdquo; said Cicely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will, I will. Oh! fear not, it shall reach her for my own sake as well
+      as yours. You are a wise giver, Lady Harflete, who know when and where to
+      cast your bread upon the waters. And now I have a gift for you that
+      perchance will please you more than gems. Your husband, Christopher
+      Harflete, accompanied by a servant, has landed in the north safe and
+      well.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, my Lord,&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;then where is he now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alas! the rest of the tale is not so pleasing, for as he journeyed, from
+      Hull I think, he was taken prisoner by the rebels, who have him fast at
+      Lincoln, wishing to make him, whose name is of account, one of their
+      company. But he being a wise and loyal man, contrived to send a letter to
+      the King&rsquo;s captain in those parts, which has reached me this night. Here
+      it is, do you know the writing?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, aye,&rdquo; gasped Cicely, staring at the scrawl that was ill writ and
+      worse spelt, for Christopher was no scholar.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I&rsquo;ll read it to you, and afterwards certify a copy to multiply the
+      evidence.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To the Captain of the King&rsquo;s Forces outside Lincoln.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This to give notice to you, his Grace, and his ministers and all others,
+      that we, Christopher Harflete, Knight, and Jeffrey Stokes, his servant,
+      when journeying from the seaport whither we had come from Spain, were
+      taken by rebels in arms against the King and brought here to Lincoln.
+      These men would win me to their party because the name of Harflete is
+      still strong and known. So violent were they that we have taken some kind
+      of oath. Yet this writing advises you that so I only did to save my life,
+      having no heart that way who am a loyal man and understand little of their
+      quarrel. Life, in sooth, is of small value to me who have lost wife, lands
+      and all. Yet ere I die I would be avenged upon the murderous Abbot of
+      Blossholme, and therefore I seek to keep my breath in me and to escape.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I learn that the said Abbot is afoot with a great following within fifty
+      miles of here. Pray God he does not get his claws in me again, but if so,
+      say to the King, that Harflete died faithful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Christopher Harflete.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jeffrey Stokes, X his mark.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My Lord,&rdquo; said Cicely, &ldquo;what shall I do, my Lord?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There is naught to be done, save trust in God and hope for the best.
+      Doubtless he will escape, and at least his Grace shall see this letter
+      to-morrow morning and send orders to help him if may be. Copy it, Master
+      Smith.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jacob took the letter and began to write swiftly, while Cromwell thought.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Listen,&rdquo; he said presently. &ldquo;Round Blossholme there are no rebels, all of
+      that colour have drawn off north. Now Foterell and Harflete are good names
+      yonder, cannot you journey thither and raise a company?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, aye, that I can do,&rdquo; broke in Bolle. &ldquo;In a week I will have a
+      hundred men at my back. Give commission and money to my Lady there and
+      name me captain and you&rsquo;ll see.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The commission and the captaincy under the privy signet shall be at this
+      house by nine of the clock to-morrow,&rdquo; answered Cromwell. &ldquo;The money you
+      must find, for there is none outside the coffers of Jacob Smith. Yet
+      pause, Lady Harflete, there is risk and here you are safe.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know the risk,&rdquo; she answered, &ldquo;but what do I care for risks who have
+      taken so many, when my husband is yonder and I may serve him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;An excellent spirit, let us trust that it comes from on high,&rdquo; remarked
+      Cromwell; but old Jacob, as he wrote <i>vera copia</i> for his Lordship&rsquo;s
+      signature at the foot of the transcript of Christopher&rsquo;s letter, shook his
+      head sadly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In another minute Cromwell had signed without troubling to compare the
+      two, and with some gentle words of farewell was gone, having bigger
+      matters waiting his attention.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely never saw him again, indeed with the exception of Jacob Smith she
+      never saw any of those folk again, including the King, who had been
+      concerned in this crisis of her life. Yet, notwithstanding his cunning and
+      his extortion, she grieved for Cromwell when some four years later the
+      Duke of Suffolk and the Earl of Southampton rudely tore the Garter and his
+      other decorations off his person and he was haled from the Council to the
+      Tower, and thence after abject supplications for mercy, to perish a
+      criminal upon the block. At least he had served her well, for he kept all
+      his promises to the letter. One of his last acts also was to send her back
+      the pink pearl which he had received as a bribe from Jacob Smith, with a
+      message to the effect that he was sure it would become her more than it
+      had him, and that he hoped it would bring her a better fortune.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Cromwell had gone Jacob turned to Cicely and inquired if she were
+      leaving his house upon the morrow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have I not said so?&rdquo; she asked, with impatience. &ldquo;Knowing what I know how
+      could I stay in London? Why do you ask?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because I must balance our account. I think you owe me a matter of twenty
+      marks for rent and board. Also it is probable that we shall need money for
+      our journey, and this day has left me somewhat bare of coin.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Our journey?&rdquo; said Cicely. &ldquo;Do you, then, accompany us, Master Smith?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;With your leave I think so, Lady. Times are bad here, I have no shilling
+      left to lend, yet if I do not lend I shall never be forgiven. Also I need
+      a holiday, and ere I die would once again see Blossholme, where I was
+      born, should we live to reach it. But if we start to-morrow I have much to
+      do this night. For instance, your jewels which I hold in pawn must be set
+      in a place of safety; also these deeds, whereof copies should be made, and
+      that pearl must be left in trusty hands for sale. So at what hour do we
+      ride on this mad errand?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;At eleven of the clock,&rdquo; answered Cicely, &ldquo;if the King&rsquo;s safe-conduct and
+      commission have come by then.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So be it. Then I bid you good-night. Come with me, worthy Bolle, for
+      there&rsquo;ll be no sleep for us. I go to call my clerks and you must go to the
+      stable. Lady Harflete and you, Cousin Emlyn, get you to bed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      On the following morning Cicely rose with the dawn, nor was she sorry to
+      do so, who had spent but a troubled night. For long sleep would not come
+      to her, and when it did at length, she was tossed upon a sea of dreams,
+      dreams of the King, who threatened her with his great voice; of Cromwell,
+      who took everything she had down to her cloak; of Commissioner Legh, who
+      dragged her back to the stake because he had lost his bribe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But most of all she dreamed of Christopher, her beloved husband, who was
+      so near and yet as far away as he had ever been, a prisoner in the hands
+      of the rebels; her husband who deemed her dead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From all these phantasies she awoke weeping and oppressed by fears. Could
+      it be that when at length the cup of joy was so near her lips fate waited
+      to dash it down again? She knew not, who had naught but faith to lean on,
+      that faith which in the past had served her well. Meanwhile, she was sure
+      that if Christopher lived he would make his way to Cranwell or to
+      Blossholme, and, whatever the risk, thither she would go also as fast as
+      horses could carry her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Hurry as they would, midday was an hour gone ere they rode out of
+      Cheapside. There was so much to do, and even then things were left undone.
+      The four of them travelled humbly clad, giving out that they were a party
+      of merchant folk returning to Cambridge after a visit to London as to an
+      inheritance in which they were interested, especially Cicely, who posed as
+      a widow named Johnson. This was their story, which they varied from time
+      to time according to circumstances. In some ways their minds were more at
+      ease than when they travelled to the great city, for now at least they
+      were clear of the horrid company of Commissioner Legh and his people, nor
+      were they haunted by the knowledge that they had about them jewels of
+      great price. All these jewels were left behind in safe keeping, as were
+      also the writings under the King&rsquo;s hand and seal, of which they only took
+      attested copies, and with them the commission that Cromwell had duly sent
+      to Cicely addressed to her husband and herself, and Bolle&rsquo;s certificate of
+      captaincy. These they hid in their boots or the linings of their vests,
+      together with such money as was necessary for the costs of travel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus riding hard, for their horses were good and fresh, they came
+      unmolested to Cambridge on the night of the second day and slept there.
+      Beyond Cambridge, they were told, the country was so disturbed that it
+      would not be safe for them to journey. But just when they were in despair,
+      for even Bolle said that they must not go on, a troop of the King&rsquo;s horse
+      arrived on their way to join the Duke of Norfolk wherever he might lie in
+      Lincolnshire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To their captain, one Jeffreys, Jacob showed the King&rsquo;s commission,
+      revealing who they were. Seeing that it commanded all his Grace&rsquo;s officers
+      and servants to do them service, this Captain Jeffreys said that he would
+      give them escort until their roads separated. So next day they went on
+      again. The company was not pleasant, for the men, of whom there were about
+      a hundred, proved rough fellows, still, having been warned that he who
+      insulted or laid a finger on them should be hanged, they did them no harm.
+      It was well, indeed, that they had their protection, for they found the
+      country through which they passed up in arms, and were more than once
+      threatened by mobs of peasants, led by priests, who would have attacked
+      them had they dared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For two days they travelled thus with Captain Jeffreys, coming on the
+      evening of the second to Peterborough, where they found lodgings at an
+      inn. When they rose the next morning, however, it was to discover that
+      Jeffreys and his men had already gone, leaving a message to say that he
+      had received urgent orders to push on to Lincoln.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now once more they told their old tale, declaring that they were citizens
+      of Boston, and having learned that the Fens were peaceful, perhaps because
+      so few people lived in them, started forward by themselves under the
+      guidance of Bolle, who had often journeyed through that country, buying or
+      selling cattle for the monks. An ill land was it to travel in also in that
+      wet autumn, seeing that in many places the floods were out and the tracks
+      were like a quagmire. The first night they spent in a marshman&rsquo;s hut,
+      listening to the pouring rain and fearing fever and ague, especially for
+      the boy. The next day, by good fortune, they reached higher land and slept
+      at a tavern.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Here they were visited by rude men, who, being of the party of rebellion,
+      sought to know their business. For a while things were dangerous, but
+      Bolle, who could talk their own dialect, showed that they were scarcely to
+      be feared who travelled with two women and a babe, adding that he was a
+      lay-brother of Blossholme Abbey disguised as a serving-man for dread of
+      the King&rsquo;s party. Jacob Smith also called for ale and drank with them to
+      the success of the Pilgrimage of Grace, as their revolt was named.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In this way they disarmed suspicion with one tale and another. Moreover,
+      they heard that as yet the country round Blossholme remained undisturbed,
+      although it was said that the Abbot had fortified the Abbey and stored it
+      with provisions. He himself was with the leaders of the revolt in the
+      neighbourhood of Lincoln, but he had done this that he might have a strong
+      place to fall back on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So in the end the men went away full of strong beer, and that danger
+      passed by.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Next morning they started forward early, hoping to reach Blossholme by
+      sunset though the days were shortening much. This, however, was not to be,
+      for as it chanced they were badly bogged in a quagmire that lay about two
+      miles off their inn, and when at length they scrambled out had to ride
+      many miles round to escape the swamp. So it happened that it was already
+      well on in the afternoon when they came to that stretch of forest in which
+      the Abbot had murdered Sir John Foterell. Following the woodland road,
+      towards sunset they passed the mere where he had fallen. Weary as she was,
+      Cicely looked at the spot and found it familiar.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know this place,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Where have I seen it? Oh, in the ill dream
+      I had on that day I lost my father.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is not wonderful,&rdquo; answered Emlyn, who rode beside her carrying the
+      child, &ldquo;seeing that Thomas says it was just here they butchered him. Look,
+      yonder lie the bones of Meg, his mare; I know them by her black mane.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, Lady,&rdquo; broke in Bolle, &ldquo;and there he lies also where he fell; they
+      buried him with never a Christian prayer,&rdquo; and he pointed to a little
+      careless mound between two willows.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jesus, have mercy on his soul!&rdquo; said Cicely, crossing herself. &ldquo;Now, if I
+      live, I swear that I will move his bones to the chancel of Blossholme
+      church and build a fair monument to his memory.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This, as all visitors to the place know, she did, for that monument
+      remains to this day, representing the old knight lying in the snow, with
+      the arrow in his throat, between the two murderers whom he slew, while
+      round the corner of the tomb Jeffrey Stokes gallops away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      While Cicely stared back at this desolate grave, muttering a prayer for
+      the departed, Thomas Bolle heard something which caused him to prick his
+      ears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is it?&rdquo; asked Jacob Smith, who saw the change in his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Horses galloping&mdash;many horses, master,&rdquo; he answered; &ldquo;yes, and
+      riders on them. Listen.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They did so, and now they also heard the thud of horse&rsquo;s hoofs and the
+      shouts of men.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quick, quick,&rdquo; said Bolle, &ldquo;follow me. I know where we may hide,&rdquo; and he
+      led them off to a dense thicket of thorn and beech scrub which grew about
+      two hundred yards away under a group of oaks at a place where four tracks
+      crossed. Owing to the beech leaves, which, when the trees are young, as
+      every gardener knows, cling to the twigs through autumn and winter, this
+      place was very close, and hid them completely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Scarcely had they taken up their stand there, when, in the red light of
+      the sunset, they saw a strange sight. Along, not that road they had
+      followed, but another, which led round the farther side of King&rsquo;s Grave
+      Mount, now seen and now hidden by the forest trees, a tall man in armour
+      mounted on a grey horse, accompanied by another man in a leathern jerkin
+      mounted on a black horse, galloped towards them, whilst, at a distance of
+      not more than a hundred yards behind them, appeared a motley mob of
+      pursuers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Escaped prisoners being run down,&rdquo; muttered Bolle, but Cicely took no
+      heed. There was something about the appearance of the rider of the grey
+      horse that seemed to draw her heart out of her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She leaned forward on her beast&rsquo;s neck, staring with all her eyes. Now the
+      two men were almost opposite the thicket, and the man in mail turned his
+      face to his companion and called cheerily&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We gain! We&rsquo;ll slip them yet, Jeffrey.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely saw the face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Christopher!&rdquo; she cried; &ldquo;<i>Christopher!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Another moment and they had swept past, but Christopher&mdash;for it was
+      he&mdash;had caught the sound of that remembered voice. With eyes made
+      quick by love and fear she saw him pulling on his rein. She heard him
+      shout to Jeffrey, and Jeffrey shout back to him in tones of remonstrance.
+      They halted confusedly in the open space beyond. He tried to turn, then
+      perceived his pursuers drawing nearer, and, when they were already at his
+      heels, with an exclamation, pulled round again to gallop away. Too late!
+      Up the slope they sped for another hundred yards or so. Now they were
+      surrounded, and now, at the crest of it, they fought, for swords flashed
+      in the red light. The pursuers closed in on them like hounds on an outrun
+      fox. They went down&mdash;they vanished.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely strove to gallop after them, for she was crazed, but the others
+      held her back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At length there was silence, and Thomas Bolle, dismounting, crept out to
+      look. Ten minutes later he returned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All have gone,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! he is dead!&rdquo; wailed Cicely. &ldquo;This fatal place has robbed me of father
+      and of husband.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think not,&rdquo; answered Bolle. &ldquo;I see no bloodstains, nor any signs of a
+      man being carried. He went living on his horse. Still, would to Heaven
+      that women could learn when to keep silent!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XVII
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      BETWEEN DOOM AND HONOUR
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      The day was about to break when at last, utterly worn out in body and
+      mind, Cicely and her party rode their stumbling horses up to the gates of
+      Blossholme Priory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pray God the nuns are still here,&rdquo; said Emlyn, who held the child, &ldquo;for
+      if they have been driven out and my mistress must go farther, I think that
+      she will die. Knock hard, Thomas, that old gardener is deaf as a wall.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bolle obeyed with good will, till presently the grille in the door was
+      opened and a trembling woman&rsquo;s voice asked who was there.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s Mother Matilda,&rdquo; said Emlyn, and slipping from her horse, she ran
+      to the bars and began to talk to her through them. Then other nuns came,
+      and between them they opened one of the large gates, for the gardener
+      either could not or would not be aroused, and passed through it into the
+      courtyard where, when it was understood that Cicely had really come again,
+      there was a great welcoming. But now she could hardly speak, so they made
+      her swallow a bowl of milk and took her to her old room, where sleep of
+      some kind overcame her. When she awoke it was nine of the clock. Emlyn,
+      looking little the worse, was already up and stood talking with Mother
+      Matilda.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; cried Cicely, as memory came back to her, &ldquo;has aught been heard of
+      my husband?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They shook their heads, and the Prioress said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;First you must eat, Sweet, and then we will tell you all we know, which
+      is little.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So she ate who needed food sadly, and while Emlyn helped her to dress
+      herself, hearkened to the news. It was of no great account, only
+      confirming that which they had learnt from the Fenmen; that the Abbey was
+      fortified and guarded by strange soldiers, rebellious men from the north
+      or foreigners, and the Abbot supposed to be away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bolle, who had been out, reported also that a man he met declared that he
+      had heard a troop of horsemen pass through the village in the night, but
+      of this no proof was forthcoming, since if they had done so the heavy rain
+      that was still falling had washed out all traces of them. Moreover, in
+      those times people were always moving to and fro in the dark, and none
+      could know if this troop had anything to do with the band they had seen in
+      the forest, which might have gone some other way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Cicely was ready they went downstairs, and in Mother Matilda&rsquo;s
+      private room found Jacob Smith and Thomas Bolle awaiting them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lady Harflete,&rdquo; said Jacob, with the air of a man who has no time to
+      lose, &ldquo;things stand thus. As yet none know that you are here, for we have
+      the gardener and his wife under ward. But as soon as they learn it at the
+      Abbey there will be risk of an attack, and this place is not defensible.
+      Now at your hall of Shefton it is otherwise, for there it seems is a deep
+      moat with a drawbridge and the rest. To Shefton, therefore, you must go at
+      once, unobserved if may be. Indeed, Thomas has been there already, and
+      spoken to certain of your tenants whom he can trust, who are now hard at
+      work preparing and victualling the place, and passing on the word to
+      others. By nightfall he hopes to have thirty strong men to defend it, and
+      within three days a hundred, when your commission and his captaincy are
+      made known. Come, then, for there is no time to tarry and the horses are
+      saddled.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So Cicely kissed Mother Matilda, who blessed and thanked her for all she
+      had done, or tried to do on behalf of the sisterhood, and within five
+      minutes once more they were on the backs of their weary beasts and riding
+      through the rain to Shefton, which happily was but three miles away.
+      Keeping under the lee of the woods they left the Priory unobserved, for in
+      that wet few were stirring, and the sentinels at the Abbey, if there were
+      any, had taken shelter in the guard-house. So thankfully enough they came
+      unmolested to walled and wooded Shefton, which Cicely had last seen when
+      she fled thence to Cranwell on the day of her marriage, oh, years and
+      years ago, or so it seemed to her tormented heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a strange and a sad home-coming, she thought, as they rode over the
+      drawbridge and through the sodden and weed-smothered pleasaunce to the
+      familiar door. Yet it might have been worse, for the tenants whom Bolle
+      had warned had not been idle. For two hours past and more a dozen willing
+      women had swept and cleaned; the fires had been lit, and there was
+      plenteous food of a sort in the kitchen and the store-room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Moreover, in all the big hall were gathered about a score of her people,
+      who welcomed her by raising their bonnets and even tried to cheer. To
+      these at once Jacob read the King&rsquo;s commission, showing them the signet
+      and the seal, and that other commission which named Thomas Bolle a captain
+      with wide powers, the sight and hearing of which writings seemed to put a
+      great heart into them who so long had lacked a leader and the support of
+      authority. One and all they swore to stand by the King and their lady,
+      Cicely Harflete, and her lord, Sir Christopher, or if he were dead, his
+      child. Then about half of them took horse and rode off, this way and that,
+      to gather men in the King&rsquo;s name, while the rest stayed to guard the Hall
+      and work at its defences.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      By sunset men were riding up from all sides, some of them driving carts
+      loaded with provisions, arms and fodder, or sheep and beasts that could be
+      killed for sustenance, while as they came Jacob enrolled their names upon
+      a paper and by virtue of his commission Thomas Bolle swore them in. Indeed
+      that night they had forty men quartered there, and the promise of many
+      more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      By now, however, the secret was out, for the story had gone round and the
+      smoke from the Shefton chimneys told its own tale. First a single spy
+      appeared on the opposite rise, watching. Then he galloped away, to return
+      an hour later with ten armed and mounted men, one of whom carried a banner
+      on which were embroidered the emblems of the Pilgrimage of Grace. These
+      men rode to within a hundred paces of Shefton Hall, apparently with the
+      object of attacking it, then seeing that the drawbridge was up and that
+      archers with bent bows stood on either side, halted and sent forward one
+      of their number with a white flag to parley.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who holds Shefton,&rdquo; shouted this man, &ldquo;and for what cause?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Lady Harflete, its owner, and Captain Thomas Bolle, for the cause of
+      the King,&rdquo; called old Jacob Smith back to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By what warrant?&rdquo; asked the man. &ldquo;The Abbot of Blossholme is lord of
+      Shefton, and Thomas Bolle is but a lay-brother of his monastery.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By warrant of the King&rsquo;s Grace,&rdquo; said Jacob, and then and there at the
+      top of his voice he read to him the Royal Commission, which when the envoy
+      had heard, he went back to consult with his companions. For a while they
+      hesitated, apparently still meditating attack, but in the end rode away
+      and were seen no more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bolle wished to follow and fall on them with such men as he had, but the
+      cautious Jacob Smith forbade it, fearing lest he should tumble into some
+      ambush and be killed or captured with his people, leaving the place
+      defenceless.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So the afternoon went by, and ere evening closed in they had so much
+      strength that there was no more cause for fear of an attack from the
+      Abbey, whose garrison they learned amounted to not over fifty men and a
+      few monks, for most of these had fled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That night Cicely with Emlyn and old Jacob were seated in the long upper
+      room where her father, Sir John Foterell, had once surprised Christopher
+      paying his court to her, when Bolle entered, followed by a man with a
+      hang-dog look who was wrapped in a sheepskin coat which seemed to become
+      him very ill.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who is this, friend?&rdquo; asked Jacob.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;An old companion of mine, your worship, a monk of Blossholme who is weary
+      of Grace and its pilgrimages, and seeks the King&rsquo;s comfort and pardon,
+      which I have made bold to promise to him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good,&rdquo; said Jacob, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll enter his name, and if he remains faithful your
+      promise shall be kept. But why do you bring him here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because he bears tidings.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now something in Bolle&rsquo;s voice caused Cicely, who was brooding apart, to
+      look up sharply and say&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Speak, and be swift.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My Lady,&rdquo; began the man in a slow voice, &ldquo;I, who am named Basil in
+      religion, have fled the Abbey because, although a monk, I am true to the
+      King, and moreover have suffered much from the Abbot, who has just
+      returned raging, having met with some reverse out Lincoln way, I know not
+      what. My news is that your lord, Sir Christopher Harflete, and his servant
+      Jeffrey Stokes are prisoners in the Abbey dungeons, whither they were
+      brought last night by a company of the rebels who had captured them and
+      afterwards rode on.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Prisoners!&rdquo; exclaimed Cicely. &ldquo;Then he is not dead or wounded? At least
+      he is whole and safe?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, my Lady, whole and safe as a mouse in the paws of a cat before it is
+      eaten.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The blood left Cicely&rsquo;s cheeks. In her mind&rsquo;s eye she saw Abbot Maldon
+      turned into a great cat with a monk&rsquo;s head and patting Christopher with
+      his claws.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My fault, my fault!&rdquo; she said in a heavy voice. &ldquo;Oh, if I had not called
+      him he would have escaped. Would that I had been stricken dumb!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t think so,&rdquo; answered Brother Basil. &ldquo;There were others watching
+      for him ahead who, when he was taken, went away and that is how you came
+      to get through so neatly. At least there he lies, and if you would save
+      him, you had best gather what strength you can and strike at once.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Does he know that I live?&rdquo; asked Cicely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How can I tell, Lady? The Abbey dungeons are no good place for news. Yet
+      the monk who took him his food this morning said that Sir Christopher told
+      him that he had been undone by some ghost which called to him with the
+      voice of his dead wife as he rode near King&rsquo;s Grave Mount.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now when Cicely heard this she rose and left the room accompanied by
+      Emlyn, for she could bear no more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Jacob Smith and Bolle remained questioning the man closely upon many
+      matters, and, having learned all he could tell them, sent him away under
+      guard and sat there till midnight consulting and making up their plans
+      with the farmers and yeomen whom they called to them from time to time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Next morning early they sought out Cicely and told her that to them it
+      seemed wise that the Abbey should be attacked without delay.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But my husband lies there,&rdquo; she answered in distress, &ldquo;and then they will
+      kill him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So I fear they may if we do not attack,&rdquo; replied Jacob. &ldquo;Moreover, Lady,
+      to tell the truth, there are other things to be thought of. For instance,
+      the King&rsquo;s cause and honour, which we are bound to forward, and the lives
+      and goods of all those who through us have declared themselves for him. If
+      we lie idle Abbot Maldon will send messengers to the north and within a
+      few days bring down thousands upon us, against whom we cannot hope to
+      stand. Indeed, it is probable that he has already sent. But if they hear
+      that the Abbey has fallen the rebels will scarcely come for revenge alone.
+      Lastly, if we sit with folded hands, our own people may grow cold with
+      doubts and fears and melt away, who now are hot as fire.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If it must be, so let it be. In God&rsquo;s hands I leave his life,&rdquo; said
+      Cicely in a heavy voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That day the King&rsquo;s men, under the captaincy of Bolle, advanced and
+      invested the Abbey, setting their camp in Blossholme village. Cicely, who
+      would not be left behind, came with them and once more took up her
+      quarters in the Priory, which on a formal summons opened its gates to her,
+      its only guard, the deaf gardener, surrendering at discretion. He was set
+      to work as a camp servant, and never in his life did he labour so hard
+      before, since Emlyn, who owed him many a grudge, saw to it that he did not
+      lack for tasks that were mean and heavy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now that day Thomas and others spied out the Abbey and returned shaking
+      their heads, for without cannon&mdash;and as yet they had none&mdash;the
+      great building of hewn stone seemed almost impregnable. At but one spot
+      indeed was attack possible, from the back where once stood the dormers and
+      farm steadings which Emlyn had egged on Thomas to burn. These had been
+      built up to the inner edge of the moat, making, as it were, part of the
+      Abbey wall, but the fierce fire had so cracked and crumbled their masonry
+      that several rods of it had fallen forward into the water.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For purposes of defence the gap this formed was now closed by a double
+      palisade of stout stakes, filled in with faggots, the charred beams of the
+      old buildings and other rubbish. Yet to carry this palisade, protected as
+      it was by the broad and deep moat and commanded from the windows and the
+      corner tower, was more than they dared try, since if it could be done at
+      all it would certainly cost them very many lives. One thing they had
+      learned, however, from the monk Basil and others, that in the Abbey there
+      was but small store of food to feed so many: three days&rsquo; supply, said
+      Basil, and none put it at over four.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That evening, then, they held another council, at which it was determined
+      to starve the place out and only attempt an onslaught if their spies
+      reported to them that the rebels were marching to its relief.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But,&rdquo; urged Cicely, &ldquo;then my lord and Jeffrey Stokes will starve also,&rdquo;
+       whereon they went away sadly, saying there was no choice, seeing that they
+      were but two men and the lives of many lay at stake.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The siege began, just such a siege as Cicely had suffered at Cranwell
+      Towers. The first day the garrison of the Abbey scoffed at them from the
+      walls. The second day they scoffed no longer, noting that the force of the
+      besiegers increased, which it did hourly. The third day suddenly they let
+      down the drawbridge and poured out on to it as though for a sortie, but
+      when they perceived the scores of Bolle&rsquo;s men waiting bow in hand and
+      arrow on string, changed their minds and drew the bridge up again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They grow hungry and desperate,&rdquo; said the shrewd Jacob. &ldquo;Soon we shall
+      have some message from them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was right, since just before sunset a postern gate was opened and a
+      man, holding a white flag above his head, was seen swimming across the
+      moat. He scrambled out on the farther side, shook himself like a dog, and
+      advanced slowly to where Bolle and the women stood upon the Abbey green
+      out of arrow-shot from the walls. Indeed, Cicely, who was weak with dread
+      and wretchedness, leaned against the oaken stake that had never been
+      removed, to which once she was tied to be burned for witchcraft.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who is that man?&rdquo; said Emlyn to her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely scanned the gaunt, bearded figure who walked haltingly like one
+      that is sick.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know not&mdash;yes, yes, he puts me in mind of Jeffrey Stokes!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jeffrey it is and no other,&rdquo; said Emlyn, nodding her head. &ldquo;Now what news
+      does he bear, I wonder?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely made no reply, only clung to her stake and waited, with just such a
+      heart as once she had waited there while the Abbey cook blew up his brands
+      to fire her faggots. Jeffrey was opposite to her now; his sunken eyes fell
+      upon her, and at the sight his bearded chin dropped, making his face look
+      even more long and hollow than it had before.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; he said, speaking to himself, &ldquo;many wars and journeyings, months in
+      an infidel galley, three days with not enough food to feed a rat and a
+      bath in November water! Well, such things, to say nothing of a worse, turn
+      men&rsquo;s brains. Yet to think that I should live to see a daylight ghost in
+      homely Blossholme, who never met with one before.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Still staring he shook the water from his beard, then added, &ldquo;Lay-brother
+      or Captain Thomas Bolle, whichever you may be now-a-days, if you&rsquo;re not a
+      ghost also, give me a quart of strong ale and a loaf of bread, for I&rsquo;m
+      empty as a gutted herring, and floating heavenward, so to speak, who would
+      stick upon this scurvy earth.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jeffrey, Jeffrey,&rdquo; broke in Cicely, &ldquo;what news of your master? Emlyn,
+      tell him that we still live. He does not understand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, you still live, do you?&rdquo; he added slowly. &ldquo;So the fire could not burn
+      you after all, or Emlyn either. Well, then, there&rsquo;s hope for every one,
+      and perhaps hunger and Abbot Maldon&rsquo;s knives cannot kill Christopher
+      Harflete.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He lives, then, and is well?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He lives and is as well as a man may be after a three days&rsquo; fast in a
+      black dungeon that is somewhat damp. Here&rsquo;s a writing on the matter for
+      the captain of this company,&rdquo; and, taking a letter from the folds of the
+      white flag in which it had been fastened, he handed it to Bolle, who, as
+      he could not read, passed it on to Jacob Smith. Just then a lad brought
+      the ale for which Jeffrey had asked, and with it a platter of cold meat
+      and bread, on which he fell like a famished hound, drinking in great gulps
+      and devouring the food almost without chewing it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By the saints, you are starved, Jeffrey,&rdquo; said a yeoman who stood by.
+      &ldquo;Come with me and shift those wet clothes of yours, or you will take
+      harm,&rdquo; and he led him off, still eating, to a tent that stood near by.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Meanwhile, Jacob, having studied the letter with bent and anxious brows,
+      read it aloud. It ran thus&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To the Captain of the King&rsquo;s men, from Clement, Abbot of Blossholme.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By what warrant I know not you besiege us here, threatening this Abbey
+      and its Religious with fire and sword. I am told that Cicely Foterell is
+      your leader. Say, then, to that escaped witch that I hold the man she
+      calls her husband, and who is the father of her base-born child, a
+      prisoner. Unless this night she disperses her troop and sends me a writing
+      signed and witnessed, promising indemnity on behalf of the King for me and
+      those with me for all that we may have done against him and his laws, or
+      privately against her, and freedom to go where we will without pursuit or
+      hindrance or loss of land or chattels, know that to-morrow at the dawn we
+      put to death Christopher Harflete, Knight, in punishment of the murders
+      and other crimes that he has committed against us, and in proof thereof
+      his body shall be hung from the Abbey tower. If otherwise we will leave
+      him unharmed here where you shall find him after we have gone. For the
+      rest, ask his servant, Jeffrey Stokes, whom we send to you with this
+      letter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Clement, Abbot.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jacob finished reading and a silence fell upon all who listened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let us go to some private place and consider this matter,&rdquo; said Emlyn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; broke in Cicely, &ldquo;it is I, who in my lord&rsquo;s absence, hold the
+      King&rsquo;s commission and I will be heard. Thomas Bolle, first send a man
+      under flag to the Abbot, saying, that if aught of harm befalls Sir
+      Christopher Harflete I&rsquo;ll put every living soul within the Abbey walls to
+      death by sword or rope, and stand answerable for it to the King. Set it in
+      writing, Master Smith, and send with it copy of the King&rsquo;s commission for
+      my warrant. At once, let it be done at once.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So they went to a cottage near by, which Bolle used as a guard-house,
+      where this stern message was written down, copied out fair, signed by
+      Cicely and by Bolle, as captain, with Jacob Smith for witness. This paper,
+      together with a copy of the King&rsquo;s commissions, Cicely with her own hand
+      gave to a bold and trusty man, charged to ask an answer, who departed,
+      carrying the white flag and wearing a steel shirt beneath his doublet, for
+      fear of treachery.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When he had gone they sent for Jeffrey, who arrived clad in dry garments
+      and still eating, for his hunger was that of a wolf.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell us all,&rdquo; said Cicely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It will be a long story if I begin at the beginning, Lady. When your
+      worshipful father, Sir John, and I rode away from Shefton on the day of
+      his murder&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, nay,&rdquo; interrupted Cicely, &ldquo;that may stand, we have no time. My lord
+      and you escaped from Lincoln, did you not, and, as we saw, were taken in
+      the forest?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, Lady. Some tricksy spirit called out with your voice and he heard
+      and pulled rein, and so they came on to us and overwhelmed us, though
+      without hurt as it chanced. Then they brought us to the Abbey and thrust
+      us into that accursed dungeon, where, save for a little bread and water,
+      we have starved for three days in the dark. That is all the tale.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How, then, did you come out, Jeffrey?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thus, my Lady. Something over an hour ago a monk and three guards
+      unlocked the dungeon door. While we blinked at his lantern, like owls in
+      the sunlight, the monk said that the Abbot purposed to send me to the camp
+      of the King&rsquo;s party to offer Christopher Harflete&rsquo;s life against the lives
+      of all of them. He told him, Harflete, also, that he had brought ink and
+      paper and that if he wished to save himself he would do well to write a
+      letter praying that this offer might be accepted, since otherwise he would
+      certainly die at dawn.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what said my husband?&rdquo; asked Cicely, leaning forward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What said he? Why, he laughed in their faces and told them that first he
+      would cut off his hand. On this they haled me out of the dungeon roughly
+      enough, for I would have stayed there with him to the end. But as the door
+      closed he shouted after me, &lsquo;Tell the King&rsquo;s officers to burn this rats&rsquo; 
+      nest and take no heed of Christopher Harflete, who desires to die!&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why does he desire to die?&rdquo; asked Cicely again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because he thinks his wife dead, Mistress, as I did, and believes that in
+      the forest he heard her voice calling him to join her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh God! oh God!&rdquo; moaned Cicely; &ldquo;I shall be his death.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not so,&rdquo; answered Jeffrey. &ldquo;Do you know so little of Christopher Harflete
+      that you think he would sell the King&rsquo;s cause to gain his own life? Why,
+      if you yourself came and pleaded with him he would thrust you away,
+      saying, &lsquo;Get thee behind me, Satan!&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I believe it, and I am proud,&rdquo; muttered Cicely. &ldquo;If need be, let Harflete
+      die, we&rsquo;ll keep his honour and our own lest he should live to curse us. Go
+      on.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, they led me to the Abbot, who gave me that letter which you have,
+      and bade me take it and tell the case to whoever commanded here. Then he
+      lifted up his hand and, laying it on the crucifix about his neck, swore
+      that this was no idle threat, but that unless his terms were taken,
+      Harflete should hang from the tower top at to-morrow&rsquo;s dawn, adding,
+      though I knew not what he meant, &lsquo;I think you&rsquo;ll find one yonder who will
+      listen to that reasoning.&rsquo; Now he was dismissing me when a soldier said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Is it wise to free this Stokes? You forget, my Lord Abbot, that he is
+      alleged to have witnessed a certain slaying yonder in the forest and will
+      bear evidence.&rsquo; &lsquo;Aye,&rsquo; answered Maldon, &lsquo;I had forgotten who in this press
+      remembered only that no other man would be believed. Still, perhaps it
+      would be best to choose a different messenger and to silence this fellow
+      at once. Write down that Jeffrey Stokes, a prisoner, strove to escape and
+      was killed by the guards in self-defence. Take him hence and let me hear
+      no more.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now my blood went cold, although I strove to look as careless as a man
+      may on an empty stomach after three days in the dark, and cursed him
+      prettily in Spanish to his face. Then, as they were haling me off, Brother
+      Martin&mdash;do you remember him? he was our companion in some troubles
+      over-seas&mdash;stepped forward out of the shadow and said, &lsquo;Of what use
+      is it, Abbot, to stain your soul with so foul a murder? Since John
+      Foterell died the King has many things to lay to your account, and any one
+      of them will hang you. Should you fall into his hands, he&rsquo;ll not hark back
+      to Foterell&rsquo;s death, if, indeed, you were to blame in that matter.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;You speak roughly, Brother,&rsquo; answered the Abbot; &lsquo;and acts of war are
+      not murder, though perchance afterwards you might say they were, to save
+      your own skin, or others might. Well, if so, there&rsquo;s wisdom in your words.
+      Touch not the man. Give him the letter and thrust him into the moat to
+      swim it. His lies can make no odds in the count against us.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, they did so, and I came here, as you saw, to find you living, and
+      now I understand why Maldon thought that Harflete&rsquo;s life is worth so
+      much,&rdquo; and, having done his tale, once more Jeffrey began to eat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely looked at him, they all looked at him&mdash;this gaunt, fierce man
+      who, after many other sorrows and strivings, had spent three days in a
+      black dungeon with the rats, fed upon water and a few fingers of black
+      bread. Yes; with the crawling rats and another man so dear to one of them,
+      who still sat in that horrid hole, waiting to be hung like a felon at the
+      dawn. The silence, with only Jeffrey&rsquo;s munching to break it, grew painful,
+      so that all were glad when the door opened and the messenger whom they had
+      sent to the Abbey appeared. He was breathless, having run fast, and
+      somewhat disturbed, perhaps because two arrows were sticking in his back,
+      or rather in his jerkin, for the mail beneath had stopped them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Speak,&rdquo; said old Jacob Smith; &ldquo;what is your answer?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look behind me, master, and you will find it,&rdquo; replied the man. &ldquo;They set
+      a ladder across the moat and a board on that, over which a priest tripped
+      to take my writing. I waited a while, till presently I heard a voice hail
+      me from the gateway tower, and, looking up, saw Abbot Maldon standing
+      there, with a face like that of a black devil.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Hark you, knave,&rsquo; he said to me, &lsquo;get you gone to the witch, Cicely
+      Foterell, and to the recreant monk, Bolle, whom I curse and excommunicate
+      from the fellowship of Holy Church, and tell them to watch for the first
+      light of dawn, for by it, somewhat high up, they&rsquo;ll see Christopher
+      Harflete hanging black against the morning sky!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;On hearing this I lost my caution, and hallooed back&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;If so, ere to-morrow&rsquo;s nightfall you shall keep him company, every one
+      of you, black against the evening sky, except those who go to be quartered
+      at Tower Hill and Tyburn.&rsquo; Then I ran and they shot at me, hitting once or
+      twice, but, though old, the mail was good, and here am I, unhurt except
+      for bruises.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A while later Cicely, Jacob Smith, Thomas Bolle, Jeffrey Stokes, and Emlyn
+      Stower sat together taking counsel&mdash;very earnest counsel, for the
+      case was desperate. Plan after plan was brought forward and set aside for
+      this reason or for that, till at length they stared at each other emptily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Emlyn,&rdquo; exclaimed Cicely at last, &ldquo;in past days you were wont to be full
+      of comfortable words; have you never a one in this extreme?&rdquo; for all the
+      while Emlyn had sat silent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thomas,&rdquo; said Emlyn, looking up, &ldquo;do you remember when we were children
+      where we used to catch the big carp in the Abbey moat?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, woman,&rdquo; he answered; &ldquo;but what time is this for fishing stories of
+      many years ago? As I was saying, of that tunnel underground there is no
+      hope. Beyond the grove it is utterly caved in and blocked&mdash;I&rsquo;ve tried
+      it. If we had a week, perhaps&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let her be,&rdquo; broke in Jacob; &ldquo;she has something to tell us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And do you remember,&rdquo; went on Emlyn, &ldquo;that you told me that there the
+      carp were so big and fat because just at this place &lsquo;neath the drawbridge
+      the Abbey sewer&mdash;the big Abbey sewer down which all foul things are
+      poured&mdash;empties itself into the moat, and that therefore I would eat
+      none of those fish, even in Lent?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, I remember. What of it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thomas, did I hear you say that the powder you sent for had come?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, an hour ago; six kegs, by the carrier&rsquo;s van, of a hundredweight
+      each. Not so much as we hoped for, but something, though, as the cannon
+      has not come&mdash;for the King&rsquo;s folk had none&mdash;it is of no use.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A dark night, a ladder with a plank on it, a brick arched drain, two
+      hundredweight, or better still, four of powder set beneath the gate, a
+      slow-match and a brave man to fire it&mdash;taken together with God&rsquo;s
+      blessing, these things might do much,&rdquo; mused Emlyn, as though to herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now at length they took her point.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They&rsquo;d be listening like a cat for a mouse,&rdquo; said Bolle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think the wind rises,&rdquo; she answered; &ldquo;I hear it in the trees. I think
+      presently it will blow a gale. Also, lanterns might be shown at the back
+      where the breach is, and men might shout there, as though preparing to
+      attack. That would draw them off. Meanwhile Jeffrey Stokes and I would try
+      our luck with the ladder and the kegs of powder&mdash;he to roll and I to
+      fire when the time came, for being, as you have heard, a witch, I
+      understand how to humour brimstone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ten minutes later, and their plans were fixed. Two hours later, and, in
+      the midst of a raving gale, hidden by the pitchy darkness and the towering
+      screen of the lifted drawbridge, Emlyn and the strong Jeffrey rolled the
+      kegs of powder over planks laid across the moat, into the mouth of the big
+      drain and twenty feet down it, till they lay under the gateway towers!
+      Then, lying there in the stinking filth, they drew the spigots out of
+      holes that they had made in them, and in their place set the slow-matches.
+      Jeffrey struck a flint, blew the tinder to a glow, and handed it to Emlyn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now get you gone,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;I follow. At this job one is better than
+      two.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A minute later she joined him on the farther bank of the moat. &ldquo;Run!&rdquo; she
+      said. &ldquo;Run for your life; there&rsquo;s death behind!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He obeyed, but Emlyn turned and screamed, till, hearing her through the
+      gale, all the guard hurried up the towers, flashing lanterns, to see what
+      passed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;STORM! STORM!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;UP WITH THE LADDERS! FOR THE KIND AND
+      HARFLETE! STORM! STORM!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then she too turned and fled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XVIII
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      OUT OF THE SHADOWS
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      Through the black night sudden and red there shot a sheet of fire
+      illumining all things as lightning does. Above the roaring of the gale
+      there echoed a dull and heavy noise like to that of muffled thunder. Then
+      after a moment&rsquo;s pause and silence the sky rained stones, and with them
+      the limbs of men.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The gateway&rsquo;s gone,&rdquo; shouted a great voice, it was that of Bolle. &ldquo;Out
+      with the ladders!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Men who were waiting ran up with them and thrust them, four in all,
+      athwart the moat. By the planks that were lashed along their staves they
+      scrambled across and over the piles of shattered masonry into the
+      courtyard beyond where none waited them, for all who watched here were
+      dead or maimed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Light the lanterns,&rdquo; shouted Bolle again, &ldquo;for it will be dark in
+      yonder,&rdquo; and a man who followed with a torch obeyed him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then they rushed across the courtyard to the door of the refectory, which
+      stood open. Here in the wide, high-roofed hall they met the mass of
+      Maldon&rsquo;s people pouring back from the faggoted breach, where they had been
+      gathered, expecting attack, some of them also bearing lanterns. For a
+      moment the two parties stood staring at each other; then followed a wild
+      and savage scene. With shouts and oaths and battle-cries they fought
+      furiously. The massive, oaken tables were overthrown, by the red flicker
+      of the pole-borne lanterns men grappled and fell and slew each other upon
+      the floor. A priest struck down a yeoman with a brazen crucifix, and next
+      moment himself was brained with its broken shaft.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For God and Grace!&rdquo; shouted some; &ldquo;For the King and Harflete!&rdquo; answered
+      others.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Keep line! Keep line!&rdquo; roared Bolle, &ldquo;and sweep them out.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The lanterns were dashed down and extinguished till but one remained, a
+      red and wavering star. Hoarse voices shouted for light, for none knew
+      friend from foe. It came; some one had fired the tapestries and the blaze
+      ran up them to the roof. Then fearing lest they should be roasted, the
+      Abbot&rsquo;s folk gave way and fled to the farther door, followed by their
+      foes. Here it was that most of them fell, for they jammed in the doorway
+      and were cut down there are on the stair beyond.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      While Bolle still plied his axe fiercely, some one caught his arm and
+      screamed into his ear&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let be! Let be! The wretch is sped.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In his red wrath he turned to strike the speaker, and saw by the flare
+      that it was Cicely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you here?&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;Get gone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fool,&rdquo; she answered in a low, fierce voice, &ldquo;I seek my husband. Show me
+      the path ere it be too late, you know it alone. Come, Jeffrey Stokes, a
+      lantern, a lantern!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jeffrey appeared, sword in one hand and lantern in the other, and with him
+      Emlyn, who also held a sword which she had plucked from a fallen man,
+      Emlyn still foul with the filth of the sewer and the mud of the moat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I may not leave,&rdquo; muttered Thomas Bolle. &ldquo;I seek Maldon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;On to the dungeons,&rdquo; shrieked Emlyn, &ldquo;or I will stab you. I heard them
+      give word to kill Harflete.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he snatched the light from Jeffrey&rsquo;s hand, and crying &ldquo;Follow me,&rdquo;
+       rushed along a passage till they came to an open door and beyond it to
+      stairs. They descended the stairs and passed other passages which ran
+      underground, till a sudden turn to the right brought them to a little
+      walled-in place with a vaulted roof. Two torches flared in iron holders in
+      the masonry, and by the light of them they saw a strange and fearful
+      sight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the end of the open place a heavy, nail-studded door stood wide,
+      revealing a cell, or rather a little cave beyond&mdash;those who are
+      curious can see it to this day. Fastened by a chain to the wall of this
+      dungeon was a man, who held in his hand a three-legged stool and tugged at
+      his chain like a maddened beast. In front of him, holding the doorway,
+      stood a tall, lank priest, his robe tucked up into his girdle. He was
+      wounded, for blood poured from his shaven crown and he plied a great sword
+      with both hands, striking savagely at four men who tried to cut him down.
+      As Bolle and his party appeared, one of these men fell beneath the
+      priest&rsquo;s blows, and another took his place, shouting&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Out of the way, traitor. We would kill Harflete, not you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We die or live together, murderers,&rdquo; answered the priest in a thick,
+      gasping voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At this moment one of them, it was he who had spoken, heard the sound of
+      the rescuers&rsquo; footsteps and glanced back. In an instant he turned and was
+      running past them like a hare. As he went the light from the lantern fell
+      upon his face, and Emlyn knew it for that of the Abbot. She struck at him
+      with the sword she held, but the steel glanced from his mail. He also
+      struck, but at the lantern, dashing it to the ground.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Seize him,&rdquo; screamed Emlyn. &ldquo;Seize Maldon, Jeffrey,&rdquo; and at the words
+      Stokes bounded away, only to return presently, having lost him in the dark
+      passages. Then with a roar Bolle leaped upon the two remaining men-at-arms
+      as they faced about, and very soon between his axe and the sword of the
+      priest behind, they sank to the ground and died still fighting, who knew
+      they had no hope of quarter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was over and done and dreadful silence fell upon the place, the silence
+      of the dead broken only by the heavy breathing of those who remained
+      alive. There the wounded monk leaned against the door-post, his red sword
+      drooping to the floor. There Harflete, the stool still lifted, rested his
+      weight against the chain and peered forward in amazement, swaying as
+      though from weakness. And lastly there lay the three slain men, one of
+      whom still moved a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely crept forward; over the dead she went and past the priest till she
+      stood face to face with the prisoner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come nearer and I will dash out your brains,&rdquo; he said in a hoarse voice,
+      for such light as there was came from behind her whom he thought to be but
+      another of the murderers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then at length she found her voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Christopher!&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;Christopher!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He hearkened, and the stool fell from his hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Voice again,&rdquo; he muttered. &ldquo;Well, &lsquo;tis time. Tarry a while, Wife, I
+      come, I come!&rdquo; and he fell back against the wall shutting his eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She leapt to him, and throwing her arms about him kissed his lips, his
+      poor, bloodless lips. The shut eyes opened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Death might be worse,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;but so I knew that we would meet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now Emlyn, seeing some change in his face, snatched one of the torches
+      from its iron and ran forward, holding it so that the light fell full on
+      Cicely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Christopher,&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;I am no ghost, but your living wife.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He heard, he stared, he stared again, then lifted his thin hand and
+      stroked her hair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh God,&rdquo; he exclaimed, &ldquo;the dead live!&rdquo; and down he fell in a heap at her
+      feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They thrust Cicely aside, Cicely who stood there shivering, she who
+      thought he had gone again and this time for ever. With difficulty they
+      broke the chain whereby he had been held like a kennelled hound, and bore
+      him, still senseless, up the long passages, Bolle going ahead as guard and
+      Jeffrey Stokes following after. Behind them came Emlyn supporting the
+      wounded monk Martin, for it was he and no other who had saved the life of
+      Christopher.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As they went up towards the stairs they heard a roaring noise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fire!&rdquo; said Cicely, who knew that sound well, and next instant the light
+      of it burst upon them and its smoke wrapped them round. The Abbey was
+      ablaze, and its wide hall in front looked like the mouth of hell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did I not prophesy that it would be so&mdash;yonder at Cranwell burning?&rdquo;
+       asked Emlyn, with a fierce laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Follow me!&rdquo; shouted Bolle. &ldquo;Be swift now ere the roof falls and traps
+      us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      On they went desperately, leaving the hall on their left, and well for
+      them was it that Thomas knew the way. One little chamber through which
+      they passed had already caught, for flakes of fire fell among them from
+      above and here the smoke was very thick. They were through it, who even a
+      minute later could never have walked that path and lived. They were
+      through it and out into the open air by the cloister door, which those who
+      fled before them had left wide. They reached the moat just where the
+      breach had been mended with faggots, and mounting on them Bolle shouted
+      till one of his own men heard him and dropped the bow that he had raised
+      to shoot him as a rebel. Then planks and ladders were brought, and at last
+      they escaped from danger and the intolerable heat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus it was that Cicely who lost her love in fire, in fire found him once
+      again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For Christopher was not dead as at first they feared. They carried him to
+      the Priory, and there Emlyn, having felt his heart and found that it still
+      beat, though faintly, sent Mother Matilda to fetch some of that Portugal
+      wine of hers which Commissioner Legh had praised. Spoonful by spoonful she
+      poured it down his throat, till at length he opened his eyes, though only
+      to shut them again in natural sleep, for the wine had taken a hold of his
+      starved body and weakened brain. For hour after hour Cicely sat by him,
+      only rising from time to time to watch the burning of the great Abbey
+      church, as once she had watched that of its dormers and farm-steading.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      About three in the morning the lead ceased to pour down in a silvery
+      molten shower, its roofs fell in, and by dawn it was nothing but a
+      fire-blackened shell much as it remains to-day. Just before daybreak Emlyn
+      came to her, saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There is one who would speak with you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I cannot see him,&rdquo; she answered, &ldquo;I bide by my husband.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yet you should,&rdquo; said Emlyn, &ldquo;since but for him you would now have no
+      husband. The monk Martin, who held off the murderers, is dying and desires
+      to bid you farewell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Cicely went to find the man still conscious, but fading away with the
+      flow of his own blood, which could not be stayed by any skill they had.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have come to thank you,&rdquo; she murmured, who knew not what else to say.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank me not,&rdquo; he answered faintly, pausing often between his words, &ldquo;who
+      did but strive to repay part of a great debt. Last winter I shared in
+      awful sin, in obedience, not to my heart, but to my vows. I who was set to
+      watch the body of your husband found that he lived, and by my help he was
+      borne away upon a ship. That ship was taken by the Infidels, and
+      afterwards he and I and Jeffrey served together upon their galleys. There
+      I fell sick, and your husband nursed me back to life. It was I who brought
+      you the deeds and wrote the letter which I gave to Emlyn Stower. My vows
+      still held me fast, and I did no more. This night I broke their bonds, for
+      when I heard the order given that he should be slain I ran down before the
+      murderers and fought my best, forgetting that I was a priest, till at
+      length you came. Let this atone my crimes against my Country, my King and
+      you that I died for my friend at last, as I am glad to do who find this
+      world&mdash;too difficult.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will tell him if he lives,&rdquo; sobbed Cicely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He opened his eyes, which had shut, and answered&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, he&rsquo;ll live, he&rsquo;ll live. You have had many troubles, but, save for the
+      creep of age and death, they are over. I can see and know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again he shut his eyes and the watchers thought that all was done, till of
+      a sudden once more he opened them and added in broken tones&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Abbot&mdash;show him mercy&mdash;if you can. He is wicked and cruel,
+      but I have been his confessor and know his heart. He strove for a good end&mdash;by
+      an evil road. Queen Catherine was the King&rsquo;s lawful wife. To seize the
+      monasteries is shameless theft. Also his blood is not English; he sees
+      otherwise, and serves the Pope as I do, and Spain, as I do not. As I have
+      helped you, help him. Judge not, that ye be not judged. Promise!&rdquo; and he
+      raised himself a little on the bed and looked at her earnestly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I promise,&rdquo; answered Cicely, and as she spoke Martin smiled. Then his
+      face turned quite grey, all the light went out of his eyes and a moment
+      later Emlyn threw a linen cloth over his head. It was finished.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely returned to Christopher to find him sitting up in bed drinking a
+      bowl of broth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, my husband, my husband,&rdquo; she said, casting her arms about him. Then
+      she took her son and laid him upon his father&rsquo;s breast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Three days had gone by and Christopher and Cicely were walking in the
+      shrubbery of Shefton Hall. By now, although still weak, he was almost
+      recovered, whose only sickness had been grief and famine, for which joy
+      and plenty are wonderful medicines. It was evening, a pleasant and
+      beautiful early winter evening just fading into night. Seated on a bench
+      he had been telling her his adventures, and they were a moving tale
+      worthy, as Cicely wrote afterwards in a letter to old Jacob Smith that is
+      still extant in her fine, quaint handwriting, to be recorded in a book,
+      though this it would seem was never done.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He told her of the great fight on the ship <i>Great Yarmouth</i>, when
+      they were taken by the two Turkish pirates, and of how bravely Father
+      Martin bore himself. Afterwards when they came to the galleys, by good
+      fortune Martin, Jeffrey and he served on the same bench. Then Martin fell
+      sick of some Southern fever, and being in port at Tunis at the time, where
+      they could get fruit, they nursed him back to life and strength. Four
+      months later the Emperor Charles attacked Tunis, and when it fell, through
+      God&rsquo;s mercy, they were rescued with the other Christian slaves, after
+      which Martin returned to England taking old Sir John&rsquo;s writings to be
+      delivered to his next heir, for they all believed Cicely to be dead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Christopher and Jeffrey, having nothing to seek at home, stayed to
+      fight with the Spaniards against the Turks, who had oppressed them so
+      sorely. When that war was over they made their way back to England, not
+      knowing where else to go and having a score to settle against the Spanish
+      Abbot of Blossholme, and&mdash;well, she knew the rest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aye, answered Cicely, she knew it and never would forget it, but it was
+      chill for him sitting on that bench, he must come in. Christopher laughed
+      at her, and answered&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sweetheart, if you could have seen the bench on which it was my lot to
+      sit yonder off the coast of Africa, but new recovered from the wound which
+      I had of Maldon&rsquo;s men at Cranwell Towers, you would not be anxious for me
+      here. There for six long months chained to Jeffrey and to Father Martin,
+      for it pleased those heathen devils to keep the three of us together,
+      perhaps that they might watch us better, through the hot days that
+      scorched us, and the chill, wet nights, we laboured at our oars, while
+      infidel overseers ran up and down the boards and thrashed us with their
+      whips of hide. Yes,&rdquo; he added slowly, &ldquo;they thrashed us as though we were
+      oxen in a yoke. You have seen the scars upon my back.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, God! to think of it,&rdquo; she murmured; &ldquo;you, a noble Englishman, beaten
+      by those savage wretches like a brute? How did you bear it, Christopher?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know not, Wife. I think that had it not been for that angel in man&rsquo;s
+      form, the priest Martin&mdash;peace be to his noble soul&mdash;that angel
+      who thrice at least has saved my life, I should have dashed out my brains
+      against the thwarts, or starved myself to death, or provoked the Moors to
+      kill me; I, who, thinking you dead, had no hope to live for. But Martin
+      taught me otherwise; he preached patience and submission, saying that I
+      did not suffer for nothing&mdash;of his own miseries he never spoke&mdash;and
+      that he was sure that fearful as was my lot, all things worked together
+      for good to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And therefore it was that you lived on, Husband? Oh! I&rsquo;ll build a shrine
+      to that saint Martin.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not altogether, dear. I&rsquo;ll tell you true; I lived for vengeance&mdash;vengeance
+      on Clement Maldon, the man, or the devil, who wrought me all this ill,
+      and, being yet young, made me old with grief and pain,&rdquo; and he pointed to
+      his scarred forehead and the hair above, that was now grizzled with white,
+      &ldquo;and vengeance, too, upon those worshippers of Mohammed, my masters. Yes;
+      though Martin reproved me when I made confession to him, I think it was
+      for that I lived, and the saints know,&rdquo; he added grimly, &ldquo;afterwards at
+      the sack, and elsewhere, I took it on the Turks. Oh! you should have seen
+      the last meeting of Jeffrey and myself with the captain of that galley and
+      his officers who had so often beaten us. No, I am glad you did not see it,
+      for it was fierce and bloody; even the hard-hearted Spaniards stared.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He paused, and perhaps to change the current of his mind&mdash;for during
+      all his after-life, when Christopher brooded on these things he grew
+      gloomy for hours, and even days&mdash;Cicely said hurriedly&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wonder what has chanced to our enemy, the Abbot. The search has been
+      close, the roads are watched, and we know that he had none with him, for
+      all his foreign soldiers are slain or taken. I think he must be dead in
+      the fire, Christopher.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A devil does not die in fire. He is away somewhere, to plot fresh murders&mdash;perhaps
+      our own and our boy&rsquo;s. Oh!&rdquo; he added savagely, &ldquo;till my hands are about
+      his throat and my dagger is in his heart there&rsquo;s no peace for me, who have
+      a score to pay and you both to guard.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cicely knew not what to answer; indeed, when this mood was on him it was
+      hard to reason with Christopher, who had suffered so fearfully, and, like
+      herself, been saved but by a miracle or the mandate of Heaven.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of a sudden a hush fell upon the place. The blackbirds ceased their winter
+      chatter in the laurels; it grew so still that they heard a dead leaf drop
+      to the ground. The night was at hand. One last red ray from the set sun
+      struck across the frosty sky and was reflected to the earth. In the light
+      of that ray Christopher&rsquo;s trained eyes caught the gleam of something white
+      that moved in the shadow of the beech tree where they sat. Like a tiger he
+      sprang at it, and the next moment haled out a man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look,&rdquo; he said, twisting the head of his captive so that the glow fell on
+      it. &ldquo;Look; I have the snake. Ah! Wife, you saw nothing, but I saw him, and
+      here he is at last&mdash;at last!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Abbot!&rdquo; gasped Cicely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Abbot it was indeed, but oh! how changed. His plump, olive-coloured
+      countenance had shrunk to that of a skeleton still covered by yellow skin,
+      in which the dark eyes rolled bloodshot and unnaturally large. His tonsure
+      and jaws showed a growth of stubbly grey hair, his frame had become weak
+      and small, his soft and delicate hands resembled those of a woman dead of
+      some wasting disease, and, like his garments, were clogged with dirt. The
+      mail shirt he wore hung loose upon him; one of his shoes was gone, and the
+      toes peeped through his stockinged foot. He was but a living misery.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Deliver your arms,&rdquo; growled Christopher, shaking him as a terrier shakes
+      a rat, &ldquo;or you die. Do you yield? Answer!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How can he,&rdquo; broke in Cicely, &ldquo;when you have him by the throat?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Christopher loosed his grip of the man&rsquo;s windpipe, and instead seized his
+      wrists, whereon the Abbot drew a great breath, for he was almost choked,
+      and fell to his knees, in weakness, not in supplication.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I came to you for mercy,&rdquo; he said presently, &ldquo;but, having overheard your
+      talk, know that I can hope for none. Indeed, why should I, who showed
+      none, and whose great cause seems dead, that cause for which I fought and
+      lived? Let me die with it. I ask no more. Still, you are a gentleman, and
+      therefore I beg a favour of you. Do not hand me over to be drawn, hanged
+      and quartered by your brute-king. Kill me now. You can say that I attacked
+      you, and that you did it in self-defence. I have no arms, but you may set
+      a dagger in my hand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Christopher looked down at the poor creature huddled at his feet and
+      laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who would believe me?&rdquo; he asked; &ldquo;though, indeed, who would question,
+      seeing that your life is forfeit to me or any who can take it? Yet that is
+      a matter of which the King&rsquo;s Justices shall judge.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Maldon shivered. &ldquo;Drawn, hanged and quartered,&rdquo; he repeated beneath his
+      breath. &ldquo;Drawn, hanged and quartered as a traitor to one I never served!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not?&rdquo; asked Christopher. &ldquo;You have played a cruel game, and lost.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He made no answer; indeed, it was Cicely who spoke, saying&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How came you in such a case? We thought you fled.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lady,&rdquo; he answered, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve starved for three days and nights in a hole in
+      the ground like an earthed-up fox; a culvert in your garden hid me. At
+      last I crept out to see the light and die, and heard you talking, and
+      thought that I would ask for mercy, since mortal extremity has no honour.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mercy!&rdquo; said Cicely. &ldquo;Of your treasons I say nothing, for you are not
+      English, and serve your own king, who years ago sent you here to plot
+      against England. But look on this man, my husband. Did he not starve for
+      three days and nights in your strong dungeon ere you came thither to
+      massacre him? Did you not strive to burn him in his Hall, and ship him
+      wounded across the seas to doom? Did you not send your assassin to kill my
+      babe, who stood between you and the wealth you needed for your plots, and
+      bind me, the mother, to the stake&mdash;a food for fire? Did you not shoot
+      down my father in the wood, fearing lest he should prove you traitor, and
+      after rob me of my heritage? Did you not compel your monks to work evil
+      and bring some of them to their deaths? Oh! have done! Worm dressed up as
+      God&rsquo;s priest, how can you writhe there and ask for mercy?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I said I <i>came</i> to seek for mercy because the agony of sleepless
+      hunger drove me, who <i>now</i> seek only death. Insult not the fallen,
+      Cicely Foterell, but take the vengeance that is your due, and kill,&rdquo;
+       replied the Abbot, looking up at her with his hollow eyes, adding, with a
+      laugh that sounded like a groan, &ldquo;Come, Sir Christopher; you have got a
+      sword, and it is time you went to supper. The air is cold; your wife&mdash;if
+      such she be&mdash;said it but now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cicely,&rdquo; said Christopher, &ldquo;go to the Hall and summon Jeffrey Stokes.
+      Emlyn will know where to find him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Emlyn!&rdquo; groaned the Abbot. &ldquo;Give me not over to Emlyn. She&rsquo;d torture me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; said Christopher, &ldquo;this is not Blossholme Abbey; though what may
+      chance in London I know not. Go now, Wife.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Cicely did not stir; she only stared at the wretched creature at her
+      feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I bid you go,&rdquo; repeated Christopher.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I&rsquo;ll not obey,&rdquo; she answered. &ldquo;Do you remember what I promised Martin
+      ere he died?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Martin dead! Is Martin, who saved your husband, dead?&rdquo; exclaimed the
+      Abbot, lifting his face and letting it fall again. &ldquo;Happy Martin, to be
+      dead.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was not there, and I am not bound by your promises, Cicely.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I am, and you and I are one. I vowed mercy to this man if he should
+      fall into our power, and mercy he shall have.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then you spare him to destroy us. The wheels go round quick in England,
+      Wife.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So be it. What I vowed, I vowed. With God be the rest. He has watched us
+      well heretofore, and I think,&rdquo; she added, with one of her bursts of
+      triumphant faith, &ldquo;will do so to the end. Abbot Maldon, sinful, fallen
+      Abbot Maldon, you are as you were made, and Martin, the saint, said that
+      there is good in your heart, though you have shown none of it to me or
+      mine. Now, look you; yonder is a wooden summer-house, thatched and warm.
+      Get you there, and I&rsquo;ll send you food and wine and new clothing by one who
+      will not talk; also a pass to Lincoln. By to-morrow&rsquo;s dawn you will be
+      refreshed, and then you will find a good horse tied to yonder tree, and so
+      away to sanctuary at Lincoln, and, if aught of ill befalls you afterwards,
+      know it is not our doing, but that of some other enemy, or of God, with
+      Whom I pray you make your peace. May He forgive you, as I do, Who knows
+      all hearts, which I do not. Now, farewell. Nay, say nothing. There is
+      nothing to be said. Come, Christopher, for this once you obey me, not I
+      you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So they went, and the wretched man raised himself upon his hands and
+      looked after them, but what passed in his heart at that moment none will
+      ever learn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Some months had gone by and Blossholme, with all the country round, was
+      once more at peace. The tide of trouble had rolled away northward, whence
+      came rumours of renewed rebellion. Abbot Maldon had been seen no more, and
+      for a while it was believed that although he never took sanctuary at
+      Lincoln, he had done a wiser thing and fled to Spain. Then Emlyn, who
+      heard everything, got news that this was not so, but that he was foremost
+      among those who stirred up sedition and war along the Scottish border.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can well believe it,&rdquo; said Cicely. &ldquo;The sow must to its wallowing in
+      the mire. Nature made him a plotter, and he will follow his heart to the
+      end.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ere long he may find it hard to follow his head,&rdquo; answered Emlyn grimly.
+      &ldquo;Oh, to think that you had that wolf caged and turned him loose again to
+      prey on England and on us!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did but show mercy to the fallen, Nurse.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mercy? I call it madness. Why, when Jeffrey and Thomas heard of it I
+      thought they would burst with rage, especially Jeffrey, who loved your
+      father well and loved not the infidel galleys,&rdquo; answered the fierce Emlyn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord,&rdquo; murmured Cicely in a
+      gentle voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Lord also said that whoso sheddeth man&rsquo;s blood by man shall his blood
+      be shed. Why, I&rsquo;ve heard this Maldon quote it to your husband at Cranwell
+      Towers.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So will it be, Emlyn, if so it is to be, only let others shed that cruel
+      blood. I would not have it on my hands or on those of any of my house, for
+      after all he is an ordained priest of my own faith. Moreover, I had
+      promised. Still, talk not of the matter lest it should bring trouble on us
+      all, who had no right to loose him. Also these are ill thoughts for your
+      wedding day. Go, deck yourself in those fine clothes which Jacob Smith has
+      sent from London, since the clergyman will be at Blossholme church by
+      four, and I think that Thomas has waited long enough for you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Emlyn smiled a little, and shrugged her broad shoulders, muttering
+      something that would have angered Thomas if he could have heard it, as
+      Cicely went off to join Christopher, who called to her from another room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She found him adding up figures on paper, a very different Christopher to
+      the broken man they had rescued from the dungeon, though still much aged
+      by the terrors of the past year and just now looking rueful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;See, Sweet,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;we should give a marriage portion to Emlyn, who
+      has earned it if ever woman did, but where it is to come from I know not.
+      Those Abbey lands Jacob Smith bought from the King are not yours yet, nor
+      Henry&rsquo;s either, though doubtless he will have them soon. Neither have any
+      rents been paid to you from your own estates, and when they come they are
+      promised up in London, while the Abbot&rsquo;s razor has shaved my own poor
+      parsimony bare as a churchyard skull. Also Mother Matilda and her nuns
+      must be kept till we can endow them with their lands again. One day we, or
+      our boy yonder, may be rich, but till it comes there are hard times for
+      all of us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not so hard as some we have known, Husband,&rdquo; she answered, laughing, &ldquo;for
+      at least we are free and have food to eat, and for the rest we will borrow
+      from Jacob Smith on the jewels that remain over. Indeed, I have written to
+      him and he will not refuse.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, but how about Thomas and Emlyn?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They must do as their betters do. Though there is little stock on it,
+      Thomas has the Manor Farm at low rent, which he may pay when he can, while
+      Jacob put a present in the pocket of Emlyn&rsquo;s wedding dress. What&rsquo;s more, I
+      think he will make her his heir, and if so she will be rich indeed, so
+      rich that I shall have to curtsey to her. Now, go make ready for this
+      marriage, and as you have no fine doublet, bid Jeffrey put on your mail,
+      for you look best in that, or so at least I think, who to my mind look
+      best in anything you chance to wear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then while he demurred, saying that there was now no need to bear arms in
+      Blossholme, also that Jeffrey was away settling himself as landlord of the
+      Ford Inn, the same that the Abbot had once promised to Flounder Megges,
+      she kissed him, and seizing her boy, who lay crowing in the sunlight,
+      danced with him from the room. For oh, Cicely&rsquo;s heart was merry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There were many folk at the marriage of Emlyn Stower and Thomas Bolle, for
+      of late Blossholme had been but a sorry place, and this wedding came to it
+      like the breath of spring to the woods and meads around, a hint of
+      happiness after the miseries of winter. The story of the pair had got
+      about also. How they had been pledged in youth and separated by scheming
+      men for their own purposes. How Emlyn had been married off against her
+      will to an aged partner whom she hated, and Thomas, who was set down as a
+      fool, forced to serve the monastery as a lay-brother, a strong hind
+      skilled in the management of cattle and such matters, but half crazy, as
+      indeed it had suited him to feign himself to be.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      People knew the end of the thing also; that Emlyn had cursed the Abbot,
+      and that her curse had been fulfilled. That Thomas Bolle had shaken off
+      his superstitious fears and risen up against him and at last been given
+      the commission of the King, and, as his Grace&rsquo;s officer, shown himself no
+      fool but a man of mettle who had taken the Abbey by storm and rescued Sir
+      Christopher Harflete from its dungeons. Emlyn also, like her mistress, had
+      been bound to the stake as a witch, and saved from burning by this same
+      Thomas, who with her had been concerned in many remarkable events whereof
+      the countryside was full of tales, true or false. Now at last after all
+      these adventures they came together to be wed, and who was there for ten
+      miles round that would not see it done?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The monks being gone Father Roger Necton, the old vicar of Cranwell, he
+      who had united Christopher and his wife Cicely in strange circumstances,
+      and for that deed been obliged to fly for his life when the last Abbot of
+      Blossholme burned Cranwell Towers, came to tie the knot before his great
+      congregation. Notwithstanding that they were both of middle age, Emlyn in
+      her grand gown and the brawny, red-haired Thomas in his yeoman&rsquo;s garb of
+      green, such as he had worn when he wooed her many years before he put on
+      the monk&rsquo;s russet robe, made a fine and handsome pair at the altar. Or so
+      folk thought, though some friend of the monks, remembering Bolle&rsquo;s devil&rsquo;s
+      livery and Emlyn&rsquo;s repute as a sorceress, cried out from the shadow that
+      Satan was marrying a witch, and for his pains got his head broken by
+      Jeffrey Stokes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So the white-haired and gentle Father Necton, having first read the King&rsquo;s
+      order releasing Thomas from his vows, tied them fast according to the
+      ancient rites and blessed them both. At length it was finished, and the
+      pair walked from the old church to the Manor Farm, where they were to
+      dwell, followed, as was the custom, by a company of their friends and
+      well-wishers. As they went they passed through a little stretch of
+      woodland by the stream, where on this spring day the wild daffodils and
+      lilies of the valley were abloom making sweet the air. Here Emlyn paused a
+      moment and said to her husband, Captain Bolle&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you remember this place?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aye, Wife,&rdquo; he answered, &ldquo;it was here that we plighted our troth in
+      youth, and looked up to see Maldon passing us just beyond that same oak,
+      and felt the shadow of him strike cold to our hearts. You spoke of it
+      yonder in the Priory chapel when I came up by the secret way, and its
+      memory made me mad.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Thomas, I spoke of it,&rdquo; answered Emlyn in a rich and gentle voice, a
+      new voice to him. &ldquo;Well, now let its memory make you happy, as,
+      notwithstanding all my faults, I will if I can,&rdquo; and swiftly she bent
+      towards him and kissed him, adding, &ldquo;Come on, Husband, they press behind
+      us and I hope that we have done with perils and plottings.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Amen,&rdquo; answered Bolle, and as he spoke certain strange men who wore the
+      King&rsquo;s colours and carried a long ladder went by them at a distance.
+      Wondering what was their business at Blossholme, the pair passed through
+      the last of the woodland and reached the rise whence they could see the
+      gaunt skeleton of the burnt-out Abbey that appeared within fifty paces of
+      them. At this they paused to look, and presently were joined there by
+      Christopher and Cicely, Mother Matilda and her good nuns, Jeffrey Stokes,
+      and others. The place seemed grim and desolate in the evening light, and
+      all of them stood staring at it filled with their separate thoughts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is that?&rdquo; said Cicely, with a start, pointing to a round black
+      object new set over the ruin of the gateway tower.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Just then a red ray from the sunset struck upon the thing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was the severed head of Clement Maldon the Spaniard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+
+
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+</html>
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Lady Of Blossholme, by H. Rider Haggard
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Lady Of Blossholme
+
+Author: H. Rider Haggard
+
+Release Date: April 13, 2006 [EBook #3813]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LADY OF BLOSSHOLME ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by John Bickers; Dagny
+
+
+
+
+
+THE LADY OF BLOSSHOLME
+
+By H. Rider Haggard
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+SIR JOHN FOTERELL
+
+Who that has ever seen them can forget the ruins of Blossholme Abbey,
+set upon their mount between the great waters of the tidal estuary to
+the north, the rich lands and grazing marshes that, backed with woods,
+border it east and south, and to the west by the rolling uplands,
+merging at last into purple moor, and, far away, the sombre eternal
+hills! Probably the scene has not changed very much since the days of
+Henry VIII, when those things happened of which we have to tell, for
+here no large town has arisen, nor have mines been dug or factories
+built to affront the earth and defile the air with their hideousness and
+smoke.
+
+The village of Blossholme we know has scarcely varied in its population,
+for the old records tell us this, and as there is no railway here its
+aspect must be much the same. Houses built of the local grey stone do
+not readily fall down. The folk of that generation walked in and out of
+the doorways of many of them, although the roofs for the most part are
+now covered with tiles or rough slates in place of reeds from the dike.
+The parish wells also, fitted with iron pumps that have superseded the
+old rollers and buckets, still serve the place with drinking-water
+as they have done since the days of the first Edward, and perhaps for
+centuries before.
+
+Although their use, if not their necessity, has passed away, not far
+from the Abbey gate the stocks and whipping-post, the latter arranged
+with three sets of iron loops fixed at different heights and of varying
+diameters to accommodate the wrists of man, woman, and child, may still
+be found in the middle of the Priests' Green. These stand, it will be
+remembered, under a quaint old roof supported on rough, oaken pillars,
+and surmounted by a weathercock which the monkish fancy has fashioned
+to the shape of the archangel blowing the last trump. His clarion
+or coach-horn, or whatever instrument of music it was he blew, has
+vanished. The parish book records that in the time of George I a boy
+broke it off, melted it down, and was publicly flogged in consequence,
+the last time, apparently, that the whipping-post was used. But Gabriel
+still twists about as manfully as he did when old Peter, the famous
+smith, fashioned and set him up with his own hand in the last year of
+King Henry VIII, as it is said to commemorate the fact that on this spot
+stood the stakes to which Cicely Harflete, Lady of Blossholme, and her
+foster-mother, Emlyn, were chained to be burned as witches.
+
+So it is with everything at Blossholme, a place that Time has touched
+but lightly. The fields, or many of them, bear the same names and remain
+identical in their shape and outline. The old farmsteads and the few
+halls in which reside the gentry of the district, stand where they
+always stood. The glorious tower of the Abbey still points upwards to
+the sky, although bells and roof are gone, while half-a-mile away the
+parish church that was there before it--having been rebuilt indeed
+upon Saxon foundations in the days of William Rufus--yet lies among its
+ancient elms. Farther on, situate upon the slope of a vale down which
+runs a brook through meadows, is the stark ruin of the old Nunnery that
+was subservient to the proud Abbey on the hill, some of it now roofed in
+with galvanised iron sheets and used as cow-sheds.
+
+It is of this Abbey and this Nunnery and of those who dwelt around them
+in a day bygone, and especially of that fair and persecuted woman who
+came to be known as the Lady of Blossholme, that our story has to tell.
+
+
+
+It was dead winter in the year 1535--the 31st of December, indeed. Old
+Sir John Foterell, a white-bearded, red-faced man of about sixty years
+of age, was seated before the log fire in the dining-hall of his great
+house at Shefton, spelling through a letter which had just been brought
+to him from Blossholme Abbey. He mastered it at length, and when it was
+done any one who had been there to look might have seen a knight and
+gentleman of large estate in a rage remarkable even for the time of the
+eighth Henry. He dashed the document to the ground; he drank three cups
+of strong ale, of which he had already had enough, in quick succession;
+he swore a number of the best oaths of the period, and finally, in
+the most expressive language, he consigned the body of the Abbot of
+Blossholme to the gallows and his soul to hell.
+
+"He claims my lands, does he?" he exclaimed, shaking his fist in the
+direction of Blossholme. "What does the rogue say? That the abbot
+who went before him parted with them to my grandfather for no good
+consideration, but under fear and threats. Now, writes he, this
+Secretary Cromwell, whom they call Vicar-General, has declared that the
+said transfer was without the law, and that I must hand over the said
+lands to the Abbey of Blossholme on or before Candlemas! What was
+Cromwell paid to sign that order with no inquiry made, I wonder?"
+
+Sir John poured out and drank a fourth cup of ale, then set to walking
+up and down the hall. Presently he halted in front of the fire and
+addressed it as though it were his enemy.
+
+"You are a clever fellow, Clement Maldon; they tell me that all
+Spaniards are, and you were taught your craft at Rome and sent here for
+a purpose. You began as nothing, and now you are Abbot of Blossholme,
+and, if the King had not faced the Pope, would be more. But you forget
+yourself at times, for the Southern blood is hot, and when the wine is
+in, the truth is out. There were certain words you spoke not a year
+ago before me and other witnesses of which I will remind you presently.
+Perhaps when Secretary Cromwell learns them he will cancel his gift of
+my lands, and mayhap lift that plotting head of yours up higher. I'll go
+remind you of them."
+
+Sir John strode to the door and shouted; it would not be too much to say
+that he bellowed like a bull. It opened after a while, and a serving-man
+appeared, a bow-legged, sturdy-looking fellow with a shock of black
+hair.
+
+"Why are you not quicker, Jeffrey Stokes?" he asked. "Must I wait your
+pleasure from noon to night?"
+
+"I came as fast as I could, master. Why, then, do you rate me?"
+
+"Would you argue with me, fellow? Do it again and I will have you tied
+to a post and lashed."
+
+"Lash yourself, master, and let out the choler and good ale, which you
+need to do," replied Jeffrey in his gruff voice. "There be some men who
+never know when they are well served, and such are apt to come to ill
+and lonely ends. What is your pleasure? I'll do it if I can, and if not,
+do it yourself."
+
+Sir John lifted his hand as though to strike him, then let it fall
+again.
+
+"I like one who braves me to my teeth," he said more gently, "and that
+was ever your nature. Take it not ill, man; I was angered, and have
+cause to be."
+
+"The anger I see, but not the cause, though, as a monk came from the
+Abbey but now, perhaps I can hazard a guess."
+
+"Aye, that's it, that's it, Jeffrey. Hark; I ride to yonder
+crows'-nest, and at once. Saddle me a horse."
+
+"Good, master. I'll saddle two horses."
+
+"Two? I said one. Fool, can I ride a pair at once, like a mountebank?"
+
+"I know not, but you can ride one and I another. When the Abbot of
+Blossholme visits Sir John Foterell of Shefton he comes with hawk on
+wrist, with chaplains and pages, and ten stout men-at-arms, of whom he
+keeps more of late than a priest would seem to need about him. When Sir
+John Foterell visits the Abbot of Blossholme, at least he should have
+one serving-man at his back to hold his nag and bear him witness."
+
+Sir John looked at him shrewdly.
+
+"I called you fool," he said, "but you are none except in looks. Do as
+you will, Jeffrey, but be swift. Stop. Where is my daughter?"
+
+"The Lady Cicely sits in her parlour. I saw her sweet face at the window
+but now staring out at the snow as though she thought to see a ghost in
+it."
+
+"Um," grunted Sir John, "the ghost she thinks to see rides a grand grey
+mare, stands over six feet high, has a jolly face, and a pair of arms
+well made for sword and shield, or to clip a girl in. Yet that ghost
+must be laid, Jeffrey."
+
+"Pity if so, master. Moreover, you may find it hard. Ghost-laying is a
+priest's job, and when maids' waists are willing, men's arms reach far."
+
+"Be off, sirrah," roared Sir John, and Jeffrey went.
+
+Ten minutes later they were riding for the Abbey, three miles away,
+and within half-an-hour Sir John was knocking, not gently, at its gate,
+while the monks within ran to and fro like startled ants, for the times
+were rough, and they were not sure who threatened them. When they knew
+their visitor at last they set to work to unbar the great doors and let
+down the drawbridge, that had been hoist up at sunset.
+
+Presently Sir John stood in the Abbot's chamber, warming himself at the
+great fire, and behind him stood his serving-man, Jeffrey, carrying his
+long cloak. It was a fine room, with a noble roof of carved chestnut
+wood and stone walls hung with costly tapestry, whereon were worked
+scenes from the Scriptures. The floor was hid with rich carpets made of
+coloured Eastern wools. The furniture also was rich and foreign-looking,
+being inlaid with ivory and silver, while on the table stood a golden
+crucifix, a miracle of art, and upon an easel, so that the light from a
+hanging silver lamp fell on it, a life-sized picture of the Magdalene
+by some great Italian painter, turning her beauteous eyes to heaven and
+beating her fair breast.
+
+Sir John looked about him and sniffed.
+
+"Now, Jeffrey, would you think that you were in a monk's cell or in some
+great dame's bower? Hunt under the table, man; sure, you will find her
+lute and needlework. Whose portrait is that, think you?" and he pointed
+to the Magdalene.
+
+"A sinner turning saint, I think, master. Good company for laymen when
+she was sinner, and good for priests now that she is saint. For the
+rest, I could snore well here after a cup of yon red wine," and he
+jerked his thumb towards a long-necked bottle on a sideboard. "Also,
+the fire burns bright, which is not to be wondered at, seeing that it is
+made of dry oak from your Sticksley Wood."
+
+"How know you that, Jeffrey?" asked Sir John.
+
+"By the grain of it, master--by the grain of it. I have hewn too many
+a timber there not to know. There's that in the Sticksley clays which
+makes the rings grow wavy and darker at the heart. See there."
+
+Sir John looked, and swore an angry oath.
+
+"You are right, man; and now I come to think of it, when I was a little
+lad my old grandsire bade me note this very thing about the Sticksley
+oaks. These cursed monks waste my woods beneath my nose. My forester is
+a rogue. They have scared or bribed him, and he shall hang for it."
+
+"First prove the crime, master, which won't be easy; then talk of
+hanging, which only kings and abbots, 'with right of gallows,' can do at
+will. Ah! you speak truth," he added in a changed voice; "it is a lovely
+chamber, though not good enough for the holy man who dwells in it,
+since such a saint should have a silver shrine like him before the altar
+yonder, as doubtless he will do when ere long he is old bones," and,
+as though by chance, he trod upon his lord's foot, which was somewhat
+gouty.
+
+Round came Sir John like the Blossholme weathercock on a gusty day.
+
+"Clumsy toad!" he yelled, then paused, for there within the arras, that
+had been lifted silently, stood a tall, tonsured figure clothed in rich
+furs, and behind him two other figures, also tonsured, in simple black
+robes. It was the Abbot with his chaplains.
+
+"Benedicite!" said the Abbot in his soft, foreign voice, lifting the two
+fingers of his right hand in blessing.
+
+"Good-day," answered Sir John, while his retainer bowed his head and
+crossed himself. "Why do you steal upon a man like a thief in the night,
+holy Father?" he added irritably.
+
+"That is how we are told judgment shall come, my son," answered the
+Abbot, smiling; "and in truth there seems some need of it. We heard loud
+quarrelling and talk of hanging men. What is your argument?"
+
+"A hard one of oak," answered old Sir John sullenly. "My servant here
+said those logs upon your fire came from my Sticksley Wood, and I
+answered him that if so they were stolen, and my reeve should hang for
+it."
+
+"The worthy man is right, my son, and yet your forester deserves no
+punishment. I bought our scanty store of firing from him, and, to tell
+truth, the count has not yet been paid. The money that should have
+discharged it has gone to London, so I asked him to let it stand
+until the summer rents come in. Blame him not, Sir John, if, out of
+friendship, knowing it was naught to you, he has not bared the nakedness
+of our poor house."
+
+"Is it the nakedness of your poor house"--and he glanced round the
+sumptuous chamber--"that caused you to send me this letter saying that
+you have Cromwell's writ to seize my lands?" asked Sir John, rushing at
+his grievance like a bull, and casting down the document upon the table;
+"or do you also mean to make payment for them--when your summer rents
+come in?"
+
+"Nay, son. In that matter duty led me. For twenty years we have disputed
+of those estates which, as you know, your grandsire took from us in
+a time of trouble, thus cutting the Abbey lands in twain, against the
+protest of him who was Abbot in those days. Therefore, at last I laid
+the matter before the Vicar-General, who, I hear, has been pleased to
+decide the suit in favour of this Abbey."
+
+"To decide a suit of which the defendant had no notice!" exclaimed Sir
+John. "My Lord Abbot, this is not justice; it is roguery that I will
+never bear. Did you decide aught else, pray you?"
+
+"Since you ask it--something, my son. To save costs I laid before him
+the sundry points at issue between us, and in sum this is the judgment:
+Your title to all your Blossholme lands and those contiguous, totalling
+eight thousand acres, is not voided, yet it is held to be tainted and
+doubtful."
+
+"God's blood! Why?" asked Sir John.
+
+"My son, I will tell you," replied the Abbot gently. "Because within
+a hundred years they belonged to this Abbey by gift of the Crown, and
+there is no record that the Crown consented to their alienation."
+
+"No record," exclaimed Sir John, "when I have the indentured deed in my
+strong-box, signed by my great-grandfather and the Abbot Frank Ingham!
+No record, when my said forefather gave you other lands in place of them
+which you now hold? But go on, holy priest."
+
+"My son, I obey you. Your title, though pronounced so doubtful, is not
+utterly voided; yet it is held that you have all these lands as tenant
+of this Abbey, to which, should you die without issue, they will
+relapse. Or should you die with issue under age, such issue will be ward
+to the Abbot of Blossholme for the time being, and failing him, that is,
+if there were no Abbot and no Abbey, of the Crown."
+
+Sir John listened, then sank back into a chair, while his face went
+white as ashes.
+
+"Show me that judgment," he said slowly.
+
+"It is not yet engrossed, my son. Within ten days or so I hope----But
+you seem faint. The warmth of this room after the cold outer air,
+perhaps. Drink a cup of our poor wine," and at a motion of his hand
+one of the chaplains stepped to the sideboard, filled a goblet from the
+long-necked flask that stood there, and brought it to Sir John.
+
+He took it as one that knows not what he does, then suddenly threw the
+silver cup and its contents into the fire, whence a chaplain recovered
+it with the wood-tongs.
+
+"It seems that you priests are my heirs," said Sir John in a new, quiet
+voice, "or so you say; and, if that is so, my life is likely to be
+short. I'll not drink your wine, lest it should be poisoned. Hearken
+now, Sir Abbot. I believe little of this tale, though doubtless by
+bribes and other means you have done your best to harm me behind my back
+up yonder in London. Well, to-morrow at the dawn, come fair weather or
+come foul, I ride through the snows to London, where I too have friends,
+and we will see, we will see. You are a clever man, Abbot Maldon, and
+I know that you need money, or its worth, to pay your men-at-arms and
+satisfy the great costs at which you live--and there are our famous
+jewels--yes, yes, the old Crusader jewels. Therefore you have sought to
+rob me, whom you ever hated, and perchance Cromwell has listened to your
+tale. Perchance, fool priest," he added slowly, "he had it in his mind
+to fat this Church goose of yours with my meal before he wrings its neck
+and cooks it."
+
+At these words the Abbot started for the first time, and even the two
+impassive chaplains glanced at each other.
+
+"Ah! does that touch you?" asked Sir John Foterell. "Well, then, here is
+what shall make you smart. You think yourself in favour at the Court, do
+you not? because you took the oath of succession which braver men, like
+the brethren of the Charterhouse, refused, and died for it. But you
+forget the words you said to me when the wine you love had a hold of you
+in my hall----"
+
+"Silence! For your own sake, silence, Sir John Foterell!" broke in the
+Abbot. "You go too far."
+
+"Not so far as you shall go, my Lord Abbot, ere I have done with you.
+Not so far as Tower Hill or Tyburn, thither to be hung and quartered as
+a traitor to his Grace. I tell you, you forget the words you spoke, but
+I will remind you of them. Did you not say to me when the guests had
+gone, that King Henry was a heretic, a tyrant, and an infidel whom the
+Pope would do well to excommunicate and depose? Did you not, when I led
+you on, ask me if I could not bring about a rising of the common people
+in these parts, among whom I have great power, and of those gentry who
+know and love me, to overthrow him, and in his place set up a certain
+Cardinal Pole, and for the deed promise me the pardon and absolution
+of the Pope, and much advancement in his name and that of the Spanish
+Emperor?"
+
+"Never," answered the Abbot.
+
+"And did I not," went on Sir John, taking no note of his denial, "did
+I not refuse to listen to you and tell you that your words were
+traitorous, and that had they been spoken otherwhere than in my house,
+I, as in duty bound by my office, would make report of them? Aye, and
+have you not from that hour striven to undo me, whom you fear?"
+
+"I deny it all," said the Abbot again. "These be but empty lies bred of
+your malice, Sir John Foterell."
+
+"Empty words, are they, my Lord Abbot! Well, I tell you that they are
+all written down and signed in due form. I tell you I had witnesses you
+knew naught of who heard them with their ears. Here stands one of them
+behind my chair. Is it not so, Jeffrey?"
+
+"Aye, master," answered the serving-man. "I chanced to be in the little
+chamber beyond the wainscot with others waiting to escort the Abbot
+home, and heard them all, and afterward I and they put our marks upon
+the writing. As I am a Christian man that is so, though, master, this is
+not the place that I should have chosen to speak of it, however much I
+might be wronged."
+
+"It will serve my turn," said the enraged knight, "though it is true
+that I will speak of it louder elsewhere, namely, before the King's
+Council. To-morrow, my Lord Abbot, this paper and I go to London, and
+then you shall learn how well it pays you to try to pluck a Foterell of
+his own."
+
+Now it was the Abbot's turn to be frightened. His smooth, olive-coloured
+cheeks sank in and went white, as though already he felt the cord about
+his throat. His jewelled hand shook, and he caught the arm of one of his
+chaplains and hung to it.
+
+"Man," he hissed, "do you think that you can utter such false threats
+and go hence to ruin me, a consecrated abbot? I have dungeons here; I
+have power. It will be said that you attacked me, and that I did but
+strive to defend myself. Others can bring witness besides you, Sir
+John," and he whispered some words in Latin or Spanish into the ear of
+one of his chaplains, whereon that priest turned to leave the room.
+
+"Now it seems that we are getting to business," said Jeffrey Stokes, as,
+lying his hand upon the knife at his girdle, he slipped between the monk
+and the door.
+
+"That's it, Jeffrey," cried Sir John. "Stop the rat's hole. Look you,
+Spaniard, I have a sword. Show me to your gate, or, by virtue of the
+King's commission that I hold, I do instant justice on you as a traitor,
+and afterward answer for it if I win out."
+
+The Abbot considered a moment, taking the measure of the fierce old
+knight before him. Then he said slowly--
+
+"Go as you came, in peace, O man of wrath and evil, but know that the
+curse of the Church shall follow you. I say that you stand near to ill."
+
+Sir John looked at him. The anger went out of his face, and, instead,
+upon it appeared something strange--a breath of foresight, an
+inspiration, call it what you will.
+
+"By heaven and all its saints! I think you are right, Clement Maldon,"
+he muttered. "Beneath that black dress of yours you are a man like the
+rest of us, are you not? You have a heart, you have members, you have
+a brain to think with; you are a fiddle for God to play on, and however
+much your superstitions mask and alter it, out of those strings now and
+again will come some squeak of truth. Well, I am another fiddle, of a
+more honest sort, mayhap, though I do not lift two fingers of my right
+hand and say, 'Benedicite, my son,' and 'Your sins are forgiven you';
+and just now the God of both of us plays His tune in me, and I will tell
+you what it is. I stand near to death, but you stand not far from the
+gallows. I'll die an honest man; you will die like a dog, false to
+everything, and afterwards let your beads and your masses and your
+saints help you if they can. We'll talk it over when we meet again
+elsewhere. And now, my Lord Abbot, lead me to your gate, remembering
+that I follow with my sword. Jeffrey, set those carrion crow in front of
+you, and watch them well. My Lord Abbot, I am your servant; march!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+THE MURDER BY THE MERE
+
+For a while Sir John and his retainer rode in silence. Then he laughed
+loudly.
+
+"Jeffrey," he called, "that was a near touch. Sir Priest was minded to
+stick his Spanish pick-tooth between our ribs, and shrive us afterwards,
+as we lay dying, to salve his conscience."
+
+"Yes, master; only, being reasonable, he remembered that English swords
+have a longer reach, and that his bullies are in the Ford ale-house
+seeing the Old Year out, and so put it off. Master, I have always told
+you that old October of yours is too strong to drink at noon. It should
+be saved till bed-time."
+
+"What do you mean, man?"
+
+"I mean that ale spoke yonder, not wisdom. You have showed your hand and
+played the fool."
+
+"Who are you to teach me?" asked Sir John angrily. "I meant that he
+should hear the truth for once, the slimy traitor."
+
+"Perhaps, perhaps; but these be bad days for Truth and those who court
+her. Was it needful to tell him that to-morrow you journey to London
+upon a certain errand?"
+
+"Why not? I'll be there before him."
+
+"Will you ever be there, master? The road runs past the Abbey, and that
+priest has good ruffians in his pay who can hold their tongues."
+
+"Do you mean that he will waylay me? I say he dare not. Still, to please
+you, we will take the longer path through the forest."
+
+"A rough one, master; but who goes with you on this business? Most of
+us are away with the wains, and others make holiday. There are but three
+serving-men at the hall, and you cannot leave the Lady Cicely without a
+guard, or take her with you through this cold. Remember there's
+wealth yonder which some may need more even than your lands," he added
+meaningly. "Wait a while, then, till your people return or you can call
+up your tenants, and go to London as one of your quality should, with
+twenty good men at your back."
+
+"And so give our friend the Abbot time to get Cromwell's ear, and
+through him that of the King. No, no; I ride to-morrow at the dawn with
+you, or, if you are afraid, without you, as I have done before and taken
+no harm."
+
+"None shall say that Jeffrey Stokes is afraid of man or priest or
+devil," answered the old soldier, colouring. "Your road has been good
+enough for me this thirty years, and it is good enough now. If I warned
+you it was not for my own sake, who care little what comes, but for
+yours and that of your house."
+
+"I know it," said Sir John more kindly. "Take not my words ill, my
+temper is up to-day. Thank the saints! here is the hall at last. Why!
+whose horse has passed the gates before us?"
+
+Jeffrey glanced at the tracks which the moonlight showed very clearly in
+the new-fallen snow.
+
+"Sir Christopher Harflete's grey mare," he said. "I know the shoeing and
+the round shape of the hoof. Doubtless he is visiting Mistress Cicely."
+
+"Whom I have forbidden to him," grumbled Sir John, swinging himself from
+the saddle.
+
+"Forbid him not," answered Jeffrey, as he took his horse. "Christopher
+Harflete may yet be a good friend to a maid in need, and I think that
+need is nigh."
+
+"Mind your business, knave," shouted Sir John. "Am I to be set at naught
+in my own house by a chit of a girl and a gallant who would mend his
+broken fortunes?"
+
+"If you ask me, I think so," replied the imperturbable Jeffrey, as he
+led away the horses.
+
+Sir John strode into the house by the backway, which opened on to the
+stable-yard. Taking the lantern that stood by the door, he went along
+galleries and upstairs to the sitting-chamber above the hall, which,
+since her mother's death, his daughter had used as her own, for here
+he guessed that he would find her. Setting down the lantern upon the
+passage table, he pushed open the door, which was not latched, and
+entered.
+
+The room was large, and, being lighted only by the great fire that
+burned upon the hearth and two candles, all this end of it was hid in
+shadow. Near to the deep window-place the shadow ceased, however, and
+here, seated in a high-backed oak chair, with the light of the blazing
+fire falling full upon her, was Cicely Foterell, Sir John's only
+surviving child. She was a tall and graceful maiden, blue-eyed,
+brown-haired, fair-skinned, with a round and child-like face which
+most people thought beautiful to look upon. Just now this face, that
+generally was so arch and cheerful, seemed somewhat troubled. For this
+there might be a reason, since, seated upon a stool at her side, was a
+young man talking to her earnestly.
+
+He was a stalwart young man, very broad about the shoulders, clean-cut
+in feature, with a long, straight nose, black hair, and merry black
+eyes. Also, as such a gallant should do, he appeared to be making love
+with much vigour and directness, for his face was upturned pleading with
+the girl, who leaned back in her chair answering him nothing. At this
+moment, indeed, his copious flow of words came to an end, perhaps from
+exhaustion, perhaps for other reasons, and was succeeded by a more
+effective method of attack. Suddenly sinking from the stool to his
+knees, he took the unresisting hand of Cicely and kissed it several
+times; then, emboldened by his success, threw his long arms about her,
+and before Sir John, choked with indignation, could find words to stop
+him, drew her towards him and treated her red lips as he had treated her
+fingers. This rude proceeding seemed to break the spell that bound her,
+for she pushed back the chair and, escaping from his grasp, rose, saying
+in a broken voice----
+
+"Oh! Christopher, dear Christopher, this is most wrong."
+
+"May be," he answered. "So long as you love me I care not what it is."
+
+"That you have known these two years, Christopher. I love you well,
+but, alas! my father will have none of you. Get you hence now, ere
+he returns, or we both shall pay for it, and I, perhaps, be sent to a
+nunnery where no man may come."
+
+"Nay, sweet, I am here to ask his consent to my suit----"
+
+Then at last Sir John broke out.
+
+"To ask my consent to your suit, you dishonest knave!" he roared from
+the darkness; whereat Cicely sank back into her chair looking as though
+she would faint, and the strong Christopher staggered like a man pierced
+by an arrow. "First to take my girl and hug her before my very eyes, and
+then, when the mischief is done, to ask my consent to your suit!" and he
+rushed at them like a charging bull.
+
+Cicely rose to fly, then, seeing no escape, took refuge in her lover's
+arms. Her infuriated father seized the first part of her that came to
+his hand, which chanced to be one of her long brown plaits of hair, and
+tugged at it till she cried out with pain, purposing to tear her away,
+at which sight and sound Christopher lost his temper also.
+
+"Leave go of the maid, sir," he said in a low, fierce voice, "or, by
+God! I'll make you."
+
+"Leave go of the maid?" gasped Sir John. "Why, who holds her tightest,
+you or I? Do you leave go of her."
+
+"Yes, yes, Christopher," she whispered, "ere I am pulled in two."
+
+Then he obeyed, lifting her into the chair, but her father still kept
+his hold of the brown tress.
+
+"Now, Sir Christopher," he said, "I am minded to put my sword through
+you."
+
+"And pierce your daughter's heart as well as mine. Well, do it if you
+will, and when we are dead and you are childless, weep yourself and go
+to the grave."
+
+"Oh! father, father," broke in Cicely, who knew the old man's temper,
+and feared the worst, "in justice and in pity, listen to me. All my
+heart is Christopher's, and has been from a child. With him I shall have
+happiness, without him black despair; and that is his case too, or so
+he swears. Why, then, should you part us? Is he not a proper man and of
+good lineage, and name unstained? Until of late did you not ever favour
+him much and let us be together day by day? And now, when it is too
+late, you deny him. Oh! why, why?"
+
+"You know why well enough, girl? Because I have chosen another husband
+for you. The Lord Despard is taken with your baby face, and would marry
+you. But this morning I had it under his own hand."
+
+"The Lord Despard?" gasped Cicely. "Why, he only buried his second
+wife last month! Father, he is as old as you are, and drunken, and has
+grandchildren of well-nigh my age. I would obey you in all things, but
+never will I go to him alive."
+
+"And never shall he live to take you," muttered Christopher.
+
+"What matter his years, daughter? He is a sound man, and has no son,
+and should one be born to him, his will be the greatest heritage within
+three shires. Moreover, I need his friendship, who have bitter enemies.
+But enough of this. Get you gone, Christopher, before worse befall you."
+
+"So be it, sir, I will go; but first, as an honest man and my father's
+friend, and, as I thought, my own, answer me one question. Why have you
+changed your tune to me of late? Am I not the same Christopher Harflete
+I was a year or two ago? And have I done aught to lower me in the
+world's eye or in yours?"
+
+"No, lad," answered the old knight bluntly; "but since you will have it,
+here it is. Within that year or two your uncle whose heir you were has
+married and bred a son, and now you are but a gentleman of good name,
+and little to float it on. That big house of yours must go to the
+hammer, Christopher. You'll never stow a bride in it."
+
+"Ah! I thought as much. Christopher Harflete with the promise of the
+Lesborough lands was one man; Christopher Harflete without them is
+another--in your eyes. Yet, sir, I hold you foolish. I love your
+daughter and she loves me, and those lands and more may come back, or
+I, who am no fool, will win others. Soon there will be plenty going up
+there at Court, where I am known. Further, I tell you this: I believe
+that I shall marry Cicely, and earlier than you think, and I would have
+had your blessing with her."
+
+"What! Will you steal the girl away?" asked Sir John furiously.
+
+"By no means, sir. But this is a strange world of ours, in which from
+hour to hour top becomes bottom, and bottom top, and there--I think I
+shall marry her. At least I am sure that Despard the sot never will,
+for I'll kill him first, if I hang for it. Sir, sir, surely you will not
+throw your pearl upon that muckheap. Better crush it beneath your heel
+at once. Look, and say you cannot do it," and he pointed to the pathetic
+figure of Cicely, who stood by them with clasped hands, panting breast,
+and a face of agony.
+
+The old knight glanced at her out of the corners of his eyes, and saw
+something that moved him to pity, for at bottom his heart was honest,
+and though he treated her so roughly, as was the fashion of the times,
+he loved his daughter more than all the world.
+
+"Who are you, that would teach me my duty to my bone and blood?" he
+grumbled. Then he thought a while, and added, "Hear me, now, Christopher
+Harflete. To-morrow at the dawn I ride to London with Jeffrey Stokes on
+a somewhat risky business."
+
+"What business, sir?"
+
+"If you would know--that of a quarrel with yonder Spanish rogue of an
+Abbot, who claims the best part of my lands, and has poisoned the ear
+of that upstart, the Vicar-General Cromwell. I go to take the deeds and
+prove him a liar and a traitor also, which Cromwell does not know. Now,
+is my nest safe from you while I am away? Give me your word, and I'll
+believe you, for at least you are an honest gentleman, and if you have
+poached a kiss or two, that may be forgiven. Others have done the same
+before you were born. Give me your word, or I must drag the girl through
+the snows to London at my heels."
+
+"You have it, sir," answered Christopher. "If she needs my company she
+must come for it to Cranwell Towers, for I'll not seek hers while you
+are away."
+
+"Good. Then one gift for another. I'll not answer my Lord of Despard's
+letter till I get back again--not to please you, but because I hate
+writing. It is a labour to me, and I have no time to spare to-night.
+Now, have a cup of drink and be off with you. Love-making is thirsty
+work."
+
+"Aye, gladly, sir, but hear me, hear me. Ride not to London with such
+slight attendance after a quarrel with Abbot Maldon. Let me wait on you.
+Although my fortunes be so low I can bring a man or two--six or eight,
+indeed--while yours are away with the wains."
+
+"Never, Christopher. My own hand has guarded my head these sixty years,
+and can do so still. Also," he added, with a flash of insight, "as you
+say, the journey is dangerous, and who knows? If aught went wrong, you
+might be wanted nearer home. Christopher, you shall never have my girl;
+she's not for you. Yet, perhaps, if need were, you would strike a blow
+for her even if it made you excommunicate. Get hence, wench. Why do you
+stand there gaping on us, like an owl in sunlight? And remember, if
+I catch you at more such tricks, you'll spend your days mumbling at
+prayers in a nunnery, and much good may they do you."
+
+"At least I should find peace there, and gentle words," answered Cicely
+with spirit, for she knew her father, and the worst of her fear had
+departed. "Only, sir, I did not know that you wished to swell the wealth
+of the Abbots of Blossholme."
+
+"Swell their wealth!" roared her father. "Nay, I'll stretch their necks.
+Get you to your chamber, and send up Jeffrey with the liquor."
+
+Then, having no choice, Cicely curtseyed, first to her father and next
+to Christopher, to whom she sent a message with her eyes that she
+dared not utter with her lips, and so vanished into the shadows, where
+presently she was heard stumbling against some article of furniture.
+
+"Show the maid a light, Christopher," said Sir John, who, lost in his
+own thoughts, was now gazing into the fire.
+
+Seizing one of the two candles, Christopher sprang after her like a
+hound after a hare, and presently the pair of them passed through the
+door and down the long passage beyond. At a turn in it they halted, and
+once more, without word spoken, she found her way into those long arms.
+
+"You will not forget me, even if we must part?" sobbed Cicely.
+
+"Nay, sweet," he answered. "Moreover, keep a brave heart; we do not part
+for long, for God has given us to each other. Your father does not mean
+all he says, and his temper, which has been stirred to-day, will soften.
+If not, we must look to ourselves. I keep a swift horse or two, Cicely.
+Could you ride one if need were?"
+
+"I have ever loved riding," she said meaningly.
+
+"Good. Then you shall never go to that fat hog's sty, for I'll stick him
+first. And I have friends both in Scotland and in France. Which like you
+best?"
+
+"They say the air of France is softer. Now, away from me, or one will
+come to seek us," and they tore themselves apart.
+
+"Emlyn, your foster-mother, is to be trusted," he said rapidly; "also
+she loves me well. If there be need, let me hear of you through her."
+
+"Aye," she answered, "without fail," and glided from him like a ghost.
+
+"Have you been waiting to see the moon rise?" asked Sir John, glancing
+at Christopher from beneath his shaggy eyebrows as he returned.
+
+"Nay, sir, but the passages in this old house of yours are most wondrous
+long, and I took a wrong turn in threading them."
+
+"Oh!" said Sir John. "Well, you have a talent for wrong turns, and
+such partings are hard. Now, do you understand that this is the last of
+them?"
+
+"I understand that you may say so, sir."
+
+"And that I mean it, too, I hope. Listen, Christopher," he added, with
+earnestness, but in a kindly voice. "Believe me, I like you well, and
+would not give you pain, or the maid yonder, if I could help it. Yet I
+have no choice. I am threatened on all sides by priest and king, and you
+have lost your heritage. She is the only jewel that I can pawn, and for
+your own safety's sake and her children's sake, must marry well. Yonder
+Despard will not live long, he drinks too hard; and then your day may
+come, if you still care for his leavings--perhaps in two years, perhaps
+in less, for she will soon see him out. Now, let us talk no more of
+the matter, but if aught befalls me, be a friend to her. Here comes the
+liquor--drink it up and be off. Though I seem rough with you, my hope is
+that you may quaff many another cup at Shefton."
+
+
+
+It was seven o'clock of the next morning, and Sir John, having eaten
+his breakfast, was girding on his sword--for Jeffrey had already gone
+to fetch the horses--when the door opened and his daughter entered the
+great hall, candle in hand, wrapped in a fur cloak, over which her long
+hair fell. Glancing at her, Sir John noted that her eyes were wide and
+frightened.
+
+"What is it now, girl?" he asked. "You'll take your death of cold among
+these draughts."
+
+"Oh! father," she said, kissing him, "I came to bid you farewell,
+and--and--to pray you not to start."
+
+"Not to start? And why?"
+
+"Because, father, I have dreamed a bad dream. At first last night I
+could not sleep, and when at length I did I dreamed that dream thrice,"
+and she paused.
+
+"Go on, Cicely; I am not afraid of dreams, which are but
+foolishness--coming from the stomach."
+
+"Mayhap; yet, father, it was so plain and clear I can scarcely bear to
+tell it to you. I stood in a dark place amidst black things that I knew
+to be trees. Then the red dawn broke upon the snow, and I saw a little
+pool with brown rushes frozen in its ice. And there--there, at the edge
+of the pool, by a pollard willow with one white limb, you lay, your bare
+sword in your hand and an arrow in your neck, shot from behind, while in
+the trunk of the willow were other arrows, and lying near you two slain.
+Then cloaked men came as though to carry them away, and I awoke. I say I
+dreamed it thrice."
+
+"A jolly good morrow indeed," said Sir John, turning a shade paler. "And
+now, daughter, what do you make of this business?"
+
+"I? Oh! I make that you should stop at home and send some one else to do
+your business. Sir Christopher, for instance."
+
+"Why, then I should baulk your dream, which is either true or false.
+If true, I have no choice, it must be fulfilled; if false, why should I
+heed it? Cicely, I am a plain man and take no note of such fancies. Yet
+I have enemies, and it may well chance that my day is done. If so, use
+your mother wit, girl; beware of Maldon, look to yourself, and as for
+your mother's jewels, hide them," and he turned to go.
+
+She clasped him by the arm.
+
+"In that sad case what should I do, father?" she asked eagerly.
+
+He stopped and stared at her up and down.
+
+"I see that you believe in your dream," he said, "and therefore,
+although it shall not stay a Foterell, I begin to believe in it too. In
+that case you have a lover whom I have forbid to you. Yet he is a man
+after my own heart, who would deal well by you. If I die, my game is
+played. Set your own anew, sweet Cicely, and set it soon, ere that Abbot
+is at your heels. Rough as I may have been, remember me with kindness,
+and God's blessing and mine be on you. Hark! Jeffrey calls, and if they
+stand, the horses will take cold. There, fare you well. Fear not for me,
+I wear a chain shirt beneath my cloak. Get back to bed and warm you,"
+and he kissed her on the brow, thrust her from him and was gone.
+
+Thus did Cicely and her father part--for ever.
+
+
+
+All that day Sir John and Jeffrey, his serving-man, trotted forward
+through the snow--that is, when they were not obliged to walk because
+of the depth of the drifts. Their plan was to reach a certain farm in a
+glade of the woodland within two hours of sundown, and sleep there, for
+they had taken the forest path, leaving again for the Fens and Cambridge
+at the dawn. This, however, proved not possible because of the exceeding
+badness of the road. So it came about that when the darkness closed in
+on them a little before five o'clock, bringing with it a cold,
+moaning wind and a scurry of snow, they were obliged to shelter in a
+faggot-built woodman's hut, waiting for the moon to appear among the
+clouds. Here they fed the horses with corn that they had brought with
+them, and themselves also from their store of dried meat and barley
+cakes, which Jeffrey carried on his shoulder in a bag. It was a poor
+meal eaten thus in the darkness, but served to stay their stomachs and
+pass away the time.
+
+At length a ray of light pierced the doorway of the hut.
+
+"She's up," said Sir John, "let us be going ere the nags grow stiff."
+
+Making no answer, Jeffrey slipped the bits back into the horses' mouths
+and led them out. Now the full moon had appeared like a great white eye
+between two black banks of cloud and turned the world to silver. It was
+a dreary scene on which she shone; a dazzling plain of snow, broken by
+patches of hawthorns, and here and there by the gaunt shape of a pollard
+oak, since this being the outskirt of the forest, folk came hither to
+lop the tops of the trees for firing. A hundred and fifty yards away
+or so, at the crest of a slope, was a round-shaped hill, made, not by
+Nature, but by man. None knew what that hill might be, but tradition
+said that once, hundreds or thousands of years before, a big battle
+had been fought around it in which a king was killed, and that his
+victorious army had raised this mound above his bones to be a memorial
+for ever.
+
+The story was indeed that, being a sea-king, they had built a boat or
+dragged it thither from the river shore and set him in it with all the
+slain for rowers; also that he might be seen at nights seated on his
+horse in armour, and staring about him, as when he directed the battle.
+At least it is true that the mount was called King's Grave, and that
+people feared to pass it after sundown.
+
+As Jeffrey Stokes was holding his master's stirrup for him to mount,
+he uttered an exclamation and pointed. Following the line of his
+outstretched hand, in the clear moonlight Sir John saw a man, who sat,
+still as any statue, upon a horse on the very point of King's Grave.
+He appeared to be covered with a long cloak, but above it his helmet
+glittered like silver. Next moment a fringe of black cloud hid the face
+of the moon, and when it passed away the man and horse were gone.
+
+"What did that fellow there?" asked Sir John.
+
+"Fellow?" answered Jeffrey in a shaken voice, "I saw none. That was the
+Ghost of the Grave. My grandfather met him ere he came to his end in the
+forest, none know how, for the wolves, of which there were plenty in
+his day, picked his bones clean, and so have many others for hundreds of
+years; always just before their doom. He is an ill fowl, that Ghost
+of the Grave, and those who clap eyes on him do wisely to turn their
+horses' heads homewards, as I would to-night if I had my way, master."
+
+"What use, Jeffrey? If the sight of him means death, death will come.
+Moreover, I believe nothing of the tale. Your ghost was some forest
+reeve or herdsman."
+
+"A forest reeve or herdsman who wanders about in a steel helm on a fine
+horse in snow-time when there are no trees to cut or cattle to mind!
+Well, have it as you will, master; only God save me from such reeves and
+herdmen, for I think they hail from hell."
+
+"Then he was a spy watching whither we go," answered Sir John angrily.
+
+"If so, who sent him? The Abbot of Blossholme? In that case I would
+sooner meet the devil, for this means mischief. I say that we had better
+ride back to Shefton."
+
+"Then do so, Jeffrey, if you are scared, and I will go on alone, who,
+being on an honest business, fear not Satan or an abbot, either."
+
+"Nay, master. Many a year ago, when we were younger, I stood by you on
+Flodden Field when Sir Edward, Christopher Harflete's father, was killed
+at our side, and those red-bearded Scotch bare-breeks pressed us hard,
+yet I never itched to turn my back, even after that great fellow with an
+axe got you down, and we thought that all was lost. Then shall I do
+so now?--though it is true that I fear yon goblin more than all the
+Highlanders beyond the Tweed. Ride on; man can die but once, and for my
+part I care not when it comes, who have little to lose in an ill world."
+
+So without more words they started forward, peering about them as they
+went. Soon the forest thickened, and the track they followed wound its
+way round great trunks of primeval oaks, or the edges of bog-holes, or
+through brakes of thorns. Hard enough it was to find it at times, since
+the snow made it one with the bordering ground, and the gloom of the
+oaks was great. But Jeffrey was a woodman born, and from his childhood
+had known the shape of every tree in that waste, so that they held
+safely to their road. Well would it have been for them if they had not!
+
+They came to a place where three other tracks crossed that which they
+rode upon, and here Jeffrey Stokes, who was ahead, held up his hand.
+
+"What is it?" asked Sir John.
+
+"It is the marks of ten or a dozen shod horses passed within two hours,
+since the last snow fell. And who be they, I wonder?"
+
+"Doubtless travellers like ourselves. Ride on, man; that farm is not a
+mile ahead."
+
+Then Jeffrey broke out.
+
+"Master, I like it not," he said. "Battle-horses have gone by here, not
+chapmen's or farmers' nags, and I think I know their breed. I say that
+we had best turn about if we would not walk into some snare."
+
+"Turn you, then," grumbled Sir John indifferently. "I am cold and weary,
+and seek my rest."
+
+"Pray God that you may not find it when you are colder," muttered
+Jeffrey, spurring his horse.
+
+They went on through the dead winter silence, that was broken only by
+the hoots of a flitting owl hungry for the food that it could not find,
+and the swish of the feet of a galloping fox as it looped past them
+through the snow. Presently they came to an open place ringed in by
+forest, so wet that only marsh-trees would grow there. To their right
+lay a little ice-covered mere, with sere, brown reeds standing here and
+there upon its face, and at the end of it a group of stark pollarded
+willows, whereof the tops had been cut for poles by those who dwelt in
+the forest farm near by. Sir John looked at the place and shivered a
+little--perhaps because the frost bit him. Or was it that he remembered
+his daughter's dream, which told of such a spot? At any rate, he set his
+teeth, and his right hand sought the hilt of his sword. His weary horse
+sniffed the air and neighed, and the neigh was answered from close at
+hand.
+
+"Thank the saints! we are nearer to that farm than I thought," said Sir
+John.
+
+As he spoke the words a number of men appeared galloping down on them
+from out of the shelter of a thorn-brake, and the moonlight shone on the
+bared weapons in their hands.
+
+"Thieves!" shouted Sir John. "At them now, Jeffrey, and win through to
+the farm."
+
+The man hesitated, for he saw that their foes were many and no common
+robbers, but his master drew his sword and spurred his beast, so he
+must do likewise. In twenty seconds they were among them, and some one
+commanded them to yield. Sir John rushed at the fellow, and, rising in
+his stirrups, cut him down. He fell all of a heap and lay still in the
+snow, which grew crimson about him. One came at Jeffrey, who turned his
+horse so that the blow missed, then took his weight upon the point of
+his sword, so that this man, too, fell down and lay in the snow, moving
+feebly.
+
+The rest, thinking this greeting too warm for them, swung round and
+vanished again among the thorns.
+
+"Now ride for it," said Jeffrey.
+
+"I cannot," answered Sir John. "One of those knaves has hurt my mare,"
+and he pointed to blood that ran from a great gash in the beast's
+foreleg, which it held up piteously.
+
+"Take mine," said Jeffrey; "I'll dodge them afoot."
+
+"Never, man! To the willows; we will hold our own there;" and, springing
+from the wounded beast, which tried to hobble after them, but could not,
+for its sinews were cut, he ran to the shelter of the trees, followed by
+Jeffrey on his horse.
+
+"Who are these rogues?" he asked.
+
+"The Abbot's men-at-arms," answered Jeffrey. "I saw the face of him I
+spitted."
+
+Now Sir John's jaw dropped.
+
+"Then we are sped, friend, for they dare not let us go. Cicely dreams
+well."
+
+As he spoke an arrow whistled by them.
+
+"Jeffrey," he went on, "I have papers on me that should not be lost,
+for with them might go my girl's heritage. Take them," and he thrust
+a packet into his hand, "and this purse also. There's plenty in it.
+Away--anywhere, and lie hid out of reach a while, or they'll still your
+tongue. Then I charge you on your soul, come back with help and hang
+that knave Abbot--for your Lady's sake, Jeffrey. She'll reward you, and
+so will God above."
+
+The man thrust away purse and deeds in some deep pocket.
+
+"How can I leave you to be butchered?" he muttered, grinding his teeth.
+
+As the words left his lips he heard his master utter a gurgling sound,
+and saw that an arrow, shot from behind, had pierced him through the
+throat; saw, too, he who was skilled in war, that the wound was mortal.
+Then he hesitated no longer.
+
+"Christ rest you!" he said. "I'll do your bidding or die;" and, turning
+his horse, he drove the rowels into its sides, causing it to bound away
+like a deer.
+
+For a moment the stricken Sir John watched him go. Then he ran out of
+his cover, shaking his sword above his head--ran into the open moonlight
+to draw the arrows. They came fast enough, but ere ever he fell, for
+that steel shirt of his was strong, Jeffrey, lying low on his horse's
+neck, was safe away, and though the murderers followed hard they never
+caught him.
+
+Nor, though they searched for days, could they find him at Shefton or
+elsewhere, for Jeffrey, who knew that all roads were blocked, and who
+dared not venture home, doubling like a hare across country, had won
+down to the water, where a ship lay foreign bound, and by dawn was on
+the sea.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+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. Then there were merry voices about the house
+where now was silence, and she alone, with naught bout a spaniel dog for
+company. Also most of the men were away with the wains laden with the
+year's clip of wool, which her father had held until the price had
+heightened, nor in this snow would they be back for another week, or
+perhaps longer.
+
+Oh! her heart was heavy as the winter clouds without, and young and fair
+as she might be, almost she wished that she had gone when her brothers
+went, and found her peace.
+
+To cheer her spirits she drank from a cup of spiced ale, that the
+manservant had placed beside her covered with a napkin, and was glad
+of its warmth and comfort. Just then the door opened, and her
+foster-mother, Mrs. Stower, entered. She was still a handsome woman in
+her prime, for her husband had been carried off by a fever when she was
+but nineteen, and her baby with him, whereon she had been brought to
+the Hall to nurse Cicely, whose mother was very ill after her birth.
+Moreover, she was tall and dark, with black and flashing eyes, for her
+father had been a Spaniard of gentle birth, and, it was said, gypsy
+blood ran in her mother's veins.
+
+There were but two people in the world for whom Emlyn Stower
+cared--Cicely, her foster-child, and a certain playmate of hers, one
+Thomas Bolle, now a lay-brother at the Abbey who had charge of the
+cattle. The tale was that in their early youth he had courted her, not
+against her will, and that when, after her parents' tragic deaths, as a
+ward of the former Abbot of Blossholme, she was married to her husband,
+not with her will, this Thomas put on the robe of a monk of the lowest
+degree, being but a yeoman of good stock though of little learning.
+
+Something in the woman's manner attracted Cicely's attention, and gave a
+hint of tragedy. She paused at the door, fumbling with its latch,
+which was not her way, then turned and stood upright against it, like a
+picture in its frame.
+
+"What is it, Nurse?" asked Cicely in a shaken voice. "From your look you
+bear tidings."
+
+Emlyn Stower walked forward, rested one hand upon the oak table and
+answered--
+
+"Aye, evil tidings if they be true. Prepare your heart, my sweet."
+
+"Quick with them, Emlyn," gasped Cicely. "Who is dead? Christopher?"
+
+She shook her head, and Cicely sighed in relief, adding--
+
+"Who, then? Oh! was that dream true?"
+
+"Aye, dear; you are an orphan."
+
+The girl's head fell forward. Then she lifted it, and asked--
+
+"Who told you? Give me all the truth or I shall die."
+
+"A friend of mine who has to do with the Abbey yonder; ask not his
+name."
+
+"I know it, Emlyn; Thomas Bolle," she whispered back.
+
+"A friend of mine," repeated the tall, dark woman, "told me that Sir
+John Foterell, your sire, was murdered last night in the forest by a
+gang of armed men, of whom he slew two."
+
+"From the Abbey?" queried Cicely in the same whisper.
+
+"Who knows? I think it. They say that the arrow in his throat was such
+as they make there. Jeffrey Stokes was hunted, but escaped on to some
+ship that had her anchor up."
+
+"I'll have his life for it, the coward!" exclaimed Cicely.
+
+"Blame him not yet. He met another friend of mine, and sent a message.
+It was that he did but obey his master's last orders, and, as he had
+seen too much and to linger here was certain death, if he lived, he
+would return from over-seas with the papers when the times are safer. He
+prayed that you would not doubt him."
+
+"The papers! What papers, Emlyn?"
+
+She shrugged her broad shoulders.
+
+"How should I know? Doubtless some that your father was taking to London
+and did not desire to lose. His iron chest stands open in his chamber."
+
+Now poor Cicely remembered that her father had spoken of certain "deeds"
+which he must take with him, and began to sob.
+
+"Weep not, darling," said her foster-mother, smoothing Cicely's brown
+hair with her strong hand. "These things are decreed of God, and done
+with. Now you must look to yourself. Your father is gone, but one
+remains."
+
+Cicely lifted her tear-stained face.
+
+"Yes, I have you," she said.
+
+"Me!" she answered, with a quick smile. "Nay, of what use am I? Your
+nursing days are over. What did you tell me your father said to you
+before he rode--about Sir Christopher? Hush! there's no time to talk;
+you must away to Cranwell Towers."
+
+"Why?" asked Cicely. "He cannot bring my father back to life, and it
+would be thought strange indeed that at such a time I should visit a man
+in his own house. Send and tell him the tidings. I bide here to bury my
+father, and," she added proudly, "to avenge him."
+
+"If so, sweet, you bide here to be buried yourself in yonder Nunnery.
+Hark, I have not told you all my news. The Abbot Maldon claims the
+Blossholme lands under some trick of law. It was as to them that your
+father quarrelled with him the other night; and with the land goes your
+wardship, as once mine went under this monk's charter. Before sunset the
+Abbot rides here with his men-at-arms to take them, and to set you for
+safe-keeping in the Nunnery, where you will find a husband called Holy
+Church."
+
+"Name of God! is it so?" said Cicely, springing up; "and the most of the
+men are away! I cannot hold the Hall against that foreign Abbot and his
+hirelings, and an orphaned heiress is but a chattel to be sold. Oh!
+now I understand what my father meant. Order horses. I'll off to
+Christopher. Yet, stay, Nurse. What will he do with me? It may seem
+shameless, and will vex him."
+
+"I think he will marry you. I think to-night you will be a wife. If not,
+I'll know the reason why," she added viciously.
+
+"A wife! To-night!" exclaimed the girl, turning crimson to her hair.
+"And my father but just dead! How can it be?"
+
+"We'll talk of that with Harflete. Mayhap, like you, he'll wish to wait
+and ask the banns, or to lay the case before a London lawyer. Meanwhile,
+I have ordered horses and sent a message to the Abbot to say you come
+to learn the meaning of these rumours, which will keep him still till
+nightfall; and another to Cranwell Towers, that we may find food and
+lodging there. Quick, now, and get your cloak and hood. I have the
+jewels in their case, for Maldon seeks them more even than your lands,
+and with them all the money I can find. Also I have bid the sewing-girl
+make a pack of some garments. Come now, come, for that Abbot is hungry
+and will be stirring. There is no time for talk."
+
+
+
+Three hours later in the red glow of the sunset Christopher Harflete,
+watching at his door, saw two women riding towards him across the snow,
+and knew them while they were yet far off.
+
+"It is true, then," he said to Father Roger Necton, the old clergyman of
+Cranwell, whom he had summoned from the vicarage. "I thought that fool
+of a messenger must be drunk. What can have chanced, Father?"
+
+"Death, I think, my son, for sure naught else would bring the Lady
+Cicely here unaccompanied save by a waiting-woman. The question is--what
+will happen now?" and he glanced sideways at him.
+
+"I know well if I can get my way," answered Christopher, with a merry
+laugh. "Say now, Father, if it should so be that this lady were willing,
+could you marry us?"
+
+"Without a doubt, my son, with the consent of the parents;" and again he
+looked at him.
+
+"And if there were no parents?"
+
+"Then with the consent of the guardian, the bride being under age."
+
+"And if no guardian had been declared or admitted?"
+
+"Then such a marriage duly solemnized, being a sacrament of the Church,
+would hold fast until the crack of doom unless the Pope annulled it,
+and, as you know, the Pope is out of favour in this realm on this very
+matter of marriage. Let me explain the law to you, ecclesiastic and
+civil----"
+
+But Christopher was already running towards the gate, so the old
+parson's lecture remained undelivered.
+
+The two met in the snow, Emlyn Stower riding on ahead and leaving them
+together.
+
+"What is it, sweetest?" he asked. "What is it?"
+
+"Oh! Christopher," she answered, weeping, "my poor father is
+dead--murdered, or so says Emlyn."
+
+"Murdered! By whom?"
+
+"By the Abbot of Blossholme's soldiers--so says Emlyn, yonder in the
+forest last eve. And the Abbot is coming to Shefton to declare me his
+ward and thrust me into the Nunnery--that was Emlyn's tale. And so,
+although it is a strange thing to do, having none to protect me, I have
+fled to you--because Emlyn said I ought."
+
+"She is a wise woman, Emlyn," broke in Christopher; "I always thought
+well of her judgment. But did you only come to me because Emlyn told
+you?"
+
+"Not altogether, Christopher. I came because I am distraught, and you
+are a better friend than none at all, and--where else should I go? Also
+my poor father with his last words to me, although he was so angry with
+you, bade me seek your help if there were need--and--oh! Christopher, I
+came because you swore you loved me, and, therefore, it seemed right.
+If I had gone to the Nunnery, although the Prioress, Mother Matilda, is
+good, and my friend, who knows, she might not have let me out again, for
+the Abbot is her master, and _not_ my friend. It is our lands he loves,
+and the famous jewels--Emlyn has them with her."
+
+By now they were across the moat and at the steps of the house, so,
+without answering, Christopher lifted her tenderly from the saddle,
+pressing her to his breast as he did so, for that seemed his best
+answer. A groom came to lead away the horses, touching his bonnet, and
+staring at them curiously; and, leaning on her lover's shoulder, Cicely
+passed through the arched doorway of Cranwell Towers into the hall,
+where a great fire burned. Before this fire, warming his thin hands,
+stood Father Necton, engaged in eager conversation with Emlyn Stower. As
+the pair advanced this talk ceased, evidently because it was of them.
+
+"Mistress Cicely," said the kindly-faced old man, speaking in a nervous
+fashion, "I fear that you visit us in sad case," and he paused, not
+knowing what to add.
+
+"Yes, indeed," she answered, "if all I hear is true. They say that
+my father is killed by cruel men--I know not for certain why or by
+whom--and that the Abbot of Blossholme comes to claim me as his ward and
+immure me in Blossholme Priory, whither I would not go. I have fled here
+to escape him, having no other refuge, though you may think ill of me
+for this deed."
+
+"Not I, my child. I should not speak against yonder Abbot, for he is my
+superior in the Church, though, mind you, I owe him no allegiance, since
+this benefice is not in his gift, nor am I a Benedictine. Therefore I
+will tell you the truth. I hold the man not honest. All is provender
+that comes to his maw; moreover, he is no Englishman, but a Spaniard,
+one sent here to work against the welfare of this realm; to suck its
+wealth, stir up rebellion, and make report of all that passes in it, for
+the benefit of England's enemies."
+
+"Yet he has friends at Court, or so said my father."
+
+"Aye, aye, such folks have ever friends--their money buys them; though
+mayhap an ill day is at hand for him and his likes. Well, your poor
+father is gone, God knows how, though I thought for long that would be
+his end, who ever spoke his mind, or more; and you with your wealth are
+the morsel that tempts Maldon's appetite. And now what is to be done?
+This is a hard case. Would you refuge in some other Nunnery?"
+
+"Nay," answered Cicely, glancing sideways at her lover.
+
+"Then what's to be done?"
+
+"Oh! I know not," she said, bursting into a fit of weeping. "How can
+I tell you, who am mazed with grief and doubt? I had but a single
+friend--my father, though at times he was a rough one. Yet he loved me
+in his way, and I have obeyed his last counsel;" and, all her courage
+gone, she sank into a chair and rocked herself to and fro, her head
+resting on her hands.
+
+"That is not true," said Emlyn in her bold voice. "Am I who suckled you
+no friend, and is Father Necton here no friend, and is Sir Christopher
+no friend? Well, if you have lost your judgment, I have kept mine, and
+here it is. Yonder, not two bowshots away, stands a church, and before
+me I see a priest and a pair who would serve for bride and bridegroom.
+Also we can rake up witnesses and a cup of wine to drink your health;
+and after that let the Abbot of Blossholme do his worst. What say you,
+Sir Christopher?"
+
+"You know my mind, Nurse Emlyn; but what says Cicely? Oh! Cicely, what
+say _you_?" and he bent over her.
+
+She raised herself, still weeping, and, throwing her arms about his
+neck, laid her head upon his shoulder.
+
+"I think it is the will of God," she whispered, "and why should I fight
+against it, who am His servant?--and yours, Chris."
+
+"And now, Father, what say you?" asked Emlyn, pointing to the pair.
+
+"I do not think there is much to say," answered the old clergyman,
+turning his head aside, "save that if it should please you to come to
+the church in ten minutes' time you will find a candle on the altar, and
+a priest within the rails, and a clerk to hold the book. More we cannot
+do at such short notice."
+
+Then he paused for a while, and, hearing no dissent, walked down the
+hall and out of the door.
+
+Emlyn took Cicely by the hand, led her to a room that was shown to them,
+and there made her ready for her bridal as best she might. She had no
+fine dress in which to clothe her, nor, indeed, would there have been
+time to don it. But she combed out her beautiful brown hair, and,
+opening that box of Eastern jewels which were the great pride of
+the Foterells--being the rarest and the most ancient in all the
+countryside--she decked her with them. On her broad brow she set a
+circlet from which hung sparkling diamonds that had been brought, the
+story said, by her mother's ancestor, a Carfax, from the Holy Land,
+where once they were the peculiar treasure of a paynim queen, and upon
+her bosom a necklet of large pearls. Brooches and rings also she found
+for her breast and fingers, and for her waist a jewelled girdle with
+a golden clasp, while to her ears she hung the finest gems of all--two
+great pearls pink like the hawthorn-bloom when it begins to turn. Lastly
+she flung over her head a veil of lace most curiously wrought, and stood
+back with pride to look at her.
+
+Now Cicely, who all this while had been silent and unresisting, spoke
+for the first time, saying--
+
+"How came this here, Nurse?"
+
+"Your mother wore it at her bridal, and her mother too, so I have been
+told. Also once before I wrapped it about you--when you were christened,
+sweet."
+
+"Mayhap; but how came it here?"
+
+"In the bosom of my robe. Not knowing when we should get home again, I
+brought it, thinking that perhaps one day you might marry, when it would
+be useful. And now, strangely enough, the marriage has come."
+
+"Emlyn, Emlyn, I believe that you planned all this business, whereof God
+alone knows the end."
+
+"That is why He makes a beginning, dear, that His end may be fulfilled
+in due season."
+
+"Aye, but what is that end? Mayhap this is my shroud you wrap about me.
+In truth, I feel as though death were near."
+
+"He is ever that," replied Emlyn unconcernedly. "But so long as he
+doesn't touch, what does it matter? Now hark you, sweetest, I've
+Spanish and gypsy blood in me with which go gifts, and so I'll tell you
+something for your comfort. However oft he snatches, Death will not lay
+his bony hand on you for many a long year--not till you are well-nigh
+as thin with age as he is. Oh! you'll have your troubles like all of us,
+worse than many, mayhap, but you are Luck's own child, who lived when
+the rest were taken, and you'll win through and take others on your
+back, as a whale does barnacles. So snap your fingers at death, as I
+do," and she suited the action to the word, "and be happy while you may,
+and when you're not happy, wait till your turn comes round again. Now
+follow me and, though your father is murdered, smile as you should in
+such an hour, for what man wants a sad-faced bride?"
+
+They walked down the broad oaken stairs into the hall where Christopher
+stood waiting for them. Glancing at him shyly, Cicely saw that he was
+clad in mail beneath his cloak, and that his sword was girded at his
+side, also that some men with him were armed. For a moment he stared at
+her glittering beauty confused, then said--
+
+"Fear not this hint of war in love's own hour," and he touched his
+shining armour. "Cicely, these nuptials are strange as they are happy,
+and some might try to break in upon them. Come now, my sweet lady;" and
+bowing before her he took her by the hand and led her from the house,
+Emlyn walking behind them and the men with torches going before and
+following after.
+
+Outside it was freezing sharply, so that the snow crunched beneath their
+feet. In the west the last red glow of sunset still lingered on the
+steely sky, and over against it the great moon rose above the round edge
+of the world. In the bushes of the garden, and the tall poplars that
+bordered the moat, blackbirds and fieldfares chattered their winter
+evening song, while about the grey tower of the neighbouring church the
+daws still wheeled.
+
+The picture of that scene whereof at the time she seemed to take no
+note, always remained fixed in the mind of Cicely: the cold expanse of
+snow, the inky trees, the hard sky, the lambent beams of the moon, the
+dull glow of the torches caught and reflected by her jewels and her
+lover's mail, the midwinter sound of birds, the barking of a distant
+hound, the black porch of the church that drew nearer, the little oblong
+mounds which hid the bones of hundreds who in their day had passed it as
+infants, as bridegrooms and as brides, and at last as cold, white things
+that had been men and women.
+
+Now they were in the nave of the old fane where the cold struck them
+like a sword. The dim lights of the torches showed them that, short
+as had been the time, the news of this marvellous marriage had spread
+about, for at least a score of people were standing here and there in
+knots, or a few of them seated on the oak benches near the chancel. All
+these turned to stare at them eagerly as they walked towards the altar
+where stood the priest in his robes, and since his sight was dim, behind
+him the old clerk with a stable-lantern held on high to enable him to
+read from his book.
+
+They reached the carven rood-screen, and at a sign kneeled down. In a
+clear voice the clergyman began the service; presently, at another sign,
+the pair rose, advanced to the altar-rails and again knelt down. The
+moonlight, flowing through the eastern window, fell full on both of
+them, turning them to cold, white statues, such as those that knelt in
+marble upon the tomb at their side.
+
+All through the holy office Cicely watched these statues with fascinated
+eyes, and it seemed to her that they and the old crusaders, Harfletes
+of a long-past day who lay near by, were watching her with a wistful and
+kindly interest. She made certain answers, a ring that was somewhat too
+small was thrust upon her finger--all the rest of her life that ring
+hurt her at times, but she would have never it moved, and then some
+one was kissing her. At first she thought it must be her father, and
+remembering, nearly wept till she heard Christopher's voice calling her
+wife, and knew that she was wed.
+
+Father Roger, the old clerk still holding the lantern behind him,
+writing something in a little vellum book, asking her the date of
+her birth and her full name, which, as he had been present at her
+christening, she thought strange. Then her husband signed the book,
+using the altar as a table, not very easily for he was no great scholar,
+and she signed also in her maiden name for the last time, and the priest
+signed, and at his bidding Emlyn Stower, who could write well, signed
+too. Next, as though by an afterthought, Father Roger called several of
+the congregation, who rather unwillingly made their marks as witnesses.
+While they did so he explained to them that, as the circumstances
+were uncommon, it was well that there should be evidence, and that
+he intended to send copies of this entry to sundry dignities, not
+forgetting the holy Father at Rome.
+
+On learning this they appeared to be sorry that they had anything to do
+with the matter, and one and all of them melted into the darkness of the
+nave and out of Cicely's mind.
+
+So it was done at last.
+
+Father Necton blew on his little book till the ink was dry, then hid
+it away in his robe. The old clerk, having pocketed a handsome fee from
+Christopher, lit the pair down the nave to the porch, where he locked
+the oaken door behind them, extinguished his lantern and trudged off
+through the snow to the ale-house, there to discuss these nuptials and
+hot beer. Escorted by their torch-bearers Cicely and Christopher walked
+silently arm-in-arm back to the Towers, whither Emlyn, after embracing
+the bride, had already gone on ahead. So having added one more ceremony
+to its countless record, perhaps the strangest of them all, the ancient
+church behind them grew silent as the dead within its graves.
+
+The Towers reached, the new-wed pair, with Father Roger and Emlyn, sat
+down to the best meal that could be prepared for them at such short
+notice; a very curious wedding feast. Still, though the company was so
+small it did not lack for heartiness, since the old clergyman proposed
+their health in a speech full of Latin words which they did not
+understand, and every member of the household who had assembled to hear
+him drank to it in cups of wine. This done, the beautiful bride, now
+blushing and now pale, was led away to the best chamber, which had been
+hastily prepared for her. But Emlyn remained behind a while, for she had
+words to speak.
+
+"Sir Christopher," she said, "you are fast wed to the sweetest lady that
+ever sun or moon shone on, and in that may hold yourself a lucky man.
+Yet such deep joys seldom come without their pain, and I think that this
+is near at hand. There are those who will envy you your fortune, Sir
+Christopher."
+
+"Yet they cannot change it, Emlyn," he answered anxiously. "The knot
+that was tied to-night may not be unloosed."
+
+"Never," broke in Father Roger. "Though the suddenness and the
+circumstances of it may be unusual, this marriage is a sacrament
+celebrated in the face of the world with the full consent of both
+parties and of the Holy Church. Moreover, before the dawn I'll send the
+record of it to the bishop's registry and elsewhere, that it may not be
+questioned in days to come, giving copies of the same to you and your
+lady's foster-mother, who is her nearest friend at hand."
+
+"It may not be loosed on earth or in heaven," replied Emlyn solemnly,
+"yet perchance the sword can cut it. Sir Christopher, I think that we
+should all do well to travel as soon as may be."
+
+"Not to-night, surely, Nurse!" he exclaimed.
+
+"No, not to-night," she answered, with a faint smile. "Your wife has had
+a weary day, and could not. Moreover, preparation must be made which is
+impossible at this hour. But to-morrow, if the roads are open to you,
+I think we should start for London, where she may make complaint of her
+father's slaying and claim her heritage and the protection of the law."
+
+"That is good counsel," said the vicar, and Christopher, with whom words
+seemed to be few, nodded his head.
+
+"Meanwhile," went on Emlyn, "you have six men in this house and others
+round it. Send out a messenger and summon them all here at dawn, bidding
+them bring provision with them, and what bows and arms they have. Set
+a watch also, and after the Father and the messenger have gone, command
+that the drawbridge be triced."
+
+"What do you fear?" he asked, waking from his dream.
+
+"I fear the Abbot of Blossholme and his hired ruffians, who reck little
+of the laws, as the soul of dead Sir John knows now, or can use them
+as a cover to evil deeds. He'll not let such a prize slip between his
+fingers if he can help it, and the times are turbulent."
+
+"Alas! alas! it is true," said Father Roger, "and that Abbot is a
+relentless man who sticks at nothing, having much wealth and many
+friends both here and beyond the seas. Yet surely he would never
+dare----"
+
+"That we shall learn," interrupted Emlyn. "Meanwhile, Sir Christopher,
+rouse yourself and give the orders."
+
+So Christopher summoned his men and spoke words to them at which they
+looked very grave, but being true-hearted fellows who loved him, said
+they would do his bidding.
+
+A while later, having written out a copy of the marriage lines and
+witnessed it, Father Roger departed with the messenger. The drawbridge
+was hoisted above the moat, the doors were barred, and a man set to
+watch in the gateway tower, while Christopher, forgetful of all else,
+even of the danger in which they were, sought the company of her who
+waited for him.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+THE ABBOT'S OATH
+
+On the following morning, shortly after it was light, Christopher was
+called from his chamber by Emlyn, who gave him a letter.
+
+"Whence came this?" he asked, turning it over suspiciously.
+
+"A messenger has brought it from Blossholme Abbey," she answered.
+
+"Wife Cicely," he called through the door, "come hither if you will."
+
+Presently she appeared, looking quaint and lovely in her long fur cloak,
+and, having embraced her foster-mother, asked what was the matter.
+
+"This, my darling," he answered, handing her the paper. "I never loved
+book-learnings over-much, and this morn I seem to hate them; read, you
+who are more scholarly."
+
+"I mistrust me of that great seal; it bodes us no good, Chris," she
+replied doubtfully, and paling a little.
+
+"The message within is no medlar to soften by keeping," said Emlyn.
+"Give it me. I was schooled in a nunnery, and can read their scrawls."
+
+So, nothing loth, Cicely handed her the paper, which she took in her
+strong fingers, broke the seal, snapped the silk, unfolded, and read. It
+ran thus--
+
+
+"To Sir Christopher Harflete, to Mistress Cicely Foterell, to Emlyn
+Stower, the waiting-woman, and to all others whom it may concern.
+
+"I, Clement Maldon, Abbot of Blossholme, having heard of the death of
+Sir John Foterell, Knt., at the cruel hands of the forest thieves
+and outlaws, sent last night to serve the declaration of my wardship,
+according to my prerogative established by law and custom, over the
+person and property of you, Cicely, his only child surviving. My
+messengers returned saying that you had fled from your home of Shefton
+Hall. They said further that it was rumoured that you had ridden with
+your foster-mother, Emlyn Stower, to Cranwell Towers, the house of Sir
+Christopher Harflete. If this be so, for the sake of your good name it
+is needful that you should remove from such company at once, as there
+is talk about you and the said Sir Christopher Harflete. I purpose,
+therefore, God permitting me, to ride this day to Cranwell Towers, and
+if you be there, as your lawful guardian and ghostly father, to command
+you, being an infant under age, to accompany me thence to the Nunnery
+of Blossholme. There I have determined, in the exercise of my authority,
+you shall abide until a fitting husband is found for you, unless,
+indeed, God should move your heart to remain within its walls as one of
+the brides of Christ.
+
+"Clement, Abbot."
+
+
+Now when the reading of this letter was finished, the three of them
+stood a little while staring at each other, knowing well that it meant
+trouble for them all, till Cicely said--
+
+"Bring me ink and paper, Nurse. I will answer this Abbot."
+
+So they were brought, and Cicely wrote in her round, girlish hand--
+
+
+"My Lord Abbot,
+
+"In answer to your letter, I would have you know that as my noble father
+(whose cruel death must be inquired of and avenged) bade me with his
+last words, I, fearing that a like fate would overtake me at the hands
+of his murderers, did, as you suppose, seek refuge at this house. Here,
+yesterday, I was married in the face of God and man in the church of
+Cranwell, as you may learn from the paper sent herewith. It is not,
+therefore, needful that you should seek a husband for me, since my dear
+lord, Sir Christopher Harflete, and I are one till death do part us. Nor
+do I admit that now, or at any time, you had or have right of wardship
+over my person or the lands and goods which I hold and inherit. "Your
+humble servant,
+
+"Cicely Harflete."
+
+
+This letter Cicely copied out fair and sealed, and presently it was
+given to the Abbot's messenger, who placed it in his pouch and rode off
+as fast as the snow would let him.
+
+They watched him go from a window.
+
+"Now," said Christopher, turning to his wife, "I think, dear, we shall
+do well to ride also as soon as may be. Yonder Abbot is sharp-set, and I
+doubt whether letters will satisfy his appetite."
+
+"I think so also," said Emlyn. "Make ready and eat, both of you. I go to
+see that the horses are saddled."
+
+An hour later everything was prepared. Three horses stood before the
+door, and with them an escort of four mounted men, who were all having
+arms and beasts to ride that Christopher could gather at such short
+notice, though others of his tenants and servants had already assembled
+at the Towers in answer to his summons, to the number of twelve, indeed.
+Without the snow was falling fast, and although she tried to look brave
+and happy, Cicely shivered a little as she saw it through the open door.
+
+"We go on a strange honeymoon, my sweet," said Christopher uneasily.
+
+"What matter, so long as we go together?" she answered in a gay voice
+that yet seemed to ring untrue, "although," she added, with a little
+choke of the throat, "I would that we could have stayed here until I had
+found and buried my father. It haunts me to think of him lying somewhere
+in the snows like a perished ox."
+
+"It is his murderers that I wish to bury," exclaimed Christopher; "and,
+by God's name, I swear I'll do it ere all is done. Think not, dear, that
+I forget your griefs because I do not speak much of them, but bridals
+and buryings are strange company. So while we may, let us take what
+joy we can, since the ill that goes before ofttimes follows after also.
+Come, let us mount and away to London to find friends and justice."
+
+Then, having spoken a few words to his house-people, he lifted Cicely to
+her horse, and they rode out into the softly-falling snow, thinking that
+they had seen their last of the Towers for many a day. But this was not
+to be. For as they passed along the Blossholme highway, purposing to
+leave the Abbey on their left, when they were about three miles from
+Cranwell, suddenly a tall fellow, who wore a great sheepskin coat with
+a monk's hood to it and carried a thick staff in his hand, burst through
+the fence and stood in front of them.
+
+"Who are you?" asked Christopher, laying his hand upon his sword.
+
+"You'd know me well enough if my hood were back," he answered in a deep
+voice; "but if you want my name, it's Thomas Bolle, cattle-reeve to the
+Abbey yonder."
+
+"Your voice proves you," said Christopher, laughing. "And now what is
+your business, lay-brother Bolle?"
+
+"To get up a bunch of yearling steers that have been running on the
+forest-edge, living, like the rest of us, on what they can find, as the
+weather is coming on hard enough to starve them. That's my business, Sir
+Christopher. But as I see an old friend of mine there," and he nodded
+towards Emlyn, who was watching him from her horse, "with your leave
+I'll ask her if she has any confession to make, since she seems to be on
+a dangerous journey."
+
+Now Christopher made as though he would push on, for he was in no mood
+to chat with cattle-reeves. But Emlyn, who had been eyeing the man,
+called out--
+
+"Come here, Thomas, and I will answer you myself, who always have a few
+sins to spare for a priest's wallet, and need a blessing or two to warm
+me."
+
+He strode forward, and, taking her horse by the bridle, led it a little
+way apart, and as soon as they were out of earshot fell into an eager
+conversation with its rider. A minute or so later Cicely, looking
+round--for they had ridden forward at a slow pace--saw Thomas Bolle
+leap through the other fence of the roadway and vanish at a run into the
+falling snow, while Emlyn spurred her horse after them.
+
+"Stop," she said to Christopher; "I have tidings for you. The Abbot,
+with all his men-at-arms and servants, to the number of forty or more,
+waits for us under shelter of Blossholme Grove yonder, purposing to take
+the Lady Cicely by force. Some spy has told him of this journey."
+
+"I see no one," said Christopher, staring at the Grove, which lay below
+them about a quarter of a mile away, for they were on the top of a rise.
+"Still, the matter is not hard to prove," and he called to the two best
+mounted of his men and bade them ride forward and make report if any
+lurked behind that wood.
+
+So the men went off, while they remained where they were, silent, but
+anxious enough. Ten minutes or so later, before they could see them, for
+the snow was now falling quickly, they heard the sound of many horses
+galloping. Then the two men appeared, calling out as they came--
+
+"The Abbot and all his folk are after us. Back to Cranwell, ere you be
+taken!"
+
+Christopher thought for a moment, then, remembering that with but four
+men and cumbered by two women it was not possible to cut his way through
+so great a force, and admonished by that sound of advancing hoofs, he
+gave a sudden order. They turned about, and not too soon, for as they
+did so, scarce two hundred yards away, the first of the Abbot's horsemen
+appeared plunging towards them up the slope. Then the race began, and
+well for them was it that their horses were good and fresh, since before
+ever they came in sight of Cranwell Towers the pursuers were not ninety
+yards behind. But here on the flat their beasts, scenting home, answered
+nobly to whip and spur, and drew ahead a little. Moreover, those who
+watched within the house saw them, and ran to the drawbridge. When they
+were within fifty yards of the moat Cicely's horse stumbled, slipped,
+and fell, throwing her into the snow, then recovered itself and galloped
+on alone. Christopher reined up alongside of her, and, as she rose,
+frightened but unharmed, put out his long arm, and, lifting her to the
+saddle in front of him, plunged forward, while those behind shouted
+"Yield!"
+
+Under this double burden his horse went but slowly. Still they reached
+the bridge before any could lay hands upon them, and thundered over it.
+
+"Wind up," shouted Christopher, and all there, even the womenfolk, laid
+hands upon the cranks. The bridge began to rise, but now five or six of
+the Abbot's folk, dismounting, sprang at it, catching the end of it with
+their hands when it was about six feet in the air, and holding on so
+that it could not be lifted, but remained, moving neither up nor down.
+
+"Leave go, you knaves," shouted Christopher; but by way of answer one
+of them, with the help of his fellows, scrambled on to the end of the
+bridge, and stood there, hanging to the chains.
+
+Then Christopher snatched a bow from the hand of a serving-man, and the
+arrow being already on the string, again shouted--
+
+"Get off at your peril!"
+
+In answer the man called out something about the commands of the Lord
+Abbot.
+
+Christopher, looking past him, saw that others of the company had
+dismounted and were running towards the bridge. If they reached it he
+knew well that the game was played. So he hesitated no longer, but,
+aiming swiftly, drew and loosed the bow. At that distance he could
+not miss. The arrow struck the man where his steel cap joined the mail
+beneath, and pierced him through the throat, so that he fell back dead.
+The others, scared by his fate, loosed their hold, so that now the
+bridge, relieved of the weight upon it, instantly rose up beyond their
+reach, and presently came home and was made fast.
+
+As they afterwards discovered, this man, it may here be said, was a
+captain of the Abbot's guard. Moreover, it was he who had shot the arrow
+that killed Sir John Foterell some forty hours before, striking him
+through the throat, as it was fated that he himself should be struck.
+Thus, then, one of that good knight's murderers reaped his just reward.
+
+Now the men ran back out of range, for they feared more arrows, while
+Christopher watched them go in silence. Cicely, who stood by his side,
+her hands held before her face to shut out the sight of death, let them
+fall suddenly, and, turning to her husband, said, as she pointed to the
+corpse that lay upon the blood-stained snow of the roadway--
+
+"How many more will follow him, I wonder? I think that is but the first
+throw of a long game, husband."
+
+"Nay, sweet," he answered, "the second; the first was cast two nights
+gone by King's Grave Mount in the forest yonder, and blood ever calls
+for blood."
+
+"Aye," she answered, "blood calls for blood." Then, remembering that
+she was orphaned and what sort of a honeymoon hers was like to be, she
+turned and sought her chamber, weeping.
+
+Now, while Christopher still stood irresolute, for he was oppressed by
+the sense of this man-slaying, and knew not what he should do next, he
+saw three men separate from the knot of soldiers and ride towards
+the Towers, one of whom held a white cloth above his head in token
+of parley. Then Christopher went up into the little gateway turret,
+followed by Emlyn, who crouched down behind the brick battlement, so
+that she could see and hear without being seen. Having reached the
+further side of the moat, he who held the white cloth threw back the
+hood of his long cape, and they saw that it was the Abbot of Blossholme
+himself, also that his dark eyes flashed and that his olive-hued face
+was almost white with rage.
+
+"Why do you hunt me across my own park and come knocking so rudely at my
+doors, my Lord Abbot?" asked Christopher, leaning on the parapet of the
+gateway.
+
+"Why do you work murder on my servant, Christopher Harflete?" answered
+the Abbot, pointing to the dead man in the snow. "Know you not that
+whoso sheds blood, by man shall his blood be shed, and that under our
+ancient charters, here I have the right to execute justice on you, as,
+by God's holy Name, I swear that I will do?" he added in a choked voice.
+
+"Aye," repeated Christopher reflectively, "by man shall his blood be
+shed. Perhaps that is why this fellow died. Tell me, Abbot, was he not
+one of those who rode by moonlight round King's Grave lately, and there
+chanced to meet Sir John Foterell?"
+
+The shot was a random one, yet it seemed that it went home; at least,
+the Abbot's jaw dropped, and some words that were on his lips never
+passed them.
+
+"I know naught of the meaning of your talk," he said presently in a
+quieter voice, "or of how my late friend and neighbour, Sir John--may
+God rest his soul--came to his end. Yet it is of him, or rather of his,
+that we must speak. It seems that you have stolen his daughter, a woman
+under age, and by pretence of a false marriage, as I fear, brought her
+to shame--a crime even fouler than this murder."
+
+"Nay, by means of a true marriage I have brought her to such small
+honour as may be the share of Christopher Harflete's lawful wife. If
+there be any virtue in the rites of Holy Church, then God's own hand has
+bound us fast as man can be tied to woman, and death is the only pope
+who can loose that knot."
+
+"Death!" repeated the Abbot in a slow voice, looking up at him very
+curiously. For a little while he was silent, then went on, "Well, his
+court is always open, and he has many shrewd and instant messengers,
+such as this," and he pointed to the arrow in the neck of the slain
+soldier. "Yet I am a man of peace, and although you have murdered my
+servant, I would settle our cause more gently if I may. Listen now,
+Sir Christopher; here is my offer. Yield up to me the person of Cicely
+Foterell----"
+
+"Of Cicely Harflete," interrupted Christopher.
+
+"Of Cicely Foterell, and I swear to you that no violence shall be
+done to her, nor shall she be given to a husband till the King or his
+Vicar-General, or whatever court he may appoint, has passed judgment in
+this matter and declared this mock marriage of yours null and void."
+
+"What!" broke in Christopher scoffingly; "does the Abbot of Blossholme
+announce that the powers temporal of this realm have right of divorce?
+Ere now I have heard him argue differently, and so have others, when the
+case of Queen Catherine was in question."
+
+The Abbot bit his lip, but continued, taking no heed--
+
+"Nor will I lay any complaint against you as to the death of my servant
+here, for which otherwise you should hang. That I will write down as
+an accident, and, further, compensate his family. Now you have my
+offer--answer."
+
+"And what if I refuse this same generous offer to surrender her whom I
+hold dearer than a thousand lives?"
+
+"Then, by virtue of my rights and authority, I will take her by force,
+Christopher Harflete, and if harm should happen to come to you, now or
+hereafter, on your own head be it."
+
+At this Christopher's rage broke out.
+
+"Do you dare to threaten me, a loyal Englishman, you false priest and
+foreign traitor," he shouted, "whom all men know to be in the pay of
+Spain, and using the cover of a monk's dress to plot against the land on
+which you fatten like a horse-leech? Why was John Foterell murdered in
+the forest two nights gone? You won't answer? Then I will. Because
+he rode to Court to prove the truth about you and your treachery, and
+therefore you butchered him. Why do you claim my wife as your ward?
+Because you wish to steal her lands and goods to feed your plots and
+luxury. You think you have bought friends at Court, and that for money's
+sake those in power there will turn a blind eye to your crimes. So it
+may be for a while; but wait, wait. All eyes are not blind yonder, nor
+all ears deaf. That head of yours shall yet be lifted higher than you
+think--so high that it sticks upon the top of Blossholme Towers, a
+warning to all who would sell England to her enemies. John Foterell lies
+dead with your knave's arrow in his throat, but Jeffrey Stokes is away
+with the writings. And now do your worst, Clement Maldon. If you want my
+wife, come take her."
+
+The Abbot listened, listened intently, drinking in every ominous word.
+His swarthy face went white with fear, then turned black with rage. The
+veins upon his forehead gathered into knots; even from that distance
+Christopher could see them. He looked so evil that his countenance
+became twisted and ridiculous, and Christopher, noting it, burst into
+one of his hearty laughs.
+
+The Abbot, who was not accustomed to mockery, whispered something to the
+two men who were with him, whereon they lifted the crossbows which they
+carried and pulled trigger. One quarel went wide and hit the wall of the
+house behind, where it stuck fast in the joints of the stud-work. But
+the other, better aimed, smote Christopher above the heart, causing him
+to stagger, but being shot from below and turned by the mail he wore
+glanced upwards over his left shoulder. The men, seeing that he was
+unhurt, pulled their horses round and galloped off, but Christopher,
+setting another arrow to the string of the bow he carried, drew it to
+his ear, covering the Abbot.
+
+"Loose, and make an end of him," muttered Emlyn from her shelter behind
+the parapet. But Christopher thought a moment, then cried--
+
+"Stay a while, Sir Abbot; I have more to say to you."
+
+He took no heed who was also turning about.
+
+"Stay!" thundered Christopher, "or I will kill that fine nag of yours;"
+then, as the Abbot still dragged upon the reins, he let the arrow fly.
+The aim was true enough. Right through the arch of the neck it sped,
+cutting the cord between the bones, so that the poor beast reared
+straight up and fell in a heap, tumbling its rider off into the snow.
+
+"Now, Clement Maldon," cried Christopher, "will you listen, or will you
+bide with your horse and servant and hear no more till Judgment Day? If
+you do not guess it, learn that I have practised archery from my youth.
+Should you doubt, hold up your hand and I'll send a shaft between your
+fingers."
+
+The Abbot, who was shaken but unhurt, rose slowly and stood there, the
+dead horse on one side and the dead man on the other.
+
+"Speak," he said in a muffled voice.
+
+"My Lord Abbot," went on Christopher, "a minute ago you tried to murder
+me, and, had not my mail been good, would have succeeded. Now your life
+is in my hand, for, as you have seen, I do not miss. Those servants
+of yours are coming to your help. Call to them to halt, or----" and he
+lifted the bow.
+
+The Abbot obeyed, and the men, understanding, stayed where they were, at
+a distance, but within earshot.
+
+"You have a crucifix upon your breast," continued Christopher. "Take it
+in your right hand now and swear an oath."
+
+Again the Abbot obeyed.
+
+"Swear thus," he said, Emlyn, who was crouched beneath the parapet,
+prompting him from time to time; "I, Clement Maldon, Abbot of
+Blossholme, in the presence of Almighty God in heaven, and of
+Christopher Harflete and others upon earth," and he jerked his head
+backwards towards the windows of the house, where all therein were
+gathered, listening, "make oath upon the symbol of the Rood. I swear
+that I abandon all claim of wardship over the body of Cicely Harflete,
+born Cicely Foterell, the lawful wife of Christopher Harflete, and
+all claim to the lands and goods that she may possess, or that were
+possessed by her father, John Foterell, Knight, or by her mother, Dame
+Foterell, deceased. I swear that I will raise no suit in any court,
+spiritual or temporal, of this or other realms against the said Cicely
+Harflete or against the said Christopher Harflete, her husband, nor seek
+to work injury to their bodies or their souls, or to the bodies or the
+souls of any who cling to them, and that henceforth they may live and
+die in peace from me or any whom I control. Set your lips to the Rood
+and swear thus now, Clement Maldon."
+
+The Abbot hearkened, and so great was his rage, for he had no meek
+heart, that he seemed to swell like an angry toad.
+
+"Who gave you authority to administer oaths to me?" he asked at length.
+"I'll not swear," and he cast the crucifix down upon the snow.
+
+"Then I'll shoot," answered Christopher. "Come, pick up that cross."
+
+But Maldon stood silent, his arms folded on his breast. Christopher
+aimed and loosed, and so great was his skill--for there were few archers
+in England like to him--that the arrow pierced Maldon's fur cap and
+carried it away without touching the shaven head beneath.
+
+"The next shall be two inches lower," he said, as he set another on the
+string. "I waste no more good shafts."
+
+Then, very slowly, to save his life, which he loved well enough, Maldon
+bent down, and, lifting the crucifix from the snow, held it to his lips
+and kissed it, muttering--
+
+"I swear." But the oath he swore was very different to that which
+Christopher had repeated to him, for, like a hunted fox, he knew how to
+meet guile with guile.
+
+"Now that I, a consecrated abbot, deeming it right that I should live on
+to fulfil my work on earth, have done your bidding, have I leave to go
+about my business, Christopher Harflete?" he asked, with bitter irony.
+
+"Why not?" asked Christopher. "Only be pleased henceforth not to meddle
+with me and my business. To-morrow I wish to ride to London with my
+lady, and we do not seek your company on the road."
+
+Then, having found his cap, the Abbot turned and walked back towards his
+own men, drawing the arrow from it as he went, and presently all of them
+rode away over the rise towards Blossholme.
+
+"Now that is well finished, and I have an oath that he will scarcely
+dare to break," said Christopher presently. "What say you, Nurse?"
+
+"I say that you are even a bigger simpleton than I took you to be,"
+answered Emlyn angrily, as she rose and stretched herself, for her limbs
+were cramped. "The oath, pshaw! By now he is absolved from it as given
+under fear. Did you not hear me whisper to you to put an arrow through
+his heart, instead of playing boy's pranks with his cap?"
+
+"I did not wish to kill an abbot, Nurse."
+
+"Foolish man, what is the difference in such a matter between him and
+one of his servants? Moreover, he will only say that you tried to slay
+him, and missed, and produce the cap and arrow in evidence against you.
+Well, my talk serves nothing to mend a bad matter, and soon you will
+hear it straighter from himself. Go now and make your house ready for
+attack, and never dare to set a foot without its doors, for death waits
+you there."
+
+Emlyn was right. Within three hours an unarmed monk trudged up to
+Cranwell Towers through the falling snow and cast across the moat a
+letter that was tied to a stone. Then he nailed a writing to one of the
+oak posts of the outer gate, and, without a word, departed as he had
+come. In the presence of Christopher and Cicely, Emlyn opened and read
+this second letter, as she had read the first. It was short, and ran--
+
+
+"Take notice, Sir Christopher Harflete, and all others whom it may
+concern, that the oath which I, Clement Maldon, Abbot of Blossholme,
+swore to you this day, is utterly void and of none effect, having been
+wrung from me under the threat of instant death. Take notice, further,
+that a report of the murder which you have done has been forwarded to
+the King's grace and to the Sheriff and other officers of this county,
+and that by virtue of my rights and authority, ecclesiastical and civil,
+I shall proceed to possess myself of the person of Cicely Foterell, my
+ward, and of the lands and other property held by her father, Sir John
+Foterell, deceased, upon the former of which I have already entered on
+her behalf, and by exercise of such force as may be needful to seize
+you, Christopher Harflete, and to hand you over to justice. Further, by
+means of notice sent herewith, I warn all that cling to you and abet
+you in your crimes that they will do so at the peril of their souls and
+bodies.
+
+"Clement Maldon, Abbot of Blossholme."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+WHAT PASSED AT CRANWELL
+
+A week had gone by. For the first three days of that time little of note
+had happened at Cranwell Towers; that is, no assault was delivered.
+Only Christopher and his dozen or so of house-servants and small tenants
+discovered that they were quite surrounded. Once or twice some of them
+rode out a little way, to be hunted back again by a much superior force,
+which emerged from the copses near by or from cottages in the village,
+and even from the porch of the church. With these men they never came
+to close quarters, so that no lives were lost. In a fashion this was
+a disadvantage to them, since they lacked the excitement of actual
+fighting, the dread of which was ever present, but not its joy.
+
+Meanwhile in other ways things went ill with them. Thus, first of all
+their beer gave out, and then such other cordials as they had, so that
+they were reduced to water to drink. Next their fuel became exhausted,
+for nearly all the stock of it was kept at the farmstead about a quarter
+of a mile away, and on the second day of the siege this stead was fired
+and burned with its contents, the cattle and horses being driven off,
+they knew not where.
+
+So it came about at length they could keep only one fire, in the
+kitchen, and that but small, which in the end they were obliged to feed
+with the doors of the outhouses, and even with the floorings torn out of
+the attics, in order that they might cook their food. Nor was there
+much of this; only a store of salt meat and some pickled pork and smoked
+bacon, together with a certain amount of oatmeal and flour, that they
+made into cakes and bread.
+
+On the fourth day, however, these gave out, so that they were reduced to
+a scanty diet of hung flesh, with a few apples by way of vegetables, and
+hot water to drink to warm them. At length, too, there was nothing more
+to burn, and therefore they must eat their meat raw, and grew sick on
+it. Moreover, a cold thaw set in, and the house grew icy, so that they
+moved about it with chattering teeth, and at night, ill-nurtured as they
+were, could scarce keep the life in them beneath all the coverings which
+they had.
+
+Ah! how long were those nights, with never a blaze upon the hearth or so
+much as a candle to light them. At four o'clock the darkness came down,
+which did not lessen, for the moon grew low and the mists were thick,
+until day broke about seven on the following morning. And all this time,
+fearing attack, they must keep watch and ward through the gloom, so that
+even sleep was denied them.
+
+For a while they bore up bravely, even the tenants, though news was
+shouted to these that their steads had been harried, and their wives and
+children hunted off to seek shelter where they might.
+
+Cicely and Emlyn never murmured. Indeed, this new-made wife kept her
+dreadful honeymoon with a cheerful face, trudging through the black
+hours around the circle of the moat at her husband's side, or from
+window-place to window-place in the empty rooms, till at length they
+cast themselves down upon some bed to sleep a while, giving over the
+watch to others. Only Emlyn never seemed to sleep. But at length their
+companions did begin to murmur.
+
+One morning at the dawn, after a very bitter night, they waited upon
+Christopher and told him that they were willing to fight for his sake
+and his lady's, but that, as there was no hope of help, they could no
+longer freeze and starve; in short, that they must either escape from
+the house or surrender. He listened to them patiently, knowing that
+what they said was true, and then consulted for a while with Cicely and
+Emlyn.
+
+"Our case is desperate, dear wife. Now what shall we do, who have no
+chance of succour, since none know of our plight? Yield, or strive to
+escape through the darkness?"
+
+"Not yield, I think," answered Cicely, choking back a sob. "If we yield
+certainly they will separate us, and that merciless Abbot will bring you
+to your death and me to a nunnery."
+
+"That may happen in any case," muttered Christopher, turning his head
+aside. "But what say you, Nurse?"
+
+"I say fight for it," answered Emlyn boldly. "It is certain that we
+cannot stay here, for, to be plain, Sir Christopher, there are some
+among us whom I do not trust. What wonder? Their stomachs are empty,
+their hands are blue, their wives and children are they know not where,
+and the heavy curse of the Church hangs over them, all of which things
+may be mended if they play you false. Let us take what horses remain and
+slip away at dead of night if we can; or if we cannot, then let us die,
+as many better folk have done before."
+
+So they agreed to try their fortune, thinking that it was so bad it
+could not be worse, and spent the rest of that day in getting ready
+as best they could. The seven horses still stood in the stable, and
+although they were stiff from want of exercise, had been hay-fed and
+watered. On these they proposed to ride, but first they must tell the
+truth to those who had stood by them. So about three o'clock of the
+afternoon Christopher called all the men together beneath the gateway
+and sorrowfully set out his tale. Here, he showed them, they could bide
+no longer, and to surrender meant that his new-wed wife would soon be
+made a widow. Therefore they must fly, taking with them as many as there
+were horses for them to ride, if they cared to risk such a journey. If
+not, he and the two women would go alone.
+
+Now four of the stoutest-hearted of them, men who had served him and
+his father for many years, stepped forward, saying that, evil as these
+seemed to be, they would follow his fortunes to the last. He thanked
+them shortly, whereon one of the others asked what they were to do, and
+if he proposed to desert them after leading them into this plight.
+
+"God knows I would rather die," he replied, with a swelling heart; "but,
+my friends, consider the case. If I bide here, what of my wife? Alas! it
+has come to this: that you must choose whether you will slip out with us
+and scatter in the woods, where I think you will not be followed, since
+yonder Abbot has no quarrel against you; or whether you will wait here,
+and to-morrow at the dawn, surrender. In either event you can say that
+I compelled you to stand by us, and that you have shed no man's blood;
+also I will give you a writing."
+
+So they talked together gloomily, and at last announced that when he and
+their lady went they would go also and get off as best they could. But
+there was a man among them, a small farmer named Jonathan Dicksey, who
+thought otherwise. This Jonathan, who held his land under Christopher,
+had been forced to this business of the defence of Cranwell Towers
+somewhat against his will, namely, by the pressure of Christopher's
+largest tenant, to whose daughter he was affianced. He was a sly young
+man, and even during the siege, by means that need not be described, he
+had contrived to convey a message to the Abbot of Blossholme, telling
+him that had it been in his power he would gladly be in any other place.
+Therefore, as he knew well, whatever had happened to others, his farm
+remained unharried. Now he determined to be out of a bad business as
+soon as he might, for Jonathan was one of those who liked to stand upon
+the winning side.
+
+Therefore, although he said "Aye, aye," more loudly than his comrades,
+as soon as the dusk had fallen, while the others were making ready the
+horses and mounting guard, Jonathan thrust a ladder across the moat at
+the back of the stable, and clambered along its rungs into the shelter
+of a cattle-shed in the meadow, and so away.
+
+Half-an-hour later he stood before the Abbot in the cottage where he had
+taken up his quarters, having contrived to blunder among his people and
+be captured. To him at first Jonathan would say nothing, but when at
+length they threatened to take him out and hang him, to save his life,
+as he said, he found his tongue and told all.
+
+"So, so," said the Abbot when he had finished. "Now God is good to
+us. We have these birds in our net, and I shall keep St. Hilary's at
+Blossholme after all. For your services, Master Dicksey, you shall be my
+reeve at Cranwell Towers when they are in my hands."
+
+But here it may be said that in the end things went otherwise, since, so
+far from getting the stewardship of Cranwell, when the truth came to be
+known, Jonathan's maiden would have no more to do with him, and the folk
+in those parts sacked his farm and hunted him out of the country, so
+that he was never heard of among them again.
+
+Meanwhile, all being ready, Christopher at the Towers was closeted with
+Cicely, taking his farewell of her in the dark, for no light was left to
+them.
+
+"This is a desperate venture," he said to her, "nor can I tell how it
+will end, or if ever I shall see your sweet face again. Yet, dearest, we
+have been happy together for some few hours, and if I fall and you live
+on I am sure that you will always remember me till, as we are taught,
+we meet again where no enemy has the power to torment us, and cold and
+hunger and darkness are not. Cicely, if that should be so and any child
+should come to you, teach it to love the father whom it never saw."
+
+Now she threw her arms about him and wept, and wept, and wept.
+
+"If you die," she sobbed, "surely I will do so also, for although I am
+but young I find this world a very evil place, and now that my father is
+gone, without you, husband, it would be a hell."
+
+"Nay, nay," he answered; "live on while you may; for who knows? Often
+out of the worst comes the best. At least we have had our joy. Swear it
+now, sweet."
+
+"Aye, if you will swear it also, for I may be taken and you left. In the
+dark swords do not choose. Let us promise that we will both endure our
+lives, together or separate, until God calls us."
+
+So they swore there in the icy gloom, and sealed the oath with kisses.
+
+Now the time was come at last, and they crept their way to the courtyard
+hand in hand, taking some comfort because the night was very favourable
+to their project. The snow had melted, and a great gale blew from the
+sou'-west, boisterous but not cold, which caused the tall elms that
+stood about to screech and groan like things alive. In such a wind as
+this they were sure that they would not be heard, nor could they be seen
+beneath that murky, starless sky, while the rain which fell between the
+gusts would wash out the footprints of their horses.
+
+They mounted silently, and with the four men--for by now all the
+rest had gone--rode across the drawbridge, which had been lowered in
+preparation for their flight. Three hundred yards or so away their road
+ran through an ancient marl-pit worked out generations before, in which
+self-sown trees grew on either side of the path. As they drew near this
+place suddenly, in the silence of the night, a horse neighed ahead of
+them, and one of their beasts answered to the neigh.
+
+"Halt!" whispered Cicely, whose ears were made sharp by fear. "I hear
+men moving."
+
+They pulled rein and listened. Yes; between the gusts of wind there was
+a faint sound as of the clanking of armour. They strained their eyes
+in the darkness, but could see nothing. Again the horse neighed and was
+answered. One of their servants cursed the beast beneath his breath and
+struck it savagely with the flat of his sword, whereon, being fresh,
+it took the bit between its teeth and bolted. Another minute and there
+arose a great clamour from the marl-pit in front of them--a noise of
+shoutings, of sword-strokes, and then a heavy groan as from the lips of
+a dying man.
+
+"An ambush!" exclaimed Christopher.
+
+"Can we get round?" asked Cicely, and there was terror in her voice.
+
+"Nay," he answered, "the stream is in flood; we should be bogged. Hark!
+they charge us. Back to the Towers--there is no other way."
+
+So they turned and fled, followed by shouts and the thunder of many
+horses galloping. In two minutes they were there and across the
+bridge--the women, Christopher, and the three men who were left.
+
+"Up with the bridge!" cried Christopher, and they leapt from their
+saddles and fumbled for the cranks; too late, for already the Abbot's
+horsemen pressed it down.
+
+Then a fight began. The horses of the enemy shrank back from the
+trembling bridge, so their riders, dismounting, rushed forward, to be
+met by Christopher and his three remaining men, who in that narrow
+place were as good as a hundred. Wild, random blows were struck in the
+darkness, and, as it chanced, two of the Abbot's people fell, whereon a
+deep voice cried--
+
+"Come back and wait for light."
+
+When they had gone, dragging off their wounded with them, Christopher
+and his servants again strove to wind up the bridge, only to find that
+it would not stir.
+
+"Some traitor has fouled the chains," he said in the quiet voice of
+despair. "Cicely and Emlyn, get you into the house. I, and any who will
+bide with me, stay here to see this business out. When I am down, yield
+yourself. Afterwards I think that the King will give you justice, if you
+can come to him."
+
+"I'll not go," she wailed; "I'll die with you."
+
+"Nay, you shall go," he said, stamping his foot, and, as he spoke,
+an arrow hissed between them. "Emlyn, drag her hence ere she is shot.
+Swift, I say, swift, or God's curse and mine rest on you. Unclasp your
+arms, wife; how can I fight while you hang about my neck? What! Must I
+strike you? Then, there and there!"
+
+She loosed her grasp, and, groaning, fell back upon the breast of Emlyn,
+who half led, half carried her across the courtyard, where their scared
+horses galloped loose.
+
+"Whither go we?" sobbed Cicely.
+
+"To the central tower," answered Emlyn; "it seems safest there."
+
+To this tower, whence the place took its name, they groped their way.
+Unlike the rest of the house, which for the most part was of wood, it
+was built of stone, being part of an older fabric dating from the Norman
+days. Slowly they stumbled up the steps till at length they reached the
+roof, for some instinct prompted them to find a spot whence they
+could see, should the stars break out. Here, on this lofty perch, they
+crouched them down and waited the end, whatever it might be--waited in
+silence.
+
+A while passed--they never knew how long--till at length a sudden flame
+shot up above the roof of the kitchens at the rear, which the wind
+caught and blew on to the timbers of the main building, so that
+presently this began to blaze also. The house had been fired, by whom
+was never known, though it was said that the traitor, Jonathan Dicksey,
+had returned and done it, either for a bribe or that his own sin might
+be forgotten in this great catastrophe.
+
+"The house burns," said Emlyn in her quiet voice. "Now, if you would
+save your life, follow me. Beneath this tower is a vault where no flame
+can touch us."
+
+But Cicely would not stir, for by the fierce and ever-growing light she
+could see what passed beneath, and, as it chanced, the wind blew the
+smoke away from them. There, beyond the drawbridge, were gathered the
+Abbey guards, and there in the gateway stood Christopher and his three
+men with drawn swords, while in the courtyard the horses galloped madly,
+screaming in their fear. A soldier looked up and saw the two women
+standing on the top of the tower, then called out something to the
+Abbot, who sat on horseback near to him. He looked and saw also.
+
+"Yield, Sir Christopher," he shouted; "the Lady Cicely burns. Yield,
+that we may save her."
+
+Christopher turned and saw also. For a moment he hesitated, then wheeled
+round to run across the courtyard. Too late, for as he came the flames
+burst through the main roof of the house, and the timber front of it,
+blazing furiously, fell outwards, blocking the doorway, so that the
+place became a furnace into which none might enter and live.
+
+Now a madness seemed to take hold of him. For a moment he stared up at
+the figures of the two women standing high above the rolling smoke and
+wrapping flame. Then, with his three men, he charged with a roar into
+the crowd of soldiers who had followed him into the courtyard, striving,
+it would seem, to cut his way to the Abbot, who lurked behind. It was
+a dreadful sight, for he and those with him fought furiously, and many
+went down. Presently, of the four only Christopher was left upon his
+feet. Swords and spears smote upon his armour, but he did not fall;
+it was those in front of him who fell. A great fellow with an axe
+got behind him and struck with all his might upon his helm. The sword
+dropped from Harflete's hand; slowly he turned about, looked upward,
+then stretched out his arms and fell heavily to earth.
+
+The Abbot leapt from his horse and ran to him, kneeling at his side.
+
+"Dead!" he cried, and began to shrive his passing soul, or so it seemed.
+
+"Dead," repeated Emlyn, "and a gallant death!"
+
+"Dead!" wailed Cicely, in so terrible a voice that all below heard it.
+"Dead, dead!" and sank senseless on Emlyn's breast.
+
+At that moment the rest of the roof fell in, hiding the tower in spouts
+and veils of flame. Here they might not stay if they would live. Lifting
+her mistress in her strong arms, as she was wont to do when she was
+little, Emlyn found the head of the stair, so that when the wind blew
+the smoke aside for an instant, those below saw that both had vanished,
+as they thought withered in the fire.
+
+"Now you can enter on the Shefton lands, Abbot," cried a voice from the
+darkness of the gateway, though in the turmoil none knew who spoke; "but
+not for all England would I bear that innocent blood!"
+
+The Abbot's face turned ghastly, and though it was hot enough in that
+courtyard his teeth chattered.
+
+"It is on the head of this woman-thief," he exclaimed with an effort,
+looking down on Christopher, who lay at his feet. "Take him up, that
+inquest may be held on him, who died doing murder. Can none enter the
+house? His pocket full of gold to him who saves the Lady Cicely!"
+
+"Can any enter hell and live?" answered the same voice out of the
+smoke and gloom. "Seek her sweet soul in heaven, if you may come there,
+Abbot."
+
+Then, with scared faces, they lifted up Christopher and the other dead
+and wounded and carried them away, leaving Cranwell Towers to burn
+itself to ashes, for so fierce was the heat that none could bide there
+longer.
+
+
+
+Two hours had gone by. The Abbot sat in the little room of a cottage
+at Cranwell that he had occupied during the siege of the Towers. It was
+near midnight, yet, weary as he was, he could not rest; indeed, had the
+night been less foul and dark he would have spent the time in riding
+back to Blossholme. His heart was ill at ease. Things had gone well with
+him, it is true. Sir John Foterell was dead--slain by "outlawed
+men;" Sir Christopher Harflete was dead--did not his body lie in the
+neat-house yonder? Cicely, daughter of the one and wife to the other,
+was dead also, burned in the fire at the Towers, so that doubtless the
+precious gems and the wide lands he coveted would fall into his lap
+without further trouble. For, Cromwell being bribed, who would try to
+snatch them from the powerful Abbot of Blossholme, and had he not a
+title to them--of a sort?
+
+And yet he was very ill at ease, for, as that voice had said--whose
+voice was it? he wondered, somehow it seemed familiar--the blood of
+these people lay on his head; and there came into his mind the text of
+Holy Writ which he had quoted to Christopher, that he who shed man's
+blood by man should his blood be shed. Also, although he had paid the
+Vicar-General to back him, monks were in no great favour at the English
+Court, and if this story travelled there, as it might, for even the
+strengthless dead find friends, it was possible that questions would be
+asked, questions hard to answer. Before Heaven he could justify himself
+for all that he had done, but before King Henry, who would usurp the
+powers of the very Pope, if the truth should chance to reach the royal
+ear--ah! that was another matter.
+
+The room was cold after the heat of that great fire; his Southern blood,
+which had been warm enough, grew chill; loneliness and depression took
+hold of him; he began to wonder how far in the eyes of God above the end
+justifies the means. He opened the door of the place, and holding on
+to it lest the rough, wintry gale should tear it from its frail hinges,
+shouted aloud for Brother Martin, one of his chaplains.
+
+Presently Martin arrived, emerging from the cattleshed, a lantern in his
+hand--a tall, thin man, with perplexed and melancholy eyes, long nose,
+and a clever face--and, bowing, asked his superior's pleasure.
+
+"My pleasure, Brother," answered the Abbot, "is that you shut the door
+and keep out the wind, for this accursed climate is killing me. Yes,
+make up the fire if you can, but the wood is too wet to burn; also it
+smokes. There, what did I tell you? If this goes on we shall be hams
+by to-morrow morning. Let it be, for, after all, we have seen enough of
+fires to-night, and sit down to a cup of wine--nay, I forgot, you drink
+but water--well, then, to a bite of bread and meat."
+
+"I thank you, my Lord Abbot," answered Martin, "but I may not touch
+flesh; this is Friday."
+
+"Friday or no we have touched flesh--the flesh of men--up at the Towers
+yonder this night," answered the Abbot, with an uneasy laugh. "Still,
+obey your conscience, Brother, and eat bread. Soon it will be midnight,
+and the meat can follow."
+
+The lean monk bowed, and, taking a hunch of bread, began to bite at it,
+for he was almost starving.
+
+"Have you come from watching by the body of that bloody and rebellious
+man who has worked us so much harm and loss?" asked the Abbot presently.
+
+The secretary nodded, then swallowing a crust, said--
+
+"Aye, I have been praying over him and the others. At least he was
+brave, and it must be hard to see one's new-wed wife burn like a witch.
+Also, now that I come to study the matter, I know not what his sin was
+who did but fight bravely when he was attacked. For without doubt the
+marriage is good, and whether he should have waited to ask your leave
+to make it is a point that might be debated through every court in
+Christendom."
+
+The Abbot frowned, not appreciating this open and judicial tone in
+matters that touched him so nearly.
+
+"You have honoured me of late by choosing me as one of your confessors,
+though I think you do not tell me everything, my Lord Abbot; therefore I
+bare my mind to you," continued Brother Martin apologetically.
+
+"Speak on then, man. What do you mean?"
+
+"I mean that I do not like this business," he answered slowly, in the
+intervals of munching at his bread. "You had a quarrel with Sir John
+Foterell about those lands which you say belong to the Abbey. God knows
+the right of it, for I understand no law; but he denied it, for did
+I not hear it yonder in your chamber at Blossholme? He denied it, and
+accused you of treason enough to hang all Blossholme, of which again
+God knows the truth. You threatened him in your anger, but he and his
+servant were armed and won out, and next day the two of them rode for
+London with certain papers. Well, that night Sir John Foterell was
+killed in the forest, though his servant Stokes escaped with the papers.
+Now, who killed him?"
+
+The Abbot looked at him, then seemed to take a sudden resolution.
+
+"Our people, those men-at-arms whom I have gathered for the defence of
+our House and the Church. My orders to them were to seize him living,
+but the old English bull would not yield, and fought so fiercely that it
+ended otherwise--to my sorrow."
+
+The monk put down his bread, for which he seemed to have no further
+appetite.
+
+"A dreadful deed," he said, "for which one day you must answer to God
+and man."
+
+"For which we all must answer," corrected the Abbot, "down to the last
+lay-brother and soldier--you as much as any of us, Brother, for were you
+not present at our quarrel?"
+
+"So be it, Abbot. Being innocent, I am ready. But that is not the end
+of it. The Lady Cicely, on hearing of this murder--nay, be not wrath,
+I know no other name for it--and learning that you claimed her as your
+ward, flies to her affianced lover, Sir Christopher Harflete, and that
+very day is married to him by the parish priest in yonder church."
+
+"It was no marriage. Due notice had not been given. Moreover, how could
+my ward be wed without my leave?"
+
+"She had not been served with notice of your wardship, if such exists,
+or so she declared," replied Martin in his quiet, obstinate voice.
+"I think that there is no court in Europe which would void this open
+marriage when it learned that the parties lived a while as man and wife,
+and were so received by those about them--no, not the Pope himself."
+
+"He who says that he is no lawyer still sets out the law," broke in
+Maldon sarcastically. "Well, what does it matter, seeing that death has
+voided it? Husband and wife, if such they were, are both dead; it is
+finished."
+
+"No; for now they lay their appeal in the Court of Heaven, to which
+every one of us is summoned; and Heaven can stir up its ministers on
+earth. Oh! I like it not, I like it not; and I mourn for those two, so
+loving, brave, and young. Their blood and that of many more is on our
+hands--for what? A stretch of upland and of marsh which the King or
+others may seize to-morrow."
+
+The Abbot seemed to cower beneath the weight of these sad, earnest
+words, and for a little while there was silence. Then he plucked up
+courage, and said--
+
+"I am glad that you remember that their blood is on your hands as well
+as mine, since now, perhaps, you will keep them hidden."
+
+He rose and walked to the door and the window to see that none were
+without, then returned and exclaimed fiercely--
+
+"Fool, do you then think that these deeds were done to win a new
+estate? True it is that those lands are ours by right, and we need their
+revenues; but there is more behind. The whole Church of this realm is
+threatened by that accursed son of Belial who sits upon the throne. Why,
+what is it now, man?"
+
+"Only that I am an Englishman, and love not to hear England's king
+called a son of Belial. His sins, I know, are many and black, like those
+of others--still, 'son of Belial!' Let his Highness hear it, and that
+name alone is enough to hang you!"
+
+"Well, then, angel of grace, if it suits you better. At the least we are
+threatened. Against the law of God and man our blessed Queen, Catherine
+of Spain, is thrust away in favour of the slut who fills her place.
+Even now I have tidings from Kimbolton that she lies dying there of slow
+poison; so they say and I believe. Also I have other tidings. Fisher and
+More being murdered, Parliament next month will be moved to strike at
+the lesser monasteries and steal their goods, and after them our turn
+will come. But we will not bear it tamely, for ere this new year is out
+all England shall be ablaze, and I, Clement Maldon, I--I will light the
+fire. Now you have the truth, Martin. Will you betray me, as that dead
+knight would have done?"
+
+"Nay, my Lord Abbot, your secrets are safe with me. Am I not your
+chaplain, and does not this wilful and rebellious King of ours work much
+mischief against God and His servants? Yet I tell you that I like it
+not, and cannot see the end. We English are a stiff-necked folk whom you
+of Spain do not understand and will never break, and Henry is strong and
+subtle; moreover, his people love him."
+
+"I knew that I could trust you, Martin, and the proof of it is that I
+have spoken to you so openly," went on Maldon in a gentler voice. "Well,
+you shall hear all. The great Emperor of Germany and Spain is on our
+side, as, seeing his blood and faith, he must be. He will avenge the
+wrongs of the Church and of his royal aunt. I, who know him, am his
+agent here, and what I do is done at his bidding. But I must have more
+money than he finds me, and that is why I stirred in this matter of the
+Shefton lands. Also the Lady Cicely had jewels of vast price, though I
+fear greatly lest they should have been lost in the fire this night."
+
+"Filthy lucre--the root of all evil," muttered Brother Martin.
+
+"Aye, and of all good. Money, money--I must have more money to bribe
+men and buy arms, to defend that stronghold of Heaven, the Church. What
+matters it if lives are lost so that the immortal Church holds her own?
+Let them go. My friend, you are fearful; these deaths weigh upon your
+soul--aye, and on mine. I loved that girl, whom as a babe I held in
+my arms, and even her rough father, I loved him for his honest heart,
+although he always mistrusted me, the Spaniard--and rightly. The knight
+Harflete, too, who lies yonder, he was of a brave breed, but not one
+who would have served our turn. Well, they are gone, and for these
+blood-sheddings we must find absolution."
+
+"If we can."
+
+"Oh! we can, we can. Already I have it in my pouch, under a seal you
+know. And for our bodies, fear not. There is such a gale rising in
+England as will blow out this petty breeze. A question of rights,
+some arrows shot, a fire and lives lost--what of that when it agitates
+betwixt powers temporal and spiritual, and which of them shall hold the
+sceptre in this mighty Britain? Martin, I have a mission for you that
+may lead you to a bishopric ere all is done, for that's your mind and
+aim, and if you would put off your doubts and moodiness you've got the
+brain to rule. That ship, the _Great Yarmouth_, which sailed for Spain
+some days ago, has been beat back into the river, and should weigh
+anchor again to-morrow morning. I have letters for the Spanish Court,
+and you shall take them with my verbal explanations, which I will
+give you presently, for they would hang us, and may not be trusted
+to writing. She is bound for Seville, but you will follow the Emperor
+wherever he may be. You will go, won't you?" and he glanced at him
+sideways.
+
+"I obey orders," answered Martin, "though I know little of Spaniards or
+of Spanish."
+
+"In every town the Benedictines have a monastery, and in every monastery
+interpreters, and you shall be accredited to them all who are of that
+great Brotherhood. Well, 'tis settled. Go, make ready as best you can;
+I must write. Stay; the sooner this Harflete is under ground the better.
+Bid that sturdy fellow, Bolle, find the sexton of the church and help
+dig his grave, for we will bury him at dawn. Now go, go, I tell you I
+must write. Come back in an hour, and I will give you money for your
+faring, also my secret messages."
+
+Brother Martin bowed and went.
+
+"A dangerous man," muttered the Abbot, as the door closed on him; "too
+honest for our game, and too much an Englishman. That native spirit
+peeps beneath his cowl; a monk should have no country and no kin. Well,
+he will learn a trick or two in Spain, and I'll make sure they keep him
+there a while. Now for my letters," and he sat down at the rude table
+and began to write.
+
+Half-an-hour later the door opened and Martin entered.
+
+"What is it now?" asked the Abbot testily. "I said, 'Come back in an
+hour.'"
+
+"Aye, you said that, but I have good news for you that I thought you
+might like to hear."
+
+"Out with it, then, man. It's scarce now-a-days. Have they found those
+jewels? No, how could they? the place still flares," and he glanced
+through the window-place. "What's the news?"
+
+"Better than jewels. Christopher Harflete is not dead. While I was
+praying over him he turned his head and muttered. I think he is only
+stunned. You are skilled in medicine; come, look at him."
+
+A minute later and the Abbot knelt over the senseless form of
+Christopher where it lay on the filthy floor of the neat-house. By the
+light of the lanterns with deft fingers he felt his wounded head, from
+which the shattered casque had been removed, and afterwards his heart
+and pulse.
+
+"The skull is cut, but not broken," he said. "My judgment is that though
+he may lie unsensed for days, if fed and tended this man will live,
+being so young and strong. But if left alone in this cold place he will
+be dead by morning, and perhaps he is better dead," and he looked at
+Martin.
+
+"That would be murder indeed," answered the secretary. "Come, let us
+bear him to the fire and pour milk down his throat. We may save him yet.
+Lift you his feet and I will take his head."
+
+The Abbot did so, not very willingly, as it seemed to Martin, but rather
+as one who has no choice.
+
+Half-an-hour later, when the hurts of Christopher had been dressed
+with ointment and bound up, and milk poured down his throat, which he
+swallowed although he was so senseless, the Abbot, looking at him, said
+to Martin--
+
+"You gave orders for this Harflete's burial, did you not?"
+
+The monk nodded.
+
+"Then have you told any that he needs no grave at present?"
+
+"No one except yourself."
+
+The Abbot thought a while, rubbing his shaven chin.
+
+"I think the funeral should go forward," he said presently. "Look not
+so frightened; I do not purpose to inter him living. But there is a dead
+man lying in that shed, Andrew Woods, my servant, the Scotch soldier
+whom Harflete slew. He has no friends here to claim him, and these two
+were of much the same height and breadth. Shrouded in a blanket, none
+would know one body from the other, and it will be thought that Andrew
+was buried with the rest. Let him be promoted in his death, and fill a
+knight's grave."
+
+"To what purpose would you play so unholy a trick, which must, moreover,
+be discovered in a day, seeing that Sir Christopher lives?" asked
+Martin, staring at him.
+
+"For a very good purpose, my friend. It is well that Sir Christopher
+Harflete should seem to die, who, if he is known to be alive, has
+powerful kin in the south who will bring much trouble on us."
+
+"Do you mean----? If so, before God I will have no hand in it."
+
+"I said--seem to die. Where are your wits to-night?" answered the Abbot,
+with irritation. "Sir Christopher travels with you to Spain as our
+sick Brother Luiz, who, like myself, is of that country, and desires to
+return there, as we know, but is too ill to do so. You will nurse him,
+and on the ship he will die or recover, as God wills. If he recovers our
+Brotherhood will show him hospitality at Seville, notwithstanding his
+crimes, and by the time that he reaches England again, which may not
+be for a long while, men will have forgotten all this fray in a greater
+that draws on. Nor will he be harmed, seeing that the lady whom he
+pretends to have married is dead beyond a doubt, as you can tell him
+should he find his understanding."
+
+"A strange game," muttered Martin.
+
+"Strange or no, it is my game which I must play. Therefore question not,
+but be obedient, and silent also, on your oath," replied the Abbot in
+a cold, hard voice. "That covered litter which was brought here for the
+wounded is in the next chamber. Wrap this man in blankets and a monk's
+robe, and we will place him in it. Then let him be borne to Blossholme
+as one of the dead by brethren who will ask no questions, and ere dawn
+on to the ship _Great Yarmouth_, if he still lives. It lies near the
+quay not half-a-mile from the Abbey gate. Be swift now, and help me. I
+will overtake you with the letters, and see that you are furnished with
+all things needful from our store. Also I must speak with the captain
+ere he weighs anchor. Waste no more time in talking, but obey and be
+secret."
+
+"I obey, and I will be secret, as is my duty," answered Brother Martin,
+bowing his head humbly. "But what will be the end of all this business,
+God and His angels know alone. I say that I like it not."
+
+"A _very_ dangerous man," muttered the Abbot, as he watched Martin go.
+"He also must bide a while in Spain; a long while. I'll see to it!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+EMLYN'S CURSE
+
+Just before the wild dawn broke on the morrow of the burning of the
+Towers, a corpse, roughly shrouded, was borne from the village into the
+churchyard of Cranwell, where a shallow grave had been dug for its last
+home.
+
+"Whom do we bury in such haste?" asked the tall Thomas Bolle, who had
+delved the grave alone in the dark, for his orders were urgent, and the
+sexton was fled away from these tumults.
+
+"That man of blood, Sir Christopher Harflete, who has caused us so much
+loss," said the old monk who had been bidden to perform the office, as
+the clergyman, Father Necton, had gone also, fearing the vengeance of
+the Abbot for his part in the marriage of Cicely. "A sad story, a very
+sad story. Wedded by night, and now buried by night, both of them,
+one in the flame and one in the earth. Truly, O God, Thy judgments
+are wonderful, and woe to those who lift hands against Thine anointed
+ministers!"
+
+"Very wonderful," answered Bolle, as, standing in the grave, he took
+the head of the body and laid it down between his straddled feet; "so
+wonderful that a plain man wonders what will be the wondrous end of
+them, also why this noble young knight has grown so wondrously lighter
+than he used to be. Trouble and hunger in those burnt Towers, I suppose.
+Why did they not set him in the vault with his ancestors? It would have
+saved me a lonely job among the ghosts that haunt this place. What do
+you say, Father? Because the stone is cemented down and the entrance
+bricked up, and there is no mason to be found? Then why not have waited
+till one could be fetched? Oh, it is wonderful, all wonderful. But who
+am I that I should dare to ask questions? When the Lord Abbot orders,
+the lay-brother obeys, for he also is wonderful--a wonderful abbot.
+
+"There, he is tidy now--straight on his back and his feet pointing to
+the east, at least I hope so, for I could take no good bearings in the
+dark; and the whole wonderful story comes to its wonderful end. So give
+me your hand out of this hole, Father, and say your prayers over the
+sinful body of this wicked fellow who dared to marry the maid he loved,
+and to let out the souls of certain holy monks, or rather of their hired
+rufflers, for monks don't fight, because they wished to separate those
+whom God--I mean the devil--had joined together, and to add their
+temporalities to the estate of Mother Church."
+
+Then the old priest, who was shivering with cold, and understood little
+of this dark talk, began to mumble his ritual, skipping those parts
+of it which he could not remember. So another grain was planted in the
+cornfields of death and immortality, though when and where it should
+grow and what it should bear he neither knew nor cared, who wished to
+escape from fears and fightings back to his accustomed cell.
+
+It was done, and he and the bearers departed, beating their way against
+the rough, raw wind, and leaving Thomas Bolle to fill in the grave,
+which, so long as they were in sight, or rather hearing, he did with
+much vigour. When they were gone, however, he descended into the hole
+under pretence of trampling the loose soil, and there, to be out of the
+wind, sat himself down upon the feet of the corpse and waited, full of
+reflections.
+
+"Sir Christopher dead," he muttered to himself. "I knew his grandfather
+when I was a lad, and my grandfather told me that he knew his
+grandfather's great-grandfather--say three hundred years of them--and
+now I sit on the cold toes of the last of the lot, butchered like a mad
+ox in his own yard by a Spanish priest and his hirelings, to win his
+wife's goods. Oh! yes, it is wonderful, all very wonderful; and the Lady
+Cicely dead, burnt like a common witch. And Emlyn dead--Emlyn, whom I
+have hugged many a time in this very churchyard, before they whipped her
+into marrying that fat old grieve and made a monk of me.
+
+"Well, I had her first kiss, and, by the saints! how she cursed old
+Stower all the way down yonder path. I stood behind that tree and heard
+her. She said he would die soon, and he did, and his brat with him. She
+said she would dance on his grave, and she did; I saw her do it in the
+moonlight the night after he was buried; dressed in white she danced on
+his grave! She always kept her promises, did Emlyn. That's her blood.
+If her mother had not been a gypsy witch, she wouldn't have married a
+Spaniard when every man in the place was after her for her beautiful
+eyes. Emlyn is a witch too, or was, for they say she is dead; but I
+can't think it, she isn't the sort that dies. Still, she must be dead,
+and that's good for my soul. Oh! miserable man, what are you thinking?
+Get behind me, Satan, if you can find room. A grave is no place for you,
+Satan, but I wish you were in it with me, Emlyn. You _must_ have been a
+witch, since, after you, I could never fancy any other woman, which is
+against nature, for all's fish that comes to a man's net. Evidently a
+witch of the worst sort, but, my darling, witch or no I wish you weren't
+dead, and I'll break that Abbot's neck for you yet, if it costs me my
+soul. Oh! Emlyn, my darling, my darling, do you remember how we kissed
+in the copse by the river? Never was there a woman who could love like
+you."
+
+So he moaned on, rocking himself to and fro on the legs of the corpse,
+till at length a wild ray from the red, risen sun crept into the
+darksome hole, lighting first of all upon a mouldering skull which Bolle
+had thrown back among the soil. He rose up and pitched it out with a
+word that should not have passed the lips of a lay-brother, even as such
+thoughts should not have passed his mind. Then he set himself to a task
+which he had planned in the intervals of his amorous meditations--a
+somewhat grizzly task.
+
+Drawing his knife from its sheath, he cut the rough stitching of the
+grave-clothes, and, with numb hands, dragged them away from the body's
+head.
+
+The light went out behind a cloud, but, not to waste time, he began to
+feel the face.
+
+"Sir Christopher's nose wasn't broken," he muttered to himself, "unless
+it were in that last fray, and then the bone would be loose, and this is
+stiff. No, no, he had a very pretty nose."
+
+The light came again, and Thomas peered down at the dead face beneath
+him; then suddenly burst into a hoarse laugh.
+
+"By all the saints! here's another of our Spaniard's tricks. It is
+drunken Andrew the Scotchman, turned into a dead English knight.
+Christopher killed him, and now he is Christopher. But where's
+Christopher?"
+
+He thought a little while, then, jumping out of the grave, began to fill
+it in with all his might.
+
+"You're Christopher," he said; "well, stop Christopher until I can prove
+you're Andrew. Good-bye, Sir Andrew Christopher; I am off to seek your
+betters. If you are dead, who may not be alive? Emlyn herself, perhaps,
+after this. Oh, the devil is playing a merry game round old Cranwell
+Towers to-night, and Thomas Bolle will take a hand in it."
+
+He was right. The devil was playing a merry game. At least, so thought
+others beside Thomas. For instance, that misguided but honest bigot,
+Martin, as he contemplated the still senseless form of Christopher, who,
+re-christened Brother Luiz, had been safely conveyed aboard the _Great
+Yarmouth_, and now, whether dead or living, which he was not sure, lay
+in the little cabin that had been allotted to the two of them. Almost
+did Martin, as he looked at him and shook his bald head, seem to smell
+brimstone in that close place, which, as he knew well, was the fiend's
+favourite scent.
+
+The captain also, a sour-faced mariner with a squint, known in Dunwich,
+whence he hailed, as Miser Goody, because of his earnestness in pursuing
+wealth and his skill in hoarding it, seemed to feel the unhallowed
+influence of his Satanic Majesty. So far everything had gone wrong upon
+this voyage, which already had been delayed six weeks, that is, till the
+very worst period of the year, while he waited for certain mysterious
+letters and cargo which his owners said he must carry to Seville. Then
+he had sailed out of the river with a fair wind, only to be beaten back
+by fearful weather that nearly sank the ship.
+
+Item: six of his best men had deserted because they feared a trip to
+Spain at that season, and he had been obliged to take others at hazard.
+Among them was a broad-shouldered, black-bearded fellow clad in a
+leather jerkin, with spurs upon his heels--bloody spurs--that he seemed
+to have found no time to take off. This hard rider came aboard in
+a skiff after the anchor was up, and, having cast the skiff adrift,
+offered good money for a passage to Spain or any other foreign port, and
+paid it down upon the nail. He, Goody, had taken the money, though with
+a doubtful heart, and given a receipt to the name of Charles Smith,
+asking no questions, since for this gold he need not account to the
+owners. Afterwards also the man, having put off his spurs and soldier's
+jerkin, set himself to work among the crew, some of whom seemed to know
+him, and in the storm that followed showed that he was stout-hearted and
+useful, though not a skilled sailor.
+
+Still, he mistrusted him of Charles Smith, and his bloody spurs, and
+had he not been so short-handed and taken the knave's broad pieces would
+have liked to set him ashore again when they were driven back into the
+river, especially as he heard that there had been man-slaying about
+Blossholme, and that Sir John Foterell lay slaughtered in the forest.
+Perhaps this Charles Smith had murdered him. Well, if so, it was no
+affair of his, and he could not spare a hand.
+
+Now, when at length the weather had moderated, just as he was hauling
+up his anchor, comes the Abbot of Blossholme, on whose will he had been
+bidden to wait, with a lean-faced monk and another passenger, said to be
+a sick religious, wrapped up in blankets and to all appearance dead.
+
+Why, wondered that astute mariner Goody, should a sick monk wear
+harness, for he felt it through the blankets as he helped him up the
+ladder, although monk's shoes were stuck upon his feet. And why, as he
+saw when the covering slipped aside for a moment, was his crown bound up
+with bloody cloths?
+
+Indeed, he ventured to question the Abbot as to this mysterious matter
+while his Lordship was paying the passage money in his cabin, only to
+get a very sharp answer.
+
+"Were you not commanded to obey me in all things, Captain Goody, and
+does obedience lie in prying out my business? Another word and I will
+report you to those in Spain who know how to deal with mischief-makers.
+If you would see Dunwich again, hold your peace."
+
+"Your pardon, my Lord Abbot," said Goody; "but things go so upon this
+ship that I grow afraid. That is an ill voyage upon which one lifts
+anchor twice in the same port."
+
+"You will not make them go better, captain, by seeking to nose out my
+affairs and those of the Church. Do you desire that I should lay its
+curse upon you?"
+
+"Nay, your Reverence, I desire that you should take the curse off,"
+answered Goody, who was very superstitious. "Do that and I'll carry
+a dozen sick priests to Spain, even though they choose to wear chain
+shirts--for penance."
+
+The Abbot smiled, then, lifting his hand, pronounced some words
+in Latin, which, as he did not understand them, Goody found very
+comforting. As they passed his lips the _Great Yarmouth_ began to move,
+for the sailors were hoisting up her anchor.
+
+"As I do not accompany you on this voyage, fare you well," he said. "The
+saints go with you, as shall my prayers. Since you will not pass the
+Gibraltar Straits, where I hear many infidel pirates lurk, given good
+weather your voyage should be safe and easy. Again farewell. I commend
+Brother Martin and our sick friend to your keeping, and shall ask
+account of them when we meet again."
+
+I pray it may not be this side of hell, for I do not like that Spanish
+Abbot and his passengers, dead or living, thought Goody to himself, as
+he bowed him from the cabin.
+
+A minute later the Abbot, after a few earnest, hurried words with
+Martin, began to descend the ladder to the boat, that, manned by his own
+people, was already being drawn slowly through the water. As he did so
+he glanced back, and, in the clinging mist of dawn, which was almost as
+dense as wool, caught sight of the face of a man who had been ordered to
+hold the ladder, and knew it for that of Jeffrey Stokes, who had escaped
+from the slaying of Sir John--escaped with the damning papers that had
+cost his master's life. Yes, Jeffrey Stokes, no other. His lips shaped
+themselves to call out something, but before ever a syllable had passed
+them an accident happened.
+
+To the Abbot it seemed as though the whole ship had struck him violently
+behind--so violently that he was propelled headfirst among the rowers in
+the boat, and lay there hurt and breathless.
+
+"What is it?" called the captain, who heard the noise.
+
+"The Abbot slipped, or the ladder slipped, I know not which," answered
+Jeffrey gruffly, staring at the toe of his sea-boot. "At least he is
+safe enough in the boat now," and, turning, he vanished aft into the
+mist, muttering to himself--
+
+"A very good kick, though a little high. Yet I wish it had been off
+another kind of ladder. That murdering rogue would look well with a rope
+round his neck. Still I dared do no more and it served to stop his lying
+mouth before he betrayed me. Oh, my poor master, my poor old master!"
+
+
+
+Bruised and sore as he was--and he was very sore--within little over
+an hour Abbot Maldon was back at the ruin of Cranwell Towers. It seemed
+strange that he should go there, but in truth his uneasy heart would
+not let him rest. His plans had succeeded only far too well. Sir John
+Foterell was dead--a crime, no doubt, but necessary, for had the knight
+lived to reach London with that evidence in his pocket, his own life and
+those of many others might have paid the price of it, since who knows
+what truths may be twisted from a victim on the rack? Maldon had always
+feared the rack; it was a nightmare that haunted his sleep, although the
+ambitious cunning of his nature and the cause he served with heart and
+soul prompted him to put himself in continual danger of that fate.
+
+In an unguarded moment, when his tongue was loosed with wine, he had
+placed himself in the power of Sir John Foterell, hoping to win him to
+the side of Spain, and afterwards, forgetting it, made of him a dreadful
+enemy. Therefore this enemy must die, for had he lived, not only
+might he himself have died in place of him, but all his plans for the
+rebellion of the Church against the Crown must have come to nothing.
+Yes, yes, that deed was lawful, and pardon for it assured should the
+truth become known. Till this morning he had hoped that it never would
+be known, but now Jeffrey Stokes had escaped upon the ship _Great
+Yarmouth_.
+
+Oh, if only he had seen him a minute earlier; if only something--could
+it have been that impious knave, Jeffrey? he wondered--had not struck
+him so violently in the back and hurled him to the boat, where he lay
+almost senseless till the vessel had glided from them down the river!
+Well, she was gone, and Jeffrey in her. He was but a common serving-man,
+after all, who, if he knew anything, would never have the wit to use
+his knowledge, although it was true he had been wise enough to fly from
+England.
+
+No papers had been discovered upon Sir John's body, and no money.
+Without doubt the old knight had found time to pass them on to Jeffrey,
+who now fled the kingdom disguised as a sailor. Oh! what ill chance had
+put him on board the same vessel with Sir Christopher Harflete?
+
+Well, Sir Christopher would probably die; were Brother Martin a little
+less of a fool he would certainly die, but the fact remained that this
+monk, though able, in such matters _was_ a fool, with a conscience that
+would not suit itself to circumstances. If Christopher could be saved,
+Martin would save him, as he had already saved him in the shed, even if
+he handed him over to the Inquisition afterwards. Still, he might slip
+through his fingers or the vessel might be lost, as was devoutly to be
+prayed, and seemed not unlikely at this season of the year. Also, the
+first opportunity must be taken to send certain messages to Spain that
+might result in hampering the activities of Brother Martin, and of Sir
+Christopher Harflete, if he lived to reach that land.
+
+Meanwhile, reflected Maldon, other things had gone wrong. He had wished
+to proclaim his wardship over Cicely and to immure her in a nunnery
+because of her great possessions, which he needed for the cause, but he
+had not wished her death. Indeed, he was fond of the girl, whom he had
+known from a child, and her innocent blood was a weight that he ill
+could bear, he who at heart always shrank from the shedding of blood.
+Still, Heaven had killed her, not he, and the matter could not now be
+mended. Also, as she was dead, her inheritance would, he thought, fall
+into his hands without further trouble, for he--a mitred Abbot with a
+seat among the Lords of the realm--had friends in London, who, for a
+fee, could stifle inquiry into all this far-off business.
+
+No, no, he must not be faint-hearted, who, after all, had much for which
+to be thankful. Meanwhile the cause went on--that great cause of the
+threatened Church to which he had devoted his life. Henry the heretic
+would fall; the Spanish Emperor, whose spy he was and who loved him
+well, would invade and take England. He would yet live to see the Holy
+Inquisition at work at Westminster, and himself--yes, himself; had it
+not been hinted to him?--enthroned at Canterbury, the Cardinal's red hat
+he coveted upon his head, and--oh, glorious thought!--perhaps afterwards
+wearing the triple crown at Rome.
+
+
+
+Rain was falling heavily when the Abbot, with his escort of two monks
+and half-a-dozen men-at-arms, rode up to Cranwell. The house was now but
+a smoking heap of ashes, mingled with charred beams and burnt clay, in
+the midst of which, scarcely visible through the clouds of steam
+caused by the falling rain, rose the grim old Norman tower, for on its
+stonework the flames had beat vainly.
+
+"Why have we come here?" asked one of the monks, surveying the dismal
+scene with a shudder.
+
+"To seek the bodies of the Lady Cicely and her woman, and give them
+Christian burial," answered the Abbot.
+
+"After bringing them to a most unchristian death," muttered the monk to
+himself, then added aloud, "You were ever charitable, my Lord Abbot, and
+though she defied you, such is that noble lady's due. As for the nurse
+Emlyn, she was a witch, and did but come to the end that she deserved,
+if she be really dead."
+
+"What mean you?" asked the Abbot sharply.
+
+"I mean that, being a witch, the fire may have turned from her."
+
+"Pray God, then, that it turned from her mistress also! But it cannot
+be. Only a fiend could have lived in the heat of that furnace; look,
+even the tower is gutted."
+
+"No, it cannot be," answered the monk; "so, since we shall never find
+them, let us chant the Burial Office over this great grave of theirs and
+begone--the sooner the better, for yon place has a haunted look."
+
+"Not till we have searched out their bones, which must be beneath the
+tower yonder, whereon we saw them last," replied the Abbot, adding in
+a low voice, "Remember, Brother, the Lady Cicely had jewels of great
+price, which, if they were wrapped in leather, the fire may have spared,
+and these are among our heritage. At Shefton they cannot be found;
+therefore they must be here, and the seeking of them is no task for
+common folk. That is why I hurried hither so fast. Do you understand?"
+
+The monk nodded his head. Having dismounted, they gave their horses to
+the serving-men and began to make an examination of the ruin, the Abbot
+leaning on his inferior's arm, for he was in great pain from the blow
+in the back that Jeffrey had administered with his sea-boot, and the
+bruises which he had received in falling to the boat.
+
+First they passed under the gatehouse, which still stood, only to find
+that the courtyard beyond was so choked with smouldering rubbish that
+they could make no entry--for it will be remembered that the house had
+fallen outwards. Here, however, lying by the carcass of a horse, they
+found the body of one of the men whom Christopher had killed in his last
+stand, and caused it to be borne out. Then, followed by their people,
+leaving the dead man in the gateway, they walked round the ruin, keeping
+on the inner side of the moat, till they came to the little pleasaunce
+garden at its back.
+
+"Look," said the monk in a frightened voice, pointing to some scorched
+bushes that had been a bower.
+
+The Abbot did so, but for a while could see nothing because of the
+wreaths of steam. Presently a puff of wind blew these aside, and there,
+standing hand in hand, he beheld the figures of two women. His men
+beheld them also, and called aloud that these were the ghosts of Cicely
+and Emlyn. As they spoke the figures, still hand in hand, began to walk
+towards them, and they saw that they were Cicely and Emlyn indeed, but
+in the flesh, quite unharmed.
+
+For a moment there was deep silence; then the Abbot asked--
+
+"Whence come you, Mistress Cicely?"
+
+"Out of the fire," she answered in a small, cold voice.
+
+"Out of the fire! How did you live through the fire?"
+
+"God sent His angel to save us," she answered, again in that small
+voice.
+
+"A miracle," muttered the monk; "a true miracle!"
+
+"Or mayhap Emlyn Stower's witchcraft," exclaimed one of the men behind;
+and Maldon started at his words.
+
+"Lead me to my husband, my Lord Abbot, lest, thinking me dead, his heart
+should break," said Cicely.
+
+Now again there was silence so deep that they could hear the patter of
+every drop of falling rain. Twice the Abbot strove to speak, but could
+not, but at the third effort his words came.
+
+"The man you call your husband, but who was not your husband, but your
+ravisher, was slain in the fray last night, Cicely Foterell."
+
+She stood quite quiet for a while, as though considering his words, then
+said, in the same unnatural voice--
+
+"You lie, my Lord Abbot. You were ever a liar, like your father the
+devil, for the angel told me so in the midst of the fire. Also he told
+me that, though I seemed to see him fall, Christopher is alive upon the
+earth--yes, and other things, many other things;" and she passed her
+hand before her eyes and held it there, as though to shut out the sight
+of her enemy's face.
+
+Now the Abbot trembled in his terror, he who knew that he lied, though
+at that time none else there knew it. It was as though suddenly he had
+been haled before the Judgment-seat where all secrets must be bared.
+
+"Some evil spirit has entered into you," he said huskily.
+
+She dropped her hand, pointing at him.
+
+"Nay, nay; I never knew but one evil spirit, and he stands before me."
+
+"Cicely," he went on, "cease your blaspheming. Alas! that I must tell it
+you. Sir Christopher Harflete is dead and buried in yonder churchyard."
+
+"What! So soon, and all uncoffined, he who was a noble knight? Then
+you buried him living, and, living, in a day to come he shall rise up
+against you. Hear my words, all. Christopher Harflete shall rise up
+living and give testimony against this devil in a monk's robe, and
+afterwards--afterwards--" and she laughed shrilly, then suddenly fell
+down and lay still.
+
+Now Emlyn, the dark and handsome, as became her Spanish, or perhaps
+gypsy blood, who all this while had stood silent, her arms folded upon
+her high bosom, leaned down and looked at her. Then she straightened
+herself, and her face was like the face of a beautiful fiend.
+
+"She is dead!" she screamed. "My dove is dead. She whom these breasts
+nursed, the greatest lady of all the wolds and all the vales, the Lady
+of Blossholme, of Cranwell and of Shefton, in whose veins ran the blood
+of mighty nobles, aye, and of old kings, is dead, murdered by a beggarly
+foreign monk, who not ten days gone butchered her father also yonder by
+King's Grave--yonder by the mere. Oh! the arrow in his throat! the arrow
+in his throat! I cursed the hand that shot it, and to-day that hand is
+blue beneath the mould. So, too, I curse you, Maldonado, evil-gifted
+one, Abbot consecrated by Satan, you and all your herd of butchers!" and
+she broke into the stream of Spanish imprecations whereof the Abbot knew
+the meaning well.
+
+Presently Emlyn paused and looked behind her at the smouldering ruins.
+
+"This house is burned," she cried; "well, mark Emlyn's words: even so
+shall your house burn, while your monks run squeaking like rats from a
+flaming rick. You have stolen the lands; they shall be taken from you,
+and yours also, every acre of them. Not enough shall be left to bury you
+in, for, priest, you'll need no burial. The fowls of the air shall bury
+you, and that's the nearest you will ever get to heaven--in their filthy
+crops. Murderer, if Christopher Harflete is dead, yet he shall live, as
+his lady swore, for his seed shall rise up against you. Oh! I forgot;
+how can it, how can it, seeing that she is dead with him, and their
+bridal coverlet has become a pall woven by the black monks? Yet it
+shall, it shall. Christopher Harflete's seed shall sit where the Abbots
+of Blossholme sat, and from father to son tell the tale of the last
+of them--the Spaniard who plotted against England's king and overshot
+himself."
+
+Her rage veered like a hurricane wind. Forgetting the Abbot, she turned
+upon the monk at his side and cursed him. Then she cursed the hired
+men-at-arms, those present and those absent, many by name, and
+lastly--greatest crime of all--she cursed the Pope and the King of
+Spain, and called to God in heaven and Henry of England upon earth to
+avenge her Lady Cicely's wrongings, and the murder of Sir John Foterell,
+and the murder of Christopher Harflete, on each and all of them,
+individually and separately.
+
+So fierce and fearful was her onslaught that all who heard her were
+reduced to utter silence. The Abbot and the monk leaned against each
+other, the soldiers crossed themselves and muttered prayers, while one
+of them, running up, fell upon his knees and assured her that he had
+had nothing to do with all this business, having only returned from a
+journey last night, and been called thither that morning.
+
+Emlyn, who had paused from lack of breath, listened to him, and said--
+
+"Then I take the curse off you and yours, John Athey. Now lift up
+my lady and bear her to the church, for there we will lay her out as
+becomes her rank; though not with her jewels, her great and priceless
+jewels, for which she was hunted like a doe. She must lie without her
+jewels; her pearls and coronet, and rings, her stomacher and necklets
+of bright gems, that were worth so much more than those beggarly
+acres--those that once a Sultan's woman wore. They are lost, though
+perhaps yonder Abbot has found them. Sir John Foterell bore them to
+London for safe keeping, and good Sir John is dead; footpads set on him
+in the forest, and an arrow shot from behind pierced his throat. Those
+who killed him have the jewels, and the dead bride must lie without
+them, adorned in the naked beauty that God gave to her. Lift her, John
+Athey, and you monks, set up your funeral chant; we'll to the church.
+The bride who knelt before the altar shall lie there before the
+altar--Clement Maldonado's last offering to God. First the father, then
+the husband, and now the wife--the sweet, new-made wife!"
+
+So she raved on, while they stood before her dumb-founded, and the man
+lifted up Cicely. Then suddenly this same Cicely, whom all thought dead,
+opened her eyes and struggled from his arms to her feet.
+
+"See," screamed Emlyn; "did I not tell you that Harflete's seed should
+live to be avenged upon all your tribe, and she stands there who will
+bear it? Now where shall we shelter till England hears this tale?
+Cranwell is down, though it shall rise again, and Shefton is stolen.
+Where shall we shelter?"
+
+"Thrust away that woman," said the Abbot in a hoarse voice, "for her
+witchcrafts poison the air. Set the Lady Cicely on a horse and bear her
+to our Nunnery of Blossholme, where she shall be tended."
+
+The men advanced to do his bidding, though very doubtfully. But Emlyn,
+hearing his words, ran to the Abbot and whispered something in his ear
+in a foreign tongue that caused him to cross himself and stagger back
+from her.
+
+"I have changed my mind," he said to the servants. "Mistress
+Emlyn reminds me that between her and her lady there is the tie of
+foster-motherhood. They may not be separated as yet. Take them both
+to the Nunnery, where they shall dwell, and as for this woman's words,
+forget them, for she was mad with fear and grief, and knew not what she
+said. May God and His saints forgive her, as I do."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+THE ABBOT'S OFFER
+
+The Nunnery at Blossholme was a peaceful place, a long, grey-gabled
+house set under the shelter of a hill and surrounded by a high wall.
+Within this wall lay also the great garden--neglected enough--and the
+chapel, a building that still was beautiful in its decay.
+
+Once, indeed, Blossholme Priory, which was older than the Abbey, had
+been rich and famous. Its foundress in the time of the first Edward,
+a certain Lady Matilda, one of the Plantagenets, who retired from the
+world after her husband had been killed in the Crusade, being childless,
+endowed it with all her lands. Other noble ladies who accompanied her
+there, or sought its refuge in after days, had done likewise, so that
+it grew in power and in wealth, till at its most prosperous time over
+twenty nuns told their beads within its walls. Then the proud Abbey rose
+upon the opposing hill, and obtained some royal charter that the Pope
+confirmed, under which the Priory of Blossholme was affiliated to the
+Abbey of Blossholme, and the Abbot of Blossholme became the spiritual
+lord of its religious. From that day forward its fortunes began to
+decline, since under this pretext and that the abbots filched away its
+lands to swell their own estates.
+
+So it came about that at the date of our history the total revenue of
+this Nunnery was but L130 a year of the money of the day, and even of
+this sum the Abbot took tithe and toll. Now in all the great house, that
+once had been so full, there dwelt but six nuns, one of whom was, in
+fact, a servant, while an aged monk from the Abbey celebrated Mass in
+the fair chapel where lay the bones of so many who had gone before. Also
+on certain feasts the Abbot himself attended, confessed the nuns, and
+granted them absolution and his holy blessing. On these days, too, he
+would examine their accounts, and if there were money in hand take a
+share of it to serve his necessities, for which reason the Prioress
+looked forward to his coming with little joy.
+
+It was to this ancient home of peace that the distraught Cicely and
+her servant Emlyn were conveyed upon the morrow of the great burning.
+Indeed, Cicely knew it well enough already, since as a child during
+three years or more she had gone there daily to be taught by the
+Prioress Matilda, for every head of the Priory took this name in turn to
+the honour of their foundress and in accordance with the provisions
+of her will. Happy years they were, as these old nuns loved her in her
+youth and innocence, and she, too, loved them every one. Now, by the
+workings of fate, she was borne back to the same quiet room where she
+had played and studied--a new-made wife, a new-made widow.
+
+But of all this poor Cicely knew nothing till three weeks or more had
+gone by, when at length her wandering brain cleared and she opened her
+eyes to the world again. At the moment she was alone, and lay looking
+about her. The place was familiar. She recognized the deep windows,
+the faded tapestries of Abraham cutting Isaac's throat with a butcher's
+knife, and Jonah being shot into the very gateway of a castle where his
+family awaited him, from the mouth of a gigantic carp with goggle eyes,
+for the simple artist had found his whale's model in a stewpond. Well
+she remembered those delightful pictures, and how often she had wondered
+whether Isaac could escape bleeding to death, or Jonah's wife, with the
+outspread arms, withstand the sudden shock of her husband's unexpected
+arrival out of the interior of the whale. There also was the splendid
+fireplace of wrought stone, and above it, cunningly carved in gilded
+oak, gleamed many coats-of-arms without crests, for they were those of
+sundry noble prioresses.
+
+Yes, this was certainly the great guest-chamber of the Blossholme
+Priory, which, since the nuns had now few guests and many places
+in which to put them, had been given up to her, Sir John Foterell's
+heiress, as her schoolroom. There she lay, thinking that she was a child
+again, a happy, careless child, or that she dreamed, till presently the
+door opened and Mother Matilda appeared, followed by Emlyn, who bore a
+tray, on which stood a silver bowl that smoked. There was no mistaking
+Mother Matilda in her black Benedictine robe and her white whimple,
+wearing the great silver crucifix which was her badge of office, and the
+golden ring with an emerald bezel whereon was cut St. Catherine being
+broken on the wheel--the ancient ring which every Prioress of Blossholme
+had worn from the beginning. Moreover, who that had ever seen it could
+forget her sweet, old, high-bred face, with the fine lips, the arched
+nose, and the quick, kind grey eyes!
+
+Cicely strove to rise and to do her reverence, as had been her custom
+during those childish years, only to find that she could not, for lo!
+she fell back heavily upon her pillow. Thereon Emlyn, setting down the
+tray with a clatter upon a table, ran to her, and putting her arms about
+her, began to scold, as was her fashion, but in a very gentle voice;
+and Mother Matilda, kneeling by her bed, gave thanks to Jesus and His
+blessed saints--though why she thanked Him at first Cicely did not
+understand.
+
+"Am I ill, reverend Mother?" she asked.
+
+"Not now, daughter, but you were very ill," answered the Prioress in her
+sweet, low voice. "Now we think that God has healed you."
+
+"How long have I been here?" she asked.
+
+The Mother began to reckon, counting her beads, one for every day--for
+in such places time slips by--but long before she had finished Emlyn
+replied quickly--
+
+"Cranwell Towers was burned three weeks yesternight."
+
+Then Cicely remembered, and with a bitter groan turned her face to the
+wall, while the Mother reproached Emlyn, saying she had killed her.
+
+"I think not," answered the nurse in a low voice. "I think she has that
+which will not let her die"--a saying that puzzled the Prioress at this
+time.
+
+Emlyn was right. Cicely did not die. On the contrary, she grew strong
+and well in her body, though it was long before her mind recovered.
+Indeed, she glided about the place like a ghost in her black mourning
+robe, for now she no longer doubted that Christopher was dead, and she,
+the wife of a week, widowed as well as orphaned.
+
+Then in her utter desolation came comfort; a light broke on the darkness
+of her soul like the moon above a tortured midnight sea. She was no
+longer quite alone; the murdered Christopher had left his image with
+her. If she lived a child would be born to him, and therefore she would
+surely live. One evening, on her knees, she whispered her secret to the
+Prioress Matilda, whereat the old nun blushed like a girl, yet, after a
+moment's silent prayer, laid a thin hand upon her head in blessing.
+
+"The Lord Abbot declares that your marriage was no true marriage, my
+daughter, though why I do not understand, since the man was he whom your
+heart chose, and you were wed to him by an ordained priest before God's
+altar and in presence of the congregation."
+
+"I care not what he says," answered Cicely in a stubborn voice. "If I am
+not a true wife, then no woman ever was."
+
+"Dear daughter," answered Mother Matilda, "it is not for us unlearned
+women to question the wisdom of a holy Abbot who doubtless is inspired
+from on high."
+
+"If he is inspired it is not from on high, Mother. Would God or His
+saints teach him to murder my father and my husband, to seize my
+heritage, or to hold my person in this gentle prison? Such inspirations
+do not come from above, Mother."
+
+"Hush! hush!" said the Prioress, glancing round her nervously; "your
+woes have crazed you. Besides, you have no proof. In this world there
+are so many things that we cannot understand. Being an abbot, how could
+he do wrong, although to us his acts seem wrong? But let us not talk
+of these matters, of which, indeed, I only know from that rough-tongued
+Emlyn of yours, who, I am told, was not afraid to curse him terribly.
+I was about to say that whatever may be the law of it, I hold your
+marriage good and true, and its issue, should such come to you, pure
+and holy, and night by night I will pray that it shall be crowned with
+Heaven's richest blessings."
+
+"I thank you, dear Mother," answered Cicely, as she rose and left her.
+
+When she had gone the Prioress rose also, and, with a troubled face,
+began to walk up and down the refectory, for it was here that they had
+spoken together. Truly she could not understand, for unless all these
+tales were false--and how could they be false?--this Abbot, whom her
+high-bred English nature had always mistrusted, this dark, able Spanish
+monk was no saint, but a wicked villain? There must be some explanation.
+It was only that _she_ did not understand.
+
+Soon the news spread throughout the Nunnery, and if the sisters had
+loved Cicely before, now they loved her twice as well. Of the doubts as
+to the validity to her marriage, like their Prioress, they took no heed,
+for had it not been celebrated in a church? But that a child was to
+be born among them--ah! that was a joyful thing, a thing that had not
+happened for quite two hundred years, when, alas!--so said tradition and
+their records--there had been a dreadful scandal which to this day
+was spoken of with bated breath. For be it known at once this Nunnery,
+whatever may or may not have been the case with some others, was one of
+which no evil could be said.
+
+Beneath their black robes, however, these old nuns were still as much
+women as the mothers who bore them, and this news of a child stirred
+them to the marrow. Among themselves in their hours of recreation they
+talked of little else, and even their prayers were largely occupied with
+this same matter. Indeed, poor, weak-witted, old Sister Bridget, who
+hitherto had been secretly looked down upon because she was the only one
+of the seven who was not of gentle birth, now became very popular. For
+Sister Bridget in her youth had been married and borne two children,
+both of whom had been carried off by the smallpox after she was widowed,
+whereon, as her face was seamed by this same disease, so that she had
+no hope of another husband, as her neighbours said, or because her heart
+was broken, as she said, she entered into religion.
+
+Now she constituted herself Cicely's chief attendant, and although that
+lady was quite well and strong, persecuted her with advice and with
+noxious mixtures which she brewed, till Emlyn, descending on her like
+a storm, hunted her from the room and cast her medicines through the
+window.
+
+That these sisters should be thus interested in so small a matter was
+not, indeed, wonderful, seeing that if their lives had been secluded
+before, since the Lady Cicely came amongst them they were ten times more
+so. Soon they discovered that she and her servant, Emlyn Stower, were,
+in fact, prisoners, which meant that they, her hostesses, were prisoners
+also. None were allowed to enter the Nunnery save the silent old monk
+who confessed them and celebrated the Mass, nor, by an order of the
+Abbot, were they suffered to go abroad upon any business whatsoever.
+
+For the rest, as their only means of communication with those who dwelt
+beyond was the surly gardener, who was deaf and set there to spy on
+them, little news ever reached them. They were almost dead to the world,
+which, had they known it, was busy enough just then with matters that
+concerned them and all other religious houses.
+
+At length one day, when Cicely and Emlyn were seated in the garden
+beneath a flowering hawthorn-tree--for now June had come and with it
+warm weather--of a sudden Sister Bridget hurried up saying that the
+Abbot of Blossholme desired their presence. At this tidings Cicely
+turned faint, and Emlyn rated Bridget, asking if her few wits had left
+her, or if she thought that name was so pleasant to her mistress that
+she should suddenly bawl it in her ear.
+
+Thereon the poor old soul, who was not too strong-brained and much
+afraid of Emlyn since she had thrown her medicines out of the window,
+began to weep, protesting that she had meant no harm, till Cicely,
+recovering, soothed her and sent her back to say that she would wait
+upon his lordship.
+
+"Are you afraid of him, Mistress?" asked Emlyn, as they prepared to
+follow.
+
+"A little, Nurse. He has shown himself a man to be afraid of, has he
+not? My father and my husband are in his net, and will he spare the last
+fish in the pool--a very narrow pool?" and she glanced at the high walls
+about her. "I fear lest he should take you from me, and wonder why he
+has not done so already."
+
+"Because my father was a Spaniard, and through him I know that which
+would ruin him with his friends, the Pope and the Emperor. Also, he
+believes that I have the evil eye, and dreads my curse. Still, one day
+he may try to murder me; who knows? Only then the secret of the jewels
+will go with me, for that is mine alone; not yours even, for if you had
+it they would squeeze it out of you. Meanwhile he will try to profess
+you a nun, but push him off with soft words. Say that you will think of
+it after your child is born. Till then he can do nothing, and, if Mother
+Matilda's fresh tidings are true, by that time perchance there will be
+no more nuns in England."
+
+Now very quietly and by the side door they were entering the old
+reception-hall, that was only used for the entertainment of visitors and
+on other great occasions, and close to them saw the Abbot seated in his
+chair, while the Prioress stood before him, rendering her accounts.
+
+"Whether you can spare it or no," they heard him say sharply, "I must
+have the half-year's rent. The times are evil; we servants of the Lord
+are threatened by that adulterous king and his proud ministers, who
+swear they will strip us to the shirt and turn us out to starve. I'm
+but just from London, and, although our enemy Anne Boleyn has lost her
+wanton head, I tell you the danger is great. Money must be had to stir
+up rebellion, for who can arm without it, and but little comes from
+Spain. I am in treaty to sell the Foterell lands for what they will
+fetch, but as yet can give no title. Either that stiff-necked girl must
+sign a release, or she must profess, for otherwise, while she lives,
+some lawyer or relative might upset the sale. Is she yet prepared to
+take her first vows? If not, I shall hold you much to blame."
+
+"Nay," answered the Prioress; "there are reasons. You have been away,
+and have not heard"--she hesitated and looked about her nervously,
+to see Cicely and Emlyn standing behind them. "What do you there,
+daughter?" she asked, with as much asperity as she ever showed.
+
+"In truth I know not, Mother," answered Cicely. "Sister Bridget told us
+that the Lord Abbot desired our presence."
+
+"I bid her say that you were to wait him in my chamber," said the
+Prioress in a vexed voice.
+
+"Well," broke in the Abbot, "it would seem that you have a fool for a
+messenger; if it is that pockmarked hag, her brain has been gone for
+years. Ward Cicely, I greet you, though after the sorrows that have
+fallen on you, whereof by your leave we will not speak, since there is
+no use in stirring up such memories, I grieve to see you in that worldly
+garb, who thought you would have changed it for a better. But ere you
+entered the holy Mother here spoke of some obstacle that stood between
+you and God. What is it? Perchance my counsel may be of service. Not
+this woman, as I trust," and he frowned at Emlyn, who at once answered,
+in her steady voice--
+
+"Nay, my Lord Abbot, I stand not between her and God and His holiness,
+but between her and man and his iniquity. Still I can tell you of that
+obstacle--which comes from God--if you so need."
+
+Now the old Prioress, blushing to her white hair, bent forward and
+whispered in the Abbot's ear words at which he sprang up as though a
+wasp had stung him.
+
+"Pest on it! it cannot be," he said. "Well, well, there it is, and must
+be swallowed with the rest. Pity, though," he added, with a sneer on his
+dark face, "since many a year has gone by since these walls have seen a
+bastard, and, as things are, that may pull them down about your ears."
+
+"I know such brats are dangerous," interrupted Emlyn, looking Maldon
+full in the eyes; "my father told me of a young monk in Spain--I forget
+his name--who brought certain ladies to the torture in some such matter.
+But who talks of bastards in the case of Dame Cicely Harflete, widow of
+Sir Christopher Harflete, slain by the Abbot of Blossholme?"
+
+"Silence, woman. Where there is no lawful marriage there can be no
+lawful child----"
+
+"To take that lawful inheritance that it lawfully inherits. Say, my Lord
+Abbot, did Sir Christopher make you his heir also?"
+
+Then, before he could answer, Cicely, who had been silent all this
+while, broke in--
+
+"Heap what insults you will on me, my Lord Abbot, and having robbed me
+of my father, my husband, and my heart, rob me of my goods also, if
+you can. In my case it matters little. But slander not my child, if one
+should be born to me, nor dare to touch its rights. Think not that you
+can break the mother as you broke the girl, for there you will find that
+you have a she-wolf by the ear."
+
+He looked at her, they all looked at her, for in her eyes was something
+that compelled theirs. Clement Maldon, who knew the world and how a
+she-wolf can fight for its cub, read in them a warning which caused him
+to change his tone.
+
+"Tut, tut, daughter," he said; "what is the good of vapouring of a child
+that is not and may never be? When it comes I will christen it, and we
+will talk."
+
+"When it comes you will not lay a finger on it. I'd rather that it went
+unbaptized to its grave than marked with your cross of blood."
+
+He waved his hand.
+
+"There is another matter, or rather two, of which I must speak to you,
+my daughter. When do you take your first vows?"
+
+"We will talk of it after my child is born. 'Tis a child of sin, you
+say, and I am unrepentant, a wicked woman not fit to take a holy vow, to
+which, moreover, you cannot force me," she replied, with bitter sarcasm.
+
+Again he waved his hand, for the she-wolf showed her teeth.
+
+"The second matter is," he went on, "that I need your signature to a
+writing. It is nothing but a form, and one I fear you cannot read,
+nor in faith can I," and with a somewhat doubtful smile he drew out a
+crabbed indenture and spread it before her on the table.
+
+"What?" she laughed, brushing aside the parchment. "Have you remembered
+that yesterday I came of age, and am, therefore, no more your ward, if
+such I ever was? You should have sold my inheritance more swiftly, for
+now the title you can give is rotten as last year's apples, and I'll
+sign nothing. Bear witness, Mother Matilda, and you, Emlyn Stower,
+that I have signed and will sign nothing. Clement Maldon, Abbot of
+Blossholme, I am a free woman of full age, even though, as you say, I am
+a wanton. Where is your right to chain up a wanton who is no religious?
+Unlock these gates and let me go."
+
+Now he felt the wolf's fangs, and they were sharp.
+
+"Whither would you go?" he asked.
+
+"Whither but to the King, to lay my cause before him, as my father would
+have done last Christmas-time."
+
+It was a bold speech, but foolish. The she-wolf had loosed her hold to
+growl--to growl at a hunter with a bloody sword.
+
+"I think your father never reached his Grace with his sack of
+falsehoods; nor might you, Cicely Foterell. The times are rough,
+rebellion is in the air, and many wild men hunt the woods and roads. No,
+no; for your own sake you bide here in safety till----"
+
+"Till you murder me. Oh! it is in your mind. Do you remember the angel
+who spoke with me in the fire and told me my husband was not dead?"
+
+"A lying spirit, then; no angel."
+
+"I am not so sure," and again she passed her hand across her eyes, as
+she had done in that dreadful dawn at Cranwell. "Well, I prayed to God
+to help me, and last night that angel came again and spoke in my sleep.
+He told me to fear you not at all, my Lord Abbot; however sore my case
+and however near my death might seem, since God had shaped a stone to
+drop upon your head. He showed it me; it was like an axe."
+
+Now the old Prioress held up her hands and gasped in horror, but the
+Abbot leapt from his seat in rage--or was it fear?
+
+"Wanton, you named yourself," he exclaimed; "but I name you witch also,
+who, if you had your deserts, should die the death of a witch by fire.
+Mother Matilda, I command you, on your oath, keep this witch fast and
+make report to me of all her sorceries. It is not fitting that such a
+one should walk abroad to bring evil on the innocent. Witch and wanton,
+begone to your chamber!"
+
+Cicely listened, then, without another word, broke into a little
+scornful laugh, and, turning, left the room, followed by the Prioress.
+
+But Emlyn did not go; she stayed behind, a smile on her dark, handsome
+face.
+
+"You've lost the throw, though all your dice were loaded," she said
+boldly.
+
+The Abbot turned on her and reviled her.
+
+"Woman," he said, "if she is a witch, you're the familiar, and certainly
+you shall burn even though she escape. It is you who taught her how to
+call up the devil."
+
+"Then you had best keep me living, my Lord Abbot, that I may teach her
+how to lay him. Nay, threaten not. Why, the rack might make me speak,
+and the birds of the air carry the matter!"
+
+His face paled; then suddenly he asked--
+
+"Where are those jewels? I need them. Give me the jewels and you shall
+go free, and perchance your accursed mistress with you."
+
+"I told you," she answered. "Sir John took them to London, and if they
+were not found upon his body, then either he threw them away or Jeffrey
+Stokes carried them to wherever he has gone. Drag the mere, search the
+forest, find Jeffrey and ask him."
+
+"You lie, woman. When you and your mistress fled from Shefton a servant
+there saw you with the box that held those jewels in your hand."
+
+"True, my Lord Abbot, but it no longer held them; only my mistress's
+love-letters, which she would not leave behind."
+
+"Then where is the box, and where are those letters?"
+
+"We grew short of fuel in the siege, and burned both. When a woman has
+her man she doesn't want his letters. Surely, Maldonado," she added,
+with meaning, "you should know that it is not always wise to keep old
+letters. What, I wonder, would you give for some that I have seen and
+that are _not_ burned?"
+
+"Accursed spawn of Satan," hissed the Abbot, "how dare you flaunt me
+thus? When Cicely was wed to Christopher she wore those very gems;
+I have it from those who saw her decked in them--the necklace on her
+bosom, the priceless rosebud pearls hanging from her ears."
+
+"Oho! oho!" said Emlyn; "so you own that she was wed, the pure soul whom
+but now you called a wanton. Look you, Sir Abbot, we will fence no
+more. She wore the jewels. Jeffrey took nothing hence save your
+death-warrant."
+
+"Then where are they?" he asked, striking his fist upon the table.
+
+"Where? Why, where you'll never follow them--gone up to heaven in the
+fire. Thinking we might be robbed, I hid them behind a secret panel in
+her chamber, purposing to return for them later. Go, rake out the ashes;
+you might find a cracked diamond or two, but not the pearls; they fly in
+fire. There, that's the truth at last, and much good may it do to you."
+
+The Abbot groaned. Like most Spaniards he was emotional, and could not
+help it; his bitterness burst from his heart.
+
+Emlyn laughed at him.
+
+"See how the wise and mighty of this world overshoot themselves," she
+said. "Clement Maldonado, I have known you for some twenty years, and
+when I was called the Beauty of Blossholme, and the Abbot who went
+before you made me the Church's ward, though I ever hated you, who
+hunted down my father, you had softer words for me than those you name
+me by to-day. Well, I have watched you rise and I shall watch you fall,
+and I know your heart and its desires. Money is what you lust for and
+must have, for otherwise how will you gain your end? It was the
+jewels that you needed, not the Shefton lands, which are worth little
+now-a-days, and will soon be worth less. Why, one of those pink pearls
+placed among the Jews would buy three parishes, with their halls thrown
+in. For the sake of those jewels you have brought death on some and
+misery on some, and on your own soul damnation without end, though had
+you but been wise and consulted me--why, they, or some of them, might
+have been yours. Sir John was no fool; he would have parted with a pearl
+or two, of which he did not know the value, to end a feud against
+the Church and safeguard his title and his daughter. And now, in your
+madness, you've burnt them--burnt a king's ransom, or what might have
+pulled down a king. Oh! had you but guessed it, you'd have hacked off
+the hand that put a torch to Cranwell Towers, for now the gold you need
+is lacking to you, and therefore all your grand schemes will fail, and
+you'll be buried in their ruin, as you thought we were in Cranwell."
+
+The Abbot, who had listened to this long and bitter speech in patience,
+groaned again.
+
+"You are a clever woman," he said; "we understand each other, coming
+from the same blood. You know the case; what is your counsel to me now?"
+
+"That which you will not take, being foredoomed for your sins. Still
+I'll give it honestly. Set the Lady Cicely free, restore her lands,
+confess your evil doings. Fly the kingdom before Cromwell turns on
+you and Henry finds you out, taking with you all the gold that you can
+gather, and bribe the Emperor Charles to give you a bishopric in Granada
+or elsewhere--not near Seville, for reasons that you know. So shall you
+live honoured, and one day, after you have been dead a long while and
+many things are forgotten, perchance be beatified as Saint Clement of
+Blossholme."
+
+The Abbot looked at her reflectively.
+
+"If I sought safety only and old age comforts your counsel might be
+good, but I play for higher stakes."
+
+"You set your head against them," broke in Emlyn.
+
+"Not so, woman, for in any case that head must win. If it stays upon my
+shoulders it will wear an archbishop's mitre, or a cardinal's hat, or
+perhaps something nobler yet; and if it parts from them, why, then a
+heavenly crown of glory."
+
+"Your head? _Your_ head?" exclaimed Emlyn, with a contemptuous laugh.
+
+"Why not?" he answered gravely. "You chance to know of some errors of
+my youth, but they are long ago repented of, and for such there is
+plentiful forgiveness," and he crossed himself. "Were it not so, who
+would escape?"
+
+Emlyn, who had been standing all this while, sat herself down, set her
+elbows on the table and rested her chin upon her clenched hands.
+
+"True," she said, looking him in the eyes; "none of us would escape.
+But, Clement Maldon, how about the unrepented errors of your age? Sir
+John Foterell, for instance; Sir Christopher Harflete, for instance;
+my Lady Cicely, for instance; to say nothing of black treason and a few
+other matters?"
+
+"Even were all these charges true, which I deny, they are no sins,
+seeing that they would have been done, every one of them, not for my own
+sake, but for that of the Church, to overset her enemies, to rebuild her
+tottering walls, to secure her eternally in this realm."
+
+"And to lift you, Clement Maldon, to the topmost pinnacle of her temple,
+whence Satan shows you all the kingdoms of the world, swearing that they
+shall be yours."
+
+Apparently the Abbot did not resent this bold speech; indeed, Emlyn's
+apt illustration seemed to please him. Only he corrected her gently,
+saying--
+
+"Not Satan, but Satan's Lord." Then he paused a while, looked round the
+chamber to see that the doors were shut and make sure that they were
+alone, and went on, "Emlyn Stower, you have great wits and courage--more
+than any woman that I know. Also you have knowledge both of the world
+and of what lies beyond it, being what superstitious fools call a witch,
+but I, a prophetess or a seer. These things come to you with your blood,
+I suppose, seeing that your mother was of a gypsy tribe and your
+father a high-bred Spanish gentleman, very learned and clever, though a
+pestilent heretic, for which cause he fled for his life from Spain."
+
+"To find his dark death in England. The Holy Inquisition is patent and
+has a long arm. If I remember right, also it was this business of the
+heresy of my father that first brought you to Blossholme, where, after
+his vanishing and the public burning of that book of his, you so greatly
+prospered."
+
+"You are always right, Emlyn, and therefore I need not tell you further
+that we had been old enemies in Spain, which is why I was chosen to hunt
+him down and how you come to know certain things."
+
+She nodded, and he went on--
+
+"So much for the heretic father--now for the gypsy mother. She died, by
+her own hand it is said, to escape the punishment of the law."
+
+"No need to beat about the bush, Abbot; let's have truth between old
+friends. You mean, to escape being burnt by you as a witch, because she
+had the letters which were not burned and threatened to use them--as I
+do."
+
+"Why rake up such tales, Emlyn?" he interposed blandly. "At least she
+died, but not until she had taught you all she knew. The rest of the
+history is short. You fell in love with old yeoman Bolle's son, or said
+you did--that same great, silly Thomas who is now a lay-brother at the
+Abbey----"
+
+"Or said I did," she repeated. "At least he fell in love with me, and
+perhaps I wished an honest man to protect me, who in those days was
+young and fair. Moreover, he was not silly then. That came upon him
+after he fell into _your_ hands. Oh! have done with it," she went on,
+in a voice of suppressed passion. "The witch's fair daughter was the
+Church's ward, and you ruled the Abbot of that time, and he forced me
+into marriage with old Peter Stower, as his third wife. I cursed him,
+and he died, as I warned him that he would, and I bore a child, and
+it died. Then with what was left to me I took refuge with Sir John
+Foterell, who ever was my friend, and became foster-mother to his
+daughter, the only creature, save one, that I have loved in this wide,
+wicked world. That's all the story; and now what more do you want of me,
+Clement Maldonado--evil-gifted one?"
+
+"Emlyn, I want what I always wanted and you always refused--your help,
+your partnership. I mean the partnership of that brain of yours--the
+help of the knowledge that you have--no more. At Cranwell Towers you
+called down evil on me. Take off that ban, for I'll speak truth, it
+weighs heavy on my mind. Let us bury the past; let us clasp hands and be
+friends. You have the true vision. Do you remember that when you thought
+Cicely dead, you said that her seed should rise up against me, and now
+it seems that it will be so."
+
+"What would you give me?" asked Emlyn curiously.
+
+"I will give you wealth; I will give you what you love more--power, and
+rank too, if you wish it. The whole Church shall listen to you. What you
+desire shall be done in this realm--yes, and across the world. I speak
+no lie; I pledge my soul on it, and the honour of those I serve, which
+I have authority to do. In return all I ask of you is your wisdom--that
+you should read the future for me, that you should show me which way to
+walk."
+
+"Nothing more?"
+
+"Yes, two things--that you should find me those burned jewels and with
+them the old letters that were not burned, and that this child of the
+Lady Cicely shall not chance to live to take what you promised to it.
+Her life I give you, for a nun more or less can matter little."
+
+"A noble offer, and in this case I am sure you will pay what _you_
+promise--should you live. But what if I refuse?"
+
+"Then," answered the Abbot, dropping his fist upon the table, "then
+death for both of you--the witch's death, for I dare not let you go to
+work my ruin. Remember, I am master here, you are my prisoners. Few know
+that you live in this place, except a handful of weak-brained women who
+will fear to speak--puppets that must dance when I pull the string--and
+I'll see that no soul shall come near these walls. Choose, then, between
+death and all its terrors or life and all its hopes."
+
+On the table there stood a wooden bowl filled with roses. Emlyn drew it
+to her, and taking the roses into her hands, threw them to the floor.
+Then she waited for the water to steady, saying--
+
+"The riddle is hard; perhaps, if in truth I have such power, I shall
+find its answer here." Presently, as he gazed at her, fascinated, she
+breathed upon the water and stared into it for a long while. At length
+she looked up, and said--
+
+"Death or Life; that was the choice you gave me. Well, Clement
+Maldonado, on behalf of myself and the Lady Cicely, and her husband Sir
+Christopher, and the child that shall be born, and of God who directs
+all these things, I choose--death."
+
+There was a solemn silence. Then the Abbot rose, and said--
+
+"Good! On your own head be it."
+
+Again there was a silence, and, as she made no answer, he turned and
+walked towards the door, leaving her still staring into the bowl.
+
+"Good!" she repeated, as he laid his hand upon the latch. "I have told
+you that I choose death, but I have not told you whose death it is I
+choose. Play your game, my Lord Abbot, and I'll play mine, remembering
+that God holds the stakes. Meanwhile I confirm the words I spoke in my
+rage at Cranwell. Expect evil, for I see now that it shall fall on you
+and all with which you have to do."
+
+Then with a sudden movement she upset the bowl upon the table and
+watched him go.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+EMLYN CALLS HER MAN
+
+One by one the weeks passed over the heads of Cicely and Emlyn in their
+prison, and brought them neither hope nor tidings. Indeed, although they
+could not see its cords, they felt that the evil net which held them was
+drawing ever tighter. There were fear and pity as well as love in the
+eyes of Mother Matilda when she looked at Cicely, which she did only if
+she thought that no one observed her. The nuns also were afraid, though
+it was clear that they knew not of what. One evening Emlyn, finding the
+Prioress alone, sprang questions on her, asking what was in the wind,
+and why her lady, a free woman of full age, was detained there against
+her will.
+
+The old nun's face grew secret. She answered that she did not know of
+anything unusual, and that, as regarded the detention, she must obey the
+commands of her spiritual superior.
+
+"Then," burst out Emlyn, "I tell you that you do so at your peril. I
+tell you that whether my lady lives or dies, there are those who will
+call you to a strict account, aye, and those who will listen to the
+prayer of the helpless. Mother Matilda, England is not the land it was
+when as a girl they buried you in these mouldy walls. Where does God say
+that you have the right to hold free women like felons in a jail? Tell
+me."
+
+"I cannot," moaned Mother Matilda, wringing her thin hands. "The right
+is very hard to find, this place is strictly guarded, and whatever I may
+think, I must do what I am bid, lest my soul should suffer."
+
+"Your soul! You cloistered women think always of your miserable souls,
+but of those of other folk, aye, and of their bodies too, nothing. Then
+you'll not help me?"
+
+"I cannot, I cannot, who am myself in bonds," she replied again.
+
+"So be it, Mother; then I'll help myself, and when I do, God help _you_
+all," and with a contemptuous shrug of her broad shoulders she walked
+away, leaving the poor old Prioress almost in tears.
+
+Emlyn's threats were bold as her own heart, but how could she execute
+even a tenth of them? The right was on their side, indeed, but, as
+many a captive has found in those and other days, right is no Joshua's
+trumpet to cause high walls to fall. Moreover, Cicely would not aid her.
+Now that her husband was dead she took interest in one thing only--his
+child who was to be.
+
+For the rest she seemed to care nothing. Since she had no friends with
+whom she could communicate, and her wealth, as she understood, had been
+taken from her, what better place, she asked, could there be for that
+child to see the light than in this quiet Nunnery? When it was born and
+she was well again she would consider other matters. Meanwhile she was
+languid, and why was Emlyn always prating to her of freedom? If she were
+free, what should she do and whither should she go? The nuns were very
+kind to her; they loved her as she did them.
+
+So she talked on, and Emlyn, listening, did not dare to tell her the
+truth: that here she feared for the life of her child, dreading lest
+that news might bring about the death of both of them. So she let her
+be, and fell back on her own wits.
+
+First she thought of escape, only to abandon the idea, for her mistress
+was in no state to face its perils. Moreover, whither should they go?
+Then rescue came into her mind, but, alas! who would rescue them? The
+great men in London, perhaps, as a matter of policy, but great men are
+hard to come at, even for the free. If she were free she might find
+means to make them listen, but she was not, nor could she leave her lady
+at such a time. What remained, then? So to contrive that they should be
+set free.
+
+Perhaps it might be done at a price--that of Cicely's jewels, of which
+she alone knew the hiding-place, and with them a deed of indemnity
+against her persecutors. Emlyn was not minded to give either. Moreover,
+she guessed that it might be in vain. Once outside those walls, they
+knew too much to be allowed to live. And yet within those walls Cicely's
+child would not be allowed to live--the child that was heir to all.
+What, then, could loose them and make them safe?
+
+Terror, perhaps--such terror as that through which the Israelites
+escaped from bondage. Oh! if she could but find a Moses to call down the
+plagues of Egypt upon this Pharaoh of an Abbot--those plagues with which
+she had threatened him--but although she believed that they would fall
+(why did she believe it? she wondered), she was as yet impotent to
+fulfil.
+
+Now Thomas Bolle! If only she could have words with that faithful Thomas
+Bolle, the fierce and cunning man whom they thought foolish!
+
+This idea of Thomas Bolle took possession of Emlyn's mind--Thomas Bolle,
+who had loved her all his life, who would die to serve her. She strove
+in vain to get in touch with him. The old gardener was so deaf that he
+could not, or would not, understand. The silly Bridget gave the letter
+that she wrote to him to the Prioress by mistake, who burnt it before
+her eyes and said nothing. The monks who brought provisions to the
+Nunnery were always received by three of the sisters, set to spy on each
+other and on them, so that she could not come near to them alone. The
+priest who celebrated Mass was an old enemy of hers; with him she could
+do nothing, and no one else was allowed to approach the place except
+once or twice the Abbot, who was closeted for hours with the Prioress,
+but spoke to her no more.
+
+Why, wondered Emlyn, should less than half-a-mile of space be such a
+barrier between her and Thomas Bolle? If he stood within twenty yards of
+her she could make him understand; why not, then, when he stood within
+five hundred? This idea possessed her; these limitations of nature made
+her mad. She refused to accept them. Night by night, lying brooding
+in her bed, while Cicely slept in peace at her side, she threw out her
+strong soul towards the soul of her old lover, Thomas Bolle, commanding
+him to listen, to obey, to come.
+
+At first nothing happened. Afterwards she had a vague sense of being
+answered; although she could not see or hear him, she felt his presence.
+Then one afternoon, looking from an upper dormer window, she saw a
+scuffle going on outside the gateway, and heard angry voices. Thomas
+Bolle was trying to force his way in at the door, whence he was repelled
+by the Abbot's men who always watched there.
+
+In the evening she gathered the truth from the nuns, who did not know
+that she was listening to what they said. It seemed that Thomas, whom
+they spoke of as a madman or as drunk, had tried to break into the
+Nunnery. When he was asked what he wanted, he answered that he did not
+know, but he must speak with Emlyn Stower. At this tidings she smiled to
+herself, for now she knew that he had heard her, and that in this way or
+in that he would obey her summons and come.
+
+Two days later Thomas came--thus.
+
+The September evening was fading into night, and Emlyn, leaving Cicely
+resting on her bed, which now she often did for a while before the
+supper-hour, had gone into the garden to enjoy the pleasant air. There
+she walked until she wearied of its sameness, then entered the old
+chapel by a side door and sat herself down to think in the chancel, not
+far from a life-sized statue of the Virgin, in painted oak, which stood
+here because of its peculiarities, for the back half of it seemed to be
+built into the masonry. Also the eye-sockets were empty, which suggested
+to the observant Emlyn either that they had once held jewels or that
+this was no likeness of the holy Mother, but rather one of the blind St.
+Lucy.
+
+While Emlyn mused there quite alone--for at this hour none entered the
+place, nor would until the next morning--she thought that she
+heard strange noises, as of some one stirring, which came from the
+neighbourhood of the statue. Now many would have been scared and
+departed; but not so Emlyn, who only sat still and listened. Presently,
+without moving her head, she looked also. As it happened, the light of
+the setting sun, pouring through the west window, fell almost full upon
+the figure, and by it she saw, or thought she saw, that the eye-sockets
+were no longer empty; there were eyes in them which moved and flashed.
+
+Now for a moment even Emlyn was frightened. Then she reasoned with
+herself, reflecting that a priest or one of the nuns was watching her
+from behind the statue, which they might do for as long as they pleased.
+Or perhaps this was a miracle, such as she had heard so much of but
+never seen. Well, why should she fear spies or miracles? She would
+sit where she was and see what happened. Nor had she long to wait, for
+presently a voice, a hoarse, manly voice, whispered--
+
+"Emlyn! Emlyn Stower!"
+
+"Yes," she answered, also in a whisper. "Who speaks?"
+
+"Who do you think?" asked the voice, with a chuckle. "A devil, perhaps."
+
+"Well, if it be a friendly devil I don't know that I mind, who need
+company in this lone place. So appear, man or devil," answered Emlyn
+stoutly. But in secret she crossed herself beneath her cape, for
+in those days folk believed in the appearance of devils for no good
+purposes.
+
+The statue began to creak, then opened like a door, though very
+unwillingly, as though its hinges had been fixed for a long, long time
+and rusted in the damp, which was indeed the case. Inside of it, like a
+corpse in an upright coffin, appeared a figure, a square, strong figure,
+clad in a tattered monk's robe, surmounted by a large head with fiery
+red hair and beetling brows, beneath which shone two wild grey eyes.
+Emlyn, whose heart had stood still--for, after all, Satan is awkward
+company for a mortal woman--waited till it gave a jump in her breast and
+went on again as usual. Then she said quietly--
+
+"What are you doing here, Thomas Bolle?"
+
+"That is what I want to know, Emlyn. Night and day for weeks you have
+been calling me, and so I came."
+
+"Yes, I have been calling you; but how did you come?"
+
+"By the old monk's road. They have forgotten it long ago, but my
+grandfather told me of it when I was a boy, and at last a fox showed me
+where it ran. It's a dark road, and when first I tried it I thought I
+should be poisoned, but now the air is none so bad. It ran to the Abbey
+once, and may still, but my door and Mrs. Fox's is in the copse by the
+park wall, where none would ever look for it. If you would like a cub to
+play with, I will bring you one. Or perhaps you want something more than
+cubs," he added, with his cunning laugh.
+
+"Aye, Thomas, I want much more. Man," she said fiercely, "will you do
+what I tell you?"
+
+"That depends, Mistress Emlyn. Have I not done what you told me all my
+life, and for no reward?"
+
+She moved across the chancel and sat herself down against him, pushing
+the image door almost to and speaking to him through the crack.
+
+"If you have had no reward, Thomas," she said in a gentle voice, "whose
+fault was it? Not mine, I think. I loved you once when we were young,
+did I not? I would have given myself to you, body and soul, would I not?
+Well, who came between us and spoiled our lives?"
+
+"The monks," groaned Thomas; "the accursed monks, who married you to
+Stower because he paid them."
+
+"Yes, the accursed monks. And now our youth has gone, and love--of that
+sort--is behind us. I have been another man's wife, Thomas, who might
+have been yours. Think of it--your loving wife, the mother of your
+children. And you--they have tamed you and made you their servant, their
+cattle-herd, the strong fellow to fetch and carry, the half-wit, as they
+call you, who can still be trusted to run an errand and hold his tongue,
+the Abbey mule that does not dare to kick, the grieve of your own stolen
+lands--you, whose father was almost a gentleman. That's what they have
+done for you, Thomas; and for me, the Church's ward--well, I will not
+speak of it. Now, if you had your will, what would you do for them?"
+
+"Do for them? Do for them?" gasped Thomas, worked up to fury by this
+recital of his wrongs. "Why, if I dared I'd cut their throats, every
+one, and grallock them like deer," and he ground his strong white teeth.
+"But I am afraid. They have my soul, and month by month I must confess.
+You remember, Emlyn, I warned you when you and the lady would have
+ridden to London before the siege. Well, afterward--I must confess
+it--the Abbot heard it himself, and oh! sore, sore was my penance.
+Before I had done with it my ribs showed through my skin and my back
+was like a red osier basket. There's only one thing I didn't tell them,
+because, after all, it is no sin to grub the earth off the face of a
+corpse."
+
+"Ah!" said Emlyn, looking at him. "You're not to be trusted. Well, I
+thought as much. Good-bye, Thomas Bolle, you coward. I'll find me a man
+for a friend, not a whimpering, priest-ridden hound who sets a Latin
+blessing which he does not understand above his honour. God in heaven!
+to think I should ever have loved such a thing. Oh! I am shamed, I am
+shamed. I'll go wash my hands. Shut your trap and get you gone down your
+rat-run, Thomas Bolle, and, living or dead, never dare to speak to
+me again. Also forget not to tell your monks how I called you to my
+side--for that's witchcraft, you know, and I shall burn for it, and your
+soul gain benefit. God in heaven! to think that once you were Thomas
+Bolle," and she made as though to go away.
+
+He stretched out his great arm and caught her by the robe, exclaiming--
+
+"What would you have me do, Emlyn? I can't bear your scorn. Take it off
+me or I go kill myself."
+
+"That's what you had best do. You'll find the devil a better master than
+a foreign abbot. Farewell for ever."
+
+"Nay, nay; what's your will? Soul or no soul, I'll work it."
+
+"Will you? Will you indeed? If so, stay a moment," and she ran down the
+chapel, bolting the doors; then returned to him, saying--
+
+"Now come forth, Thomas, and since you are once more a man, kiss me as
+you used to do twenty years ago and more. You'll not confess to that,
+will you? There. Now, kneel before the altar here and swear an oath.
+Nay, listen to it before you swear, for it is wide."
+
+Emlyn said the oath to him. It was a great and terrible oath. Under it
+he bound himself to be her slave and join himself with her in working
+woe to the monks of Blossholme, and especially to their Abbot, Clement
+Maldon, in payment of the wrongs that these had done to them both; in
+payment for the murder of Sir John Foterell and of Christopher Harflete,
+and of the imprisonment and robbery of Cicely Harflete, the daughter of
+the one and the wife of the other. He bound himself to do those things
+which she should tell him. He bound himself neither in the confessional
+nor, should it come to that, on the bed of torture or the scaffold to
+breathe a word of all their counsel. He prayed that if he did so his
+soul might pay the price in everlasting torment, and of all these things
+he took Heaven to be his witness.
+
+"Now," said Emlyn, when she had finished setting out this fearful vow,
+"will you be a man and swear and thereby avenge the dead and save the
+innocent from death; or will you who have my secret be a crawling monk
+and go back to Blossholme Abbey and betray me?"
+
+He thought a moment, rubbing his red head, for the thing frightened him,
+as well it might. The scales of the balance of his mind hung evenly, and
+Emlyn knew not which way they would turn. She saw, and put out all her
+woman's strength. Resting her hand upon his shoulder, she leaned forward
+and whispered into his ear.
+
+"Do you remember, Thomas, how first we told our young love that spring
+day down in the copse by the water, and how sweet the daffodils bloomed
+about our feet--the daffodils and the wood-lilies? Do you remember how
+we swore ourselves each to each for all our lives, aye, and all the
+lives that were to come, and how for us two the earth was turned to
+heaven? And then--do you remember how that monk walked by--it was this
+Clement Maldon--and froze us with his cruel eyes, and said, 'What do you
+with the witch's daughter? She is not for you.' And--oh! Thomas, I
+can no more of it," and she broke down and sobbed, then added, "Swear
+nothing; get you gone and betray me, if you will. I'll bear you no
+malice, even when I die for it, for after more than twenty years of
+monkcraft, how could I hope that you would still remain a man? Come,
+get you gone swiftly, ere they take us together, and your fair fame is
+besmirched. Quick, now, and leave me and my lady and her unborn child
+to the doom Maldon brews for us. Alas! for the copse by the river; alas!
+for the withered lilies!"
+
+Thomas heard; the big blue veins stood out upon his forehead, his great
+breast heaved, his utterance choked. At length the words came in a thick
+torrent.
+
+"I'll not go, dearie; I'll swear what you will, by your eyes and by your
+lips, by the flowers on which we trod, by all the empty years of aching
+woe and shame, by God upon His throne in heaven, and by the devil in
+his fires in hell. Come, come," and he ran to the altar and clasped the
+crucifix that stood there. "Say the words again, or any others that you
+will, and I'll repeat them and take the oath, and may fiery worms eat me
+living for ever and ever if I break a letter of it."
+
+With a little smile of triumph in her dark eyes Emlyn bent over the
+kneeling man and whispered--whispered through the gathering bloom, while
+he whispered after her, and kissed the Rood in token.
+
+It was done, and they drew away from the altar back to the painted
+saint.
+
+"So you are a man after all," she said, laughing aloud. "Now, man--my
+man--who, if we live through this, shall be my husband if you will--yes,
+my husband, for I'll pay, and be proud of it--listen to my commands. See
+you, I am Moses, and yonder in the Abbey sits Pharaoh with a hardened
+heart, and you are the angel--the destroying angel with the sword of the
+plagues of Egypt. To-night there will be fire in the Abbey--such fire as
+fell on Cranwell Towers. Nay, nay, I know; the church will not burn, nor
+all the great stone halls. But the dormitories, and the storehouses,
+and the hayricks, and the cattle-byres, they'll flame bravely after this
+time of drought, and if the wains are ashes, how will they draw in their
+harvest? Will you do it, my man?"
+
+"Surely. Have I not sworn?"
+
+"Then away to the work, and afterwards--to-morrow or next day--come back
+and make report. Just now I am much moved to solitary prayer, so
+wait till you see me here alone upon my knees. Stay! Wrap yourself in
+grave-clothes, for then if you are seen they will think you are a ghost,
+such as they say haunt this place. Fear not, by then I will have more
+work for you. Have you mastered it?"
+
+He nodded his head. "All. All, especially your promise. Oh! I'll not die
+now; I'll live to claim it."
+
+"Good. There's on account," and again she kissed him. "Go."
+
+He reeled in the intoxication of his joy; then said--
+
+"One word; my head swims; I forgot. Sir Christopher is not dead, or
+wasn't----"
+
+"What do you mean?" she almost hissed at him. "In Christ's name be
+quick; I hear voices without."
+
+"They buried another man for Christopher. I scraped him up and saw.
+Christopher was sent foreign, sore wounded, on the ship--pest! I have
+forgotten its name--the same ship that took Jeffrey Stokes."
+
+"Blessings on your head for that tidings," exclaimed Emlyn, in a
+strange, low voice. "Away; they are coming to the door!"
+
+The wooden figure creaked to and stared at her blandly, as it had stared
+for generations. For a moment Emlyn stood still, her hand upon her
+heart. Then she walked swiftly down the chapel, unlocked the door, and
+in the porch, just entering it, met the Prioress Matilda, another nun,
+and old Bridget, who was chattering.
+
+"Oh! it is you, Mistress Stower," said Mother Matilda, with evident
+relief. "Sister Bridget here swore that she heard a man talking in the
+chapel when she came to shut the outer window at sunset."
+
+"Did she?" answered Emlyn indifferently. "Then her luck's better than
+my own, who long for the sound of a man's voice in this home of babbling
+women. Nay, be not shocked, good Mother; I am no nun, and God did not
+create the world all female, or we should none of us be here. But, now
+you speak of it, I think there's something strange about that chapel.
+It is a place where some might fear to be alone, for twice when I knelt
+there at my prayers I have heard odd sounds, and once, when there was no
+sun, a cold shadow fell upon me. Some ghost of the dead, I suppose, of
+whom so many lie about. Well, ghosts I never feared; and now I must away
+to fetch my lady's supper, for she eats in her room to-night."
+
+When she had gone the Prioress shook her head and remarked in her gentle
+fashion--
+
+"A strange woman and a rough, but, my sisters, we must not judge her
+harshly, for she is of a different world to ours, and I fear has met
+with sorrows there, such as we are protected from by our holy office."
+
+"Yes," answered the sister, "but I think also that she has met with the
+ghost that haunts the chapel, of which there are many records, and that
+once I saw myself when I was a novice. The Prioress Matilda--I mean
+the fourth of that name, she who was mixed up with Edward the Lame, the
+monk, and died suddenly after the----"
+
+"Peace, sister; let us have no scandal about that departed--woman, who
+left the earth two hundred years ago. Also, if her unquiet spirit still
+haunts the place, as many say, I know not why it should speak with the
+voice of a man."
+
+"Perhaps it was the monk Edward's voice that Bridget heard," replied the
+sister, "for no doubt he still hangs about her skirts as he did in life,
+if all tales are true. Well, Mistress Emlyn says that she does not mind
+ghosts, and I can well believe it, for she is a witch's daughter, and
+has a strange look in her eyes. Did you ever see such bold eyes, Mother?
+However it may be, I hate ghosts, and rather would I pass a month on
+bread and water than be alone in that chapel at or after sundown. My
+back creeps to think of it, for they say that the unhallowed babe
+walks too, and gibbers round the font seeking baptism--ugh!" and she
+shuddered.
+
+"Peace, sister, peace to your goblin talk," said Mother Matilda again.
+"Let us think of holier things lest the foul fiend draw near to us."
+
+
+
+That night, about one in the morning, the foul fiend drew very near to
+Blossholme, and he came in the shape of fire. Suddenly the nuns were
+aroused from their beds by the sound of bells tolling wildly. Running to
+the window-places, they saw great sheets of flame leaping from the Abbey
+roofs. They threw open the casements and stared out terrified. Sister
+Bridget was sent even to wake the deaf gardener and his wife, who lived
+in the gateway, and command them to go forth and learn what passed, and
+the meaning of the shouts they heard, for they feared that Blossholme
+was attacked by some army.
+
+A long while went by, and Bridget returned with a confused tale, which,
+as it had been gathered by an imbecile from a deaf gardener, was not
+easy to understand. Meanwhile the shoutings went on and the fire at the
+Abbey burnt ever more fiercely, so that the nuns thought that their last
+hour had come, and knelt down to pray at the casement.
+
+Just then Cicely and Emlyn appeared among them, and stared at the great
+fire.
+
+Suddenly Cicely turned round, and, fixing her large blue eyes on Emlyn,
+said, in the hearing of them all--
+
+"The Abbey burns. Why, Nurse, they told me that you said it would be so,
+yonder amid the ashes of Cranwell Towers. Surely you are foresighted."
+
+"Fire calls for fire," answered Emlyn grimly, and the nuns around looked
+at her with doubtful eyes.
+
+It was a very fierce fire, which appeared to have begun in the
+dormitories, whence, even at that distance, they saw half-clad monks
+escaping through the windows, some by means of bed-coverings tied
+together and some by jumping, notwithstanding the height. Presently
+the roof of the building fell in, sending up showers of glowing embers,
+which lit upon the thatch of the farm byres and sheds, and upon the
+ricks built and building in the stackyard, so that all these caught
+also, and before dawn were utterly consumed.
+
+One by one the watchers in the Nunnery wearied of the lamentable sight,
+and muttering prayers, departed terrified to their beds. But Emlyn
+sat on at the open casement till the rim of the splendid September sun
+showed above the hills. There she sat, her head resting on her hand, her
+strong face set like that of a statue. Only her dark eyes, in which the
+flames were reflected, seemed to smile hardly.
+
+"Thomas is a great tool," she muttered to herself at length, "and the
+first cut has bitten to the bone. Well, there shall be worse to come.
+You will live to beg Emlyn's mercy yet, Clement Maldonado."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+THE BLOSSHOLME WITCHINGS
+
+On the afternoon of that day the Abbot came again to visit the Nunnery,
+and sent for Cicely and Emlyn. They found him alone in the guest-hall,
+walking up and down its length with a troubled face.
+
+"Cicely Foterell," he said, without any form of greeting, "when last
+we met you refused to sign the deed which I brought with me. Well, it
+matters nothing, for that purchaser has gone back upon his bargain."
+
+"Saying that he liked not the title?" suggested Cicely.
+
+"Aye; though who taught you of titles and the ins and outs of law? But
+what need to ask----?" and he glowered at Emlyn. "Well, let it pass, for
+now I have a paper with me that you _must_ sign. Read it if you will. It
+is harmless--only an instruction to the tenants of the lands your
+father held to pay their rents to me this Michaelmas, as warden of that
+property."
+
+"Do they refuse, then, seeing that you hold it all, my Lord Abbot?"
+
+"Aye, some one has been at work among them, and the stubborn churls will
+not without instruction under your hand and seal. The farms your father
+worked himself I have reaped, but last night every grain of corn and
+every fleece of wool were burned in the fire."
+
+"Then I pray you keep account of them, my Lord, that you may pay me
+their value when we come to settle our score, seeing that I never gave
+you leave to shear my sheep and harvest my corn."
+
+"You are pleased to be saucy, girl," he replied, biting his lip. "I have
+no time to bandy words--sign, and do you witness, Emlyn Stower."
+
+Cicely took the document, glanced at it, then slowly tore it into four
+pieces and threw it to the floor.
+
+"Rob me and my unborn child if you can and will, at least I'll be no
+thief's partner," she said quietly. "Now, if you want my name, go forge
+it, for I sign nothing."
+
+The Abbot's face grew very evil.
+
+"Do you remember, woman," he asked, "that here you are in my power? Do
+you not know that rebellious sinners such as you are can be shut in a
+dark dungeon and fed on the bread and water of affliction and beaten
+with the rods of penance? Will you do my bidding, or shall these things
+fall on you?"
+
+Cicely's beautiful face flushed up, and for a moment her blue eyes
+filled with the tears of shame and terror. Then they cleared again, and
+she looked at him boldly and answered--
+
+"I know that a murderer can be a torturer also. Why should not he who
+butchered the father scourge the daughter too? But I know also that
+there is a God who protects the innocent, though sometimes He is slow
+to lift His hand, and to Him I appeal, my Lord Abbot. I know, moreover,
+that I am Foterell and Carfax, and that no man or woman of my blood has
+ever yet yielded to fear or pain. I sign nothing," and, turning, she
+left the room.
+
+Now the Abbot and Emlyn were alone. Suddenly, before she could speak,
+for her tongue was tied with rage, he began to rate and curse her and
+to threaten horrible things against her and her mistress, such things as
+only a cruel Spaniard could imagine. At length he paused for breath, and
+she broke in--
+
+"Peace, wicked man, lest the roof fall on you, for I am sure that every
+cruel word you speak shall become a snake to strike you. Will you not
+take warning by what befell you last night, or must there be more such
+lessons?"
+
+"Oho!" he answered; "so you know of that, do you? As I thought, your
+witchcraft was at work there."
+
+"How can I help knowing what the whole sky blazoned? The fat monks of
+Blossholme must draw their girdles tight this winter. Those stolen lands
+bring no luck, it seems, and John Foterell's blood has turned to fire.
+Be warned, I say, be warned. Nay, I'll hear no more of your foul tongue.
+Lay a finger on that poor lady if you dare, and pay the price," and she
+too turned and went.
+
+Ere he left the Nunnery the Abbot had an interview with Mother Matilda.
+
+Cicely must be disciplined, he said; gently at first, afterwards with
+roughness, even to scourging, if need were--for her soul's sake. Also
+her servant Emlyn must be kept away from her--for her soul's sake, since
+without doubt she was a dangerous witch. Also, when the time of the
+birth of the child came on, he would send a wise woman to wait upon her,
+one who was accustomed to such cases--for her body's sake and that of
+her child. In the midst of the great trouble that had fallen upon them
+through the terrible fire at the Abbey, which had cost them such fearful
+loss, to say nothing of the lives of two of the servants and others
+burned and maimed, he had not much time to talk of such small things;
+but did she understand?
+
+Then it was that Mother Matilda, the meek and gentle, brought pain and
+astonishment to the heart of the Lord Abbot, her spiritual superior.
+
+She did not understand in the least. Such discipline as he suggested,
+whatever might be her faults and frailty, was, she declared with vigour,
+entirely unsuited to the case of the Lady Cicely, who, in her opinion,
+had suffered much for a small cause, and who, moreover, was about to
+become a mother, and therefore should be treated with every gentleness.
+For her part, she washed her hands of the whole business, and rather
+than enforce such commands would lay the case before the Vicar-General
+in London, who, she understood, was ready to look into such matters.
+Or at least she would set the Lady Harflete and her servant outside the
+gates and call upon the charitable to assist them. Of course, however,
+if his Lordship chose to send a skilled woman to wait upon her in her
+trouble, she could have no objection, provided that this woman were a
+person of good repute. But in the circumstances it was idle to talk to
+her of bread and water and dark cells and scourgings. Such things
+should never happen while she was Prioress. Before they did, she and
+her sisters would walk out of the Nunnery and leave the King's Courts to
+judge of the matter.
+
+Now the state of the Abbot was very like to that of a terrier dog which,
+being accustomed to worry and torment a certain ewe-sheep, comes upon
+the same after it has lambed and finds a new creature--one that, instead
+of running in affright, turns upon it and, with head and hood and all
+its weight of mutton, butts, and leaps, and tramples. Then what chance
+has that dog against the terrible and unsuspected fury of the sheep,
+born, as it thought, for it to tear? Then what can it do but run,
+panting and discomfited, to its kennel? So it was with the Abbot at the
+onslaught of Mother Matilda in the defence of her lamb--Cicely. With
+Emlyn he had been prepared to exchange bite for bite--but Mother
+Matilda! his own pet quarry. It was too much. He could only go away,
+cursing all women and their infinite variety, on which no man might
+build. Who would have thought it of Mother Matilda, of all people on the
+earth!
+
+So it came to pass that at the Nunnery, notwithstanding these terrible
+threats, things went on much as they had done before, since the times
+were such that even an all-powerful and remote Lord Abbot, with "right
+of gallows," could not drive matters to an extremity. Cicely was not
+shut into the dungeon and fed on bread and water, much less was she
+scourged. Nor was she separated from her nurse Emlyn, although it is
+true that the Prioress reproved her for her resistance to established
+authority, and when she had finished her lecture, kissed and blessed
+her, and called her "her sweet child, her dove and joy."
+
+But if there was sameness at the Nunnery, at the Abbey there was
+constant change and excitement. Only three days after the fire the great
+flock of eight hundred lambs rushed one night over the Red Cliff on the
+fell, where, as all shepherds in that country know, there is a sheer
+drop of forty feet. Never was lamb's flesh so cheap in Blossholme and
+the country round as on the morrow of that night, while every hind
+within ten miles could have a winter coat for the skinning. Moreover,
+it was said and sworn to by the shepherds that the devil himself, with
+horns and hoofs, and mounted on a jackass, had been seen driving the
+same lambs.
+
+Next the ghost of Sir John Foterell appeared, clad in armour, sometimes
+mounted and sometimes afoot, but always at night-time. First this
+dreadful spirit was perceived walking in the gardens of Shefton Hall,
+where it met the Abbot's caretaker--for the place was now shut up--as he
+went to set a springe for hares. He was a man advanced in years, yet few
+horses ever covered the distance between Shefton and Blossholme Abbey
+more quickly than he did that night.
+
+Nor would he or any other return to his charge, so that henceforth
+Shefton was left as a dwelling for the ghost, which, as all might see
+from time to time, shone in the window-places like a candle. Moreover,
+the said ghost travelled far and wide, for on dark, windy nights it
+knocked upon the doors of those that in its lifetime had been its
+tenants, and in a hollow voice declared that it had been murdered by
+the Abbot of Blossholme and his underlings, who held its daughter in
+durance, and, under threats of unearthly vengeance, commanded all men to
+bring him to justice, and to pay him neither fees nor homage.
+
+So much terror did this ghost cause that Thomas Bolle, the swift of
+foot, was set to watch for it, and returned announcing that he had seen
+it and that it called him by his name, whereon he, being a bold fellow
+and believing that it was but a man, sent an arrow straight through it,
+at which it laughed and forthwith vanished away. More; in proof of these
+things he led the Abbot and his monks to the very place, and showed them
+where he had stood and where the ghost stood--yes, and the arrow, of
+which all the feathers had been mysteriously burnt off and the wood
+seared as though by fire, sunk deep into a tree beyond. Then, as
+this thing had become a scandal and a dread, the Abbot, in his robes,
+solemnly laid the ghost, Thomas Bolle showing him exactly where it had
+passed.
+
+This spirit being well and truly laid (like a foundation-stone), the
+Abbot and his monks returned homeward through the wood, but as they went
+a dreadful voice, which all recognized as that of Sir John Foterell,
+called these words from the shadows of an impenetrable thicket--for now
+the night was falling--
+
+"Clement Maldonado, Abbot of Blossholme, I, whom thou didst murder,
+summon thee to meet me within a year before the throne of God."
+
+Thereon all fled; yes, even the Abbot fled, or rather, as he said, his
+horse did, Thomas Bolle, who had lagged behind, outrunning them every
+one and getting home the first, saying _Aves_ as he went.
+
+After this, although the whole countryside hunted for it, Sir John's
+ghost was seen no more. Doubtless its work was done; but the Abbot
+explained matters differently. Other and worse things were seen,
+however.
+
+One moonlight night a disturbance was heard among the cows, that
+bellowed and rushed about the field into which they had been turned
+after milking. Thinking that dogs had got amongst them, the herd and
+a watchman--for now no man would stir alone after sunset at
+Blossholme--went to see what was happening, and presently fell down half
+dead with fright. For there, leaning over the gate and laughing at them,
+was the foul fiend himself--the fiend with horns and tail, and in his
+hand an instrument like a pitchfork.
+
+How the pair got home again, they never knew, but this is certain, that
+after that night no one could milk those cows; moreover, some of them
+slipped their calves, and became so wild that they must be slaughtered.
+
+Next came rumours that even the Nunnery itself was haunted, especially
+the chapel. Here voices were heard talking, and Emlyn Stower, who was
+praying there, came out vowing that she had seen a ball of fire which
+rolled up and down the aisle, and in the centre of it a man's head, that
+seemed to try to talk to her, but could not.
+
+Into this matter inquiry was held by the Abbot himself, who asked Emlyn
+if she knew the face that was in the ball of fire. She answered that she
+thought so. It seemed very like to one of his own guards, named Andrew
+Woods, or more commonly Drunken Andrew, a Scotchman whom Sir Christopher
+Harflete was said to have killed on the night of the great burning. At
+least his Lordship would remember that this Andrew had a broken nose,
+and so had the head in the fire, but, as it appeared to have changed a
+great deal since death, she could not be quite certain. All she was sure
+of was that it seemed to be trying to give her some message.
+
+Now, recalling the trick that had been played with the said Andrew's
+body, the Abbot was silent. Only he asked shrewdly, if Emlyn had seen so
+terrible a thing there, how it came about that she was not afraid to
+be alone in the chapel, which he was informed she frequented much. She
+answered, with a laugh, that it was men she dreaded, not spirits, good
+or ill.
+
+"No," he exclaimed, with a burst of rage, "you do not dread them, woman,
+because you are a witch, and summon them; nor shall we be free from
+these wizardries until the fire has you and your company."
+
+"If so," replied Emlyn coolly, "I will ask dead Andrew for his message
+to you next time we meet, unless he chooses to deliver it to you
+himself."
+
+So they parted, but that very night there happened the worst thing of
+all. It was about one in the morning when the Abbot, whose window was
+set open, was wakened by a voice that spoke with a Scotch accent and
+repeatedly called him by his name, summoning him to look out and see.
+He and others rose and looked, but could see nothing, for the night was
+very dark and rain fell. When the dawn came, however, their search
+was rewarded, for there, set upon a pinnacle of the Abbey church, and
+staring straight into the window of his Lordship's sleeping-room, from
+which it was but a few yards distant, was the dreadful head of Andrew
+Woods!
+
+Furiously the Abbot asked who had done this horrible thing, but the
+monks, who were sure that it was the same being that had bewitched the
+cows, only shrugged their shoulders, and suggested that the grave of
+Andrew should be opened to see if he had lost his head. This was done at
+length, although, for his own reasons, the Abbot forbade it, talking of
+the violation of the dead.
+
+Well, the grave was opened when Maldon was away on one of his mysterious
+journeys, and lo! no Andrew was there, but only a beam of oakwood
+stuffed out with straw to the shape of a man and sewn up in a blanket.
+For the real Andrew, or rather what was left of him, lay, it may be
+remembered, in another grave that was supposed to be filled by Sir
+Christopher Harflete.
+
+From this day forward the whole countryside for fifty miles round rang
+with the tales of what were known as the Blossholme witchings, of which
+a proof was still to be seen by all men in the withered head of Andrew
+perched upon its pinnacle, whence none could be found to remove it
+for love or money. Only it was noted that the Abbot changed his
+sleeping-chamber, after which, except for a sickness which struck the
+monks--it was thought from the drinking of sour beer--these bedevilments
+were abated.
+
+Indeed, at that time men had other things to think of, since the air was
+thick with rumours of impending change. The King threatened the Church,
+and the Church prepared to resist the King. There was talk of the
+suppression of the monasteries--some, in fact, had already been
+suppressed--and more talk of a rising of the faithful in the shires of
+York and Lincoln; high matters which called Abbot Maldon much away from
+home.
+
+One day he returned weary, but satisfied, from a long journey, and
+amongst the news that awaited him found a message from the Prioress,
+over which he pondered while he ate his food. Also there was a letter
+from Spain, which he studied eagerly.
+
+Some nine months had passed since the ship _Great Yarmouth_ sailed, and
+during this time all that had been heard of her was that she had never
+reached Seville, so that, like every one else, the Abbot believed she
+had foundered in the deep seas. This was a sad event which he had
+borne with resignation, seeing that, although it meant the loss of his
+letters, which were of importance, she had aboard of her several persons
+whom he wished to see no more, especially Sir Christopher Harflete and
+Sir John Foterell's serving-man, Jeffrey Stokes, who was said to
+carry with him certain inconvenient documents. Even his secretary
+and chaplain, Brother Martin, could be spared, being, Maldon felt, a
+character better suited to heaven than to an earth where the best of men
+must be prepared sometimes to compromise with conscience.
+
+In short, the vanishing of the _Great Yarmouth_ was the wise decree of
+a far-seeing Providence, that had removed certain stumbling-blocks
+from his feet, which of late had been forced to travel over a rough and
+thorny road. For the dead tell no tales, although it was true that the
+ghost of Sir John Foterell and the grinning head of Drunken Andrew
+on his pinnacle seemed to be instances to the contrary. Christopher
+Harflete and Jeffrey Stokes at the bottom of the Bay of Biscay could
+bring no awkward charges, and left him none to deal with save an
+imprisoned and forgotten girl and an unborn child.
+
+Now things were changed again, however, for the Spanish letter in his
+hand told him that the _Great Yarmouth_ had not sunk, since two members
+of her crew who escaped--how, it was not said--declared that she had
+been captured by Turkish or other infidel pirates and taken away through
+the Straits of Gibraltar to some place unknown. Therefore, if he had
+survived the voyage, Christopher Harflete might still be living, and so
+might Jeffrey Stokes and Brother Martin. Yet this was not likely,
+for probably they would have perished in the fight, being hot-headed
+Englishmen, all three of them, or at the best have been committed to the
+Turkish galleys, whence not one man in a thousand ever returned.
+
+On the whole, then, he had little cause to fear them, who were dead,
+or as good as dead, especially in the midst of so many more pressing
+dangers. All he had to fear, all that stood between him, or rather the
+Church, and a very rich inheritance was the girl in the Nunnery and an
+unborn child, and--yes, Emlyn Stower. Well, he was sure that the child
+would not live, and probably the mother would not live. As for Emlyn, as
+she deserved, she would be burned for a witch, ere long too, now that
+he had time to see to it, and, if she survived her sickness, although he
+grieved for her, Cicely, her accomplice, should justly accompany her to
+the stake. Meanwhile, as Mother Matilda's message told him, this matter
+of the child was urgent.
+
+The Abbot called a monk who was waiting on him and bade him send word
+to a woman known as Goody Megges, bidding her come at once. Within ten
+minutes she entered, having, as she explained, been warned to be close
+at hand.
+
+This Goody Megges, who had some local repute as a "wise woman," was a
+person of about fifty years of age, remarkable for her enormous size, a
+flat face with small oblong eyes and a little, twisted mouth, which had
+caused her to be nicknamed "the Flounder." She greeted the Abbot with
+much reverence, curtseying till he thought she would fall backwards, and
+having received his fatherly blessing, sank into a chair, that seemed to
+vanish beneath her bulk.
+
+"You will wonder why I summon you here, friend, since this is no place
+for the services of those of your trade," began the Abbot, with a smile.
+
+"Oh, no, my Lord," answered the woman; "I've heard it is to wait upon
+Sir Christopher Harflete's wife in her trouble."
+
+"I wish that I could call her by the honoured name of wife," said the
+Abbot, with a sigh. "But a mock-marriage does not make a wife, Mistress
+Megges, and, alas! the poor babe, if ever it should be born, will be but
+a bastard, marked from its birth with the brand of shame."
+
+Now, the Flounder, who was no fool, began to take her cue.
+
+"It is sad, very sad, your Holiness--no, that's wrong; but never mind,
+it will be right before all's done, and a good omen, I say, coming so
+sudden and chancy--your Lordship, I mean--not but what there's lots
+of the sort about here, as is generally the case round a--I mean
+everywhere. Moreover, they generally grow up bad and ungrateful, as I
+know well from my own three--not but what, of course, I was married
+fast enough. Well, what I was going to say was, that when things is so,
+sometimes it is a true blessing if the little innocents should go off at
+the first, and so be spared the finger of shame and the sniff of scorn,"
+and she paused.
+
+"Yes, Mistress Megges, or at least in such a case it is not for us to
+rail at the decree of Heaven--provided, of course, that the infant has
+lived long enough to be baptized," he added hastily.
+
+"No, your Eminence, no. That's just what I said to that Smith girl last
+spring, when, being a heavy sleeper, I happened to overlie her brat and
+woke up to find it flat and blue. When she saw it she took on, bellowing
+like a heifer that has lost its first calf, and I said to her, 'Mary,
+this isn't me; it's Heaven. Mary, you should be very thankful, since my
+burden has rid you of your burden, and you can bury such a tiny one for
+next to nothing. Mary, cry a little if you like, for that's natural with
+the first, but don't come here flying in the face of Heaven with your
+railings, and gates, and posts--especially the rails, for Heaven hates
+'em.'"
+
+"Ah!" asked the Abbot, with mild interest, "and pray what did Mary do
+then?"
+
+"Do, the graceless wench? Why, she said, 'Is it rails you're talking of,
+you pig-smothering old sow? Then here's a rail for you,' and she pulled
+the top bar off my own fence--for we were talking by the door--oak it
+was, and three by two--and knocked me flat--here's the scar of it on my
+head--singing out, 'Is that enough, or will you have the gate and the
+posts too?' Oh! If there's one thing I hate, it is railing, 'specially
+if made of hard oak and held edgeways."
+
+So the wicked old hag babbled on, after her hideous fashion, while the
+Abbot stared at the ceiling.
+
+"Enough of these sad stories of vice and violence. Such mischances will
+happen, and of course you were not to blame. Now, good Mistress Megges,
+will you undertake this case, which cannot be left to ignorant nuns?
+Though times are hard here, since of late many losses have fallen on our
+house, your skill shall be well paid."
+
+The woman shuffled her big feet and stared at the floor, then looked up
+suddenly with a glance that seemed to bore to his heart like a bradawl,
+and asked--
+
+"And if perchance the blessed babe should fly to heaven through my
+fingers, as in my time I have known dozens of them do, should I still
+get that pay?"
+
+"Then," the Abbot answered, with a smile--a somewhat sickly smile--"then
+I think, mistress, you should have double pay, to console you for your
+sorrow and for any doubts that might be thrown upon your skill."
+
+"Now that's noble trading," she replied, with an evil leer, "such as
+one might hope for from an Abbot. But, my Lord, they say the Nunnery is
+haunted, and I can't face ghosts. Man or woman, with rails or without
+'em, Mother Flounder doesn't mind, but ghosts--no! Also Mistress Stower
+is a witch, and might lay a curse on me; and those nuns are full of
+crinks and cranks, and can pray an honest soul to death."
+
+"Come, come, my time is short. What is it you want, woman? Out with it."
+
+"The inn there at the ford--your Lordship, will need a tenant next
+month. It's a good paying house for those who know how to keep their
+mouths shut and to look the other way, and through vile scandal and evil
+slanderers, such as the Smith girl, my business isn't what it was. Now
+if I could have it without rent for the first two years, till I had time
+to work up the trade----"
+
+The Abbot, who could bear no more of the creature, rose from his chair
+and said sharply--
+
+"I will remember. Yes, I will promise. Go now; the reverent Mother
+is advised of your coming. And report to me night and morning of the
+progress of the case. Why, woman, what are you doing?" for she had
+suddenly slid to her knees and grasped his robes with her thick, filthy
+hands.
+
+"Absolution, holy Lordship; I ask absolution and blessing--_pax
+Meggiscum_, and the rest of it."
+
+"Absolution? There is nothing to absolve."
+
+"Oh! yes, my Lord, there is plenty, though I am wondering who will
+absolve _you_ for your half. Also there are rows of little angels that
+sometimes won't let me sleep, and that's why I can't stomach ghosts. I'd
+rather sup in winter on cold small ale and half-cooked pork than face
+even a still-born ghost."
+
+"Begone!" said the Abbot, in such a voice that she scrambled to her feet
+and went, unblessed and unabsolved.
+
+When the door had closed behind her he went to the window and flung it
+wide, although the night was foul.
+
+"By all the saints!" he muttered, "that beastly murderess poisons the
+air. Why, I wonder, does God allow such filthy things to live? Cannot
+she ply her hell-trade less grossly? Oh! Clement Maldonado, how low are
+you sunk that you must use tools like these, and on such a business. And
+yet there is no other way. Not for myself, but for the Church, O Lord!
+The great plot thickens, and all men clamour to me, its head and spring,
+for money. Give me money, and within six months Yorkshire and the North
+will be up, and without a year Henry the Anti-Christ will be dead and
+the Princess Mary fast upon the throne, with the Emperor and the Pope
+for watchdogs. That stiff-necked Cicely must die and her babe must die,
+and then I'll twist the secret of the jewels out of the witch, Emlyn--on
+the rack, if need be. Those jewels--I've seen them so often; why, they
+would feed an army; but while Cicely or her brat lives where is my claim
+to them? So, alas! they must die, but oh! the hag is right. Who shall
+give me absolution for a deed I hate? Not for me, not for me, O my
+Patron, but for the Church!" and flinging himself to the floor before
+the holy image of his chosen Saint, he rested his head upon its feet and
+wept.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+MOTHER MEGGES AND THE GHOST
+
+Flounder Megges, with all the paraphernalia of her trade, was
+established as nurse to Cicely at the Nunnery. This establishment, it is
+true, had not been easy since Emlyn, who knew something of the woman's
+repute, and suspected more, resisted it with all her strength, but here
+the Prioress intervened in her gentle way. She herself, she explained,
+did not like this person, who looked so odd, drank so much beer and
+talked so fast. Yet she had made inquiries and found that she was
+extraordinarily skilled in matters of that nature. Indeed, it was said
+that she had succeeded in cases that were wonderfully difficult which
+the leech had abandoned as hopeless, though of course there had been
+other cases where she had not succeeded. But these, she was informed,
+were generally those of poor people who did not pay her well. Now in
+this instance her pay would be ample, for she, Mother Matilda, had
+promised her a splendid fee out of her private store, and for the rest,
+since no man doctor might enter there, who else was competent? Not she
+or the other nuns, for none of them had been married save old Bridget,
+who was silly and had long ago forgotten all such things. Not Emlyn
+even, who was but a girl when her own child was born, and since then had
+been otherwise employed. Therefore there was no choice.
+
+To this reasoning Emlyn agreed perforce, though she mistrusted her of
+the fat wretch, whose appearance poor Cicely also disliked. Still, for
+very fear Emlyn was humble and civil to her, for if she were not,
+who could know if she would put out all her skill upon behalf of her
+mistress? Therefore she did her bidding like a slave, and spiced her
+beer and made her bed and even listened to her foul jests and talk
+unmurmuringly.
+
+
+
+The business was over at length, and the child, a noble boy, born into
+the world. Had not the Flounder produced it in triumph laid upon a
+little basket covered with a lamb-skin, and had not Emlyn and Mother
+Matilda and all the nuns kissed and blessed it? Had it not also, for
+fear of accident (such was the fatherly forethought of the Abbot), been
+baptized at once by a priest who was waiting, under the names of John
+Christopher Foterell, John after its grandfather and Christopher after
+its father, with Foterell for a surname, since the Abbot would not allow
+that it should be called Harflete, being, as he averred, base-born?
+
+So this child was born, and Mother Megges swore that of all the two
+hundred and three that she had issued into the world it was the finest,
+nine and a half pounds in weight at the very least. Also, as its voice
+and movements testified, it was lusty and like to live, for did not the
+Flounder, in sight of all the wondering nuns, hold it up hanging by its
+hands to her two fat forefingers, and afterwards drink a whole quart of
+spiced ale to its health and long life?
+
+But if the babe was like to live, Cicely was like to die. Indeed, she
+was very, very ill, and perhaps would have passed away had it not been
+for a device of Emlyn's. For when she was at her worst and the Flounder,
+shaking her head and saying that she could do no more, had departed to
+her eternal ale and a nap, Emlyn crept up and took her mistress's cold
+hand.
+
+"Darling," she said, "hear me," but Cicely did not stir. "Darling," she
+repeated, "hear me, I have news for you of your husband."
+
+Cicely's white face turned a little on the pillow and her blue eyes
+opened.
+
+"Of my husband?" she whispered. "Why, he is gone, as I soon shall be.
+What news of him?"
+
+"That he is not gone, that he lives, or so I believe, though heretofore
+I have hid it from you."
+
+The head was lifted for a moment, and the eyes stared at her with
+wondering joy.
+
+"Do you trick me, Nurse? Nay, you would never do that. Give me the milk,
+I want it now. I'll listen. I promise you I'll not die till you have
+told me. If Christopher lives why should I die who only hoped to find
+him?"
+
+So Emlyn whispered all she knew. It was not much, only that Christopher
+had not been buried in the grave where he was said to be buried, and
+that he had been taken wounded aboard the ship _Great Yarmouth_, of the
+fate of which ship fortunately she had heard nothing. Still, slight as
+they might be, to Cicely these tidings were a magic medicine, for did
+they not mean the rebirth of hope, hope that for nine long months had
+been dead and buried with Christopher? From that moment she began to
+mend.
+
+When the Flounder, having slept off her drink, returned to the sick-bed,
+she stared at her amazed and muttered something about witchcraft, she
+who had been sure that she would die, as in those days so many women did
+who fell into hands like hers. Indeed, she was bitterly disappointed,
+knowing that this death was desired by her employer, who now after all
+might let the Ford Inn to another. Moreover, the child was no waster,
+but one who was set for life. Well, that at least she could mend, and if
+it were done quickly the shock might kill the mother. Yet the thing
+was not so easy as it looked, for there were many loving eyes upon that
+babe.
+
+When she wished to take it to her bed at night Emlyn forbade her
+fiercely, and on being appealed to, the Prioress, who knew the
+creature's drunken habits and had heard rumours of the fate of the Smith
+infant and others, gave orders that it was not to be. So, since the
+mother was too weak to have it with her, the boy was laid in a little
+cot at her side. And always day and night one or more of the sweet-faced
+nuns stood at the head of that cot watching as might a guardian angel.
+Also it took only Nature's food since from the first Cicely would nurse
+it, so that she could not mix any drug with its milk that would cause it
+to sleep itself away.
+
+So the days went on, bringing black wrath, despair almost, to the heart
+of Mother Megges, till at length there came the chance she sought. One
+fine evening, when the nuns were gathered at vespers, but as it happened
+not in the chapel, because since the tale of the hauntings they shunned
+the place after high noon, Cicely, whose strength was returning to her,
+asked Emlyn to change her garments and remake her bed. Meanwhile, the
+babe was given to Sister Bridget, who doted on it, with instructions to
+take it to walk in the garden for a time, since the rain had passed off
+and the afternoon was now very soft and pleasant. So she went, and there
+presently was met by the Flounder, who was supposed to be asleep, but
+had followed her, a person of whom the half-witted Bridget was much
+afraid.
+
+"What are you doing with my babe, old fool?" she screeched at her,
+thrusting her fat face to within an inch of the nun's. "You'll let it
+fall and I shall be blamed. Give me the angel or I will twist your nose
+for you. Give it me, I say, and get you gone."
+
+In her fear and flurry old Bridget obeyed and departed at a run. Then,
+recovering herself a little, or drawn by some instinct, she returned,
+hid herself in a clump of lilac bushes and watched.
+
+Presently she saw the Flounder, after glancing about to make sure that
+she was alone, enter the chapel, carrying the child, and heard her
+bolt the door after her. Now Bridget, as she said afterwards, grew very
+frightened, she knew not why, and, acting on impulse, ran to the chancel
+window and, climbing on to a wheelbarrow that stood there, looked
+through it. This is what she saw.
+
+Mother Megges was kneeling in the chancel, as she thought at first,
+to say her prayers, till she perceived, for a ray from the setting sun
+showed it all, that on the paving before her lay the infant and that
+this she-devil was thrusting her thick forefinger down its throat, for
+already it grew black in the face, and as she thrust muttering savagely.
+So horror-struck was Bridget that she could neither move nor cry.
+
+Then, while she stood petrified, suddenly there appeared the figure of
+a man in rusty armour. The Flounder looked up, saw him and, withdrawing
+her finger from the mouth of the child, let out yell after yell. The
+man, who said nothing, drew a sword and lifted it, whereon the murderess
+screamed--
+
+"The ghost! The ghost! Spare me, Sir John, I am poor and he paid me.
+Spare me for Christ's sake!" and so saying, she rolled on to the floor
+in a fit, and there turned and twisted until she lay still.
+
+Then the man, or the ghost of a man, having looked at her, sheathed
+his sword and lifting up the babe, which now drew its breath again and
+cried, marched with it down the aisle. The next thing of which Bridget
+became aware was that he stood before her, the infant in his arms,
+holding it out to her. His face she could not see, for the vizor was
+down, but he spoke in a hollow voice, saying--
+
+"This gift from Heaven to the Lady Harflete. Bid her fear nothing, for
+one devil I have garnered and the others are ripe for reaping."
+
+Bridget took the child and sank down on to the ground, and at that
+moment the nuns, alarmed by the awful yells, rushed through the side
+door, headed by Mother Matilda. They too saw the figure, and knew the
+Foterell cognizance upon its helm and shield. But it waited not to speak
+to them, only passed behind some trees and vanished.
+
+Their first care was for the infant, which they thought the man was
+stealing; then, after they were sure that it had taken no real hurt,
+they questioned old Bridget, but could get nothing from her, for all she
+did was to gibber and point first to the barrow and next to the chancel
+window. At length Mother Matilda understood and, climbing on to the
+barrow, looked through the window as Bridget had done. She looked, she
+saw, and fell back fainting.
+
+
+
+An hour had gone by. The child, unhurt save for a little bruising of
+its tender mouth, was asleep upon its mother's breast. Bridget, having
+recovered, at length had told all her tale to every one of them save
+Cicely, who as yet knew nothing, for she and Emlyn did not hear the
+screams, their rooms being on the other side of the building. The Abbot
+had been sent for, and, accompanied by monks, arrived in the midst of
+a thunder-storm and pouring rain. He, too, had heard the tale, heard it
+with a pale face while his monks crossed themselves. At length he asked
+of the woman Megges. They replied that living or dead she was, as they
+supposed, still in the chapel, which none of them had dared to enter.
+
+"Come, let us see," said the Abbot, and they went there to find the door
+locked as Bridget had said.
+
+Smiths were sent for and broke it in while all stood in the pouring
+rain and watched. It was open at last, and they entered with torches
+and tapers, for now the darkness was dense, the Abbot leading them. They
+came to the chancel, where something lay upon the floor, and held down
+the torches to look. Then they saw that which caused them all to turn
+and fly, calling on the saints to protect them. In her life Mother
+Megges had not been lovely, but in the death that had overtaken her----!
+
+
+
+It was morning. The Lord Abbot and his monks were assembled in the
+guest-chamber, and opposite to them were the Lady Prioress and her nuns,
+and with them Emlyn.
+
+"Witchcraft!" shouted the Abbot, smiting his fist upon the table, "black
+witchcraft! Satan himself and his foulest demons walk the countryside
+and have their home in this Nunnery. Last night they manifested
+themselves----"
+
+"By saving a babe from a cruel death and bringing a hateful murderess to
+doom," broke in Emlyn.
+
+"Silence, Sorceress," shouted the Abbot. "Get thee behind me, Satan. I
+know you and your familiars," and he glared at the Prioress.
+
+"What may you mean, my Lord Abbot?" asked Mother Matilda, bridling up.
+"My sisters and I do not understand. Emlyn Stower is right. Do you
+call that witchcraft which works so good an end? The ghost of Sir John
+Foterell appeared here--we admit it who saw that ghost. But what did
+the spirit do? It slew the hellish woman whom you sent among us and it
+rescued the blessed babe when her finger was down its throat to choke
+out its pure life. If that be witchcraft I stand by it. Tell us what did
+the wretch mean when she cried out to the spirit to spare her because
+she was poor and had been bribed for her iniquity? Who bribed her, my
+Lord Abbot? None in this house, I'll swear. And who changed Sir John
+Foterell from flesh to spirit? Why is he a ghost to-day?"
+
+"Am I here to answer riddles, woman, and who are you that you dare put
+such questions to me? I depose you, I set your house under ban. The
+judgment of the Church shall be pronounced against you all. Dare not to
+leave your doors until the Court is composed to try you. Think not you
+shall escape. Your English land is sick and heresy stalks abroad; but,"
+he added slowly, "fire can still bite and there is store of faggots in
+the woods. Prepare your souls for judgment. Now I go."
+
+"Do as it pleases you," answered the enraged Mother Matilda. "When you
+set out your case we will answer it; but, meanwhile, we pray that you
+take what is left of your dead hireling with you, for we find her ill
+company and here she shall have no burial. My Lord Abbot, the charter of
+this Nunnery is from the monarch of England, whatever authority you and
+those that went before you have usurped. It was granted by the first
+Edward, and the appointment of every prioress since his day has been
+signed by the sovereign and no other. I hold mine under the manual of
+the eighth Henry. You cannot depose me, for I appeal from the Abbot to
+the King. Fare you well, my Lord," and, followed by her little train of
+aged nuns, she swept from the room like an offended queen.
+
+After the terrible death of the child-murderess and the restoration of
+her babe to her unharmed, Cicely's recovery was swift. Within a week
+she was up and walking, and within ten days as strong, or stronger, than
+ever she had been. Nothing more had been heard of the Abbot, and though
+all knew that danger threatened them from this quarter they were content
+to enjoy the present hour of peace and wait till it was at hand.
+
+But in Cicely's awakened mind there arose a keen desire to learn more
+of what her nurse had hinted to her when she lay upon the very edge of
+death. Day by day she plied Emlyn with questions till at length she
+knew all; namely, that the tidings came from Thomas Bolle, and that he,
+dressed in her father's armour, was the ghost who had saved her boy from
+death. Now nothing would serve her but that she must see Thomas herself,
+as she said, to thank him, though truly, as Emlyn knew well, to draw
+from his own lips every detail and circumstance that she could gather
+concerning Christopher.
+
+For a while Emlyn held out against her, for she knew the dangers of such
+a meeting; but in the end, being able to refuse her lady nothing, she
+gave way.
+
+At length at the appointed hour of sunset Emlyn and Cicely stood in
+the chapel, whither the latter told the nuns she wished to go to return
+thanks for her deliverance from many dangers. They knelt before the
+altar, and while they made pretence to pray there heard knocks, which
+were the signal of the presence of Thomas Bolle. Emlyn answered them
+with other knocks, which told that all was safe, whereon the wooden
+image turned and Thomas appeared, dressed as before in Sir John
+Foterell's armour. So like did he seem to her dead father in this
+familiar mail that for a moment Cicely thought it must be he, and her
+knees trembled until he knelt before her, kissing her hand, asking after
+her health and that of the infant and whether she were satisfied with
+his service.
+
+"Indeed and indeed yes," she answered; "and oh, friend! all that I have
+henceforth is yours should I ever have anything again, who am but a
+prisoned beggar. Meanwhile, my blessing and that of Heaven rest upon
+you, you gallant man."
+
+"Thank me not, Lady," answered the honest Thomas. "To speak truth it was
+Emlyn whom I served, for though monks parted us we have been friends for
+many a year. As for the matter of the child and that spawn of hell, the
+Flounder, be grateful to God, not to me, for it was by mere chance that
+I came here that evening, which I had not intended to do. I was going
+about my business with the cattle when something seemed to tell me to
+arm and come. It was as though a hand pushed me, and the rest you know,
+and so I think by now does Mother Megges," he added grimly.
+
+"Yes, yes, Thomas; and in truth I do thank God, Whose finger I see in
+all this business, as I thank you, His instrument. But there are
+other things whereof Emlyn has spoken to me. She said--ah! she said my
+husband, whom I thought slain and buried, in truth was only wounded and
+not buried, but shipped over-sea. Tell me that story, friend, omitting
+nothing, but swiftly for our time is short. I thirst to hear it from
+your own lips."
+
+So in his slow, wandering way he told her, word by word, all that he
+had seen, all that he had learned, and the sum of it was that Sir
+Christopher had been shipped abroad upon the _Great Yarmouth_, sorely
+wounded but not dead, and that with him had sailed Jeffrey Stokes and
+the monk Martin.
+
+"That's ten months gone," said Cicely. "Has naught been heard of this
+ship? By now she should be home again."
+
+Thomas hesitated, then answered--
+
+"No tidings came of her from Spain. Then, although I said nothing of it
+even to Emlyn, she was reported lost with all hands at sea. Then came
+another story----"
+
+"Ah! that other story?"
+
+"Lady, two of her crew reached the Wash. I did not see them, and they
+have shipped again for Marseilles in France. But I spoke with a shepherd
+who is half-brother to one of them, and he told me that from him he
+learned that the _Great Yarmouth_ was set upon by two Turkish pirates
+and captured after a brave fight in which the captain Goody and others
+were killed. This man and his comrade escaped in a boat and drifted
+to and fro till they were picked up by a homeward-bound caravel which
+landed them at Hull. That's all I know--save one thing."
+
+"One thing! Oh, what thing, Thomas? That my husband is dead?"
+
+"Nay, nay, the very opposite, that he is alive, or was, for these men
+saw him and Jeffrey Stokes and Martin the priest, no craven as I know,
+fighting like devils till the Turks overwhelmed them by numbers, and,
+having bound their hands, carried them all three unwounded on board one
+of their ships, wishing doubtless to make slaves of such brave fellows."
+
+Now, although Emlyn would have stopped her, still Cicely plied him with
+questions, which he answered as best he could, till suddenly a sound
+caught his ear.
+
+"Look at the window!" he exclaimed.
+
+They looked, and saw a sight that froze their blood, for there staring
+at them through the glass was the dark face of the Abbot, and with it
+other faces.
+
+"Betray me not, or I shall burn," he whispered. "Say only that I came
+to haunt you," and silently as a shadow he glided to his niche and was
+gone.
+
+"What now, Emlyn?"
+
+"One thing only--Thomas must be saved. A bold face and stand to it. Is
+it our fault if your father's ghost should haunt this chapel? Remember,
+your father's ghost, no other. Ah! here they come."
+
+As she spoke the door was thrown wide, and through it came the Abbot
+and his rout of attendants. Within two paces of the women they halted,
+hanging together like bees, for they were afraid, while a voice cried,
+"Seize the witches!"
+
+Cicely's terror passed from her and she faced them boldly.
+
+"What would you with us, my Lord Abbot?" she asked.
+
+"We would know, Sorceress, what shape was that which spoke with you but
+now, and whither has it gone?"
+
+"The same that saved my child and called the Sword of God down upon the
+murderess. It wore my father's armour, but its face I did not see. It
+has gone whence it came, but where that is I know not. Discover if you
+can."
+
+"Woman, you trifle with us. What said the Thing?"
+
+"It spoke of the slaughter of Sir John Foterell by King's Grave Mount
+and of those who wrought it," and she looked at him steadily until his
+eyes fell before hers.
+
+"What else?"
+
+"It told me that my husband is not dead. Neither did you bury him as you
+put about, but shipped him hence to Spain, whence it prophesied he will
+return again to be revenged upon you. It told me that he was captured by
+the infidel Moors, and with him Jeffrey Stokes, my father's servant, and
+the priest Martin, your secretary. Then it looked up and vanished, or
+seemed to vanish, though perhaps it is among us now."
+
+"Aye," answered the Abbot, "Satan, with whom you hold converse, is
+always among us. Cicely Foterell and Emlyn Stower, you are foul witches,
+self-confessed. The world has borne your sorceries too long, and you
+shall answer for them before God and man, as I, the Lord Abbot of
+Blossholme, have right and authority to make you do. Seize these witches
+and let them be kept fast in their chamber till I constitute the Court
+Ecclesiastic for their trial."
+
+So they took hold of Cicely and Emlyn and led them to the Nunnery. As
+they crossed the garden they were met by Mother Matilda and the nuns,
+who, for a second time within a month, ran out to see what was the
+tumult in the chapel.
+
+"What is it now, Cicely?" asked the Prioress.
+
+"Now we are witches, Mother," she answered, with a sad smile.
+
+"Aye," broke in Emlyn, "and the charge is that the ghost of the murdered
+Sir John Foterell was seen speaking to us."
+
+"Why, why?" exclaimed the Prioress. "If the spirit of a woman's father
+appears to her is she therefore to be declared a witch? Then is poor
+Sister Bridget a witch also, for this same spirit brought the child to
+her?"
+
+"Aye," said the Abbot, "I had forgotten her. She is another of the crew,
+let her be seized and shut up also. Greatly do I hope, when it comes to
+the hour of trial, that there may not be found to be more of them," and
+he glanced at the poor nuns with menace in his eye.
+
+So Cicely and Emlyn were shut within their room and strictly guarded
+by monks, but otherwise not ill-treated. Indeed, save for their
+confinement, there was little change in their condition. The child was
+allowed to be with Cicely, the nuns were allowed to visit her.
+
+Only over both of them hung the shadow of great trouble. They were
+aware, and it seemed to them purposely suffered to be aware, that
+they were about to be tried for their lives upon monstrous and obscene
+charges; namely, that they had consorted with a dim and awful creature
+called the Enemy of Mankind, whom, it was supposed, human beings had
+power to call to their counsel and assistance. To them who knew well
+that this being was Thomas Bolle, the thing seemed absurd. Yet it could
+not be denied that the said Thomas at Emlyn's instigation had worked
+much evil on the monks of Blossholme, paying them, or rather their
+Abbot, back in his own coin.
+
+Yet what was to be done? To tell the facts would be to condemn Thomas
+to some fearful fate which even then they would be called upon to share,
+although possibly they might be cleared of the charge of witchcraft.
+
+Emlyn set the matter before Cicely, urging neither one side nor the
+other, and waited her judgment. It was swift and decisive.
+
+"This is a coil that we cannot untangle," said Cicely. "Let us betray
+no one, but put our trust in God. I am sure," she added, "that God will
+help us as He did when Mother Megges would have murdered my boy. I shall
+not attempt to defend myself by wronging others. I leave everything to
+Him."
+
+"Strange things have happened to many who trusted in God; to that the
+whole evil world bears witness," said Emlyn doubtfully.
+
+"May be," answered Cicely in her quiet fashion, "perhaps because they
+did not trust enough or rightly. At least there lies my path and I will
+walk in it--to the fire if need be."
+
+"There is some seed of greatness in you; to what will it grow, I
+wonder?" replied Emlyn, with a shrug of her shoulders.
+
+On the morrow this faith of Cicely's was put to a sharp test. The Abbot
+came and spoke with Emlyn apart. This was the burden of his song--
+
+"Give me those jewels and all may yet be well with you and your
+mistress, vile witches though you are. If not, you burn."
+
+As before she denied all knowledge of them.
+
+"Find me the jewels or you burn," he answered. "Would you pay your lives
+for a few miserable gems?"
+
+Now Emlyn weakened, not for her own sake, and said she would speak with
+her mistress.
+
+He bade her do so.
+
+"I thought that those jewels were burned, Emlyn, do you then know where
+they are?" asked Cicely.
+
+"Aye, I have said nothing of it to you, but I know. Speak the word and I
+give them up to save you."
+
+Cicely thought a while and kissed her child, which she held in her arms,
+then laughed aloud and answered--
+
+"Not so. That Abbot shall never be richer for any gem of mine. I have
+told you in what I trust, and it is not jewels. Whether I burn or
+whether I am saved, he shall not have them."
+
+"Good," said Emlyn, "that is my mind also, I only spoke for your sake,"
+and she went out and told the Abbot.
+
+He came into Cicely's chamber and raged at them. He said that they
+should be excommunicated, then tortured and then burned; but Cicely,
+whom he had thought to frighten, never winced.
+
+"If so, so let it be," she replied, "and I will bear all as best I can.
+I know nothing of these jewels, but if they still exist they are mine,
+not yours, and I am innocent of any witchcraft. Do your work, for I am
+sure that the end shall be far other than you think."
+
+"What!" said the Abbot, "has the foul fiend been with you again that you
+talk thus certainly? Well, Sorceress, soon you will sing another tune,"
+and he went to the door and summoned the Prioress.
+
+"Put these women upon bread and water," he said, "and prepare them for
+the rack, that they may discover their accomplices."
+
+Mother Matilda set her gentle face, and answered--
+
+"It shall not be done in this Nunnery, my Lord Abbot. I know the law,
+and you have no such power. Moreover, if you move them hence, who are my
+guests, I appeal to the King, and meanwhile raise the country on you."
+
+"Said I not that they had accomplices?" sneered the Abbot, and went his
+way.
+
+But of the torture no more was heard, for that appeal to the King had an
+ill sound in his ears.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+DOOMED
+
+It was the day of trial. From dawn Cicely and Emlyn had seen people
+hurrying in and out of the gates of the Nunnery, and heard workmen
+making preparation in the guest-hall below their chamber. About eight
+one of the nuns brought them their breakfast. Her face was scared and
+white; she only spoke in whispers, looking behind her continually as
+though she knew she was being watched.
+
+Emlyn asked who their judges were, and she answered--
+
+"The Abbot, a strange, black-faced Prior, and the Old Bishop. Oh! God
+help you, my sisters; God help us all!" and she fled away.
+
+Now for a moment Emlyn's heart failed her, since before such a tribunal
+what chance had they? The Abbot was their bitter enemy and accuser;
+the strange Prior, no doubt, one of his friends and kindred; while the
+ecclesiastic spoken of as the "Old Bishop" was well known as perhaps the
+cruelest man in England, a scourge of heretics--that is, before
+heresy became the fashion--a hunter-out of witches and wizards, and a
+time-server to boot. But to Cicely she said nothing, for what was the
+use, seeing that soon she would learn all?
+
+They ate their food, knowing both of them that they would need strength.
+Then Cicely nursed her child, and, placing it in Emlyn's arms, knelt
+down to pray. While she was still praying the door opened and a
+procession appeared. First came two monks, then six armed men of the
+Abbot's guard, then the Prioress and three of her nuns. At the sight of
+the beautiful young woman kneeling at her prayers the guards, rough men
+though they were, stopped, as if unwilling to disturb her, but one of
+the monks cried brutally--
+
+"Seize the accursed hypocrite, and if she will not come, drag her with
+you," at the same time stretching out his hand as though to grasp her
+arm.
+
+But Cicely rose and faced him, saying--
+
+"Do not touch me; I follow. Emlyn, give me the child, and let us go."
+
+So they went in the midst of the armed men, the monks preceding, the
+nuns, with bowed heads, following after. Presently they entered the
+large hall, but on its threshold were ordered to pause while way was
+made for them. Cicely never forgot the sight of it as it appeared that
+day. The lofty, arched roof of rich chestnut-wood, set there hundreds of
+years before by hands that spared neither work nor timber, amongst the
+beams of which the bright light of morning played so clearly that she
+could see the spiders' webs, and in one of them a sleepy autumn
+wasp caught fast. The mob of people gathered to watch her public
+trial--faces, many of them, that she had known from childhood.
+
+How they stared at her as she stood there by the head of the steps, her
+sleeping child held in her arms! They were a packed audience and had
+been prepared to condemn her--that she could see and hear, for did not
+some of them point and frown, and set up a cry of "Witch!" as they had
+been told to do? But it died away. The sight of her, the daughter of one
+of their great men and the widow of another, standing in her innocent
+beauty, the slumbering babe upon her breast, seemed to quell them, till
+the hardest faces grew pitiful--full of resentment, too, some of them,
+but not against her.
+
+Then the three judges on the bench behind the table, at which sat the
+monkish secretaries; the hard-faced, hook-nosed "Old Bishop" in his
+gorgeous robes and mitre, his crozier resting against the panelling
+behind him, peering about him with beady eyes. The sullen, heavy-jawed
+Prior, from some distant county, on his left, clad in a simple black
+gown with a girdle about his waist. And on the right Clement Maldon,
+Abbot of Blossholme and enemy of her house, suave, olive-faced,
+foreign-looking, his black, uneasy eyes observing all, his keen ears
+catching every word and murmur as he whispered something to the Bishop
+that caused him to smile grimly. Lastly, placed already in the roped
+space and guarded by a soldier, poor old Bridget, the half-witted, who
+was gabbling words to which no one paid any heed.
+
+The path was clear now, and they were ordered to walk on. Half-way
+up the hall something red attracted Cicely's attention, and, glancing
+round, she saw that it was the beard of Thomas Bolle. Their eyes met,
+and his were full of fear. In an instant she understood that he dreaded
+lest he should be betrayed and given over to some awful doom.
+
+"Fear nothing," she whispered as she passed, and he heard her, or
+perhaps Emlyn's glance told him that he was safe. At least, a sign of
+relief broke from him.
+
+Now they had entered the roped space, and stood there.
+
+"Your name?" asked one of the secretaries, pointing to Cicely with the
+feather of his quill.
+
+"All know it, it is Cicely Harflete," she answered gently, whereon the
+clerk said roughly that she lied, and the old wrangle began again as to
+the validity of her marriage, the Abbot maintaining that she was still
+Cicely Foterell, the mother of a base-born child.
+
+Into this argument the Bishop entered with some zest, asking many
+questions, and seeming more or less to take her side, since, where
+matters of religion were not concerned, he was a keen lawyer, and just
+enough. At length, however, he swept the thing away, remarking brutally
+that if half he had heard were true, soon the name by which she had last
+been called in life would not concern her, and bade the clerks write her
+down as Cicely Harflete or Foterell.
+
+Then Emlyn gave her name, and Sister Bridget's was written without
+question. Next the charge against them was read. It was long and
+technical, mixed up with Latin words and phrases, and all that Cicely
+made out of it was that they were accused of many horrible crimes, and
+of having called up the devil and consorted with him in the shape of
+a monster with horns and hoofs, and of her father's ghost. When it
+was finished they were commanded to answer, and pleaded Not Guilty, or
+rather Cicely and Emlyn did, for Bridget broke into a long tale that
+could not be followed. She was ordered to be silent, after which no one
+took any more heed of what she said.
+
+Now the Bishop asked whether these women had been put to the question,
+and when he was told No, said that it seemed a pity, as evidently they
+were stubborn witches, and some discipline of the sort might have
+saved trouble. Again he asked if the witch's marks had been found on
+them--that is, the spot where the devil had sealed their bodies,
+on which, as was well known, his chosen could feel no pain. He even
+suggested that the trial should be adjourned until they had been pricked
+all over with a nail to find this spot, but ultimately gave up the point
+to save time.
+
+A last question was raised by the beetle-browed Prior, who submitted
+that the infant ought also to be accused, since he, too, was said to
+have consorted with the devil, having, according to the story, been
+rescued from death by him and afterwards been carried in his arms and
+given to the nun Bridget, which was the only evidence against the said
+Bridget. If she was guilty, why, then, was the infant innocent? Ought
+not they to burn together, since a babe that had been nursed by the Evil
+One was obviously damned?
+
+The legal-minded Bishop found this argument interesting, but ultimately
+decided that it was safer to overrule it on account of the tender age of
+the criminal. He added that it did not matter, since doubtless the foul
+fiend would claim his own ere long.
+
+Lastly, before the witnesses were called, Emlyn asked for an advocate to
+defend them, but the Bishop replied, with a chuckle, that it was quite
+unnecessary, since already they had the best of all advocates--Satan
+himself.
+
+"True, my Lord," said Cicely, looking up, "we have the best of all
+advocates, only you have mis-named him. The God of the innocent is our
+advocate, and in Him I trust."
+
+"Blaspheme not, Sorceress," shouted the old man; and the evidence
+commenced.
+
+To follow it in detail is not necessary, and, indeed, would be long, for
+it took many hours. First of all Emlyn's early life was set out, much
+being made of the fact that her mother was a gypsy who had committed
+suicide and that her father had fallen under the ban of the Inquisition,
+an heretical work of his having been publicly burned. Then the Abbot
+himself gave evidence, since, where the charge was sorcery, no one
+seemed to think it strange that the same man should both act as judge
+and be the principal witness for the prosecution. He told of Cicely's
+wild words after the burning of Cranwell Towers, from which burning she
+and her familiar, Emlyn, had evidently escaped by magic, without the
+aid of which it was plain they could not have lived. He told of Emlyn's
+threats to him after she had looked into the bowl of water; of all the
+dreadful things that had been seen and done at Blossholme, which no
+doubt these witches had brought about--here he was right--though how
+he knew not. He told of the death of the midwife and of the appearance
+which she presented afterwards--a tale that caused his audience to
+shudder; and, lastly, he told of the vision of the ghost of Sir John
+Foterell holding converse with the two accused in the chapel of the
+Nunnery, and its vanishing away.
+
+When at length he had finished Emlyn asked leave to cross-examine him,
+but this was refused on the ground that persons accused of such crimes
+had no right to cross-examine.
+
+Then the Court adjourned for a while to eat, some food being brought for
+the prisoners, who were forced to take it where they stood. Worse
+still, Cicely was driven to nurse her child in the presence of all that
+audience, who stared and gibed at her rudely, and were angry because
+Emlyn and some of the nuns stood round her to form a living screen.
+
+When the judges returned the evidence went on. Though most of it was
+entirely irrelevant, its volume was so great that at length the Old
+Bishop grew weary, and said he would hear no more. Then the judges
+went on to put, first to Cicely and afterwards to Emlyn, a series of
+questions of a nature so abominable that after denying the first of them
+indignantly, they stood silent, refusing to answer--proof positive of
+their guilt, as the black-browed Prior remarked in triumph. Lastly,
+these hideous queries being exhausted, Cicely was asked if she had
+anything to say.
+
+"Somewhat," she answered; "but I am weary, and must be brief. I am no
+witch; I do not know what it means. The Abbot of Blossholme, who sits
+as my judge, is my grievous enemy. He claimed my father's lands--which
+lands I believe he now holds--and cruelly murdered my said father by
+King's Grave Mount in the forest as he was riding to London to make
+complaint of him and reveal his treachery to his Grace the King and his
+Council----"
+
+"It is a lie, witch," broke in the Abbot, but, taking no heed, Cicely
+went on--
+
+"Afterwards he and his hired soldiers attacked the house of my husband,
+Sir Christopher Harflete, and burnt it, slaying, or striving to
+slay--I know not which--my said husband, who has vanished away. Then he
+imprisoned me and my servant, Emlyn Stower, in this Nunnery, and strove
+to force me to sign papers conveying all my own and my child's property
+to him. This I refused to do, and therefore it is that he puts me on my
+trial, because, as I am told, those who are found guilty of witchcraft
+are stripped of all their possessions, which those take who are strong
+enough to keep them. Lastly, I deny the authority of this Court, and
+appeal to the King, who soon or late will hear my cry and avenge my
+wrongs, and maybe my murder, upon those who wrought them. Good people
+all, hear my words. I appeal to the King, and to him under God above I
+entrust my cause, and, should I die, the guardianship of my orphan son,
+whom the Abbot sent his creature to murder--his vile creature, upon
+whose head fell the Almighty's justice, as it will fall on yours, you
+slaughterers of the innocent."
+
+So spoke Cicely, and, having spoken, worn out with fatigue and misery,
+sank to the floor--for all these hours there had been no stool for her
+to sit on--and crouched there, still holding her child in her arms--a
+piteous sight indeed, which touched even the superstitious hearts of the
+crowd who watched her.
+
+Now this appeal of hers to the King seemed to scare the fierce Old
+Bishop, who turned and began to argue with the Abbot. Cicely, listening,
+caught some of his words, such as--
+
+"On your head be it, then. I judge only of the cause ecclesiastic, and
+shall direct it to be so entered upon the records. Of the execution of
+the sentence or the disposal of the property I wash my hands. See you to
+it."
+
+"So spoke Pilate," broke in Cicely, lifting her head and looking him in
+the eyes. Then she let it fall again, and was silent.
+
+Now Emlyn opened her lips, and from them burst a fierce torrent of
+words.
+
+"Do you know," she began, "who and what is this Spanish priest who sits
+to judge us of witchcraft? Well, I will tell you. Years ago he fled from
+Spain because of hideous crimes that he had committed there. Ask him of
+Isabella the nun, who was my father's cousin, and her end and that of
+her companions. Ask him of----"
+
+At this point a monk, to whom the Abbot had whispered something, slipped
+behind Emlyn and threw a cloth over her face. She tore it away with her
+strong hands, and screamed out--
+
+"He is a murderer, he is a traitor. He plots to kill the King. I can
+prove it, and that's why Foterell died--because he knew----"
+
+The Abbot shouted something, and again the monk, a stout fellow named
+Ambrose, got the cloth over her mouth. Once more she wrenched herself
+loose, and, turning towards the people, called--
+
+"Have I never a friend, who have befriended so many? Is there no man in
+Blossholme who will avenge me of this brute Ambrose? Aye, I see some."
+
+Then this Ambrose, and others aiding him, fell upon her, striking her
+on the head and choking her, till at length she sank, half stunned and
+gasping, to the ground.
+
+Now, after a hurried word or two with his colleagues, the Bishop
+sprang up, and as darkness gathered in the hall--for the sun had
+set--pronounced the sentence of the Court.
+
+First he declared the prisoners guilty of the foulest witchcraft. Next
+he excommunicated them with much ceremony, delivering their souls to
+their master, Satan. Then, incidentally, he condemned their bodies to
+be burnt, without specifying when, how, or by whom. Out of the gloom a
+clear voice spoke, saying--
+
+"You exceed your powers, Priest, and usurp those of the King. Beware!"
+
+A tumult followed, in which some cried "Aye" and some "Nay," and when at
+length it died down the Bishop, or it may have been the Abbot--for none
+could see who spoke--exclaimed--
+
+"The Church guards her own rights; let the King see to his."
+
+"He will, he will," answered the same voice. "The Pope is in his bag.
+Monks, your day is done."
+
+Again there was tumult, a very great tumult. In truth the scene, or
+rather the sounds, were strange. The Bishop shrieking with rage upon
+the bench, like a hen that has been caught upon her perch at night,
+the black-browed Prior bellowing like a bull, the populace surging and
+shouting this and that, the secretary calling for candles, and when
+at length one was brought, making a little star of light in that huge
+gloom, putting his hand to his mouth and roaring--
+
+"What of this Bridget? Does she go free?"
+
+The Bishop made no answer; it seemed as though he were frightened at the
+forces which he had let loose; but the Abbot hallooed back--
+
+"Burn the hag with the others," and the secretary wrote it down upon his
+brief.
+
+Then the guards seized the three of them to lead them away, and the
+frightened babe set up a thin, piercing wail, while the Bishop and his
+companions, preceded by one of the monks bearing the candle--it was that
+Ambrose who had choked Emlyn--marched in procession down the hall to
+gain the great door.
+
+Ere ever they reached it the candle was dashed from the hand of Ambrose,
+and a fearful tumult arose in the dense darkness, for now all light
+had vanished. There were screams, and sounds of fighting, and cries for
+help. These died away; the hall emptied by degrees, for it seemed that
+none wished to stay there. Torches were lit, and showed a strange scene.
+
+The Bishop, the Abbot, and the foreign Prior lay here and there,
+buffeted, bleeding, their robes torn off them, so that they were almost
+naked, while by the Bishop was his crozier, broken in two, apparently
+across his own head. Worse of all, the monk Ambrose leaned against a
+pillar; his feet seemed to go forward but his face looked backward, for
+his neck was twisted like that of a Michaelmas goose.
+
+The Bishop looked about him and felt his hurts; then he called to his
+people--
+
+"Bring me my cloak and a horse, for I have had enough of Blossholme and
+its wizardries. Settle your own matters henceforth, Abbot Maldon, for in
+them I find no luck," and he glanced at his broken staff.
+
+Thus ended the great trial of the Blossholme witches.
+
+
+
+Cicely had sunk to sleep at last, and Emlyn watched her, for, since
+there was nowhere else to put them, they were back in their own room,
+but guarded by armed men, lest they should escape. Of this, as Emlyn
+knew well, there was little chance, for even if they were once outside
+the Priory walls, how could they get away without friends to help, or
+food to eat, or horses to carry them? They would be run down within a
+mile. Moreover, there was the child, which Cicely would never leave,
+and, after all she had undergone, she herself was not fit to travel.
+Therefore it was that Emlyn sat sleepless, full of bitter wrath and
+fear, for she could see no hope. All was black as the night about them.
+
+The door opened, and was shut and locked again. Then, from behind the
+curtain, appeared the tall figure of the Prioress, carrying a candle
+that made a star of light upon the shadows. As she stood there holding
+it up and looking about her, something came into Emlyn's mind. Perhaps
+she would help, she who loved Cicely. Did she not look like a figure of
+hope, with her sweet face and her taper in the gloom? Emlyn advanced to
+meet her, her finger on her lips.
+
+"She sleeps; wake her not," she said. "Have you come to tell us that we
+burn to-morrow?"
+
+"Nay, Emlyn; the Old Bishop has commanded that it shall not be for a
+week. He would have time to get across England first. Indeed, had it not
+been for the beating of him in the dark and the twisting of the neck of
+Brother Ambrose, I believe that he would not have suffered it at all,
+for fear of trouble afterwards. But now he is full of rage, and swears
+that he was set upon by evil spirits in the hall, and that those who
+loosed them shall not live. Emlyn, _who_ killed Father Ambrose? Was it
+men or----?"
+
+"Men, I think, Mother. The devil does not twist necks except in monkish
+dreams. Is it wonderful that my lady--the greatest lady of all these
+parts and the most foully treated--should have friends left to her? Why,
+if they were not curs, ere now her people would have pulled that Abbey
+stone from stone and cut the throat of every man within its walls."
+
+"Emlyn," said the Prioress again, "in the name of Jesus and on your
+soul, tell me true, is there witchcraft in all this business? And if
+not, what is its meaning?"
+
+"As much witchcraft as dwells in your gentle heart; no more. A man did
+these things; I'll not give you his name, lest it should be wrung from
+you. A man wore Foterell's armour, and came here by a secret hole to
+take counsel with us in the chapel. A man burnt the Abbey dormers and
+the stacks, and harried the beasts with a goatskin on his head, and
+dragged the skull of drunken Andrew from his grave. Doubtless it was his
+hand also that twisted Ambrose's neck because he struck me."
+
+The two women looked each other in the eyes.
+
+"Ah!" said the Prioress. "I think I can guess now; but, Emlyn, you
+choose rough tools. Well, fear not; your secret is safe with me." She
+paused a moment; then went on, "Oh! I am glad, who feared lest the
+Fiend's finger was in it all, as, in truth, they believe. Now I see my
+path clear, and will follow it to the death. Yes, yes; I will save you
+all or die."
+
+"What path, Mother?"
+
+"Emlyn, you have heard no tidings for these many months, but I have.
+Listen; there is much afoot. The King, or the Lord Cromwell, or both,
+make war upon the lesser Houses, dissolving them, seizing their goods,
+turning the religious out of them upon the world to starve. His Grace
+sends Royal Commissioners to visit them, and be judge and jury both.
+They were coming here, but I have friends and some fortune of my own,
+who was not born meanly or ill-dowered, and I found a way to buy them
+off. One of these Commissioners, Thomas Legh, as I heard only to-day,
+makes inquisition at the monastery of Bayfleet, in Yorkshire, some
+eighty miles away, of which my cousin, Alfred Stukley, whose letter
+reached me this morning, is the Prior. Emlyn, I'll go to this rough
+man--for rough he is, they say. Old and feeble as I am, I'll seek
+him out and offer up the ancient House I rule to save your life and
+Cicely's--yes, and Bridget's also."
+
+"You will go, Mother! Oh! God's blessing be on you. But how will you go?
+They will never suffer it."
+
+The old nun drew herself up, and answered--
+
+"Who has the right to say to the Prioress of Blossholme that she shall
+not travel whither she will? No Spanish Abbot, I think. Why, but now
+that proud priest's servants would have forbidden me to enter your
+chamber in my own House, but I read them a lesson they will not forget.
+Also I have horses at my command, but it is true I need an escort, who
+am not too strong and little versed in the ways of the outside world,
+where I have scarcely strayed for many years. Now I have bethought me
+of that red-haired lay-brother, Thomas Bolle. I am told that though
+foolish, he is a valiant man whom few care to face; moreover, that he
+understands horses and knows all roads. Do you think, Emlyn Stower, that
+Thomas Bolle will be my companion on this journey, with leave from the
+Abbot, or without it?" and again she looked her in the eyes.
+
+"He might, he might; he is a venturous man, or so I remember him in
+my youth," answered Emlyn. "Moreover, his forefathers have served
+the Harfletes and the Foterells for generations in peace and war, and
+doubtless, therefore, he loves my lady yonder. But the trouble is to get
+at him."
+
+"No trouble at all, Emlyn; he is one of the watch outside the gate. But,
+woman, what token?"
+
+Emlyn thought for a moment, then drew a ring off her finger in which was
+set a cornelian heart.
+
+"Give him this," she said, "and say that the wearer bade him follow the
+bearer to the death, for the sake of that wearer's life and another's.
+He is a simple soul, and if the Abbot does not catch him first I believe
+that he will go."
+
+Mother Matilda took the ring and set it on her own finger. Then she
+walked to where Cicely lay sleeping, looked at her and the boy upon her
+breast. Stretching out her thin hands, she called down the blessing and
+protection of Almighty God upon them both, then turned to depart.
+
+Emlyn caught her by the robe.
+
+"Stay," she said. "You think I do not understand; but I do. You are
+giving up everything for us. Even if you live through it, this House,
+which has been your charge for many years, will be dissolved; your sheep
+will be scattered to starve in their toothless age; the fold that has
+sheltered them for four hundred years will become a home of wolves. I
+understand full well, and she"--pointing to the sleeping Cicely--"will
+understand also."
+
+"Say nothing to her," murmured Mother Matilda; "I may fail."
+
+"You may fail, or you may succeed. If you fail and we burn, God shall
+reward you. If you succeed and we are saved, on her behalf I swear that
+you shall not suffer. There is wealth hidden away--wealth worth
+many priories; you and yours shall have your share of it, and that
+Commissioner shall not go lacking. Tell him that there is some small
+store to pay him for his trouble, and that the Abbot of Blossholme would
+rob him of it. Now, my Lady Margaret--for that, I think, used to be your
+name, and will be again when you have done with priests and nuns--bless
+me also and begone, and know that, living or dead, I hold you great and
+holy."
+
+So the Prioress blessed her ere she glided thence in her stately
+fashion, and the oaken door opened and shut behind her.
+
+
+
+Three days later the Abbot visited them alone.
+
+"Foul and accursed witches," he said, "I come to tell you that next
+Monday at noon you burn upon the green in front of the Abbey gate, who,
+were it not for the mercy of the Church, should have been tortured also
+till you discovered your accomplices, of whom I think that you have
+many."
+
+"Show me the King's warrant for this slaughter," said Cicely.
+
+"I will show you nothing save the stake, witch. Repent, repent, ere it
+be too late. Hell and its eternal fires yawn for you."
+
+"Do they yawn for my child also, my Lord Abbot?"
+
+"Your brat will be taken from you ere you enter the flames and laid upon
+the ground, since it is baptized and too young to burn. If any have pity
+on it, good; if not, where it lies, there it will be buried."
+
+"So be it," answered Cicely. "God gave it; God save it. In God I put my
+trust. Murderer, leave me to make my peace with Him," and she turned and
+walked away.
+
+Now the Abbot and Emlyn were face to face.
+
+"Do we really burn on Monday?" she asked.
+
+"Without doubt, unless faggots will not take fire. Yet," he added
+slowly, "if certain jewels should chance to be found and handed over,
+the case might be remitted to another Court."
+
+"And the torment prolonged. My Lord Abbot, I fear that those jewels will
+never be found."
+
+"Well, then you burn--slowly, perhaps, for much rain has fallen of late
+and the wood is green. They say the death is dreadful."
+
+"Doubtless one day you will find it so, Clement Maldonado, here or
+hereafter. But of that we will talk together when all is done--of that
+and many other things. I mean before the Judgment-seat of God. Nay, nay,
+I do not threaten after your fashion--it shall be so. Meanwhile I ask
+the boon of a dying woman. There are two whom I would see--the Prioress
+Matilda, in whose charge I desire to leave a certain secret, and Thomas
+Bolle, a lay-brother in your Abbey, a man who once engaged himself to me
+in marriage. For your own sake, deny me not these favours."
+
+"They should be granted readily enough were it in my power, but it is
+not," answered the Abbot, looking at her curiously, for he thought that
+to them she might tell what she had refused to him--the hiding-place of
+the jewels, which afterwards he could wring out.
+
+"Why not, my Lord Abbot?"
+
+"Because the Prioress has gone hence, secretly, upon some journey of her
+own, and Thomas Bolle has vanished away I knew not where. If they, or
+either of them, return ere Monday you shall see them."
+
+"And if they do not return I shall see them afterwards," replied Emlyn,
+with a shrug of her shoulders. "What does it matter? Fare you well till
+we meet at the fire, my Lord Abbot."
+
+
+
+On the Sunday--that is, the day before the burning--the Abbot came
+again.
+
+"Three days ago," he said, addressing them both, "I offered you a chance
+of life upon certain conditions, but, obstinate witches that you are,
+you refused to listen. Now I offer you the last boon in my power--not
+life, indeed; it is too late for that--but a merciful death. If you will
+give me what I seek, the executioner shall dispatch you both before the
+fire bites--never mind how. If not--well, as I have told you, there has
+been much rain, and they say the faggots are somewhat green."
+
+Cicely paled a little--who would not, even in those cruel days?--then
+asked--
+
+"And what is it that you seek, or that we can give? A confession of our
+guilt, to cover up your crime in the eyes of the world? If so, you shall
+never have it, though we burn by inches."
+
+"Yes, I seek that, but for your own sakes, not for mine, since those who
+confess and repent may receive absolution. Also I seek more--the rich
+jewels which you have in hiding, that they may be used for the purposes
+of the Church."
+
+Then it was that Cicely showed the courage of her blood.
+
+"Never, never!" she cried, turning on him with eyes ablaze. "Torture
+and slay me if you will, but my wealth you shall not thieve. I know not
+where these jewels are, but wherever they may be, there let them lie
+till my heirs find them, or they rot."
+
+The Abbot's face grew very evil.
+
+"Is that your last word, Cicely Foterell?" he asked.
+
+She bowed her head, and he repeated the question to Emlyn, who
+answered--
+
+"What my mistress says, I say."
+
+"So be it!" he exclaimed. "Doubtless you sorceresses put your trust in
+the devil. Well, we shall see if he will help you to-morrow."
+
+"God will help us," replied Cicely in a quiet voice. "Remember my words
+when the time comes."
+
+Then he went.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+THE STAKE
+
+It was an awful night. Let those who have followed this history think of
+the state of these two women, one of them still but a girl, who on the
+morrow, amidst the jeers and curses of superstitious men, were to suffer
+the cruelest of deaths for no crime at all, unless the traffickings of
+Emlyn with Thomas Bolle, in which Cicely had small share, could be held
+a crime. Well, thousands quite as blameless were called on to undergo
+that, and even worse fates in the days which some name good and old,
+the days of chivalry and gallant knights, when even little children were
+tormented and burned by holy and learned folk who feared a visible or at
+least a tangible devil and his works.
+
+Doubtless their cruelty was that of terror. Doubtless, although he
+had other ends to gain which to him were sacred, the Abbot Maldon did
+believe that Cicely and Emlyn had practised horrible witchcraft; that
+they had conversed with Satan in order to revenge themselves upon him,
+and therefore were too foul to live. The "Old Bishop" believed it also,
+and so did the black-browed Prior and the most of the ignorant people
+who lived around and knew of the terrible things which had happened in
+Blossholme. Had not some of them actually seen the fiend with horns
+and hoofs and tail driving the Abbey cattle, and had not others met
+the ghost of Sir John Foterell, which doubtless was but that fiend in
+another shape? Oh, these women were guilty, without doubt they were
+guilty and deserved the stake! What did it matter if the husband and
+father of one of them had been murdered and the other had suffered
+grievous but forgotten wrongs? Compared to witchcraft murder was but a
+light and homely crime, one that would happen when men's passions and
+needs were involved, quite a familiar thing.
+
+It was an awful night. Sometimes Cicely slept a little, but the most
+of it she spent in prayer. The fierce Emlyn neither slept nor prayed,
+except once or twice that vengeance might fall upon the Abbot's head,
+for her whole soul was up in arms and it galled her to think that she
+and her beloved mistress must die shamefully while their enemy lived on
+triumphant and in honour. Even the infant seemed nervous and disturbed,
+as though some instinct warned it of terror at hand, for although it was
+well enough, against its custom it woke continually and wailed.
+
+"Emlyn," said Cicely towards morning, but before the light had come,
+after at length she had soothed it to rest, "do you think that Mother
+Matilda will be able to help us?"
+
+"No, no; put it from your mind, dearie. She is weak and old, the road
+is rough and long, and mayhap she has never reached the place. It was a
+great venture for her to try such a journey, and if she came there, why,
+perhaps the Commissioner man had gone, or perhaps he will not listen,
+or perhaps he cannot come. What would he care about the burning of two
+witches a hundred miles away, this leech who is sucking himself full
+upon the carcass of some fat monastery? No, no, never count on her."
+
+"At least she is brave and true, Emlyn, and has done her best, for which
+may Heaven's blessing rest upon her always. Now, what of Thomas Bolle?"
+
+"Nothing, except that he is a red-headed jackass that can bray but
+daren't kick," answered Emlyn viciously. "Never speak to me of Thomas
+Bolle. Had he been a man long ago he'd have broken the neck of that
+rogue Abbot instead of dressing himself up like a he-goat and hunting
+his cows."
+
+"If what they say is true he did break the neck of Father Ambrose,"
+replied Cicely, with a faint smile. "Perhaps he made a mistake in the
+dark."
+
+"If so it is like Thomas Bolle, who ever wished the right thing and did
+the wrong. Talk no more of him, since I would not meet my end in a bad
+spirit. Thomas Bolle, who lets us die for his elfish pranks! A pest on
+the half-witted cur, say I. And after I had kissed him too!"
+
+Cicely wondered vaguely to what she referred, then, thinking it well not
+to inquire, said--
+
+"Not so, a blessing on him, say I, who saved my child from that hateful
+hag."
+
+Then there was silence for a while, the matter of poor Thomas Bolle and
+his conduct being exhausted between them, who indeed were in no mood for
+argument about people whom they would never see again. At last Cicely
+spoke once more through the darkness--
+
+"Emlyn, I will try to be brave; but once, do you remember, I burnt my
+hand as a child when I stole the sweetmeats from the cooling pot, and
+ah! it hurt me. I will try to die as those who went before me would
+have died, but if I should break down think not the less of me, for the
+spirit is willing though the flesh be weak."
+
+Emlyn ground her teeth in silence, and Cicely went on--
+
+"But that is not the worst of it, Emlyn. A few minutes and it will
+be over and I shall sleep, as I think, to awake elsewhere. Only if
+Christopher should really live, how he will mourn when he learns----"
+
+"I pray that he does," broke in Emlyn, "for then ere long there will be
+a Spanish priest the less on earth and one the more in hell."
+
+"And the child, Emlyn, the child!" she went on in a trembling voice, not
+heeding the interruption. "What will become of my son, the heir to so
+much if he had his rights, and yet so friendless? They'll murder
+him also, Emlyn, or let him die, which is the same thing, since how
+otherwise will they get title to his lands and goods?"
+
+"If so, his troubles will be done and he will be better with you in
+heaven," Emlyn answered, with a dry sob. "The boy and you in heaven
+midst the blessed saints, and the Abbot and I in hell settling our score
+there with the devil for company, that's all I ask. There, there, I
+blaspheme, for injustice makes me mad; it clogs my heart and I throw it
+up in bitter words, for your sake, dear, and his, not my own. Child, you
+are good and gentle, to such as you the Ear of God is open. Call to him;
+ask for light, He will not refuse. Do you remember in the fire at the
+Towers, when we crouched in that vault and the walls crumbled overhead,
+you said you saw His angel bending over us and heard his speech. Call to
+Him, Cicely, and if He will not listen, hear me. I have a means of
+death about me. Ask not what it is, but if at the end I turn on you and
+strike, blame me not here or hereafter, for it will be love's blow, my
+last service."
+
+It seemed as though Cicely did not understand those heavy words, at the
+least she took no heed of them.
+
+"I'll pray again," she whispered, "though I fear that heaven's doors are
+closed to me; no light comes through," and she knelt down.
+
+For long, long she prayed, till at length weariness overcame her, and
+Emlyn heard her breathing softly like one asleep.
+
+"Let her sleep," she murmured to herself. "Oh! if I were sure--she
+should never wake again to see the dawn. I have half a mind to do it,
+but there it is, I am not sure. If there is a God He will never suffer
+such a thing. I'd have paid the jewels, but what's the use? They would
+have killed her all the same, for else where's their title? No, my heart
+bids me wait."
+
+
+
+Cicely awoke.
+
+"Emlyn," she said in a low, thrilling voice, "do you hear me, Emlyn?
+That angel has been with me again. He spoke to me," and she paused.
+
+"Well, well, what did he say?"
+
+"I don't know, Emlyn," she answered, confused; "it has gone from me.
+But, Emlyn, have no fear, all is well with us, and not only with us but
+with Christopher and the babe also. Oh, yes, with Christopher and the
+babe also," and she let her fair head fall upon the couch and burst into
+a flood of happy tears. Then, rising, she took up the child and kissed
+it, laid herself down and slept sweetly.
+
+Just then the dawn broke, a glorious dawn, and Emlyn held out her arms
+to it in an ecstasy of gratitude. For with that light her terror passed
+away as the darkness passed. She believed that God had spoken to Cicely
+and for a while her heart was at peace.
+
+
+
+When about eight o'clock that morning the door was opened to allow a
+nun to bring them their food, she saw a sight which filled her with
+amazement. Her own eyes, poor woman, were red with tears, for, like all
+in the Priory, she loved Cicely, whom as a child she had nursed on her
+knee, and with the other sisters had spent a sleepless night in prayer
+for her, for Emlyn, and for Bridget, who was to be burned with them. She
+had expected to find the victims prostrate and perhaps senseless with
+fear, but behold! there they sat together in the window-place, dressed
+in their best garments and talking quietly. Indeed, as she entered one
+of them--it was Cicely--laughed a little at something that the other had
+said.
+
+"Good-morning to you, Sister Mary," said Cicely. "Tell me now, has the
+Prioress returned?"
+
+"Nay, nay, we know not where she is; no word has come from her. Well, at
+least she will be spared a dreadful sight. Have you any message for her
+ear? If so, give it swiftly ere the guard call me."
+
+"I thank you," said Cicely; "but I think that I shall be the bearer of
+my own messages."
+
+"What? Do you, then, mean that our Mother is dead? Must we suffer woe
+upon woe? Oh! who could have told you these sorrowful tidings?"
+
+"No, sister, I think that she is alive and that I, yet living, shall
+talk with her again."
+
+Sister Mary looked bewildered, for how, she wondered, could close
+prisoners know these things? Staring round to see that she was not
+observed, she thrust two little packets into Cicely's hand.
+
+"Wear these at the last, both of you," she whispered. "Whatever they say
+we believe you innocent, and for your sake we have done a great crime.
+Yes, we have opened the reliquary and taken from it our most precious
+treasure, a fragment of the cord that bound St. Catherine to the wheel,
+and divided it into three, one strand for each of you. Perhaps, if you
+are really guiltless, it will work a miracle. Perhaps the fire will not
+burn or the rain will extinguish it, or the Abbot may relent."
+
+"That last would be the greatest miracle of all," broke in Emlyn, with
+grim humour. "Still we thank you from our hearts and will wear the
+relics if they do not take them from us. Hark! they are calling you.
+Farewell, and all blessings be on your gentle heads."
+
+Again the loud voices of the guards called, and Sister Mary turned and
+fled, wondering if these women were not witches, how it came about that
+they could be so brave, so different from poor Bridget, who wailed and
+moaned in her cell below.
+
+Cicely and Emlyn ate their food with good appetite, knowing that they
+would need support that day, and when it was done sat themselves again
+by the window-place, through which they could see hundreds of people,
+mounted and on foot, passing up the slope that led to the green in front
+of the Abbey, though this green they could not see because of a belt of
+trees.
+
+"Listen," said Emlyn presently. "It is hard to say, but it may be that
+your vision of the night was but a merciful dream, and, if so, within a
+few hours we shall be dead. Now I have the secret of the hiding-place of
+those jewels, which, without me, none can ever find; shall I pass it on,
+if I get the chance, to one whom I can trust? Some good soul--the nuns,
+perhaps--will surely shelter your boy, and he might need them in days to
+come."
+
+Cicely thought a while, then answered--
+
+"Not so, Emlyn. I believe that God has spoken to me by His angel, as He
+spoke to Peter in the prison. To do this would be to tempt God, showing
+that we have no trust in Him. Let that secret lie where it is, in your
+breast."
+
+"Great is your faith," said Emlyn, looking at her with admiration.
+"Well, I will stand or fall by it, for I think there is enough for two."
+
+The Convent bell chimed ten, and they heard a sound of feet and voices
+below.
+
+"They come for us," said Emlyn; "the burning is set for eleven, that
+after the sight folk may get away in comfort to their dinners. Now
+summon that great Faith of yours and hold him fast for both our sakes,
+since mine grows faint."
+
+The door opened and through it came monks followed by guards, the
+officer of whom bade them rise and follow. They obeyed without speaking,
+Cicely throwing her cloak about her shoulders.
+
+"You'll be warm enough without that, Witch," said the man, with a
+hideous chuckle.
+
+"Sir," she answered, "I shall need it to wrap my child in when we are
+parted. Give me the babe, Emlyn. There, now we are ready; nay, no need
+to lead us, we cannot escape and shall not vex you."
+
+"God's truth, the girl has spirit!" muttered the officer to his
+companions, but one of the priests shook his head and answered--
+
+"Witchcraft! Satan will leave them presently."
+
+A few more minutes and, for the first time during all those weary
+months, they passed the gate of the Priory. Here the third victim was
+waiting to join them, poor, old, half-witted Bridget, clad in a kind of
+sheet, for her habit had been stripped off. She was wild-eyed and her
+grey locks hung loose about her shoulders, as she shook her ancient head
+and screamed prayers for mercy. Cicely shivered at the sight of her,
+which indeed was dreadful.
+
+"Peace, good Bridget," she said as they passed, "being innocent, what
+have you to fear?"
+
+"The fire, the fire!" cried the poor creature. "I dread the fire."
+
+Then they were led to their place in the procession and saw no more of
+Bridget for a while, although they could not escape the sound of her
+lamentations behind them.
+
+It was a great procession. First went the monks and choristers, singing
+a melancholy Latin dirge. Then came the victims in the midst of a guard
+of twelve armed men, and after these the nuns who were forced to be
+present, while behind and about were all the folk for twenty miles
+round, a crowd without number. They crossed the footbridge, where
+stood the Ford Inn for which the Flounder had bargained as the price of
+murder. They walked up the rise by the right of way, muddy now with the
+autumn rains, and through the belt of trees where Thomas Bolle's secret
+passage had its exit, and so came at last to the green in front of the
+towering Abbey portal.
+
+Here a dreadful sight awaited them, for on this green were planted three
+fourteen-inch posts of new-felled oak six feet or more in height, such
+as no fire would easily burn through, and around each of them a kind
+of bower of faggots open to the front. Moreover, to the posts hung
+new wagon chains, and near by stood the village blacksmith and his
+apprentice, who carried a hand anvil and a sledge hammer for the cold
+welding of those chains.
+
+At a distance from these stakes the procession was halted. Then out from
+the gate of the Abbey came the Abbot in his robes and mitre, preceded by
+acolytes and followed by more monks. He advanced to where the condemned
+women stood and halted, while a friar stepped forward and read their
+sentence to them, of which, being in Latin or in crabbed, legal words,
+they understood nothing at all. Then in sonorous tones he adjured them
+for the sake of their sinful souls to make full confession of their
+guilt, that they might receive pardon before they suffered in the flesh
+for their hideous crime of sorcery.
+
+To this invitation Cicely and Emlyn shook their heads, saying that being
+innocent of any sorceries they had nothing to confess. But old Bridget
+gave another answer. She declared in a high, screaming voice that she
+was a witch, as her mother and grandmother had been before her. She
+described, while the crowd listened with intense interest, how Emlyn
+Stower had introduced her to the devil, who was clad in red hose and
+looked like a black boy with a hump on his back and a tuft of red hair
+hanging from his nose, also many unedifying details of her interviews
+with this same fiend.
+
+Asked what he said to her, she answered that he told her to bewitch the
+Abbot of Blossholme because he was such a holy man that God had need
+of him and he did too much good upon the earth. Also he prevented Emlyn
+Stower and Cicely Foterell from working his, the devil's, will, and
+enabled them to keep alive the baby who would be a great wizard. He told
+her moreover that midwife Megges was an angel (here the crowd laughed)
+sent to kill the said infant, who really was his own child, as might be
+seen by its black eyebrows and cleft tongue, also its webbed feet, and
+that he would appear in the shape of the ghost of Sir John Foterell
+to save it and give it to her, which he did, saying the Lord's Prayer
+backwards, and that she must bring it up "in the faith of the Pentagon."
+
+Thus the poor crazed thing raved on, while sentence by sentence a scribe
+wrote down her gibberish, causing her at last to make her mark to it,
+all of which took a very long time. At the end she begged that she might
+be pardoned and not burnt, but this, she was informed, was impossible.
+Thereon she became enraged and asked why then had she been led to tell
+so many lies if after all she must burn, a question at which the crowd
+roared with laughter. On hearing this the priest, who was about to
+absolve her, changed his mind and ordered her to be fastened to her
+stake, which was done by the blacksmith with the help of his apprentice
+and his portable anvil.
+
+Still, her "confession" was solemnly read over to Cicely and Emlyn, who
+were asked whether, after hearing it, they still persisted in a denial
+of their guilt. By way of answer Cicely lifted the hood from her boy's
+face and showed that his eyebrows were not black, but light-coloured.
+Also she bared his feet, passing her little finger between his toes, and
+asking them if they were webbed. Some of them answered, "No," but a monk
+roared, "What of that? Cannot Satan web and unweb?" Then he snatched the
+infant from Cicely's arms and laid it down upon the stump of an oak that
+had been placed there to receive it, crying out--
+
+"Let this child live or die as God pleases."
+
+Some brute who stood by aimed a blow at it with a stick, yelling, "Death
+to the witch's brat!" but a big man, whom Emlyn recognized as one of old
+Sir John's tenants, caught the falling stick from his hand and dealt him
+such a clout with it that he fell like a stone, and went for the rest
+of his life with but one eye and the nose flattened on the side of his
+face. Thenceforward no one tried to harm the babe, who, as all know,
+because of what befell him on this day, went in after life by the
+nickname of Christopher Oak-stump.
+
+The Abbot's men stepped forward to tie Cicely to her stake, but ere they
+laid hands on her she took off her wool-lined cloak and threw it to the
+yeoman who had struck down the fellow with his own stick, saying--
+
+"Friend, wrap my boy in this and guard him till I ask him from you
+again."
+
+"Aye, Lady," answered the great man, bending his knee; "I have served
+the grandsire and the sire, and so I'll serve the son," and throwing
+aside the stick he drew a sword and set himself in front of the oak boll
+where the infant lay. Nor did any venture to meddle with him, for they
+saw other men of a like sort ranging themselves about him.
+
+Now slowly enough the smith began to rivet the chain round Cicely.
+
+"Man," she said to him, "I have seen you shoe many of my father's nags.
+Who could have thought that you would live to use your honest skill upon
+his daughter!"
+
+On hearing these words the fellow burst into tears, cast down his tools
+and fled away, cursing the Abbot. His apprentice would have followed,
+but him they caught and forced to complete the task. Then Emlyn was
+chained up also, so that at length all was ready for the last terrible
+act of the drama.
+
+Now the head executioner--he was the Abbey cook--placed some pine
+splinters to light in a brazier that stood near by, and while waiting
+for the word of command, remarked audibly to his mate that there was a
+good wind and that the witches would burn briskly.
+
+The spectators were ordered back out of earshot, and went at last, some
+of them muttering sullenly to each other. For here the company could
+not be picked as it had been at the trial, and the Abbot noted anxiously
+that among them the victims had many friends. It was time the deed was
+done ere their smouldering love and pity flowed out into bloody tumult,
+he thought to himself. So, advancing quickly, he stood in front of Emlyn
+and asked her in a low voice if she still refused to give up the secret
+of the jewels, seeing that there was yet time for him to command that
+they should die mercifully and not by the fire.
+
+"Let the mistress judge, not the maid," answered Emlyn in a steady
+voice.
+
+He turned and repeated the question to Cicely, who replied--
+
+"Have I not told you--never. Get you behind me, O evil man, and go,
+repent your sins ere it be too late."
+
+The Abbot stared at her, feeling that such constancy and courage were
+almost superhuman. He had an acute, imaginative mind which could fancy
+himself in like case and what his state would be. Though he was in such
+haste a great curiosity entered into him to know whence she drew her
+strength, which even then he tried to satisfy.
+
+"Are you mad or drugged, Cicely Foterell?" he asked. "Do you not know
+how fire will feel when it eats up that delicate flesh of yours?"
+
+"I do not know and I shall never know," she answered quietly.
+
+"Do you mean that you will die before it touches you, building on some
+promise of your master, Satan?"
+
+"Yes, I shall die before the fire touches me; but not here and now, and
+I build upon a promise from the Master of us all in heaven."
+
+He laughed, a shrill, nervous laugh, and called out loud to the people
+around--
+
+"This witch says that she will not burn, for Heaven has promised it to
+her. Do you not, Witch?"
+
+"Yes, I say so; bear witness to my words, good people all," replied
+Cicely in clear and ringing tones.
+
+"Well, we'll see," shouted the Abbot. "Man, bring flame, and let
+Heaven--or hell--help her if it can!"
+
+The cook-executioner blew at his brands, but he was nervous, or clumsy,
+and a minute or more went by before they flamed. At length one was fit
+for the task, and unwillingly enough he stooped to lift it up.
+
+Then it was that in the midst of the intense silence, for of all that
+multitude none seemed even to breathe, and old Bridget, who had fainted,
+cried no more, a bull's voice was heard beyond the brow of the hill,
+roaring--
+
+"_In the King's name, stay! In the King's name, stay!_"
+
+All turned to look, and there between the trees appeared a white horse,
+its sides streaked with blood, that staggered rather than galloped
+towards them, and on the horse a huge, red-bearded man, clad in mail and
+holding in his hand a woodman's axe.
+
+"Fire the faggots!" shouted the Abbot, but the cook, who was not by
+nature brave, had already let fall his torch, which went out on the damp
+ground.
+
+By now the horse was rushing through them, treading them under foot.
+With great, convulsive bounds it reached the ring and, as the rider
+leapt from its back, rolled over and lay there panting, for its strength
+was done.
+
+"It is Thomas Bolle!" exclaimed a voice, while the Abbot cried again--
+
+"Fire the faggots! Fire the faggots!" and a soldier ran to fetch another
+brand.
+
+But Thomas was before him. Snatching up the brazier by its legs he
+smote downwards with it so that the burning charcoal fell all about the
+soldier and the iron cage remained fixed upon his head, shouting as he
+smote--
+
+"You sought fire--take it!"
+
+The man rolled upon the ground screaming in pain and terror till some
+one dragged the cage off his head, leaving his face barred like a
+grilled herring. None took further heed of what became of him, for now
+Thomas Bolle stood in front of the stakes waving his great axe, and
+repeating, "In the King's name, stay! In the King's name, stay!"
+
+"What mean you, knave?" exclaimed the furious Abbot.
+
+"What I say, Priest. One step nearer and I'll split your crown."
+
+The Abbot fell back and Thomas went on--
+
+"A Foterell! A Foterell! A Harflete! A Harflete! O ye who have eaten
+their bread, come, scatter these faggots and save their flesh. Who'll
+stand with me against Maldon and his butchers?"
+
+"I," answered voices, "and I, and I, and I!"
+
+"And I too," hallooed the yeoman by the oak stump, "only I watch
+the child. Nay, by God I'll bring it with me!" and, snatching up the
+screaming babe under his left arm, he ran to him.
+
+On came the others also, hurling the faggots this way and that.
+
+"Break the chains," roared Bolle again, and somehow those strong hands
+did it; indeed, the only hurt that Cicely took that day was from their
+hacking at these chains. They were loose. Cicely snatched the child from
+the yeoman, who was glad enough to be rid of it, having other work to
+do, for now the Abbot's men-at-arms were coming on.
+
+"Ring the women round," roared Bolle, "and strike home for Foterell,
+strike home for Harflete! Ah, priest's dog, in the King's name--this!"
+and the axe sank up to the haft into the breast of the captain who had
+told Cicely that she would be warm enough that day without her cloak.
+
+Then there began a great fight. The party of Foterell, of whom there
+may have been a score, captained by Bolle, made a circle round the three
+green oak stakes, within which stood Cicely and Emlyn and old Bridget,
+still tied to her post, for no one had thought or found time to cut her
+loose. These were attacked by the Abbot's guard, thirty or more of
+them, urged on by Maldon himself, who was maddened by the rescue of his
+victims and full of fear lest Cicely's words should be fulfilled and
+she herself set down henceforth, not as a witch, but as a prophetess
+favoured by God.
+
+On came the soldiers and were beaten back. Thrice they came on and
+thrice they were beaten back with loss, for Bolle's axe was terrible to
+face and, now that they had found a leader and their courage, the yeoman
+lads who stood with him were sturdy fighters. Also tumult broke out
+among the hundreds who watched, some of them taking one side and some
+the other, so that they fell upon each other with sticks and stones
+and fists, even the women joining in the fray, biting and tearing like
+bagged cats. The scene was hideous and the sounds those of a sacked
+city, for many were hurt and all gave tongue, while shrill and clear
+above this hateful music rose the yells of Bridget, who had awakened
+from her faint and imagined all was over and that she fathomed hell.
+
+Thrice the attackers were rolled back, but of those who defended a third
+were down, and now the Abbot took another counsel.
+
+"Bring bows," he cried, "and shoot them, for they have none!" and men
+ran off to do his bidding.
+
+Then it was that Emlyn's wit came to their aid, for when Bolle shook his
+red head and gasped out that he feared they were lost, since how could
+they fight against arrows, she answered--
+
+"If so, why stand here to be spitted, fool? Come, let us cut our way
+through ere the shafts begin to fly, and take refuge among the trees or
+in the Nunnery."
+
+"Women's counsel is good sometimes," said Bolle. "Form up, Foterells,
+and march."
+
+"Nay," broke in Cicely, "loose Bridget first, lest they should burn her
+after all; I'll not stir else."
+
+So Bridget was hacked free, and together with the wounded men, of whom
+there were several, dragged and supported thence. Then began a running
+fight, but one in which they still held their own. Yet they would have
+been overwhelmed at last, for the women and the wounded hampered them,
+had not help come. For as they hewed their path towards the belt of
+trees with the Abbot's fierce fellows, some of whom were French or
+Spanish, hanging on their flanks, suddenly, in the gap where the roadway
+ran, appeared a horse galloping and on it a woman, who clung to its mane
+with both hands, and after her many armed men.
+
+"Look, Emlyn, look!" exclaimed Cicely. "Who is that?" for she could not
+believe her eyes.
+
+"Who but Mother Matilda," answered Emlyn; "and by the saints, she is a
+strange sight!"
+
+A strange sight she was indeed, for her hood was gone, her hair, that
+was ever so neat, flew loose, her robe was ruckled up about her knees,
+the rosary and crucifix she wore streamed on the air behind her and beat
+against her back, and her garb had burst open at the front; in short,
+never was holy, aged Prioress seen in such a state before. Down she
+came on them like a whirlwind, for her frightened horse scented its
+Blossholme stable, clinging grimly to her unaccustomed seat, and crying
+as she sped--
+
+"For God's love, stop this mad beast!"
+
+Bolle caught it by the bridle and threw it to its haunches so that,
+its rider speeding on, flew over its head on to the broad breast of the
+yeoman who had watched the child, and there rested thankfully. For, as
+Mother Matilda said afterwards with her gentle smile, never before did
+she know what comfort there was to be found in man.
+
+When at length she loosed her arms from about his neck the yeoman stood
+her on her feet, saying that this was worse than the baby, and her
+wandering eyes fell upon Cicely.
+
+"So I am in time! Oh! never more will I revile that horse," she
+exclaimed, and sinking to her knees then and there she gasped out some
+prayer of thankfulness. Meanwhile, those who followed her had reined
+up in front, and the Abbot's soldiers with the accompanying crowd had
+halted behind, not knowing what to make of these strangers, so that
+Bolle and his party with the women were now between the two.
+
+From among the new-comers rode out a fat, coarse man, with a pompous
+air as of one who is accustomed to be obeyed, who inquired in a laboured
+voice, for he was breathless from hard riding, what all this turmoil
+meant.
+
+"Ask the Abbot of Blossholme," said some one, "for it is his work."
+
+"Abbot of Blossholme? That's the man I want," puffed the fat stranger.
+"Appear, Abbot of Blossholme, and give account of these doings. And you
+fellows," he added to his escort, "range up and be ready, lest this said
+priest should prove contumacious."
+
+Now the Abbot stepped forward with some of his monks and, looking the
+horseman up and down, said--
+
+"Who may it be that demands account so roughly of a consecrated Abbot?"
+
+"A consecrated Abbot? A consecrated peacock, a tumultuous, turbulent,
+traitorous priest, a Spanish rogue ruffler who, I am told, keeps about
+him a band of bloody mercenaries to break the King's peace and slay
+loyal English folk. Well, consecrated Abbot, I'll tell you who I am. I
+am Thomas Legh, his Grace's Visitor and Royal Commissioner to inspect
+the Houses called religious, and I am come hither upon complaint made by
+yonder Prioress of Blossholme Nunnery, as to your dealings with
+certain of his Highness's subjects whom, she says, you have accused of
+witchcraft for purposes of revenge and unlawful gain. That is who I am,
+my fine fowl of an Abbot."
+
+Now when he heard this pompous speech the rage in Maldon's face was
+replaced by fear, for he knew of this Doctor Legh and his mission, and
+understood what Thomas Bolle had meant by his cry of, "In the King's
+name!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+THE MESSENGER
+
+"Who makes all this tumult?" shouted the Commissioner. "Why do I see
+blood and wounds and dead men? And how were you about to handle these
+women, one of whom by her mien is of no low degree?" and he stared at
+Cicely.
+
+"The tumult," answered the Abbot, "was caused by yonder fool, Thomas
+Bolle, a lay-brother of my monastery, who rushed among us armed and
+shouting 'In the King's name, stay.'"
+
+"Then why did you not stay, Sir Abbot? Is the King's name one to be
+mocked at? Know that I sent on the man."
+
+"He had no warrant, Sir Commissioner, unless his bull's voice and great
+axe are a warrant, and I did not stay because we were doing justice upon
+the three foulest witches in the realm."
+
+"Doing justice? Whose justice and what justice? Say, had you a warrant
+for your justice? If so, show it me."
+
+"These witches have been condemned by a Court Ecclesiastic, the judges
+being a bishop, a prior and myself, and in pursuance of that judgment
+were about to suffer for their sins by fire," replied Maldon.
+
+"A Court Ecclesiastic!" roared Dr. Legh. "Can Courts Ecclesiastic, then,
+toast free English folk to death? If you would not stand your trial for
+attempted murder, show me your warrant signed by his Grace the King,
+or by his Justices of Assize. What! You do not answer. Have you none? I
+thought as much. Oho, Clement Maldon, you hang-faced Spanish dog, learn
+that eyes have been on you for long, and now it seems that you would
+usurp the King's prerogative besides----" and he checked himself, then
+went on, "Seize that priest, and keep him fast while I make inquiry of
+this business."
+
+Now some of the Commissioner's guard surrounded Maldon, nor did his own
+men venture to interfere with them, for they had enough of fighting and
+were frightened by this talk about the King's warrant.
+
+Then the Commissioner turned to Cicely, and said--
+
+"You are Sir John Foterell's only child, are you not, who allege
+yourself to be wife to Sir Christopher Harflete, or so says yonder
+Prioress? Now, what was about to happen to you, and why?"
+
+"Sir," answered Cicely, "I and my waiting-woman and the old sister,
+Bridget, were condemned to die by fire at those stakes upon a charge
+of sorcery. Although it is true," she added, "that I knew we should not
+perish thus."
+
+"How did you know that, Lady? By all tokens your bodies and hot flame
+were near enough together," and he glanced towards the stakes and the
+scattered faggots.
+
+"Sir, I knew it because of a vision that God sent to me in my sleep last
+night."
+
+"Aye, she swore that at the stake," exclaimed a voice, "and we thought
+her mad."
+
+"Now can you deny that she is a witch?" broke in Maldon. "If she were
+not one of Satan's own, how could she see visions and prophecy her own
+deliverance?"
+
+"If visions and prophecies are proof of witchcraft, then, Priest, all
+Holy Writ is but a seething pot of sorcery," answered Legh. "Then the
+Blessed Virgin and St. Elizabeth were witches, and Paul and John should
+have been burnt as wizards. Continue, Lady, leaving out your dreams
+until a more convenient time."
+
+"Sir," went on Cicely, "we have worked no sorcery, and my crime is that
+I will not name my child a bastard and sign away my lands and goods to
+yonder Abbot, the murderer of my father and perhaps of my husband. Oh!
+listen, listen, you and all folk here, and briefly as I may I will tell
+my tale. Have I your leave to speak?"
+
+The Commissioner nodded, and she set out her story from the beginning,
+so sweetly, so simply and with such truth and earnestness, that the
+concourse of people packed close about her, hung upon her every word,
+and even Dr. Legh's coarse face softened as he heard. For the half of an
+hour or more she spoke, telling of her father's death, of her flight and
+marriage, of the burning of Cranwell Towers, and her widowing, if such
+it were; of her imprisonment in the Priory and the Abbot's dealings with
+her and Emlyn; of the birth of her child and its attempted murder by
+the midwife, his creature; of their trial and condemnation, they being
+innocent, and of all they had endured that day.
+
+"If you are innocent," shouted a priest as she paused for breath, "what
+was that Thing dressed in the livery of Satan which worked evil at
+Blossholme? Did we not see it with our eyes?"
+
+Just then some one uttered an exclamation and pointed to the shadow of
+the trees where a strange form was moving. Another moment and it came
+out into the light. One more and all that multitude scattered like
+frightened sheep, rushing this way and that; yes, even the horses took
+the bits between their teeth and bolted. For there, visible to all,
+Satan himself strolled towards them. On his head were horns, behind his
+back hung down a tail, his body was shaggy like a beast's, and his face
+hideous and of many colours, while in his hand he held a pronged fork
+with a long handle. This way and that rushed the throng, only the
+Commissioner, who had dismounted, stood still, perhaps because he
+was too afraid to stir, and with him the women and some of the nuns,
+including the Prioress, who fell upon their knees and began to utter
+prayers.
+
+On came the dreadful thing till it reached the King's Visitor, bowing
+to him and bellowing like a bull, then very deliberately untied some
+strings and let its horrid garb fall off, revealing the person of Thomas
+Bolle!
+
+"What means this mummery, knave?" gasped Dr. Legh.
+
+"Mummery do you call it, sir?" answered Thomas with a grin. "Well, if
+so, 'tis on the faith of such mummery that priests burn women in merry
+England. Come, good people, come," he roared in his great voice, "come,
+see Satan in the flesh. Here are his horns," and he held them up, "once
+they grew upon the head of Widow Johnson's billy-goat. Here's his tail,
+many a fly has it flicked off the belly of an Abbey cow. Here's his ugly
+mug, begotten of parchment and the paint-box. Here's his dreadful fork
+that drives the damned to some hotter corner; it has been death to whole
+stones of eels down in the marsh-fleet yonder. I have some hell-fire too
+among the bag of tricks; you'll make the best of brimstone and a little
+oil dried out upon the hearth. Come, see the devil all complete and
+naught to pay."
+
+Back trooped the crowd a little fearfully, taking the properties which
+he held, and handling them, till first one and then all of them began to
+laugh.
+
+"Laugh not," shouted Bolle. "Is it a matter of laughter that noble
+ladies and others whose lives are as dear to some," and he glanced at
+Emlyn, "should grill like herrings because a poor fool walks about clad
+in skins to keep out the cold and frighten villains? Hark you, I played
+this trick. I am Beelzebub, also the ghost of Sir John Foterell. I
+entered the Priory chapel by a passage that I know, and saved yonder
+babe from murder and scared the murderess down to hell; yes, from the
+sham devil to the true. Why did I do it? Well, to protect the innocent
+and scourge the wicked in his pride. But the wicked seized the innocent
+and the innocent said nothing, fearing lest I should suffer with them,
+and----O God, you know the rest!
+
+"It was a near thing, a very near thing, but I'm not the half-wit I've
+feigned to be for years. Moreover, I had a good horse and a heavy axe,
+and there are still true hearts round Blossholme; the dead men that lie
+yonder show it. Heaven has still its angels on the earth, though they
+wear strange shapes. There stands one of them, and there another,"
+and he pointed first to the fat and pompous Visitor, and next to the
+dishevelled Prioress, adding: "And now, Sir Commissioner, for all that
+I have done in the cause of justice I ask pardon of you who wear the
+King's grace and majesty as I wore old Nick's horns and hoofs, since
+otherwise the Abbot and his hired butchers, who hold themselves masters
+of King and people, will murder me for this as they have done by better
+men. Therefore pardon, your Mightiness, pardon," and he kneeled down
+before him.
+
+"You have it, Bolle; in the King's name you have it," replied Legh, who
+was more flattered by the titles and attributes poured upon him by the
+cunning Thomas than a closer consideration might have warranted. "For
+all that you have done, or left undone, I, the Commissioner of his
+Grace, declare that you shall go scot free and that no action criminal
+or civil shall lie against you, and this my secretary shall give to you
+in writing. Now, good fellow, rise, but steal Satan's plumes no more
+lest you should feel his claws and beak, for he is an ill fowl to mock.
+Bring hither that Spaniard Maldon. I have somewhat to say to him."
+
+Now they looked this way and that, but no Abbot could they see. The
+guards swore that they had never taken eye off him, even when they all
+ran before the devil, yet certainly he was gone.
+
+"The knave has given us the slip," bellowed the Commissioner, who was
+purple with rage. "Search for him! Seize him, for which my command shall
+be your warrant. Draw the wood. I'll to the Abbey, where perchance the
+fox has gone to earth. Five golden crowns to the man who nets the slimy
+traitor."
+
+Now every one, burning with zeal to show their loyalty and to win the
+crowns, scattered on the search, so that presently the three "witches,"
+Thomas Bolle, Mother Matilda, and the nuns, were left standing almost
+alone and staring at each other and the dead and wounded men who lay
+about.
+
+"Let us to the Priory," said Mother Matilda, "for by the sun I judge
+that it is time for evening prayer, and there seem to be none to hinder
+us."
+
+Thomas went to her horse, which grazed close at hand, and led it up.
+
+"Nay, good friend," she exclaimed, with energy, "while I live no more of
+that evil beast for me. Henceforth I'll walk till I am carried. Keep it,
+Thomas, as a gift; it is bought and paid for. Sister, your arm."
+
+"Have I done well, Emlyn?" Bolle asked, as he tightened the girths.
+
+"I don't know," she answered, looking at him sideways. "You played the
+cur at first, leaving us to burn for your sins, but afterwards, well,
+you found the wits you say you never lost. Also your manners mended, and
+yonder captain knave learned that you can handle an axe, so we'll say
+no more about it, lad, for doubtless that Abbot and his spies were sore
+task-masters and broke your spirit with their penances and talk of hell
+to come. Here, lift my lady on to this horse, for she is spent, and
+let me lean upon your shoulder, Thomas. It's weary work standing at a
+stake."
+
+
+
+Cicely's recollections of the remainder of that day were always shadowy
+and tangled. She remembered a prayer of thanksgiving in which she took
+small part with her lips, she whose heart was one great thanksgiving.
+She remembered the good sister who had given them the relics of St.
+Catherine assuring her, as she received them back with care, that
+these and these alone had worked the miracle and saved their lives. She
+remembered eating food and straining her boy to her breast, and then she
+remembered no more till she woke to see the morning sun streaming into
+that same room whence on the previous day they had been led out to
+suffer the most horrible of deaths.
+
+Yes, she woke, and see, near by was Emlyn making ready her garments, as
+she had done these many years, and at her side lay the boy crowing in
+the sunlight and waving his little arms, the blessed boy who knew not
+the terrors he had passed. At first she thought that she had dreamed a
+very evil dream, till by degrees all the truth came back to her, and
+she shivered at its memory, yes, even as the weight of it rolled off her
+heart she shivered and whitened like an aspen in the wind. Then she rose
+and thanked God for His mercies, which were great.
+
+Oh, if the strength of that horse of Thomas Bolle's had failed one short
+five minutes sooner, she, in whom the red blood still ran so healthily,
+would have been but a handful of charred bones. Or if her faith had left
+her so that she had yielded to the Abbot and shortened all his talk at
+the place of burning, then Bolle would have come too late. But it proved
+sufficient to her need, and for this also truly she should be thankful
+to its Giver.
+
+After they had eaten, a message came to them from the Prioress, who
+desired to see them in her chamber. Thither they went, rejoiced to find
+that they were no longer prisoners but had liberty to come and go, and
+found her seated in a tall chair, for she was too stiff to walk. Cicely
+ran to her, knelt down and kissed her, and she laid her left hand upon
+her head in blessing, for the right was cut with the chafing of the
+reins.
+
+"Surely, Cicely," she said, smiling, "it is I who should kneel to you,
+were I in any state to do so. For now I have heard all the tale, and it
+seems that we have a prophetess among us, one favoured with visions from
+on high, which visions have been most marvellously fulfilled."
+
+"That is so, Mother," she answered briefly, for this was a matter of
+which she would never talk at length, either then or thereafter, "but
+the fulfilment came through you."
+
+"My daughter, I was but the minister, you were the chosen seer, still
+let the holy business lie a while. Perhaps you will tell me of it
+afterwards, and meantime the world and its affairs press us hard. Your
+deliverance has been bought at no small cost, my daughter, for know that
+yonder coarse and ungodly man, the King's Visitor, told me as we rode
+that this Nunnery must be dissolved, its house and revenues seized, and
+I and my sisters turned out to starve in our old age. Indeed, to bring
+him here at all I was forced to petition that it might be so in a
+writing that I signed. See, then, how great is my love for you, dear
+Cicely."
+
+"Mother," she answered, "it cannot be, it shall not be."
+
+"Alas! child, how will you prevent it? These Visitors, and those who
+commission them, are hungry folk. I hear they take the lands and goods
+of poor religious such as we are, and if these are fortunate, give one
+or two of them a little pittance to get bread. Once I had moneys of my
+own, but I spent them to buy back the Valley Farm which the Abbot had
+seized, and of late to satisfy his extortions," and she wept a little.
+
+"Mother, listen. I have wealth hidden away, I know not where exactly,
+but Emlyn knows. It is my very own, the Carfax jewels that came to me
+from my mother. It was because of these that we were brought to the
+stake, since the Abbot offered us life in return for them, and when it
+was too late to save us, a more merciful death than that by fire. But I
+forbade Emlyn to yield the secret; something in my heart told me to do
+so, now I know why. Mother, the price of those gems shall buy back your
+lands, and mayhap buy also permission from his Grace the King for the
+continuance of your house, where you and yours shall worship as those
+who went before you have done for many generations. I swear it in my own
+name and in that of my child and of my husband also--if he lives."
+
+"Your husband if he lives might need this wealth, sweet Cicely."
+
+"Then, Mother, except to save his life, or liberty or honour, I tell you
+I will refuse it to him, who, when he learns what you have done for me
+and our son, would give it you and all else he has besides--nay, would
+pay it as an honourable debt."
+
+"Well, Cicely, in God's name and my own I thank you, and we'll see,
+we'll see! Only be advised, lest Dr. Legh should learn of this treasure.
+But where is it, Emlyn? Fear not to tell me who can be secret, for it
+is well that more than one should know, and I think that your danger is
+past."
+
+"Yes, speak, Emlyn," said Cicely, "for though I never asked before,
+fearing my own weakness, I am curious. None can hear us here."
+
+"Then, Mistress, I will tell you. You remember that on the day of the
+burning of Cranwell we sought refuge on the central tower, whence I
+carried you senseless to the vault. Now in that vault we lay all night,
+and while you swooned I searched with my fingers till I found a stone
+that time and damp had loosened, behind which was a hollow. In that
+hollow I hid the jewels that I carried wrapt in silk in the bosom of my
+robe. Then I filled up the hole with dust scraped from the floor, and
+replaced the stone, wedging it tight with bits of mortar. It is the
+third stone counting from the eastern angle in the second course above
+the floor line. There I set them, and there doubtless they lie to this
+day, for unless the tower is pulled down to its foundations none will
+ever find them in that masonry."
+
+At this moment there came a knocking on the door. When it was opened by
+Emlyn a nun entered, saying that the King's Visitor demanded to speak
+with the Prioress.
+
+"Show him here since I cannot come to him," said Mother Matilda, "and
+you, Cicely and Emlyn, bide with me, for in such company it is well to
+have witnesses."
+
+A minute later Dr. Legh appeared accompanied by his secretaries,
+gorgeously attired and puffing from the stairs.
+
+"To business, to business," he said, scarcely stopping to acknowledge
+the greetings of the Prioress. "Your convent is sequestrated upon
+your own petition, Madam, therefore I need not stop to make the usual
+inquiries, and indeed I will admit that from all I hear it has a good
+repute, for none allege scandal against you, perhaps because you are all
+too old for such follies. Produce now your deeds, your terrier of lands
+and your rent-rolls, that I may take them over in due form and dissolve
+the sisterhood."
+
+"I will send for them, Sir," answered the Prioress humbly; "but,
+meanwhile, tell us what we poor religious are to do? I am turned sixty
+years of age, and have dwelt in this house for forty of them; none of my
+sisters are young, and some of them are older than myself. Whither shall
+we go?"
+
+"Into the world, Madam, which you will find a fine, large place. Cease
+snuffling prayers and from all vulgar superstitions--by the way, forget
+not to hand over any reliquaries of value, or any papistical emblems
+in precious metals that you may possess, including images, of which my
+secretaries will take account--and go out into the world. Marry there
+if you can find husbands, follow useful trades there. Do what you will
+there, and thank the King who frees you from the incumbrance of silly
+vows and from the circle of a convent's walls."
+
+"To give us liberty to starve outside of them. Sir, do you understand
+your work? For hundreds of years we have sat at Blossholme, and during
+all those generations have prayed to God for the souls of men and
+ministered to their bodies. We have done no harm to any creature, and
+what wealth came to us from the earth or from the benefactions of
+the pious we have dispensed with a liberal hand, taking nothing for
+ourselves. The poor by multitudes have fed at our gates, their sick we
+have nursed, their children we have taught; often we have gone hungry
+that they might be full. Now you drive us forth in our age to perish.
+If that is the will of God, so be it, but what must chance to England's
+poor?"
+
+"That is England's business, Madam, and the poor's. Meanwhile I have
+told you that I have no time to waste, since I must away to London to
+make report concerning this Abbot of yours, a veritable rogue, of
+whose villainous plots I have discovered many things. I pray you send a
+messenger to bid them hurry with the deeds."
+
+Just then a nun entered bearing a tray, on which were cakes and wine.
+Emlyn took it from her, and pouring the wine into cups offered them to
+the Visitor and his secretaries.
+
+"Good wine," he said, after he had drunk, "a very generous wine. You
+nuns know the best in liquor; be careful, I pray you, to include it in
+your inventory. Why, woman, are you not one of those whom that Abbot
+would have burnt? Yes, and there is your mistress, Dame Foterell, or
+Dame Harflete, with whom I desire a word."
+
+"I am at your service, Sir," said Cicely.
+
+"Well, Madam, you and your servant have escaped the stake to which, as
+near as I can judge, you were sentenced upon no evidence at all. Still,
+you were condemned by a competent ecclesiastical Court, and under that
+condemnation you must therefore remain until or unless the King pardons
+you. My judgment is, then, that you stay here awaiting his command."
+
+"But, Sir," said Cicely, "if the good nuns who have befriended me are to
+be driven forth, how can I dwell on in their house alone? Yet you say
+I must not leave it, and indeed if I could, whither should I go? My
+husband's hall is burnt, my own the Abbot holds. Moreover, if I bide
+here, in this way or in that he will have my life."
+
+"The knave has fled away," said Dr. Legh, rubbing his fat chin.
+
+"Aye, but he will come back again, or his people will, and, Sir, you
+know these Spaniards are good haters, and I have defied him long. Oh,
+Sir, I crave the protection of the King for my child's sake and my own,
+and for Emlyn Stower also."
+
+The Commissioner went on rubbing his chin.
+
+"You can give much evidence against this Maldon, can you not?" he asked
+at length.
+
+"Aye," broke in Emlyn, "enough to hang him ten times over, and so can
+I."
+
+"And you have large estates which he has seized, have you not?"
+
+"I have, Sir, who am of no mean birth and station."
+
+"Lady," he said, with more deference in his voice, "step aside with me,
+I would speak with you privately," and he walked to the window, where
+she followed him. "Now tell me, what was the value of these properties
+of yours?"
+
+"I know not rightly, Sir, but I have heard my father say about L300 a
+year."
+
+His manner became more deferential still, since for those days such
+wealth was great.
+
+"Indeed, my Lady. A large sum, a very comfortable fortune if you can get
+it back. Now I will be frank with you. The King's Commissioners are not
+well paid and their costs are great. If I so arrange your matters
+that you come to your own again and that the judgment of witchcraft
+pronounced against you and your servant is annulled, will you promise to
+pay me one year's rent of these estates to meet the various expenses I
+must incur on your behalf?"
+
+Now it was Cicely's turn to think.
+
+"Surely," she answered at length, "if you will add a condition--that
+these good sisters shall be left undisturbed in their Nunnery."
+
+He shook his fat head.
+
+"It is not possible now. The thing is too public. Why, the Lord Cromwell
+would say I had been bribed, and I might lose my office."
+
+"Well, then," went on Cicely, "if you will promise that one year of
+grace shall be given to them to make arrangements for their future."
+
+"That I can do," he answered, nodding, "on the ground that they are of
+blameless life, and have protected you from the King's enemy. But this
+is an uncertain world; I must ask you to sign an indenture, and its form
+will be that you acknowledge to have received from me a loan of L300 to
+be repaid with interest when you recover your estates."
+
+"Draw it up and I will sign, Sir."
+
+"Good, Madam; and now that we may get this business through, you will
+accompany me to London, where you will be safe from harm. We'll not ride
+to-day, but to-morrow morning at the light."
+
+"Then my servant Emlyn must come also, Sir, to help me with the babe,
+and Thomas Bolle too, for he can prove that the witchcraft upon which we
+were condemned was but his trickery."
+
+"Yes, yes; but the costs of travel for so many will be great. Have you,
+perchance, any money?"
+
+"Yes, Sir, about L50 in gold that is sewn up in one of Emlyn's robes."
+
+"Ah! A sufficient sum. Too much indeed to be risked upon your persons in
+these rough times. You will let me take charge of half of it for you?"
+
+"With pleasure, Sir, trusting you as I do. Keep to your bargain and I
+will keep to mine."
+
+"Good. When Thomas Legh is fairly dealt with, Thomas Legh deals fairly,
+no man can say otherwise. This afternoon I will bring the deed, and
+you'll give me that L25 in charge."
+
+Then, followed by Cicely, he returned to where the Prioress sat, and
+said--
+
+"Mother Matilda, for so I understand you are called in religion, the
+Lady Harflete has been pleading with me for you, and because you have
+dealt so well by her I have promised in the King's name that you and
+your nuns shall live on here undisturbed for one year from this day,
+after which you must yield up peaceable possession to his Majesty, whom
+I will beg that you shall be pensioned."
+
+"I thank you, Sir," the Prioress answered. "When one is old a year of
+grace is much, and in a year many things may happen--for instance, my
+death."
+
+"Thank me not--a plain man who but follows after justice and duty. The
+documents for your signature shall be ready this afternoon, and by the
+way, the Lady Harflete and her servant, also that stout, shrewd fellow,
+Thomas Bolle, ride with me to London to-morrow. She will explain all. At
+three of the clock I wait upon you."
+
+The Visitor and his secretaries bustled out of the room as pompously
+as they had entered, and when they had gone Cicely explained to Mother
+Matilda and Emlyn what had passed.
+
+"I think that you have done wisely," said the Prioress, when she had
+listened. "That man is a shark, but better give him your little finger
+than your whole body. Certainly, you have bargained well for us, for
+what may not happen in a year? Also, dear Cicely, you will be safer in
+London than at Blossholme, since with the great sum of L300 to gain
+that Commissioner will watch you like the apple of his eye and push your
+cause."
+
+"Unless some one promises him the greater sum of L1000 to scotch it,"
+interrupted Emlyn. "Well, there was but one road to take, and paper
+promises are little, though I grudge the good L25 in gold. Meanwhile,
+Mother, we have much to make ready. I pray you send some one to find
+Thomas Bolle, who will not be far away, for since we are no longer
+prisoners I wish to go out walking with him on an errand of my own that
+perchance you can guess. Wealth may be useful in London town for all our
+sakes. Also horses and a packbeast must be got, and other things."
+
+
+
+In due course Thomas Bolle was found fast asleep in a neighbour's house,
+for after his adventures and triumph he had drunk hard and rested
+long. When she discovered the truth Emlyn rated him well, calling him
+a beer-tub and not a man, and many other hard names, till at last she
+provoked him to answer, that had it not been for the said beer-tub she
+would be but ash-dust this day. Thereon she turned the talk and told
+them their needs, and that he must ride with them to London. To this
+he replied that good horses should be saddled by the dawn, for he knew
+where to lay hands on them, since some were left in the Abbot's stables
+that wanted exercise; further, that he would be glad to leave Blossholme
+for a while, where he had made enemies on the yesterday, whose friends
+yet lay wounded or unburied. After this Emlyn whispered something in his
+ear, to which he nodded assent, saying that he would bustle round and be
+ready.
+
+That afternoon Emlyn went out riding with Thomas Bolle, who was fully
+armed, as she said, to try two of the horses that should carry them on
+the morrow, and it was late when she returned out of the dark night.
+
+"Have you got them?" asked Cicely, when they were together in their
+room.
+
+"Aye," she answered, "every one; but some stones have fallen, and it
+was hard to win an entrance to that vault. Indeed, had it not been for
+Thomas Bolle, who has the strength of a bull, I could never have done
+it. Moreover, the Abbot has been there before us and dug over every inch
+of the floor. But the fool never thought of the wall, so all's well.
+I'll sew half of them into my petticoat and half into yours, to share
+the risk. In case of thieves, the money that hungry Visitor has left to
+us, for I paid him over half when you signed the deeds, we will carry
+openly in pouches upon our girdles. They'll not search further. Oh, I
+forgot, I've something more besides the jewels, here it is," and she
+produced a packet from her bosom and laid it on the table.
+
+"What's this?" asked Cicely, looking suspiciously at the worn sail-cloth
+in which it was wrapped.
+
+"How can I tell? Cut it and see. All I know is that when I stood at the
+Nunnery door as Thomas led away the horses, a man crept on me out of the
+rain swathed in a great cloak and asked if I were not Emlyn Stower. I
+said Yea, whereon he thrust this into my hand, bidding me not fail to
+give it to the Lady Harflete, and was gone."
+
+"It has an over-seas look about it," murmured Cicely, as with eager,
+trembling fingers she cut the stitches. At length they were undone and a
+sealed inner wrapping also, revealing, amongst other documents, a little
+packet of parchments covered with crabbed, unreadable writing, on the
+back of which, however, they could decipher the names of Shefton and
+Blossholme by reason of the larger letters in which they were engrossed.
+Also there was a writing in the scrawling hand of Sir John Foterell, and
+at the foot of it his name and, amongst others, those of Father Necton
+and of Jeffrey Stokes. Cicely stared at the deeds, then said--
+
+"Emlyn, I know these parchments. They are those that my father took with
+him when he rode for London to disprove the Abbot's claim, and with them
+the evidence of the traitorous words he spoke last year at Shefton. Yes,
+this inner wrapping is my own; I took it from the store of worn linen in
+the passage-cupboard. But how come they here?"
+
+Emlyn made no answer, only lifted the wrappings and shook them, whereon
+a strip of paper that they had not seen fell to the table.
+
+"This may tell us," she said. "Read, if you can; it has words on its
+inner side."
+
+Cicely snatched at it, and as the writing was clear and clerkly, read
+with ease save for the chokings of her throat. It ran--
+
+
+"My Lady Harflete,
+
+"These are the papers that Jeffrey Stokes saved when your father fell.
+They were given for safekeeping to the writer of these words, far away
+across the sea, and he hands them on unopened. Your husband lives and is
+well again, also Jeffrey Stokes, and though they have been hindered on
+their journey, doubtless he will find his way back to England, whither,
+believing you to be dead, as I did, he has not hurried. There are
+reasons why I, his friend and yours, cannot see you or write more, since
+my duty calls me hence. When it is finished I will seek you out if I
+still live. If not, wait in peace until your joy finds you, as I think
+it will.
+
+"One who loves your lord well, and for his sake you also."
+
+
+Cicely laid down the paper and burst into a flood of weeping.
+
+"Oh, cruel, cruel!" she sobbed, "to tell so much and yet so little. Nay,
+what an ungrateful wretch am I, since Christopher truly lives, and I
+also live to learn it, I, whom he deems dead."
+
+"By my soul," said Emlyn, when she had calmed her, "that cloaked man is
+a prince of messengers. Oh, had I but known what he bore I'd have had
+all the story, if I must cling to him like Potiphar's wife to Joseph.
+Well, well, Joseph got away and half a herring is better than no fish,
+also this is good herring. Moreover, you have got the deeds when you
+most wanted them and what is better, a written testimony that will bring
+the traitor Maldon to the scaffold."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+JACOB AND THE JEWELS
+
+Cicely's journey to London was strange enough to her, who never before
+had travelled farther than fifty miles from her home, and but once as a
+child spent a month in a town when visiting an aunt at Lincoln. She went
+in ease, it is true, for Commissioner Legh did not love hard travelling,
+and for this reason they started late and halted early, either at some
+good inn, if in those days any such places could be called good, or
+perhaps in a monastery where he claimed of the best that the frightened
+monks had to offer. Indeed, as she observed, his treatment of these poor
+folk was cruel, for he blustered and threatened and inquired, accusing
+them of crimes that they had not committed, and finally, although he had
+no mission to them at the time, extracted great gifts, saying that if
+these were not forthcoming he would make a note and return later. Also
+he got hold of tale-bearers, and wrote down all their scandalous and
+lying stories told against those whose bread they ate.
+
+Thus, long before they saw Charing Cross, Cicely came to hate this
+proud, avaricious and overbearing man, who hid a savage nature under a
+cloak of virtue, and whilst serving his own ends, mouthed great words
+about God and the King. Still, she who was schooled in adversity,
+learned to hide her heart, fearing to make an enemy of one who could
+ruin her, and forced Emlyn, much against her will, to do the same.
+Moreover, there were worse things than that since, being beautiful, some
+of his companions talked to her in a way she could not misunderstand,
+till at length Thomas Bolle, coming on one of them, thrashed him as he
+had never been thrashed before, after which there was trouble that was
+only appeased by a gift.
+
+Yet on the whole things went well. No one molested the King's Visitor
+or those with him, the autumn weather held fine, the baby boy kept his
+health, and the country through which they passed was new to her and
+full of interest.
+
+At last one evening they rode from Barnet into the great city, which she
+thought a most marvellous place, who had never seen such a multitude of
+houses or of men running to and fro about their business up and down the
+narrow streets that at night were lit with lamps. Now there had been a
+great discussion where they were to lodge, Dr. Legh saying that he knew
+of a house suitable to them. But Emlyn would not hear of this place,
+where she was sure they would be robbed, for the wealth that they
+carried secretly in jewels bore heavily on her mind. Remembering a
+cousin of her mother's of the name of Smith, a goldsmith, who till
+within a year or two before was alive and dwelling in Cheapside, she
+said that they would seek him out.
+
+Thither then they rode, guided by one of the Visitor's clerks, not he
+whom Bolle had beaten, but another, and at last, after some search,
+found a dingy house in a court and over it a sign on which were painted
+three balls and the name of Jacob Smith. Emlyn dismounted and, the door
+being open, entered, to be greeted by an old, white-bearded man with
+horn spectacles thrust up over his forehead and dark eyes like her own,
+since the same gypsy blood ran strong in both of them.
+
+What passed between them Cicely did not hear, but presently the old man
+came out with Emlyn, and looked her and Bolle up and down sharply for a
+long while as though to take their measures. At length he said that he
+understood from his cousin, whom he now saw for the first time for
+over thirty years, that the two of them and their man desired lodgings,
+which, as he had empty rooms, he would be pleased to give them if they
+would pay the price.
+
+Cicely asked how much this might be, and on his naming a sum, ten silver
+shillings a week for the three of them and their horses, that would
+be stabled close by, told Emlyn to pay him a pound on account. This he
+took, biting the gold to see that it was good, but bidding them in to
+inspect the rooms before he pouched it. They did so, and finding them
+clean and commodious if somewhat dark, closed the bargain with him,
+after which they dismissed the clerk to take their address to Dr. Legh,
+who had promised to advise them so soon as he could put their business
+forward.
+
+When he was gone and Thomas Bolle, conducted by Smith's apprentice,
+had led off the three horses and the packbeast, the old man changed his
+manner, and conducting them into a parlour at the back of his shop, sent
+his housekeeper, a middle-aged woman with a pleasant face, to make ready
+food for them while he produced cordials from squat Dutch bottles which
+he made them drink. Indeed he was all kindness to them, being, as he
+explained, rejoiced to see one of his own blood, for he had no relations
+living, his wife and their two children having died in one of the London
+sicknesses. Also he was Blossholme born, though he had left that place
+fifty years before, and had known Cicely's grandfather and played with
+her father when he was a boy. So he plied them with question after
+question, some of which they thought it was not to answer, for he was a
+merry and talkative old man.
+
+"Aha!" he said, "you would prove me before you trust me, and who can
+blame you in this naughty world? But perhaps I know more about you all
+than you think, since in this trade my business is to learn many things.
+For instance, I have heard that there was a great trying of witches down
+at Blossholme lately, whereat a certain Abbot came off worst, also that
+the famous Carfax jewels had been lost, which vexed the said holy Abbot.
+They were jewels indeed, or so I have heard, for among them were two
+pink pearls worth a king's ransom--or so I have heard. Great pity that
+they should be lost, since my Lady there would own them otherwise, and
+much should I have liked, who am a little man in that trade, to set my
+old eyes upon them. Well, well, perhaps I shall, perhaps I shall yet,
+for that which is lost is sometimes found again. Now here comes your
+dinner; eat, eat, we'll talk afterwards."
+
+This was the first of many pleasant meals which they shared with their
+host, Jacob Smith. Soon Emlyn found from inquiries that she made among
+his neighbours without seeming to do so, that this cousin of hers bore
+an excellent name and was trusted by all.
+
+"Then why should we not trust him also?" asked Cicely, "who must find
+friends and put faith in some one."
+
+"Even with the jewels, Mistress?"
+
+"Even with the jewels, for such things are his business, and they would
+be safer in his strong chest than tacked into our garments, where the
+thought of them haunts me night and day."
+
+"Let us wait a while," said Emlyn, "for once they were in that box how
+do we know if we should get them out again?"
+
+On the morrow of this talk the Visitor Legh came to see them, and had no
+cheerful tale to tell. According to him the Lord Cromwell declared
+that as the Abbot of Blossholme claimed these Shefton estates, the
+King stood, or would soon stand, in the shoes of the said Abbot of
+Blossholme, and therefore the King claimed them and could not surrender
+them. Moreover, money was so wanted at Court just then, and here
+Legh looked hard at them, "that there could be no talk of parting with
+anything of value except in return for a consideration," and he looked
+at them harder still.
+
+"And how can my Lady give that," broke in Emlyn sharply, for she feared
+lest Cicely should commit herself. "To-day she is but a homeless pauper,
+save for a few pounds in gold, and even if she should come to her
+own again, as your Worship knows, her first year's profits are all
+promised."
+
+"Ah!" said the Doctor sadly, "doubtless the case is hard. Only," he
+added, with cunning emphasis, "a tale has just reached me that the
+Lady Harflete has wealth hidden away which came to her from her mother;
+trinkets of value and such things."
+
+Now Cicely coloured, for the man's little eyes pierced her like
+gintlets, and her powers of deceit were very small. But this was not so
+with Emlyn, who, as she said, could play thief to catch a thief.
+
+"Listen, Sir," she said, with a secret air, "you have heard true. There
+were some things of value--why should we hide it from you, our good
+friend? But, alas! that greedy rogue, the Abbot of Blossholme, has them.
+He has stripped my poor Lady as bare as a fowl for roasting. Get them
+back from him, Sir, and on her behalf I say she'll give you half of
+them, will you not, my Lady?"
+
+"Surely," said Cicely. "The Doctor, to whom we owe so much, will be most
+welcome to the half of any movables of mine that he can recover from
+the Abbot Maldon," and she paused, for the fib stuck in her throat.
+Moreover, she knew herself to be the colour of a peony.
+
+Happily the Commissioner did not notice her blushes, or if he did, he
+put them down to grief and anger.
+
+"The Abbot Maldon," he grumbled, "always the Abbot Maldon. Oh! what a
+wicked thief must be that high-stomached Spaniard who does not scruple
+first to make orphans and then to rob them? A black-hearted traitor,
+too. Do you know that at this moment he stirs up rebellion in the north?
+Well, I'll see him on the rack before I have done. Have you a list of
+those movables, Madam?"
+
+Cicely said no, and Emlyn added that one should be made from memory.
+
+"Good; I'll see you again to-morrow or the next day, and meanwhile fear
+not, I'll be as active in your business as a cat after a sparrow. Oh, my
+rat of a Spanish Abbot, you wait till I get my claws into your fat back.
+Farewell, my Lady Harflete, farewell. Mistress Stower, I must away
+to deal with other priests almost as wicked," and he departed, still
+muttering objurgations on the Abbot.
+
+"Now, I think the time has come to trust Jacob Smith," said Emlyn, when
+the door closed behind him, "for he may be honest, whereas this Doctor
+is certainly a villain; also, the man has heard something and suspects
+us. Ah! there you are, Cousin Smith, come in, if you please, since we
+desire to talk with you for a minute. Come in, and be so good as to lock
+the door behind you."
+
+Five minutes later all the jewels, whereof not one was wanting, lay on
+the table before old Jacob, who stared at them with round eyes.
+
+"The Carfax gems," he muttered, "the Carfax gems of which I have so
+often heard; those that the old Crusader brought from the East, having
+sacked them from a Sultan; from the East, where they talk of them still.
+A sultan's wealth, unless, indeed, they came straight from the New
+Jerusalem and were an angel's gauds. And do you say that you two women
+have carried these priceless things tacked in your cloaks, which, as
+I have seen, you throw down here and there and leave behind you? Oh,
+fools, fools, even among women incomparable fools! Fellow-travellers
+with Dr. Legh also, who would rob a baby of its bauble."
+
+"Fools or no," exclaimed Emlyn tartly, "we have got them safe enough
+after they have run some risks, as I pray that you may keep them, Cousin
+Smith."
+
+Old Jacob threw a cloth over the gems, and slowly transferred them to
+his pocket.
+
+"This is an upper floor," he explained, "and the door is locked, yet
+some one might put a ladder up to the window. Were I in the street I
+should know by the glitter in the light that there were precious things
+here. Stay, they are not safe in my pocket even for an hour," and going
+to the wall he did something to a panel in the wainscot causing it to
+open and reveal a space behind it where lay sundry wrapped-up parcels,
+among which he placed, not all, but a portion of the gems. Then he went
+to other panels that opened likewise, showing more parcels, and in the
+holes behind these he distributed the rest of the treasure.
+
+"There, foolish women," he said, "since you have trusted me, I will
+trust you. You have seen my big strong-boxes in my office, and doubtless
+thought I keep all my little wares there. Well, so does every thief
+in London, for they have searched them twice and gained some store of
+pewter; I remember that some of it was discovered again in the King's
+household. But behind these panels all is safe, though no woman would
+ever have thought of a device so simple and so sure."
+
+For a moment Emlyn could find no answer, perhaps because of her
+indignation, but Cicely asked sweetly--
+
+"Do you ever have fires in London, Master Smith? It seems to me that I
+have heard of such things, and then--in a hurry, you know----"
+
+Smith thrust up his horned spectacles and looked at her in mild
+astonishment.
+
+"To think," he said, "that I should live to learn wisdom out of the
+mouth of babes and sucklers----"
+
+"Sucklings," suggested Cicely.
+
+"Sucklers or sucklings, it means the same thing--women," he replied
+testily; then added, with a chuckle, "Well, well, my Lady, you are
+right. You have caught out Jacob at his own game. I never thought of
+fire, though it is true we had one next door last year, when I ran out
+with my bed and forgot all about the gold and stones. I'll have new
+hiding-places made in the masonry of the cellar, where no fire would
+hurt. Ah! you women would never have thought of that, who carry treasure
+sewn up in a nightshift."
+
+Now Emlyn could bear it no longer.
+
+"And how would you have us carry it, Cousin Smith?" she asked
+indignantly. "Tied about our necks, or hanging from our heels? Well do
+I remember my mother telling me that you were always a simple youth, and
+that your saint must have been a very strong one who brought you safe to
+London and showed you how to earn a living there, or else that you had
+married a woman of excellent intelligence--though it is plain now she
+has long been dead. Well, well," she added, with a laugh, "cling to your
+man's vanities, you son of a woman, and since you are so clever, give
+us of your wisdom, for we need it. But first let me tell you that I have
+rescued those very jewels from a fire, and by hiding them in masonry in
+a vault."
+
+"It is the fashion of the female to wrangle when she has the worst of
+the case," said Jacob, with a twinkle in his eye. "So, daughter of man,
+set out your trouble. Perchance the wisdom that I have inherited from
+my mothers straight back to Eve may help that which your mothers lacked.
+Now, have you done with jests. I listen, if it pleases you to tell me."
+
+So, having first invoked the curse of Heaven on him if ever he should
+breathe a word, Emlyn, with the help of Cicely, repeated the whole
+matter from the beginning, and the candles were lighted ere ever her
+tale was done. All this while Jacob Smith sat opposite to them, saying
+little, save now and again to ask a shrewd question. At length, when
+they had finished, he exclaimed--
+
+"Truly women are fools!"
+
+"We have heard that before, Master Smith," replied Cicely; "but this
+time--why?"
+
+"Not to have unbosomed to me before, which would have saved you a week
+of time, although, as it happens, I knew more of your story than you
+chose to tell, and therefore the days have not been altogether wasted.
+Well, to be brief, this Dr. Legh is a ravenous rogue."
+
+"O Solomon, to have discovered that!" exclaimed Emlyn.
+
+"One whose only aim is to line his nest with your feathers, some of
+which you have promised him, as, indeed, you were right to do. Now he
+has got wind of these jewels, which is not wonderful, seeing that
+such things cannot be hid. If you buried them in a coffin, six foot
+underground, still they would shine through the solid earth and declare
+themselves. This is his plan--to strip you of everything ere his master,
+Cromwell, gets a hold of you; and if you go to him empty-handed, what
+chance has your suit with Vicar-General Cromwell, the hungriest shark of
+all--save one?"
+
+"We understand," said Emlyn; "but what is your plan, Cousin Smith?"
+
+"Mine? I don't know that I have one. Still, here is that which might do.
+Though I seem so small and humble, I am remembered at Court--when money
+is wanted, and just now much money is wanted, for soon they will be in
+arms in Yorkshire--and therefore I am much remembered. Now, if you care
+to give Dr. Legh the go-by and leave your cause to me, perhaps I might
+serve you as cheaply as another."
+
+"At what charge?" blurted out Emlyn.
+
+The old man turned on her indignantly, asking--
+
+"Cousin, how have I defrauded you or your mistress, that you should
+insult me to my face? Go to! you do not trust me. Go to, with your
+jewels, and seek some other helper!" and he went to the panelling as
+though to collect them again.
+
+"Nay, nay, Master Smith," said Cicely, catching him by the arm; "be
+not angry with Emlyn. Remember that of late we have learned in a hard
+school, with Abbot Maldon and Dr. Legh for masters. At least I trust
+you, so forsake me not, who have no other to whom to turn in all my
+troubles, which are many," and as she spoke the great tears that had
+gathered in her blue eyes fell upon the child's face, and woke him, so
+that she must turn aside to quiet him, which she was glad to do.
+
+"Grieve not," said the kind-hearted old man, in distress; "'tis I should
+grieve, whose brutal words have made you weep. Moreover, Emlyn is right;
+even foolish women should not trust the first Jack with whom they take
+a lodging. Still, since you swear that you do in your kindness, I'll try
+to show myself not all unworthy, my Lady Harflete. Now, what is it you
+want from the King? Justice on the Abbot? That you'll get for nothing,
+if his Grace can give it, for this same Abbot stirs up rebellion against
+him. No need, therefore, to set out his past misdeeds. A clean title
+to your large inheritance, which the Abbot claims? That will be more
+difficult, since the King claims through him. At best, money must be
+paid for it. A declaration that your marriage is good and your boy born
+in lawful wedlock? Not so hard, but will cost something. The annulment
+of the sentence of witchcraft on you both? Easy, for the Abbot passed
+it. Is there aught more?"
+
+"Yes, Master Smith; the good nuns who befriended me--I would save their
+house and lands to them. Those jewels are pledged to do it, if it can be
+done."
+
+"A matter of money, Lady--a mere matter of money. You will have to buy
+the property, that is all. Now, let us see what it will cost, if
+fortune goes with me," and he took pen and paper and began to write down
+figures.
+
+Finally he rose, sighing and shaking his head. "Two thousand pounds," he
+groaned; "a vast sum, but I can't lessen it by a shilling--there are so
+many to be bought. Yes; L1000 in gifts and L1000 as loan to his Majesty,
+who does not repay."
+
+"Two thousand pounds!" exclaimed Cicely in dismay; "oh! how shall I find
+so much, whose first year's rents are already pledged?"
+
+"Know you the worth of those jewels?" asked Jacob, looking at her.
+
+"Nay; the half of that, perhaps."
+
+"Let us say double that, and then right cheap."
+
+"Well, if so," replied Cicely, with a gasp, "where shall we sell them?
+Who has so much money?"
+
+"I'll try to find it, or what is needful. Now, Cousin Emlyn," he added
+sarcastically, "you see where my profit lies. I buy the gems at half
+their value, and the rest I keep."
+
+"In your own words: go to!" said Emlyn, "and keep your gibes until we
+have more leisure."
+
+The old man thought a while, and said--
+
+"It grows late, but the evening is pleasant, and I think I need some
+air. That crack-brained, red-haired fellow of yours will watch you while
+I am gone, and for mercy's sake be careful with those candles. Nay, nay;
+you must have no fire, you must go cold. After what you said to me, I
+can think of naught but fire. It is for this night only. By to-morrow
+evening I'll prepare a place where Abbot Maldon himself might sit
+unscorched in the midst of hell. But till then make out with clothes.
+I have some furs in pledge that I will send up to you. It is your own
+fault, and in my youth we did not need a fire on an autumn day. No more,
+no more," and he was gone, nor did they see him again that night.
+
+On the following morning, as they sat at their breakfast, Jacob Smith
+appeared, and began to talk of many things, such as the badness of the
+weather--for it rained--the toughness of the ham, which he said was not
+to be compared to those they cured at Blossholme in his youth, and the
+likeness of the baby boy to his mother.
+
+"Indeed, no," broke in Cicely, who felt that he was playing with them;
+"he is his father's self; there is no look of me in him."
+
+"Oh!" answered Jacob; "well, I'll give my judgment when I see the
+father. By the way, let me read that note again which the cloaked man
+brought to Emlyn."
+
+Cicely gave it to him, and he studied it carefully; then said, in an
+indifferent voice--
+
+"The other day I saw a list of Christian captives said to have been
+recovered from the Turks by the Emperor Charles at Tunis, and among
+them was one 'Huflit,' described as an English senor, and his servant. I
+wonder now----"
+
+Cicely sprang upon him.
+
+"Oh! cruel wretch," she said, "to have known this so long and not to
+have told me!"
+
+"Peace, Lady," he said, retreating before her; "I only learned it at
+eleven of the clock last night, when you were fast asleep. Yesterday is
+not this same day, and therefore 'tis the other day, is it not?"
+
+"Surely you might have woke me. But, swift, where is he now?"
+
+"How can I know? Not here, at least. But the writing said----"
+
+"Well, what did the writing say?"
+
+"I am trying to think--my memory fails me at times; perhaps you will
+find the same thing when you have my years, should it please Heaven----"
+
+"Oh! that it might please Heaven to make you speak! What said the
+writing?"
+
+"Ah! I have it now. It said, in a note appended amidst other news,
+for--did I tell you this was a letter from his Grace's ambassador in
+Spain? and, oh! his is the vilest scrawl to read. Nay, hurry me not--it
+said that this 'Sir Huflit'--the ambassador has put a query against
+his name--and his servant--yes, yes, I am sure it said his servant
+too--well, that they both of them, being angry at the treatment they had
+met with from the infidel Turks--no, I forgot to add there were three
+of them, one a priest, who did otherwise. Well, as I said, being angry,
+they stopped there to serve with the Spaniards against the Turks till
+the end of that campaign. There, that is all."
+
+"How little is your all!" exclaimed Cicely. "Yet, 'tis something. Oh!
+why should a married man stop across the seas to be revenged on poor
+ignorant Turks?"
+
+"Why should he not?" interrupted Emlyn, "when he deems himself a
+widower, as does your lord?"
+
+"Yes, I forgot; he thinks me dead, who doubtless himself will be dead,
+if he is not so already, seeing that those wicked, murderous Turks will
+kill him," and she began to weep.
+
+"I should have added," said Jacob hastily, "that in a second letter, of
+later date, the ambassador declares that the Emperor's war against the
+Turks is finished for this season, and that the Englishmen who were with
+him fought with great honour and were all escaped unharmed, though this
+time he gives no names."
+
+"All escaped! If my husband were dead, who could not die meanly or
+without fame, how could he say that they were all escaped? Nay, nay; he
+lives, though who knows if he will return? Perchance he will wander off
+elsewhere, or stay and wed again."
+
+"Impossible," said old Jacob, bowing to her; "having called you
+wife--impossible."
+
+"Impossible," echoed Emlyn, "having such a score to settle with yonder
+Maldon! A man may forget his love, especially if he deems her buried.
+But as he stayed foreign to fight the Turk, who wronged him, so he'll
+come home to fight the Abbot, who ruined him and slew his bride."
+
+There followed a silence, which the goldsmith, who felt it somewhat
+painful, hastened to break, saying--
+
+"Yes, doubtless he will come home; for aught we know he may be here
+already. But meanwhile we also have our score against this Abbot, a bad
+one, though think not for his sake that all Abbots are bad, for I have
+known some who might be counted angels upon earth, and, having gone to
+martyrdom, doubtless to-day are angels in heaven. Now, my Lady, I will
+tell you what I have done, hoping that it will please you better than
+it does me. Last night I saw the Lord Cromwell, with whom I have many
+dealings, at his house in Austin Friars, and told him the case, of
+which, as I thought, that false villain Legh had said nothing to him,
+purposing to pick the plums out of the pudding ere he handed on the suet
+to his master. He read your deeds and hunted up some petition from the
+Abbot, with which he compared them; then made a note of my demands and
+asked straight out--How much?
+
+"I told him L1000 on loan to the King, which would not be asked for back
+again, the said loan to be discharged by the grant to me--that is, to
+you--of all the Abbey lands, in addition to your own, when the said
+Abbey lands are sequestered, as they will be shortly. To this he
+agreed, on behalf of his Grace, who needs money much, but inquired as to
+himself. I replied L500 for him and his jackals, including Dr. Legh, of
+which no account would be asked. He told me it was not enough, for after
+the jackals had their pickings nothing would be left for him but the
+bones; I, who asked so much, must offer more, and he made as though to
+dismiss me. At the door I turned and said I had a wonderful pink pearl
+that he, who loved jewels, might like to see--a pink pearl worth many
+abbeys. He said, 'Show it;' and, oh! he gloated over it like a maid over
+her first love-letter. 'If there were two of these, now!' he whispered.
+
+"'Two, my Lord!' I answered; 'there's no fellow to that pearl in the
+whole world,' though it is true that as I said the words, the setting of
+its twin, that was pinned to my inner shirt, pricked me sorely, as if
+in anger. Then I took it up again, and for the second time began to bow
+myself out.
+
+"'Jacob,' he said, 'you are an old friend, and I'll stretch my duty for
+you. Leave the pearl--his Grace needs that L1000 so sorely that I must
+keep it against my will,' and he put out his hand to take it, only to
+find that I had covered it with my own.
+
+"'First the writing, then its price, my Lord. Here is a memorandum of it
+set out fair, to save you trouble, if it pleases you to sign.'
+
+"He read it through, then, taking a pen, scored out the clause as
+regards acquittal of the witchcraft, which, he said, must be looked into
+by the King in person or by his officers, but all the rest he signed,
+undertaking to hand over the proper deeds under the great seal and royal
+hand upon payment of L1000. Being able to do no better, I said that
+would serve, and left him your pearl, he promising, on his part, to move
+his Majesty to receive you, which I doubt not he will do quickly for the
+sake of the L1000. Have I done well?"
+
+"Indeed, yes," exclaimed Cicely. "Who else could have done half so
+well----?"
+
+As the words left her lips there came a loud knocking at the door of
+the house, and Jacob ran down to open it. Presently he returned with a
+messenger in a splendid coat, who bowed to Cicely and asked if she were
+the Lady Harflete. On her replying that such was her name, he said that
+he bore to her the command of his Grace the King to attend upon him at
+three o'clock of that afternoon at his Palace of Whitehall, together
+with Emlyn Stower and Thomas Bolle, there to make answer to his Majesty
+concerning a certain charge of witchcraft that had been laid against her
+and them, which summons she would neglect at her peril.
+
+"Sir, I will be there," answered Cicely; "but tell me, do I come as a
+prisoner?"
+
+"Nay," replied the herald, "since Master Jacob Smith, in whom his Grace
+has trust, has consented to be answerable for you."
+
+"And for the L1000," muttered Jacob, as, with many salutations, he
+showed the royal messenger to the door, not neglecting to thrust a gold
+piece into his hand that he waved behind him in farewell.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+THE DEVIL AT COURT
+
+It was half-past two of the clock when Cicely, who carried her boy in
+her arms, accompanied by Emlyn, Thomas Bolle and Jacob Smith, found
+herself in the great courtyard of the Palace of Whitehall. The place was
+full of people waiting there upon one business or another, through whom
+messengers and armed men thrust their way continually, crying, "Way!
+In the King's name, way!" So great was the press, indeed, that for some
+time even Jacob could command no attention, till at length he caught
+sight of the herald who had visited his house in the morning, and
+beckoned to him.
+
+"I was looking for you, Master Smith, and for the Lady Harflete," the
+man said, bowing to her. "You have an appointment with his Grace, have
+you not? but God knows if it can be kept. The ante-chambers are full of
+folk bringing news about the rebellion in the north, and of great lords
+and councillors who wait for commands or money, most of them for money.
+In short the King has given order that all appointments are cancelled;
+he can see no one to-day. The Lord Cromwell told me so himself."
+
+Jacob took a golden angel from his pouch and began to play with it
+between his fingers.
+
+"I understand, noble herald," he said. "Still, do you think that you
+could find me a messenger to the Lord Cromwell? If so, this trifle----"
+
+"I'll try, Master Smith," he answered, stretching out his hand for the
+piece of money. "But what is the message?"
+
+"Oh, say that Pink Pearl would learn from his Lordship where he can lay
+hands upon L1000 without interest."
+
+"A strange message, to which I will hazard an answer--nowhere," said the
+herald, "yet I'll find some one to deliver it. Step within this archway
+and wait out of the rain. Fear not, I will be back presently."
+
+They did as he bid them, gladly enough, for it had begun to drizzle and
+Cicely was afraid lest her boy, with whom London did not agree too well,
+should take cold. Here, then, they stood amusing themselves in watching
+the motley throng that came and went. Bolle, to whom the scene was
+strange, gaped at them with his mouth open; Emlyn took note of every one
+with her quick eyes, while old Jacob Smith whispered tales concerning
+individuals as they passed, most of which were little to their credit.
+
+As for Cicely, soon her thoughts were far away. She knew that she was at
+a crisis of her fortune; that if things went well with her this day she
+might look to be avenged upon her enemies, and to spend the rest of
+her life in wealth and honour. But it was not of such matters that
+she dreamed, whose heart was set on Christopher, without whom naught
+availed. Where was he, she wondered. If Jacob's tale were true, after
+passing many dangers, but a little while ago he lived and had his
+health. Yet in those times death came quickly, leaping like the
+lightning from unexpected clouds or even out of a clear sky, and who
+could say? Besides, he believed her gone, and that being so would be
+careless of himself, or perchance, worst thought of all, would take some
+other wife, as was but right and natural. Oh! then indeed----
+
+At this moment a sound of altercation woke her to the world again, and
+she looked up to see that Thomas Bolle was bringing trouble on them.
+A coarse fat lout with a fiery and a knotted nose, being somewhat in
+liquor, had amused himself by making mock of his country looks and red
+hair, and asking whether they used him for a scarecrow in his native
+fields.
+
+Thomas bore it for a while, only answering with another question:
+whether he, the fat fellow, hired out his nose to London housewives to
+light their fires. The man, feeling that the laugh was against him,
+and noticing the child in Cicely's arms pointed it out to his friends,
+inquiring whether they did not think it was exactly like its dad. Then
+Thomas's rage burnt up, although the jest was silly and aimless enough.
+
+"You low, London gutter-hound!" he exclaimed; "I'll learn you to insult
+the Lady Harflete with your ribald japes," and stretching out his big
+fist he seized his enemy's purple nose in a grip of iron and began to
+twist it till the sot roared with pain. Thereon guards ran up and would
+have arrested Bolle for breaking the peace in the King's palace. Indeed,
+arrested he must have been, notwithstanding all Jacob Smith could do
+to save him, had not at that moment a man appeared at whose coming the
+crowd that had gathered, separated, bowing; a man of middle age with a
+quick, clever face, who wore rich clothes and a fur-trimmed velvet cap
+and gown.
+
+Cicely knew him at once for Cromwell, the greatest man in England after
+the King, and marked him well, knowing that he held her fate and that
+of her child in the hollow of his hand. She noted the thin-lipped mouth,
+small as a woman's, the sharp nose, the little brownish eyes set close
+together and surrounded by wrinkled skin that gave them a cunning look,
+and noting was afraid. Before her stood a man who, though at present he
+seemed to be her friend, if he chanced to become her enemy, as once he
+had been bribed to be her father's, would show her no more pity than the
+spider shows a fly.
+
+Indeed she was right, for many were the flies that had been snared and
+sucked in the web of Cromwell, who, in his full tide of power and pomp,
+forgot the fate of his master, Wolsey, in his day a greater spider
+still.
+
+"What passes here?" Cromwell said in a sharp voice. "Men, is this the
+place to brawl beneath his Grace's very windows? Ah! Master Smith, is it
+you? Explain."
+
+"My Lord," answered Jacob, bowing, "this is Lady Harflete's servant
+and he is not to blame. That fat knave insulted her and, being
+quick-tempered, her man, Bolle, wrang his nose."
+
+"I see that he wrang it. Look, he is wringing it still. Friend Bolle,
+leave go, or presently you will have in your hand that which is of no
+value to you. Guard, take this beer-tub and hold his head beneath the
+pump for five minutes by the clock to wash him, and if he comes back
+again set him in the stocks. Nay, no words, fellow, you are well served.
+Master Smith, follow me with your party."
+
+Again the crowd parted as they walked after Cromwell to a side door that
+was near at hand, to find themselves alone with him in a small chamber.
+Here he stopped and, turning, surveyed them all narrowly, especially
+Cicely.
+
+"I suppose, Master Smith," he said, pointing to Bolle, who was wiping
+his hands clean with the rushes from the floor, "this is the man that
+you told me played the devil yonder at Blossholme. Well, he can play
+the fool also. In another minute there would have been a tumult and you
+would have lost your chance of seeing his Grace, for months perhaps,
+since he has determined to ride from London to-morrow morning
+northwards, though it is true he may change his mind ere then. This
+rebellion troubles him much, and were it not for the loan you promise,
+when loans are needed, small hope would you have had of audience. Now
+come quickly and be careful that you do not cross the King's temper, for
+it is tetchy to-day. Indeed, had it not been for the Queen, who is with
+him and minded to see this Lady Harflete, that they would have burnt as
+a witch, you must have waited till a more convenient season which may
+never come. Stay, what is in that great sack you carry, Bolle?"
+
+"The devil's livery, may it please your Lordship."
+
+"The devil's livery, many wear that in London. Still, bring the gear, it
+may make his Grace laugh, and if so I'll give you a gold piece, who have
+had enough of oaths and scoldings, aye," he added, with a sour grin,
+"and of blows too. Now follow me into the Presence, and speak only when
+you are spoken to, nor dare to answer if he rates you."
+
+They went from the room down a passage and through another door, where
+the guards on duty looked suspiciously at Bolle and his sack, but at a
+word from Cromwell let them through into a large room in which a
+fire burned upon the hearth. At the end of this room stood a huge,
+proud-looking man with a flat and cruel face, broad as an ox's skull, as
+Thomas Bolle said afterwards, who was dressed in some rich, sombre stuff
+and wore a velvet cap upon his head. He held a parchment in his hand,
+and before him on the other side of an oak table sat an officer of state
+in a black robe, who wrote upon another parchment, whereof there were
+many scattered about on the table and the floor.
+
+"Knave," shouted the King, for they guessed that it was he, "you have
+cast up these figures wrong. Oh, that it should be my lot to be served
+by none but fools!"
+
+"Pardon, your Grace," said the secretary in a trembling voice, "thrice
+have I checked them."
+
+"Would you gainsay me, you lying lawyer," bellowed the King again. "I
+tell you they must be wrong, since otherwise the sum is short by L1100
+of that which I was promised. Where are the L1100? You must have stolen
+them, thief."
+
+"I steal, oh, your Grace, I steal!"
+
+"Aye, why not, since your betters do. Only you are clumsy, you lack
+skill. Ask my Lord Cromwell there to give you lessons. He learned under
+the best of masters, and is a merchant by trade to boot. Oh, get you
+gone and take your scribblings with you."
+
+The poor officer hastened to avail himself of this invitation. Hurriedly
+collecting his parchments he bowed himself from the presence of his
+irate Sovereign. At the door, about twelve feet away, however, he
+turned.
+
+"My gracious Liege," he began, "the casting of the count is right. Upon
+my honour as a Christian soul I can look your Majesty in the face with
+truth in my eye----"
+
+Now on the table there was a massive inkstand made from the horn of a
+ram mounted with silver feet. This Henry seized and hurled with all
+his strength. The aim was good, for the heavy horn struck the wretched
+scribe upon the nose so that the ink squirted all over his face, and
+felled him to the floor.
+
+"Now there is more in your eye than truth," shouted the King. "Be off,
+ere the stool follows the inkpot."
+
+Two ladies who stood by the fire talking together and taking no heed,
+for to such rude scenes they seemed to be accustomed, looked up and
+laughed a little, then went on talking, while Cromwell smiled and
+shrugged his shoulders. Then in the midst of the silence which followed
+Thomas Bolle, who had been watching open-mouthed, ejaculated in his
+great voice--
+
+"A bull's eye! A noble bull! Myself cannot throw straighter."
+
+"Silence, fool," hissed Emlyn.
+
+"Who spoke?" asked the king, looking towards them sharply.
+
+"Please, my Liege, it was I, Thomas Bolle."
+
+"Thomas Bolle! Can you sling a stone, Thomas Bolle, whoever you may be?"
+
+"Aye, Sire, but not better than you, I think. That was a gallant shot."
+
+"Thomas Bolle, you are right. Seeing the hurry and the unhandiness of
+the missile, it was excellent. Let the knave stand up again and I'll bet
+you a gold noble to a brass nail that you'll not do as well within an
+inch. Why, the fellow's gone! Will you try on my Lord Cromwell? Nay,
+this is no time for fooling. What's your business, Thomas Bolle, and who
+are those women with you?"
+
+Now Cromwell stepped forward, and with cringing gestures began to
+explain something to the King in a low voice. Meanwhile, the two ladies
+became suddenly interested in Cicely, and one of them, a pale but pretty
+woman, splendidly dressed, stepped forward to her, saying--
+
+"Are you the Lady Harflete of whom we have heard, she who was to have
+been burnt as a witch? Yes? And is that your child? Oh! what a beautiful
+child. A boy, I'll swear. Come to me, sweet, and in after years you can
+tell that a queen has nursed you," and she stretched out her arms.
+
+As good fortune would have it the child was awake, and attracted by the
+Queen's pleasant voice, or perhaps by the necklace of bright gems
+that she wore, he held out his little hands towards her and went quite
+contentedly to her breast. Jane Seymour, for it was she, began to fondle
+him with delight, then, followed by her lady, ran to the King, saying--
+
+"See, Harry, see what a beautiful boy, and how he loves me. God send us
+such a son as this!"
+
+The King glanced at the child, then answered--
+
+"Aye, he would do well enow. Well, it rests with you, Jane. Nurse him,
+nurse him, perhaps the sex is catching. I and all England would see you
+brought to bed of that sickness, Sweet. What said you, Cromwell?"
+
+The great minister went on with his explanations, till the King,
+wearying of him, called out--
+
+"Come here, Master Smith."
+
+Jacob advanced, bowing, and stood still.
+
+"Now, Master Smith, the Lord Cromwell tells me that if I sign these
+papers, you, on behalf of the Lady Harflete, will loan me L1000 without
+interest, which as it chances I need. Where, then, is this L1000?--for
+I will have no promises, not even from you, who are known to keep them,
+Master Smith."
+
+Jacob thrust his hand beneath his robe, and from various inner pockets
+drew out bags of gold, which he set in a row upon the table.
+
+"Here they are, your Grace," he said quietly. "If you should wish for
+them they can be weighed and counted."
+
+"God's truth! I think I had better keep them, lest some accident should
+happen to you on the way home, Master Smith. You might fall into the
+Thames and sink."
+
+"Your Grace is right, the parchments will be lighter to carry, even," he
+added meaningly, "with your Highness's name added."
+
+"I can't sign," said the King doubtfully, "all the ink is spilt."
+
+Jacob produced a small ink-horn, which like most merchants of the day he
+carried hung to his girdle, drew out the stopper and with a bow set it
+on the table.
+
+"In truth you are a good man of business, Master Smith, too good for
+a mere king. Such readiness makes me pause. Perhaps we had better meet
+again at a more leisured season."
+
+Jacob bowed once more, and stretching out his hand slowly lifted the
+first of the bags of gold as though to replace it in his pocket.
+
+"Cromwell, come hither," said the King, whereon Jacob, as though in
+forgetfulness, laid the bag back upon the table.
+
+"Repeat the heads of this matter, Cromwell."
+
+"My Liege, the Lady Harflete seeks justice on the Spaniard Maldon,
+Abbot of Blossholme, who is said to have murdered her father, Sir John
+Foterell, and her husband, Sir Christopher Harflete, though rumour has
+it that the latter escaped his clutches and is now in Spain. Item:
+the said Abbot has seized the lands which this Dame Cicely should have
+inherited from her father, and demands their restitution."
+
+"By God's wounds! justice she shall have and for nothing if we can give
+it her," answered the King, letting his heavy fist fall upon the table.
+"No need to waste time in setting out her wrongs. Why, 'tis the same
+Spanish knave Maldon who stirs up all this hell's broth in the north.
+Well, he shall boil in his own pot, for against him our score is long.
+What more?"
+
+"A declaration, Sire, of the validity of the marriage between
+Christopher Harflete and Cicely Foterell, which without doubt is good
+and lawful although the Abbot disputes it for his own ends; and an
+indemnity for the deaths of certain men who fell when the said Abbot
+attacked and burnt the house of the said Christopher Harflete."
+
+"It should have been granted the more readily if Maldon had fallen also,
+but let that pass. What more?"
+
+"The promise, your Grace, of the lands of the Abbey of Blossholme and of
+the Priory of Blossholme in consideration of the loan of L1000 advanced
+to your Grace by the agent of Cicely Harflete, Jacob Smith."
+
+"A large demand, my Lord. Have these lands been valued?"
+
+"Aye, Sire, by your Commissioner, who reports it doubtful if with all
+their tenements and timber they would fetch L1000 in gold."
+
+"Our Commissioner? A fig for his valuing, doubtless he has been bribed.
+Still, if we repay the money we can hold the land, and since this Dame
+Harflete and her husband have suffered sorely at the hands of Maldon and
+his armed ruffians, why, let it pass also. Now, is that all? I weary of
+so much talk."
+
+"But one thing more, your Grace," put in Cromwell hastily, for Henry was
+already rising from his chair. "Dame Cicely Harflete, her servant, Emlyn
+Stower, and a certain crazed old nun were condemned of sorcery by a
+Court Ecclesiastic whereof the Abbot Maldon was a member, the said Abbot
+alleging that they had bewitched him and his goods."
+
+"Then he was pleader and judge in one?"
+
+"That is so, your Grace. Already without the royal warrant they were
+bound to the stake for burning, the said Maldon having usurped the
+prerogative of the Crown, when your Commissioner, Legh, arrived and
+loosed them, but not without fighting, for certain men were killed and
+wounded. Now they humbly crave your Majesty's royal pardon for their
+share in this man-slaying, if any, as also does Thomas Bolle yonder, who
+seems to have done the slaying----"
+
+"Well can I believe it," muttered the King.
+
+"And a declaration of the invalidity of their trial and condemning, and
+of their innocence of the foul charge laid against them."
+
+"Innocence!" exclaimed Henry, growing impatient and fixing on the last
+point. "How do we know they were innocent, though it is true that if
+Dame Harflete is a witch she is the prettiest that ever we have heard of
+or seen. You ask too much, after your fashion, Cromwell."
+
+"I crave your Grace's patience for one short minute. There is a man here
+who can prove that they were innocent; yonder red-haired Bolle."
+
+"What? He who praised our shooting? Well, Bolle, since you are so good a
+sportsman, we will listen to you. Prove and be brief."
+
+"Now all is finished," murmured Emlyn to Cicely, "for assuredly fool
+Thomas will land us in the mire."
+
+"Your Grace," said Bolle in his big voice, "I obey in four words--I was
+the devil."
+
+"The devil you were, Thomas Bolle. Now, your meaning?"
+
+"Your Grace, Blossholme was haunted, I haunted it."
+
+"How could you do otherwise if you lived there?"
+
+"I'll show your Grace," and without more ado, to the horror of Cicely,
+Thomas tumbled from his sack all his hellish garb and set to work to
+clothe himself. In a minute, for he was practised at the game, the
+hideous mask was on his head, and with it the horns and skin of the
+widow's billy-goat; the tail and painted hides were tied about him, and
+in his hand he waved the eel spear, short-handled now. Thus arrayed he
+capered before the astonished King and Queen, shaking the tail that had
+a wire in it and clattering his hoofs upon the floor.
+
+"Oh, good devil! Most excellent devil!" exclaimed his Majesty, clapping
+his hands. "If I had met thee I'd have run like a hare. Stay, Jane, peep
+you through yonder door and tell me who are gathered there."
+
+The Queen obeyed and, returned, said--
+
+"There be a bishop and a priest, I cannot see which, for it grows dark,
+with chaplains and sundry of the lords of Council waiting audience."
+
+"Good. Then we'll try the devil on these devil-tamers. Friend Satan,
+go you to that door, slip through it softly and rush upon them roaring,
+driving them through this chamber so that we may see which of them will
+be bold enough to try to lay you. Dost understand, Beelzebub?"
+
+Thomas nodded his horns and departed silently as a cat.
+
+"Now open the door and stand on one side," said the King.
+
+Cromwell obeyed, nor had they long to wait. Presently from the hall
+beyond there rose a most fearful clamour. Then through the door shot the
+bishop panting, after him came lords, chaplains, and secretaries, and
+last of all the priest, who, being very fat and hampered by his gown,
+could not run so fast, although at his back Satan leapt and bellowed.
+No heed did they take of the King's Majesty or of aught else, whose only
+thought was flight as they tore down the chamber to the farther door.
+
+"Oh, noble, noble!" hallooed the King, who was shaking with laughter.
+"Give him your fork, devil, give him your fork," and having the royal
+command Bolle obeyed with zeal.
+
+In thirty seconds it was all over; the rout had come and gone,
+only Thomas in his hideous attire stood bowing before the King, who
+exclaimed--
+
+"I thank thee, Thomas Bolle, thou hast made me laugh as I have not
+laughed for years. Little wonder that thy mistress was condemned for
+witchcraft. Now," he added, changing his tone, "off with that mummery,
+and, Cromwell, go, catch one of those fools and tell them the truth ere
+tales fly round the palace. Jane, cease from merriment, there is a time
+for all things. Come hither, Lady Harflete, I would speak with you."
+
+Cicely approached and curtseyed, leaving her boy in the Queen's arms,
+where he had gone to sleep, for she did not seem minded to part with
+him.
+
+"You are asking much of us," he said suddenly, searching her with a
+shrewd glance, "relying, doubtless, on your wrongs, which are deep, or
+your face, which is sweet, or both. Well, these things move Kings mayhap
+more than others, also I knew old Sir John, your father, a loyal man and
+a brave, he fought well at Flodden; and young Harflete, your husband, if
+he still lives, had a good name like his forebears. Moreover your enemy,
+Maldon, is ours, a treacherous foreign snake such as England hates, for
+he would set her beneath the heel of Spain.
+
+"Now, Dame Harflete, doubtless when you go hence you will bear away
+strange stories of King Harry and his doings. You will say he plays the
+fool, pelting his servants with inkpots when he is wrath, as God knows
+he has often cause to be, and scaring his bishops with sham Satans, as
+after all why should he not since it is a dull world? You'll say, too,
+that he takes his teaching from his ministers, and signs what these lay
+before him with small search as to the truth or falsity. Well, that's
+the lot of monarchs who have but one man's brain and one man's time;
+who needs must trust their slaves until these become their masters, and
+there is naught left," here his face grew fierce, "save to kill them,
+and find more and worse. New servants, new wives," and he glanced at
+Jane, who was not listening, "new friends, false, false, all three of
+them, new foes, and at the last old Death to round it off. Such has been
+the lot of kings from David down, and such I think it shall always be."
+
+He paused a while, brooding heavily, then looked up and went on, "I know
+not why I should speak thus to a chit like you, except it be, that
+young though you are, you also have known trouble and the feel of a sick
+heart. Well, well, I have heard more of you and your affairs than you
+might think, and I forget nothing--that's my gift. Dame Harflete, you
+are richer than you have been advised to say, and I repeat you ask much
+of me. Justice is your due from your Sovereign, and you shall have it;
+but these wide Abbey lands, this Priory of Blossholme, whose nuns have
+befriended you and whom you desire to save, this embracing pardon for
+others who had shed blood, this cancelling outside of the form of law of
+a sentence passed by a Court duly constituted, if unjust, all in return
+for a loan of a pitiful L1000? You huckster well, Lady Harflete,
+one would think that your father had been a chapman, not rough John
+Foterell, you who can drive so shrewd a bargain with your King's
+necessities."
+
+"Sire, Sire," broke in Cicely in confusion, "I have no more, my lands
+are wasted by Abbot Maldon, my husband's hall is burnt by his soldiers,
+my first year's rents, if ever I should receive them, are promised----"
+
+"To whom?"
+
+She hesitated.
+
+"To whom?" he thundered. "Answer, Madam."
+
+"To your Royal Commissioner, Dr. Legh."
+
+"Ah! I thought as much, though when he spoke of you he did not tell it,
+the snuffling rogue."
+
+"The jewels that came to me from my mother are in pawn for that L1000,
+and I have no more."
+
+"A palpable lie, Dame Harflete, for if so, how have you paid Cromwell?
+He did not bring you here for nothing."
+
+"Oh, my Liege, my Liege," said Cicely, sinking to her knees, "ask not a
+helpless woman to betray those who have befriended her in her most sore
+and honest need. I said I have nothing, unless those gems are worth more
+than I know."
+
+"And I believe you, Dame Harflete. We have plucked you bare between us,
+have we not? Still, perchance, you will be no loser in the end. Now,
+Master Smith, there, does not work for love alone."
+
+"Sire," said Jacob, "that is true, I copy my masters. I have this lady's
+jewels in pledge, and I hope to make a profit on them. Still, Sire,
+there is among them a pink pearl of great beauty that it might please
+the Queen to wear. Here it is," and he laid it upon the table.
+
+"Oh, what a lovely thing," said Jane; "never have I seen its like."
+
+"Then study it well, Wife, for you look your last upon it. When we
+cannot pay our soldiers to keep our crown upon our head, and preserve
+the liberties of England against the Spaniard and the Pope of Rome, it
+is no time to give you gems that I have not bought. Take that gaud and
+sell it, Master Smith, for whatever it will fetch among the Jews, and
+add the price to the L1000, lessened by one tenth for your trouble. Now,
+Dame Harflete, you have bought the favour of your King, for whoever
+else may, I'll not lie. Ah! here comes Cromwell. My Lord, you have been
+long."
+
+"Your Grace, yonder priest is in a fit from fright, and thinks himself
+in hell. I had to tarry with him till the doctor came."
+
+"Doubtless he'll get better now that you are gone. Poor man, if a sham
+devil frights him so, what will he do at last? Now, Cromwell, I have
+made examination of this business and I will sign your papers, all of
+them. Dame Harflete here tells me how hard you have worked for her, all
+for nothing, Cromwell, and that pleases me, who at times have wondered
+how you grew so rich, as your learner, Wolsey, did before you. _He_ took
+bribes, Cromwell!"
+
+"My Liege," he answered in a low voice, "this case was cruel, it moved
+my pity----"
+
+"As it has ours, leaving us the richer by L1000 and the price of a
+pearl. There, five, are they all signed? Take them, Master Smith, as the
+Lady Harflete is your client, and study them to-night. If aught be wrong
+or omitted, you have our royal word that we will set it straight. This
+is our command--note it, Cromwell--that all things be done quickly
+as occasion shall arise to give effect to these precepts, pardons and
+patents which you, Cromwell, shall countersign ere they leave this room.
+Also, that no further fee, secret or declared, shall be taken from
+the Lady Harflete, whom henceforth, in token of our special favour, we
+create and name the Lady of Blossholme, from her husband or her child,
+as to any of these matters, and that Commissioner Legh, on receipt
+thereof, shall pay into our treasury any sum or sums that Dame Harflete
+may have promised to him. Write it down, my Lord Cromwell, and see that
+our words are carried out, lest it be the worse for you."
+
+The Vicar-General hastened to obey, for there was something in the
+King's eye that frightened him. Meanwhile the Queen, after she had seen
+the coveted pearl disappear into Jacob's pocket, thrust back the child
+into Cicely's arms, and without any word of adieu or reverence to the
+King, followed by her lady, departed from the room, slamming the door
+behind her.
+
+"Her Grace is cross because that gem--your gem, Lady Harflete--was
+refused to her," said Henry, then added in an angry growl, "'Fore God!
+does she dare to play off her tempers upon me, and so soon, when I am
+troubled about big matters? Oho! Jane Seymour is the Queen to-day, and
+she'd let the world know it. Well, what makes a queen? A king's fancy
+and a crown of gold, which the hand that set it on can take off again,
+head and all, if it stick too tight. And then where's your queen? Pest
+upon women and the whims that make us seek their company! Dame Harflete,
+you'd not treat your lord so, would you? You have never been to Court, I
+think, or I should have known your eyes again. Well, perhaps it is well
+for you, and that's why you are gentle and loving."
+
+"If I am gentle, Sire, it is trouble that has gentled me, who have
+suffered so much, and know not even now whether after one week of
+marriage I am wife or widow."
+
+"Widow? Should that be so, come to me and I will find you another and a
+nobler spouse. With your face and possessions it will not be difficult.
+Nay, do not weep, for your sake I trust that this lucky man may live to
+comfort you and serve his King. At least he'll be no Spaniard's tool and
+Pope's plotter."
+
+"Well will he serve your Grace if God gives him the chance, as my
+murdered father did."
+
+"We know it, Lady. Cromwell, will you never have finished with those
+writings? The Council waits us, and so does supper, and a word or two
+with her Grace ere bedtime. You, Thomas Bolle, you are no fool and can
+hold a sword; tell me, shall I go up north to fight the rebels, or bide
+here and let others do it?"
+
+"Bide here, your Grace," answered Thomas promptly. "'Twixt Wash and
+Humber is a wild land in winter and arrows fly about there like ducks at
+night, none knowing whence they come. Also your Grace is over-heavy for
+a horse on forest roads and moorland, and if aught should chance, why,
+they'd laugh in Spain and Rome, or nearer, and who would rule England
+with a girl child on its throne?" and he stared hard at Cromwell's back.
+
+"Truth at last, and out of the lips of a red-haired bumpkin," muttered
+the King, also staring at the unconscious Cromwell, who was engaged on
+his writing and either feigned deafness or did not hear. "Thomas Bolle,
+I said that you were no fool, although some may have thought you so, is
+there aught you would have in payment for your counsel--save money, for
+that we have none?"
+
+"Aye, Sire, freedom from my oath as a lay-brother of the Abbey of
+Blossholme, and leave to marry."
+
+"To marry whom?"
+
+"Her, Sire," and he pointed to Emlyn.
+
+"What! The other handsome witch? See you not that she has a temper? Nay,
+woman, be silent, it is written in your face. Well, take your freedom
+and her with it, but, Thomas Bolle, why did you not ask otherwise when
+the chance came your way? I thought better of you. Like the rest of us,
+you are but a fool after all. Farewell to you, Fool Thomas, and to you
+also, my fair Lady of Blossholme."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+THE VOICE IN THE FOREST
+
+The four were back safe in their lodging in Cheapside, whither, after
+the deeds had been sealed, three soldiers escorted them by command.
+
+"Have we done well, have we done well?" asked Jacob, rubbing his hands.
+
+"It would seem so, Master Smith," replied Cicely, "thanks to you; that
+is, if all the King said is really in those writings."
+
+"It is there sure enough," said Jacob; "for know, that with the aid of
+a lawyer and three scriveners, I drafted them myself in the Lord
+Cromwell's office this morning, and oh, I drew them wide. Hard, hard we
+worked with no time for dinner, and that was why I was ten minutes late
+by the clock, for which Emlyn here chided me so sharply. Still, I'll
+read them through again, and if aught is left out we will have it
+righted, though these are the same parchments, for I set a secret mark
+upon them."
+
+"Nay, nay," said Cicely, "leave well alone. His Grace's mood may change,
+or the Queen--that matter of the pearl."
+
+"Ah, the pearl, it grieved me to part with that beautiful pearl. But
+there was no way out, it must be sold and the money handed over, our
+honour is on it. Had I refused, who knows? Yes, we may thank God, for
+if the most of your jewels are gone, the wide Abbey lands have come and
+other things. Nothing is forgot. Bolle is unfrocked and may wed; Cousin
+Stower has got a husband----"
+
+Then Emlyn, who until now had been strangely silent, burst out in
+wrath----
+
+"Am I, then, a beast that I should be given to this man like a heriot
+at yonder King's bidding?" she exclaimed, pointing with her finger at
+Bolle, who stood in the corner. "Who gave you the right, Thomas, to
+demand me in marriage?"
+
+"Well, since you ask me, Emlyn, it was you yourself; once, many years
+ago, down in the mead by the water, and more lately in the chapel of
+Blossholme Priory before I began to play the devil."
+
+"Play the devil! Aye, you have played the devil with me. There in the
+King's presence I must stand for an hour or more while all talked and
+never let a word slip between my lips, and at last hear myself called by
+his Grace a woman of temper and you a fool for wishing to marry me. Oh,
+if ever we do marry, I'll prove his words."
+
+"Then perhaps, Emlyn, we who have got on a long while apart, had best
+stay so," answered Thomas calmly. "Yet, why you should fret because you
+must keep your tongue in its case for an hour, or because I asked leave
+to marry you in all honour, I do not know. I have worked my best for
+you and your mistress at some hazard, and things have not gone so ill,
+seeing that now we are quit of blame and in a fair way to peace and
+comfort. If you are not content, why then, the King was right, and I'm
+a fool, and so good-bye, I'll trouble you no more in fair weather or
+in foul. I have leave to marry, and there are other women in the world
+should I need one."
+
+"Tread on their tails and even worms will turn," soliloquized Jacob,
+while Emlyn burst into tears.
+
+Cicely ran to console her, and Bolle made as though he would leave the
+room.
+
+Just then there came a great knocking on the street door, and the sound
+of a voice crying--
+
+"In the King's name! In the King's name, open!"
+
+"That's Commissioner Legh," said Thomas. "I learned the cry from him,
+and it is a good one at a pinch, as some of you may remember."
+
+Emlyn dried her tears with her sleeve; Cicely sat down and Jacob
+shovelled the parchments into his big pockets. Then in burst the
+Commissioner, to whom some one had opened.
+
+"What's this I hear?" he cried, addressing Cicely, his face as red as a
+turkey cock's. "That you have been working behind my back; that you have
+told falsehoods of me to his Grace, who called me knave and thief; that
+I am commanded to pay my fees into the Treasury? Oh, ungrateful wench,
+would to God that I had let you burn ere you disgraced me thus."
+
+"If you bring so much heat into my poor house, learned Doctor, surely
+all of us will soon burn," said Jacob suavely. "The Lady Harflete said
+nothing that his Highness did not force her to say, as I know who was
+present, and among so many pickings cannot you spare a single dole?
+Come, come, drink a cup of wine and be calm."
+
+But Dr. Legh, who had already drunk several cups of wine, would not be
+calm. He reviled first one of them and then the other, but especially
+Emlyn, whom he conceived to be the cause of all his woes, till at length
+he called her by a very ill name. Then came forward Thomas Bolle, who
+all this while had been standing in the corner, and took him by the
+neck.
+
+"In the King's name!" he said, "nay, complain not, 'tis your own cry
+and I have warrant for it," and he knocked Legh's head against the
+door-post. "In the King's name, get out of this," and he gave him such a
+kick as never Royal Commissioner had felt before, shooting him down the
+passage. "For the third time in the King's name!" and he hurled him
+out in a heap into the courtyard. "Begone, and know if ever I see your
+pudding face again, in the King's name, I'll break your neck!"
+
+Thus did Visitor Legh depart out of the life of Cicely, though in due
+course she paid him her first year's rent, nor ever asked who took the
+benefit.
+
+"Thomas," said Emlyn, when he returned smiling at the memory of that
+farewell kick, "the King was right, I am quick-tempered at times, no ill
+thing for it has helped me more than once. Forget, and so will I,"
+and she gave him her hand, which he kissed, then went to see about the
+supper.
+
+While they ate, which they did heartily who needed food, there came
+another knock.
+
+"Go, Thomas," said Jacob, "and say we see none to-night."
+
+So Thomas went and they heard talk. Then he re-entered followed by a
+cloaked man, saying--
+
+"Here is a visitor whom I dare not deny," whereon they all rose,
+thinking in their folly that it was the King himself, and not one almost
+as mighty in England for a while--the Lord Cromwell.
+
+"Pardon me," said Cromwell, bowing in his courteous manner, "and if you
+will, let me be seated with you, and give me a bite and a sup, for I
+need them, who have been hard-worked to-day."
+
+So he sat down among them, and ate and drank, talking pleasantly of
+many things, and telling them that the King had changed his mind at the
+Council, as he thought, because of the words of Thomas Bolle, which he
+believed had stuck there, and would not go north to fight the rebels
+after all, but would send the Duke of Norfolk and other lords. Then when
+he had done he pushed away his cup and platter, looked at his hosts and
+said--
+
+"Now to business. My Lady Harflete, fortune has been your friend this
+day, for all you asked has been granted to you, which, as his Grace's
+temper has been of late, is a wondrous thing. Moreover, I thank you that
+you did not answer a certain question as to myself which I learn he put
+to you urgently."
+
+"My Lord," said Cicely, "you have befriended me. Still, had he pressed
+me further, God knows. Commissioner Legh did not thank me to-night," and
+she told him of the visit they had just received, and of its ending.
+
+"A rough man and a greedy, who doubtless henceforth will be your enemy,"
+replied Cromwell. "Still you were not to blame, for who can reason with
+a bull in his own yard? Well, while I have power I'll not forget your
+faithfulness, though in truth, my Lady of Blossholme, I sit upon a
+slippery height, and beneath waits a gulf that has swallowed some as
+great, and greater. Therefore I will not deny it, I lay by while I may,
+not knowing who will gather."
+
+He brooded a while, then went on, with a sigh--
+
+"The times are uncertain; thus, you who have the promise of wealth may
+yet die a beggar. The lands of Blossholme Abbey, on which you hold a
+bond that will never be redeemed, are not yet in the King's hands to
+give. A black storm is bursting in the north and, I say this in secret,
+the fury of it may sweep Henry from the throne. If it should be so, away
+with you to any land where you are not known, for then after this day's
+work here a rope will be your only heritage. More, this Queen, unlike
+Anne who is gone, is a friend to the party of the Church, and though she
+affects to care little for such things, is bitter about that pearl, and
+therefore against you, its owner. Have you no jewel left that you could
+spare which I might take to her? As for the pearl itself, which Master
+Smith here swore to me was not to be found in the whole world when he
+showed me its fellow, it must be sold as the King commanded," and he
+looked at Jacob somewhat sourly.
+
+Now Cicely spoke with Jacob, who went away and returned presently with
+a brooch in which was set a large white diamond surrounded by five small
+rubies.
+
+"Take her this with my duty, my Lord," said Cicely.
+
+"I will, I will. Oh! fear not, it shall reach her for my own sake as
+well as yours. You are a wise giver, Lady Harflete, who know when and
+where to cast your bread upon the waters. And now I have a gift for you
+that perchance will please you more than gems. Your husband, Christopher
+Harflete, accompanied by a servant, has landed in the north safe and
+well."
+
+"Oh, my Lord," she cried, "then where is he now?"
+
+"Alas! the rest of the tale is not so pleasing, for as he journeyed,
+from Hull I think, he was taken prisoner by the rebels, who have him
+fast at Lincoln, wishing to make him, whose name is of account, one of
+their company. But he being a wise and loyal man, contrived to send a
+letter to the King's captain in those parts, which has reached me this
+night. Here it is, do you know the writing?"
+
+"Aye, aye," gasped Cicely, staring at the scrawl that was ill writ and
+worse spelt, for Christopher was no scholar.
+
+"Then I'll read it to you, and afterwards certify a copy to multiply the
+evidence."
+
+
+"To the Captain of the King's Forces outside Lincoln.
+
+"This to give notice to you, his Grace, and his ministers and all
+others, that we, Christopher Harflete, Knight, and Jeffrey Stokes,
+his servant, when journeying from the seaport whither we had come from
+Spain, were taken by rebels in arms against the King and brought here
+to Lincoln. These men would win me to their party because the name of
+Harflete is still strong and known. So violent were they that we have
+taken some kind of oath. Yet this writing advises you that so I only
+did to save my life, having no heart that way who am a loyal man and
+understand little of their quarrel. Life, in sooth, is of small value to
+me who have lost wife, lands and all. Yet ere I die I would be avenged
+upon the murderous Abbot of Blossholme, and therefore I seek to keep my
+breath in me and to escape.
+
+"I learn that the said Abbot is afoot with a great following within
+fifty miles of here. Pray God he does not get his claws in me again, but
+if so, say to the King, that Harflete died faithful.
+
+"Christopher Harflete.
+
+"Jeffrey Stokes, X his mark."
+
+"My Lord," said Cicely, "what shall I do, my Lord?"
+
+"There is naught to be done, save trust in God and hope for the best.
+Doubtless he will escape, and at least his Grace shall see this letter
+to-morrow morning and send orders to help him if may be. Copy it, Master
+Smith."
+
+Jacob took the letter and began to write swiftly, while Cromwell
+thought.
+
+"Listen," he said presently. "Round Blossholme there are no rebels, all
+of that colour have drawn off north. Now Foterell and Harflete are good
+names yonder, cannot you journey thither and raise a company?"
+
+"Aye, aye, that I can do," broke in Bolle. "In a week I will have a
+hundred men at my back. Give commission and money to my Lady there and
+name me captain and you'll see."
+
+"The commission and the captaincy under the privy signet shall be at
+this house by nine of the clock to-morrow," answered Cromwell. "The
+money you must find, for there is none outside the coffers of Jacob
+Smith. Yet pause, Lady Harflete, there is risk and here you are safe."
+
+"I know the risk," she answered, "but what do I care for risks who have
+taken so many, when my husband is yonder and I may serve him?"
+
+"An excellent spirit, let us trust that it comes from on high," remarked
+Cromwell; but old Jacob, as he wrote _vera copia_ for his Lordship's
+signature at the foot of the transcript of Christopher's letter, shook
+his head sadly.
+
+In another minute Cromwell had signed without troubling to compare the
+two, and with some gentle words of farewell was gone, having bigger
+matters waiting his attention.
+
+Cicely never saw him again, indeed with the exception of Jacob Smith
+she never saw any of those folk again, including the King, who had been
+concerned in this crisis of her life. Yet, notwithstanding his cunning
+and his extortion, she grieved for Cromwell when some four years later
+the Duke of Suffolk and the Earl of Southampton rudely tore the Garter
+and his other decorations off his person and he was haled from the
+Council to the Tower, and thence after abject supplications for mercy,
+to perish a criminal upon the block. At least he had served her well,
+for he kept all his promises to the letter. One of his last acts also
+was to send her back the pink pearl which he had received as a bribe
+from Jacob Smith, with a message to the effect that he was sure it would
+become her more than it had him, and that he hoped it would bring her a
+better fortune.
+
+
+
+When Cromwell had gone Jacob turned to Cicely and inquired if she were
+leaving his house upon the morrow.
+
+"Have I not said so?" she asked, with impatience. "Knowing what I know
+how could I stay in London? Why do you ask?"
+
+"Because I must balance our account. I think you owe me a matter of
+twenty marks for rent and board. Also it is probable that we shall need
+money for our journey, and this day has left me somewhat bare of coin."
+
+"Our journey?" said Cicely. "Do you, then, accompany us, Master Smith?"
+
+"With your leave I think so, Lady. Times are bad here, I have no
+shilling left to lend, yet if I do not lend I shall never be forgiven.
+Also I need a holiday, and ere I die would once again see Blossholme,
+where I was born, should we live to reach it. But if we start to-morrow
+I have much to do this night. For instance, your jewels which I hold in
+pawn must be set in a place of safety; also these deeds, whereof copies
+should be made, and that pearl must be left in trusty hands for sale. So
+at what hour do we ride on this mad errand?"
+
+"At eleven of the clock," answered Cicely, "if the King's safe-conduct
+and commission have come by then."
+
+"So be it. Then I bid you good-night. Come with me, worthy Bolle, for
+there'll be no sleep for us. I go to call my clerks and you must go to
+the stable. Lady Harflete and you, Cousin Emlyn, get you to bed."
+
+On the following morning Cicely rose with the dawn, nor was she sorry to
+do so, who had spent but a troubled night. For long sleep would not come
+to her, and when it did at length, she was tossed upon a sea of
+dreams, dreams of the King, who threatened her with his great voice; of
+Cromwell, who took everything she had down to her cloak; of Commissioner
+Legh, who dragged her back to the stake because he had lost his bribe.
+
+But most of all she dreamed of Christopher, her beloved husband, who was
+so near and yet as far away as he had ever been, a prisoner in the hands
+of the rebels; her husband who deemed her dead.
+
+From all these phantasies she awoke weeping and oppressed by fears.
+Could it be that when at length the cup of joy was so near her lips fate
+waited to dash it down again? She knew not, who had naught but faith to
+lean on, that faith which in the past had served her well. Meanwhile,
+she was sure that if Christopher lived he would make his way to Cranwell
+or to Blossholme, and, whatever the risk, thither she would go also as
+fast as horses could carry her.
+
+Hurry as they would, midday was an hour gone ere they rode out of
+Cheapside. There was so much to do, and even then things were left
+undone. The four of them travelled humbly clad, giving out that they
+were a party of merchant folk returning to Cambridge after a visit to
+London as to an inheritance in which they were interested, especially
+Cicely, who posed as a widow named Johnson. This was their story, which
+they varied from time to time according to circumstances. In some ways
+their minds were more at ease than when they travelled to the great
+city, for now at least they were clear of the horrid company of
+Commissioner Legh and his people, nor were they haunted by the knowledge
+that they had about them jewels of great price. All these jewels were
+left behind in safe keeping, as were also the writings under the King's
+hand and seal, of which they only took attested copies, and with them
+the commission that Cromwell had duly sent to Cicely addressed to her
+husband and herself, and Bolle's certificate of captaincy. These they
+hid in their boots or the linings of their vests, together with such
+money as was necessary for the costs of travel.
+
+Thus riding hard, for their horses were good and fresh, they came
+unmolested to Cambridge on the night of the second day and slept there.
+Beyond Cambridge, they were told, the country was so disturbed that
+it would not be safe for them to journey. But just when they were in
+despair, for even Bolle said that they must not go on, a troop of the
+King's horse arrived on their way to join the Duke of Norfolk wherever
+he might lie in Lincolnshire.
+
+To their captain, one Jeffreys, Jacob showed the King's commission,
+revealing who they were. Seeing that it commanded all his Grace's
+officers and servants to do them service, this Captain Jeffreys said
+that he would give them escort until their roads separated. So next day
+they went on again. The company was not pleasant, for the men, of whom
+there were about a hundred, proved rough fellows, still, having been
+warned that he who insulted or laid a finger on them should be hanged,
+they did them no harm. It was well, indeed, that they had their
+protection, for they found the country through which they passed up in
+arms, and were more than once threatened by mobs of peasants, led by
+priests, who would have attacked them had they dared.
+
+For two days they travelled thus with Captain Jeffreys, coming on the
+evening of the second to Peterborough, where they found lodgings at an
+inn. When they rose the next morning, however, it was to discover that
+Jeffreys and his men had already gone, leaving a message to say that he
+had received urgent orders to push on to Lincoln.
+
+Now once more they told their old tale, declaring that they were
+citizens of Boston, and having learned that the Fens were peaceful,
+perhaps because so few people lived in them, started forward by
+themselves under the guidance of Bolle, who had often journeyed through
+that country, buying or selling cattle for the monks. An ill land was
+it to travel in also in that wet autumn, seeing that in many places the
+floods were out and the tracks were like a quagmire. The first night
+they spent in a marshman's hut, listening to the pouring rain and
+fearing fever and ague, especially for the boy. The next day, by good
+fortune, they reached higher land and slept at a tavern.
+
+Here they were visited by rude men, who, being of the party of
+rebellion, sought to know their business. For a while things were
+dangerous, but Bolle, who could talk their own dialect, showed that
+they were scarcely to be feared who travelled with two women and a babe,
+adding that he was a lay-brother of Blossholme Abbey disguised as a
+serving-man for dread of the King's party. Jacob Smith also called for
+ale and drank with them to the success of the Pilgrimage of Grace, as
+their revolt was named.
+
+In this way they disarmed suspicion with one tale and another.
+Moreover, they heard that as yet the country round Blossholme remained
+undisturbed, although it was said that the Abbot had fortified the Abbey
+and stored it with provisions. He himself was with the leaders of the
+revolt in the neighbourhood of Lincoln, but he had done this that he
+might have a strong place to fall back on.
+
+So in the end the men went away full of strong beer, and that danger
+passed by.
+
+Next morning they started forward early, hoping to reach Blossholme by
+sunset though the days were shortening much. This, however, was not
+to be, for as it chanced they were badly bogged in a quagmire that lay
+about two miles off their inn, and when at length they scrambled out had
+to ride many miles round to escape the swamp. So it happened that it
+was already well on in the afternoon when they came to that stretch of
+forest in which the Abbot had murdered Sir John Foterell. Following the
+woodland road, towards sunset they passed the mere where he had fallen.
+Weary as she was, Cicely looked at the spot and found it familiar.
+
+"I know this place," she said. "Where have I seen it? Oh, in the ill
+dream I had on that day I lost my father."
+
+"That is not wonderful," answered Emlyn, who rode beside her carrying
+the child, "seeing that Thomas says it was just here they butchered him.
+Look, yonder lie the bones of Meg, his mare; I know them by her black
+mane."
+
+"Aye, Lady," broke in Bolle, "and there he lies also where he fell; they
+buried him with never a Christian prayer," and he pointed to a little
+careless mound between two willows.
+
+"Jesus, have mercy on his soul!" said Cicely, crossing herself. "Now, if
+I live, I swear that I will move his bones to the chancel of Blossholme
+church and build a fair monument to his memory."
+
+This, as all visitors to the place know, she did, for that monument
+remains to this day, representing the old knight lying in the snow, with
+the arrow in his throat, between the two murderers whom he slew, while
+round the corner of the tomb Jeffrey Stokes gallops away.
+
+While Cicely stared back at this desolate grave, muttering a prayer for
+the departed, Thomas Bolle heard something which caused him to prick his
+ears.
+
+"What is it?" asked Jacob Smith, who saw the change in his face.
+
+"Horses galloping--many horses, master," he answered; "yes, and riders
+on them. Listen."
+
+They did so, and now they also heard the thud of horse's hoofs and the
+shouts of men.
+
+"Quick, quick," said Bolle, "follow me. I know where we may hide," and
+he led them off to a dense thicket of thorn and beech scrub which grew
+about two hundred yards away under a group of oaks at a place where four
+tracks crossed. Owing to the beech leaves, which, when the trees are
+young, as every gardener knows, cling to the twigs through autumn and
+winter, this place was very close, and hid them completely.
+
+Scarcely had they taken up their stand there, when, in the red light
+of the sunset, they saw a strange sight. Along, not that road they had
+followed, but another, which led round the farther side of King's Grave
+Mount, now seen and now hidden by the forest trees, a tall man in armour
+mounted on a grey horse, accompanied by another man in a leathern jerkin
+mounted on a black horse, galloped towards them, whilst, at a distance
+of not more than a hundred yards behind them, appeared a motley mob of
+pursuers.
+
+"Escaped prisoners being run down," muttered Bolle, but Cicely took no
+heed. There was something about the appearance of the rider of the grey
+horse that seemed to draw her heart out of her.
+
+She leaned forward on her beast's neck, staring with all her eyes. Now
+the two men were almost opposite the thicket, and the man in mail turned
+his face to his companion and called cheerily--
+
+"We gain! We'll slip them yet, Jeffrey."
+
+Cicely saw the face.
+
+"Christopher!" she cried; "_Christopher!_"
+
+Another moment and they had swept past, but Christopher--for it was
+he--had caught the sound of that remembered voice. With eyes made quick
+by love and fear she saw him pulling on his rein. She heard him shout
+to Jeffrey, and Jeffrey shout back to him in tones of remonstrance.
+They halted confusedly in the open space beyond. He tried to turn, then
+perceived his pursuers drawing nearer, and, when they were already at
+his heels, with an exclamation, pulled round again to gallop away. Too
+late! Up the slope they sped for another hundred yards or so. Now they
+were surrounded, and now, at the crest of it, they fought, for swords
+flashed in the red light. The pursuers closed in on them like hounds on
+an outrun fox. They went down--they vanished.
+
+Cicely strove to gallop after them, for she was crazed, but the others
+held her back.
+
+At length there was silence, and Thomas Bolle, dismounting, crept out to
+look. Ten minutes later he returned.
+
+"All have gone," he said.
+
+"Oh! he is dead!" wailed Cicely. "This fatal place has robbed me of
+father and of husband."
+
+"I think not," answered Bolle. "I see no bloodstains, nor any signs of
+a man being carried. He went living on his horse. Still, would to Heaven
+that women could learn when to keep silent!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+BETWEEN DOOM AND HONOUR
+
+The day was about to break when at last, utterly worn out in body and
+mind, Cicely and her party rode their stumbling horses up to the gates
+of Blossholme Priory.
+
+"Pray God the nuns are still here," said Emlyn, who held the child, "for
+if they have been driven out and my mistress must go farther, I think
+that she will die. Knock hard, Thomas, that old gardener is deaf as a
+wall."
+
+Bolle obeyed with good will, till presently the grille in the door was
+opened and a trembling woman's voice asked who was there.
+
+"That's Mother Matilda," said Emlyn, and slipping from her horse, she
+ran to the bars and began to talk to her through them. Then other nuns
+came, and between them they opened one of the large gates, for the
+gardener either could not or would not be aroused, and passed through it
+into the courtyard where, when it was understood that Cicely had really
+come again, there was a great welcoming. But now she could hardly speak,
+so they made her swallow a bowl of milk and took her to her old room,
+where sleep of some kind overcame her. When she awoke it was nine of the
+clock. Emlyn, looking little the worse, was already up and stood talking
+with Mother Matilda.
+
+"Oh!" cried Cicely, as memory came back to her, "has aught been heard of
+my husband?"
+
+They shook their heads, and the Prioress said--
+
+"First you must eat, Sweet, and then we will tell you all we know, which
+is little."
+
+So she ate who needed food sadly, and while Emlyn helped her to dress
+herself, hearkened to the news. It was of no great account, only
+confirming that which they had learnt from the Fenmen; that the Abbey
+was fortified and guarded by strange soldiers, rebellious men from the
+north or foreigners, and the Abbot supposed to be away.
+
+Bolle, who had been out, reported also that a man he met declared that
+he had heard a troop of horsemen pass through the village in the night,
+but of this no proof was forthcoming, since if they had done so the
+heavy rain that was still falling had washed out all traces of them.
+Moreover, in those times people were always moving to and fro in the
+dark, and none could know if this troop had anything to do with the band
+they had seen in the forest, which might have gone some other way.
+
+When Cicely was ready they went downstairs, and in Mother Matilda's
+private room found Jacob Smith and Thomas Bolle awaiting them.
+
+"Lady Harflete," said Jacob, with the air of a man who has no time to
+lose, "things stand thus. As yet none know that you are here, for we
+have the gardener and his wife under ward. But as soon as they learn
+it at the Abbey there will be risk of an attack, and this place is not
+defensible. Now at your hall of Shefton it is otherwise, for there
+it seems is a deep moat with a drawbridge and the rest. To Shefton,
+therefore, you must go at once, unobserved if may be. Indeed, Thomas has
+been there already, and spoken to certain of your tenants whom he can
+trust, who are now hard at work preparing and victualling the place,
+and passing on the word to others. By nightfall he hopes to have thirty
+strong men to defend it, and within three days a hundred, when your
+commission and his captaincy are made known. Come, then, for there is no
+time to tarry and the horses are saddled."
+
+So Cicely kissed Mother Matilda, who blessed and thanked her for all she
+had done, or tried to do on behalf of the sisterhood, and within five
+minutes once more they were on the backs of their weary beasts and
+riding through the rain to Shefton, which happily was but three
+miles away. Keeping under the lee of the woods they left the Priory
+unobserved, for in that wet few were stirring, and the sentinels at
+the Abbey, if there were any, had taken shelter in the guard-house. So
+thankfully enough they came unmolested to walled and wooded Shefton,
+which Cicely had last seen when she fled thence to Cranwell on the
+day of her marriage, oh, years and years ago, or so it seemed to her
+tormented heart.
+
+It was a strange and a sad home-coming, she thought, as they rode over
+the drawbridge and through the sodden and weed-smothered pleasaunce to
+the familiar door. Yet it might have been worse, for the tenants whom
+Bolle had warned had not been idle. For two hours past and more a dozen
+willing women had swept and cleaned; the fires had been lit, and there
+was plenteous food of a sort in the kitchen and the store-room.
+
+Moreover, in all the big hall were gathered about a score of her people,
+who welcomed her by raising their bonnets and even tried to cheer. To
+these at once Jacob read the King's commission, showing them the signet
+and the seal, and that other commission which named Thomas Bolle a
+captain with wide powers, the sight and hearing of which writings seemed
+to put a great heart into them who so long had lacked a leader and the
+support of authority. One and all they swore to stand by the King and
+their lady, Cicely Harflete, and her lord, Sir Christopher, or if he
+were dead, his child. Then about half of them took horse and rode off,
+this way and that, to gather men in the King's name, while the rest
+stayed to guard the Hall and work at its defences.
+
+By sunset men were riding up from all sides, some of them driving carts
+loaded with provisions, arms and fodder, or sheep and beasts that could
+be killed for sustenance, while as they came Jacob enrolled their names
+upon a paper and by virtue of his commission Thomas Bolle swore them in.
+Indeed that night they had forty men quartered there, and the promise of
+many more.
+
+By now, however, the secret was out, for the story had gone round and
+the smoke from the Shefton chimneys told its own tale. First a single
+spy appeared on the opposite rise, watching. Then he galloped away, to
+return an hour later with ten armed and mounted men, one of whom carried
+a banner on which were embroidered the emblems of the Pilgrimage
+of Grace. These men rode to within a hundred paces of Shefton Hall,
+apparently with the object of attacking it, then seeing that the
+drawbridge was up and that archers with bent bows stood on either side,
+halted and sent forward one of their number with a white flag to parley.
+
+"Who holds Shefton," shouted this man, "and for what cause?"
+
+"The Lady Harflete, its owner, and Captain Thomas Bolle, for the cause
+of the King," called old Jacob Smith back to him.
+
+"By what warrant?" asked the man. "The Abbot of Blossholme is lord of
+Shefton, and Thomas Bolle is but a lay-brother of his monastery."
+
+"By warrant of the King's Grace," said Jacob, and then and there at the
+top of his voice he read to him the Royal Commission, which when the
+envoy had heard, he went back to consult with his companions. For a
+while they hesitated, apparently still meditating attack, but in the end
+rode away and were seen no more.
+
+Bolle wished to follow and fall on them with such men as he had, but the
+cautious Jacob Smith forbade it, fearing lest he should tumble into
+some ambush and be killed or captured with his people, leaving the place
+defenceless.
+
+So the afternoon went by, and ere evening closed in they had so much
+strength that there was no more cause for fear of an attack from the
+Abbey, whose garrison they learned amounted to not over fifty men and a
+few monks, for most of these had fled.
+
+That night Cicely with Emlyn and old Jacob were seated in the long upper
+room where her father, Sir John Foterell, had once surprised Christopher
+paying his court to her, when Bolle entered, followed by a man with a
+hang-dog look who was wrapped in a sheepskin coat which seemed to become
+him very ill.
+
+"Who is this, friend?" asked Jacob.
+
+"An old companion of mine, your worship, a monk of Blossholme who is
+weary of Grace and its pilgrimages, and seeks the King's comfort and
+pardon, which I have made bold to promise to him."
+
+"Good," said Jacob, "I'll enter his name, and if he remains faithful
+your promise shall be kept. But why do you bring him here?"
+
+"Because he bears tidings."
+
+Now something in Bolle's voice caused Cicely, who was brooding apart, to
+look up sharply and say--
+
+"Speak, and be swift."
+
+"My Lady," began the man in a slow voice, "I, who am named Basil in
+religion, have fled the Abbey because, although a monk, I am true to
+the King, and moreover have suffered much from the Abbot, who has just
+returned raging, having met with some reverse out Lincoln way, I know
+not what. My news is that your lord, Sir Christopher Harflete, and his
+servant Jeffrey Stokes are prisoners in the Abbey dungeons, whither they
+were brought last night by a company of the rebels who had captured them
+and afterwards rode on."
+
+"Prisoners!" exclaimed Cicely. "Then he is not dead or wounded? At least
+he is whole and safe?"
+
+"Aye, my Lady, whole and safe as a mouse in the paws of a cat before it
+is eaten."
+
+The blood left Cicely's cheeks. In her mind's eye she saw Abbot Maldon
+turned into a great cat with a monk's head and patting Christopher with
+his claws.
+
+"My fault, my fault!" she said in a heavy voice. "Oh, if I had not
+called him he would have escaped. Would that I had been stricken dumb!"
+
+"I don't think so," answered Brother Basil. "There were others watching
+for him ahead who, when he was taken, went away and that is how you came
+to get through so neatly. At least there he lies, and if you would save
+him, you had best gather what strength you can and strike at once."
+
+"Does he know that I live?" asked Cicely.
+
+"How can I tell, Lady? The Abbey dungeons are no good place for
+news. Yet the monk who took him his food this morning said that Sir
+Christopher told him that he had been undone by some ghost which called
+to him with the voice of his dead wife as he rode near King's Grave
+Mount."
+
+Now when Cicely heard this she rose and left the room accompanied by
+Emlyn, for she could bear no more.
+
+But Jacob Smith and Bolle remained questioning the man closely upon many
+matters, and, having learned all he could tell them, sent him away under
+guard and sat there till midnight consulting and making up their plans
+with the farmers and yeomen whom they called to them from time to time.
+
+Next morning early they sought out Cicely and told her that to them it
+seemed wise that the Abbey should be attacked without delay.
+
+"But my husband lies there," she answered in distress, "and then they
+will kill him."
+
+"So I fear they may if we do not attack," replied Jacob. "Moreover,
+Lady, to tell the truth, there are other things to be thought of. For
+instance, the King's cause and honour, which we are bound to forward,
+and the lives and goods of all those who through us have declared
+themselves for him. If we lie idle Abbot Maldon will send messengers to
+the north and within a few days bring down thousands upon us, against
+whom we cannot hope to stand. Indeed, it is probable that he has
+already sent. But if they hear that the Abbey has fallen the rebels will
+scarcely come for revenge alone. Lastly, if we sit with folded hands,
+our own people may grow cold with doubts and fears and melt away, who
+now are hot as fire."
+
+"If it must be, so let it be. In God's hands I leave his life," said
+Cicely in a heavy voice.
+
+
+
+That day the King's men, under the captaincy of Bolle, advanced and
+invested the Abbey, setting their camp in Blossholme village. Cicely,
+who would not be left behind, came with them and once more took up her
+quarters in the Priory, which on a formal summons opened its gates to
+her, its only guard, the deaf gardener, surrendering at discretion. He
+was set to work as a camp servant, and never in his life did he labour
+so hard before, since Emlyn, who owed him many a grudge, saw to it that
+he did not lack for tasks that were mean and heavy.
+
+Now that day Thomas and others spied out the Abbey and returned shaking
+their heads, for without cannon--and as yet they had none--the great
+building of hewn stone seemed almost impregnable. At but one spot indeed
+was attack possible, from the back where once stood the dormers and farm
+steadings which Emlyn had egged on Thomas to burn. These had been built
+up to the inner edge of the moat, making, as it were, part of the Abbey
+wall, but the fierce fire had so cracked and crumbled their masonry that
+several rods of it had fallen forward into the water.
+
+For purposes of defence the gap this formed was now closed by a double
+palisade of stout stakes, filled in with faggots, the charred beams
+of the old buildings and other rubbish. Yet to carry this palisade,
+protected as it was by the broad and deep moat and commanded from the
+windows and the corner tower, was more than they dared try, since if it
+could be done at all it would certainly cost them very many lives. One
+thing they had learned, however, from the monk Basil and others, that in
+the Abbey there was but small store of food to feed so many: three days'
+supply, said Basil, and none put it at over four.
+
+That evening, then, they held another council, at which it was
+determined to starve the place out and only attempt an onslaught if
+their spies reported to them that the rebels were marching to its
+relief.
+
+"But," urged Cicely, "then my lord and Jeffrey Stokes will starve also,"
+whereon they went away sadly, saying there was no choice, seeing that
+they were but two men and the lives of many lay at stake.
+
+The siege began, just such a siege as Cicely had suffered at Cranwell
+Towers. The first day the garrison of the Abbey scoffed at them from the
+walls. The second day they scoffed no longer, noting that the force of
+the besiegers increased, which it did hourly. The third day suddenly
+they let down the drawbridge and poured out on to it as though for a
+sortie, but when they perceived the scores of Bolle's men waiting bow
+in hand and arrow on string, changed their minds and drew the bridge up
+again.
+
+"They grow hungry and desperate," said the shrewd Jacob. "Soon we shall
+have some message from them."
+
+He was right, since just before sunset a postern gate was opened and a
+man, holding a white flag above his head, was seen swimming across the
+moat. He scrambled out on the farther side, shook himself like a dog,
+and advanced slowly to where Bolle and the women stood upon the Abbey
+green out of arrow-shot from the walls. Indeed, Cicely, who was weak
+with dread and wretchedness, leaned against the oaken stake that
+had never been removed, to which once she was tied to be burned for
+witchcraft.
+
+"Who is that man?" said Emlyn to her.
+
+Cicely scanned the gaunt, bearded figure who walked haltingly like one
+that is sick.
+
+"I know not--yes, yes, he puts me in mind of Jeffrey Stokes!"
+
+"Jeffrey it is and no other," said Emlyn, nodding her head. "Now what
+news does he bear, I wonder?"
+
+Cicely made no reply, only clung to her stake and waited, with just such
+a heart as once she had waited there while the Abbey cook blew up his
+brands to fire her faggots. Jeffrey was opposite to her now; his sunken
+eyes fell upon her, and at the sight his bearded chin dropped, making
+his face look even more long and hollow than it had before.
+
+"Ah!" he said, speaking to himself, "many wars and journeyings, months
+in an infidel galley, three days with not enough food to feed a rat and
+a bath in November water! Well, such things, to say nothing of a worse,
+turn men's brains. Yet to think that I should live to see a daylight
+ghost in homely Blossholme, who never met with one before."
+
+Still staring he shook the water from his beard, then added,
+"Lay-brother or Captain Thomas Bolle, whichever you may be now-a-days,
+if you're not a ghost also, give me a quart of strong ale and a loaf of
+bread, for I'm empty as a gutted herring, and floating heavenward, so to
+speak, who would stick upon this scurvy earth."
+
+"Jeffrey, Jeffrey," broke in Cicely, "what news of your master? Emlyn,
+tell him that we still live. He does not understand."
+
+"Oh, you still live, do you?" he added slowly. "So the fire could not
+burn you after all, or Emlyn either. Well, then, there's hope for
+every one, and perhaps hunger and Abbot Maldon's knives cannot kill
+Christopher Harflete."
+
+"He lives, then, and is well?"
+
+"He lives and is as well as a man may be after a three days' fast in a
+black dungeon that is somewhat damp. Here's a writing on the matter for
+the captain of this company," and, taking a letter from the folds of the
+white flag in which it had been fastened, he handed it to Bolle, who, as
+he could not read, passed it on to Jacob Smith. Just then a lad brought
+the ale for which Jeffrey had asked, and with it a platter of cold meat
+and bread, on which he fell like a famished hound, drinking in great
+gulps and devouring the food almost without chewing it.
+
+"By the saints, you are starved, Jeffrey," said a yeoman who stood by.
+"Come with me and shift those wet clothes of yours, or you will take
+harm," and he led him off, still eating, to a tent that stood near by.
+
+Meanwhile, Jacob, having studied the letter with bent and anxious brows,
+read it aloud. It ran thus--
+
+
+"To the Captain of the King's men, from Clement, Abbot of Blossholme.
+
+"By what warrant I know not you besiege us here, threatening this Abbey
+and its Religious with fire and sword. I am told that Cicely Foterell
+is your leader. Say, then, to that escaped witch that I hold the man
+she calls her husband, and who is the father of her base-born child,
+a prisoner. Unless this night she disperses her troop and sends me a
+writing signed and witnessed, promising indemnity on behalf of the King
+for me and those with me for all that we may have done against him and
+his laws, or privately against her, and freedom to go where we will
+without pursuit or hindrance or loss of land or chattels, know that
+to-morrow at the dawn we put to death Christopher Harflete, Knight, in
+punishment of the murders and other crimes that he has committed against
+us, and in proof thereof his body shall be hung from the Abbey tower. If
+otherwise we will leave him unharmed here where you shall find him after
+we have gone. For the rest, ask his servant, Jeffrey Stokes, whom we
+send to you with this letter.
+
+"Clement, Abbot."
+
+
+Jacob finished reading and a silence fell upon all who listened.
+
+"Let us go to some private place and consider this matter," said Emlyn.
+
+"Nay," broke in Cicely, "it is I, who in my lord's absence, hold the
+King's commission and I will be heard. Thomas Bolle, first send a man
+under flag to the Abbot, saying, that if aught of harm befalls Sir
+Christopher Harflete I'll put every living soul within the Abbey walls
+to death by sword or rope, and stand answerable for it to the King.
+Set it in writing, Master Smith, and send with it copy of the King's
+commission for my warrant. At once, let it be done at once."
+
+So they went to a cottage near by, which Bolle used as a guard-house,
+where this stern message was written down, copied out fair, signed by
+Cicely and by Bolle, as captain, with Jacob Smith for witness. This
+paper, together with a copy of the King's commissions, Cicely with her
+own hand gave to a bold and trusty man, charged to ask an answer, who
+departed, carrying the white flag and wearing a steel shirt beneath his
+doublet, for fear of treachery.
+
+When he had gone they sent for Jeffrey, who arrived clad in dry garments
+and still eating, for his hunger was that of a wolf.
+
+"Tell us all," said Cicely.
+
+"It will be a long story if I begin at the beginning, Lady. When your
+worshipful father, Sir John, and I rode away from Shefton on the day of
+his murder----"
+
+"Nay, nay," interrupted Cicely, "that may stand, we have no time. My
+lord and you escaped from Lincoln, did you not, and, as we saw, were
+taken in the forest?"
+
+"Aye, Lady. Some tricksy spirit called out with your voice and he heard
+and pulled rein, and so they came on to us and overwhelmed us, though
+without hurt as it chanced. Then they brought us to the Abbey and thrust
+us into that accursed dungeon, where, save for a little bread and water,
+we have starved for three days in the dark. That is all the tale."
+
+"How, then, did you come out, Jeffrey?"
+
+"Thus, my Lady. Something over an hour ago a monk and three guards
+unlocked the dungeon door. While we blinked at his lantern, like owls
+in the sunlight, the monk said that the Abbot purposed to send me to the
+camp of the King's party to offer Christopher Harflete's life against
+the lives of all of them. He told him, Harflete, also, that he had
+brought ink and paper and that if he wished to save himself he would do
+well to write a letter praying that this offer might be accepted, since
+otherwise he would certainly die at dawn."
+
+"And what said my husband?" asked Cicely, leaning forward.
+
+"What said he? Why, he laughed in their faces and told them that first
+he would cut off his hand. On this they haled me out of the dungeon
+roughly enough, for I would have stayed there with him to the end. But
+as the door closed he shouted after me, 'Tell the King's officers to
+burn this rats' nest and take no heed of Christopher Harflete, who
+desires to die!'"
+
+"Why does he desire to die?" asked Cicely again.
+
+"Because he thinks his wife dead, Mistress, as I did, and believes that
+in the forest he heard her voice calling him to join her."
+
+"Oh God! oh God!" moaned Cicely; "I shall be his death."
+
+"Not so," answered Jeffrey. "Do you know so little of Christopher
+Harflete that you think he would sell the King's cause to gain his own
+life? Why, if you yourself came and pleaded with him he would thrust you
+away, saying, 'Get thee behind me, Satan!'"
+
+"I believe it, and I am proud," muttered Cicely. "If need be, let
+Harflete die, we'll keep his honour and our own lest he should live to
+curse us. Go on."
+
+"Well, they led me to the Abbot, who gave me that letter which you have,
+and bade me take it and tell the case to whoever commanded here. Then he
+lifted up his hand and, laying it on the crucifix about his neck, swore
+that this was no idle threat, but that unless his terms were taken,
+Harflete should hang from the tower top at to-morrow's dawn, adding,
+though I knew not what he meant, 'I think you'll find one yonder who
+will listen to that reasoning.' Now he was dismissing me when a soldier
+said--
+
+"'Is it wise to free this Stokes? You forget, my Lord Abbot, that he
+is alleged to have witnessed a certain slaying yonder in the forest and
+will bear evidence.' 'Aye,' answered Maldon, 'I had forgotten who in
+this press remembered only that no other man would be believed. Still,
+perhaps it would be best to choose a different messenger and to silence
+this fellow at once. Write down that Jeffrey Stokes, a prisoner, strove
+to escape and was killed by the guards in self-defence. Take him hence
+and let me hear no more.'
+
+"Now my blood went cold, although I strove to look as careless as a man
+may on an empty stomach after three days in the dark, and cursed him
+prettily in Spanish to his face. Then, as they were haling me off,
+Brother Martin--do you remember him? he was our companion in some
+troubles over-seas--stepped forward out of the shadow and said, 'Of what
+use is it, Abbot, to stain your soul with so foul a murder? Since John
+Foterell died the King has many things to lay to your account, and any
+one of them will hang you. Should you fall into his hands, he'll not
+hark back to Foterell's death, if, indeed, you were to blame in that
+matter.'
+
+"'You speak roughly, Brother,' answered the Abbot; 'and acts of war are
+not murder, though perchance afterwards you might say they were, to
+save your own skin, or others might. Well, if so, there's wisdom in your
+words. Touch not the man. Give him the letter and thrust him into the
+moat to swim it. His lies can make no odds in the count against us.'
+
+"Well, they did so, and I came here, as you saw, to find you living,
+and now I understand why Maldon thought that Harflete's life is worth so
+much," and, having done his tale, once more Jeffrey began to eat.
+
+Cicely looked at him, they all looked at him--this gaunt, fierce man
+who, after many other sorrows and strivings, had spent three days in a
+black dungeon with the rats, fed upon water and a few fingers of black
+bread. Yes; with the crawling rats and another man so dear to one of
+them, who still sat in that horrid hole, waiting to be hung like a felon
+at the dawn. The silence, with only Jeffrey's munching to break it, grew
+painful, so that all were glad when the door opened and the messenger
+whom they had sent to the Abbey appeared. He was breathless, having run
+fast, and somewhat disturbed, perhaps because two arrows were sticking
+in his back, or rather in his jerkin, for the mail beneath had stopped
+them.
+
+"Speak," said old Jacob Smith; "what is your answer?"
+
+"Look behind me, master, and you will find it," replied the man. "They
+set a ladder across the moat and a board on that, over which a priest
+tripped to take my writing. I waited a while, till presently I heard a
+voice hail me from the gateway tower, and, looking up, saw Abbot Maldon
+standing there, with a face like that of a black devil.
+
+"'Hark you, knave,' he said to me, 'get you gone to the witch,
+Cicely Foterell, and to the recreant monk, Bolle, whom I curse and
+excommunicate from the fellowship of Holy Church, and tell them to watch
+for the first light of dawn, for by it, somewhat high up, they'll see
+Christopher Harflete hanging black against the morning sky!'
+
+"On hearing this I lost my caution, and hallooed back--
+
+"'If so, ere to-morrow's nightfall you shall keep him company, every
+one of you, black against the evening sky, except those who go to be
+quartered at Tower Hill and Tyburn.' Then I ran and they shot at me,
+hitting once or twice, but, though old, the mail was good, and here am
+I, unhurt except for bruises."
+
+
+
+A while later Cicely, Jacob Smith, Thomas Bolle, Jeffrey Stokes, and
+Emlyn Stower sat together taking counsel--very earnest counsel, for the
+case was desperate. Plan after plan was brought forward and set aside
+for this reason or for that, till at length they stared at each other
+emptily.
+
+"Emlyn," exclaimed Cicely at last, "in past days you were wont to be
+full of comfortable words; have you never a one in this extreme?" for
+all the while Emlyn had sat silent.
+
+"Thomas," said Emlyn, looking up, "do you remember when we were children
+where we used to catch the big carp in the Abbey moat?"
+
+"Aye, woman," he answered; "but what time is this for fishing stories of
+many years ago? As I was saying, of that tunnel underground there is no
+hope. Beyond the grove it is utterly caved in and blocked--I've tried
+it. If we had a week, perhaps----"
+
+"Let her be," broke in Jacob; "she has something to tell us."
+
+"And do you remember," went on Emlyn, "that you told me that there
+the carp were so big and fat because just at this place 'neath the
+drawbridge the Abbey sewer--the big Abbey sewer down which all foul
+things are poured--empties itself into the moat, and that therefore I
+would eat none of those fish, even in Lent?"
+
+"Aye, I remember. What of it?"
+
+"Thomas, did I hear you say that the powder you sent for had come?"
+
+"Yes, an hour ago; six kegs, by the carrier's van, of a hundredweight
+each. Not so much as we hoped for, but something, though, as the cannon
+has not come--for the King's folk had none--it is of no use."
+
+"A dark night, a ladder with a plank on it, a brick arched drain, two
+hundredweight, or better still, four of powder set beneath the gate,
+a slow-match and a brave man to fire it--taken together with God's
+blessing, these things might do much," mused Emlyn, as though to
+herself.
+
+Now at length they took her point.
+
+"They'd be listening like a cat for a mouse," said Bolle.
+
+"I think the wind rises," she answered; "I hear it in the trees. I think
+presently it will blow a gale. Also, lanterns might be shown at the back
+where the breach is, and men might shout there, as though preparing to
+attack. That would draw them off. Meanwhile Jeffrey Stokes and I would
+try our luck with the ladder and the kegs of powder--he to roll and I
+to fire when the time came, for being, as you have heard, a witch, I
+understand how to humour brimstone."
+
+
+
+Ten minutes later, and their plans were fixed. Two hours later, and,
+in the midst of a raving gale, hidden by the pitchy darkness and the
+towering screen of the lifted drawbridge, Emlyn and the strong Jeffrey
+rolled the kegs of powder over planks laid across the moat, into the
+mouth of the big drain and twenty feet down it, till they lay under the
+gateway towers! Then, lying there in the stinking filth, they drew the
+spigots out of holes that they had made in them, and in their place set
+the slow-matches. Jeffrey struck a flint, blew the tinder to a glow, and
+handed it to Emlyn.
+
+"Now get you gone," she said; "I follow. At this job one is better than
+two."
+
+A minute later she joined him on the farther bank of the moat. "Run!"
+she said. "Run for your life; there's death behind!"
+
+He obeyed, but Emlyn turned and screamed, till, hearing her through the
+gale, all the guard hurried up the towers, flashing lanterns, to see
+what passed.
+
+"STORM! STORM!" she cried. "UP WITH THE LADDERS! FOR THE KIND AND
+HARFLETE! STORM! STORM!"
+
+Then she too turned and fled.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+OUT OF THE SHADOWS
+
+Through the black night sudden and red there shot a sheet of fire
+illumining all things as lightning does. Above the roaring of the gale
+there echoed a dull and heavy noise like to that of muffled thunder.
+Then after a moment's pause and silence the sky rained stones, and with
+them the limbs of men.
+
+"The gateway's gone," shouted a great voice, it was that of Bolle. "Out
+with the ladders!"
+
+Men who were waiting ran up with them and thrust them, four in all,
+athwart the moat. By the planks that were lashed along their staves
+they scrambled across and over the piles of shattered masonry into the
+courtyard beyond where none waited them, for all who watched here were
+dead or maimed.
+
+"Light the lanterns," shouted Bolle again, "for it will be dark in
+yonder," and a man who followed with a torch obeyed him.
+
+Then they rushed across the courtyard to the door of the refectory,
+which stood open. Here in the wide, high-roofed hall they met the mass
+of Maldon's people pouring back from the faggoted breach, where they had
+been gathered, expecting attack, some of them also bearing lanterns. For
+a moment the two parties stood staring at each other; then followed
+a wild and savage scene. With shouts and oaths and battle-cries they
+fought furiously. The massive, oaken tables were overthrown, by the red
+flicker of the pole-borne lanterns men grappled and fell and slew
+each other upon the floor. A priest struck down a yeoman with a brazen
+crucifix, and next moment himself was brained with its broken shaft.
+
+"For God and Grace!" shouted some; "For the King and Harflete!" answered
+others.
+
+"Keep line! Keep line!" roared Bolle, "and sweep them out."
+
+The lanterns were dashed down and extinguished till but one remained,
+a red and wavering star. Hoarse voices shouted for light, for none knew
+friend from foe. It came; some one had fired the tapestries and the
+blaze ran up them to the roof. Then fearing lest they should be roasted,
+the Abbot's folk gave way and fled to the farther door, followed by
+their foes. Here it was that most of them fell, for they jammed in the
+doorway and were cut down there are on the stair beyond.
+
+While Bolle still plied his axe fiercely, some one caught his arm and
+screamed into his ear--
+
+"Let be! Let be! The wretch is sped."
+
+In his red wrath he turned to strike the speaker, and saw by the flare
+that it was Cicely.
+
+"What do you here?" he cried. "Get gone."
+
+"Fool," she answered in a low, fierce voice, "I seek my husband. Show me
+the path ere it be too late, you know it alone. Come, Jeffrey Stokes, a
+lantern, a lantern!"
+
+Jeffrey appeared, sword in one hand and lantern in the other, and with
+him Emlyn, who also held a sword which she had plucked from a fallen
+man, Emlyn still foul with the filth of the sewer and the mud of the
+moat.
+
+"I may not leave," muttered Thomas Bolle. "I seek Maldon."
+
+"On to the dungeons," shrieked Emlyn, "or I will stab you. I heard them
+give word to kill Harflete."
+
+Then he snatched the light from Jeffrey's hand, and crying "Follow me,"
+rushed along a passage till they came to an open door and beyond it to
+stairs. They descended the stairs and passed other passages which ran
+underground, till a sudden turn to the right brought them to a little
+walled-in place with a vaulted roof. Two torches flared in iron holders
+in the masonry, and by the light of them they saw a strange and fearful
+sight.
+
+At the end of the open place a heavy, nail-studded door stood wide,
+revealing a cell, or rather a little cave beyond--those who are curious
+can see it to this day. Fastened by a chain to the wall of this dungeon
+was a man, who held in his hand a three-legged stool and tugged at his
+chain like a maddened beast. In front of him, holding the doorway, stood
+a tall, lank priest, his robe tucked up into his girdle. He was wounded,
+for blood poured from his shaven crown and he plied a great sword with
+both hands, striking savagely at four men who tried to cut him down. As
+Bolle and his party appeared, one of these men fell beneath the priest's
+blows, and another took his place, shouting--
+
+"Out of the way, traitor. We would kill Harflete, not you."
+
+"We die or live together, murderers," answered the priest in a thick,
+gasping voice.
+
+At this moment one of them, it was he who had spoken, heard the sound
+of the rescuers' footsteps and glanced back. In an instant he turned and
+was running past them like a hare. As he went the light from the lantern
+fell upon his face, and Emlyn knew it for that of the Abbot. She struck
+at him with the sword she held, but the steel glanced from his mail. He
+also struck, but at the lantern, dashing it to the ground.
+
+"Seize him," screamed Emlyn. "Seize Maldon, Jeffrey," and at the words
+Stokes bounded away, only to return presently, having lost him in the
+dark passages. Then with a roar Bolle leaped upon the two remaining
+men-at-arms as they faced about, and very soon between his axe and
+the sword of the priest behind, they sank to the ground and died still
+fighting, who knew they had no hope of quarter.
+
+It was over and done and dreadful silence fell upon the place, the
+silence of the dead broken only by the heavy breathing of those who
+remained alive. There the wounded monk leaned against the door-post, his
+red sword drooping to the floor. There Harflete, the stool still lifted,
+rested his weight against the chain and peered forward in amazement,
+swaying as though from weakness. And lastly there lay the three slain
+men, one of whom still moved a little.
+
+Cicely crept forward; over the dead she went and past the priest till
+she stood face to face with the prisoner.
+
+"Come nearer and I will dash out your brains," he said in a hoarse
+voice, for such light as there was came from behind her whom he thought
+to be but another of the murderers.
+
+Then at length she found her voice.
+
+"Christopher!" she cried, "Christopher!"
+
+He hearkened, and the stool fell from his hand.
+
+"The Voice again," he muttered. "Well, 'tis time. Tarry a while, Wife, I
+come, I come!" and he fell back against the wall shutting his eyes.
+
+She leapt to him, and throwing her arms about him kissed his lips, his
+poor, bloodless lips. The shut eyes opened.
+
+"Death might be worse," he said, "but so I knew that we would meet."
+
+Now Emlyn, seeing some change in his face, snatched one of the torches
+from its iron and ran forward, holding it so that the light fell full on
+Cicely.
+
+"Oh, Christopher," she cried, "I am no ghost, but your living wife."
+
+He heard, he stared, he stared again, then lifted his thin hand and
+stroked her hair.
+
+"Oh God," he exclaimed, "the dead live!" and down he fell in a heap at
+her feet.
+
+They thrust Cicely aside, Cicely who stood there shivering, she who
+thought he had gone again and this time for ever. With difficulty they
+broke the chain whereby he had been held like a kennelled hound, and
+bore him, still senseless, up the long passages, Bolle going ahead
+as guard and Jeffrey Stokes following after. Behind them came Emlyn
+supporting the wounded monk Martin, for it was he and no other who had
+saved the life of Christopher.
+
+As they went up towards the stairs they heard a roaring noise.
+
+"Fire!" said Cicely, who knew that sound well, and next instant the
+light of it burst upon them and its smoke wrapped them round. The Abbey
+was ablaze, and its wide hall in front looked like the mouth of hell.
+
+"Did I not prophesy that it would be so--yonder at Cranwell burning?"
+asked Emlyn, with a fierce laugh.
+
+"Follow me!" shouted Bolle. "Be swift now ere the roof falls and traps
+us."
+
+On they went desperately, leaving the hall on their left, and well for
+them was it that Thomas knew the way. One little chamber through which
+they passed had already caught, for flakes of fire fell among them from
+above and here the smoke was very thick. They were through it, who even
+a minute later could never have walked that path and lived. They were
+through it and out into the open air by the cloister door, which those
+who fled before them had left wide. They reached the moat just where the
+breach had been mended with faggots, and mounting on them Bolle shouted
+till one of his own men heard him and dropped the bow that he had raised
+to shoot him as a rebel. Then planks and ladders were brought, and at
+last they escaped from danger and the intolerable heat.
+
+
+
+Thus it was that Cicely who lost her love in fire, in fire found him
+once again.
+
+For Christopher was not dead as at first they feared. They carried him
+to the Priory, and there Emlyn, having felt his heart and found that it
+still beat, though faintly, sent Mother Matilda to fetch some of that
+Portugal wine of hers which Commissioner Legh had praised. Spoonful by
+spoonful she poured it down his throat, till at length he opened his
+eyes, though only to shut them again in natural sleep, for the wine had
+taken a hold of his starved body and weakened brain. For hour after hour
+Cicely sat by him, only rising from time to time to watch the burning of
+the great Abbey church, as once she had watched that of its dormers and
+farm-steading.
+
+About three in the morning the lead ceased to pour down in a silvery
+molten shower, its roofs fell in, and by dawn it was nothing but a
+fire-blackened shell much as it remains to-day. Just before daybreak
+Emlyn came to her, saying--
+
+"There is one who would speak with you."
+
+"I cannot see him," she answered, "I bide by my husband."
+
+"Yet you should," said Emlyn, "since but for him you would now have
+no husband. The monk Martin, who held off the murderers, is dying and
+desires to bid you farewell."
+
+Then Cicely went to find the man still conscious, but fading away with
+the flow of his own blood, which could not be stayed by any skill they
+had.
+
+"I have come to thank you," she murmured, who knew not what else to say.
+
+"Thank me not," he answered faintly, pausing often between his words,
+"who did but strive to repay part of a great debt. Last winter I shared
+in awful sin, in obedience, not to my heart, but to my vows. I who was
+set to watch the body of your husband found that he lived, and by my
+help he was borne away upon a ship. That ship was taken by the Infidels,
+and afterwards he and I and Jeffrey served together upon their galleys.
+There I fell sick, and your husband nursed me back to life. It was I who
+brought you the deeds and wrote the letter which I gave to Emlyn Stower.
+My vows still held me fast, and I did no more. This night I broke their
+bonds, for when I heard the order given that he should be slain I ran
+down before the murderers and fought my best, forgetting that I was a
+priest, till at length you came. Let this atone my crimes against my
+Country, my King and you that I died for my friend at last, as I am glad
+to do who find this world--too difficult."
+
+"I will tell him if he lives," sobbed Cicely.
+
+He opened his eyes, which had shut, and answered--
+
+"Oh, he'll live, he'll live. You have had many troubles, but, save for
+the creep of age and death, they are over. I can see and know."
+
+Again he shut his eyes and the watchers thought that all was done, till
+of a sudden once more he opened them and added in broken tones--
+
+"The Abbot--show him mercy--if you can. He is wicked and cruel, but I
+have been his confessor and know his heart. He strove for a good end--by
+an evil road. Queen Catherine was the King's lawful wife. To seize the
+monasteries is shameless theft. Also his blood is not English; he sees
+otherwise, and serves the Pope as I do, and Spain, as I do not. As I
+have helped you, help him. Judge not, that ye be not judged. Promise!"
+and he raised himself a little on the bed and looked at her earnestly.
+
+"I promise," answered Cicely, and as she spoke Martin smiled. Then his
+face turned quite grey, all the light went out of his eyes and a moment
+later Emlyn threw a linen cloth over his head. It was finished.
+
+Cicely returned to Christopher to find him sitting up in bed drinking a
+bowl of broth.
+
+"Oh, my husband, my husband," she said, casting her arms about him. Then
+she took her son and laid him upon his father's breast.
+
+
+Three days had gone by and Christopher and Cicely were walking in the
+shrubbery of Shefton Hall. By now, although still weak, he was almost
+recovered, whose only sickness had been grief and famine, for which
+joy and plenty are wonderful medicines. It was evening, a pleasant and
+beautiful early winter evening just fading into night. Seated on a bench
+he had been telling her his adventures, and they were a moving tale
+worthy, as Cicely wrote afterwards in a letter to old Jacob Smith that
+is still extant in her fine, quaint handwriting, to be recorded in a
+book, though this it would seem was never done.
+
+He told her of the great fight on the ship _Great Yarmouth_, when they
+were taken by the two Turkish pirates, and of how bravely Father Martin
+bore himself. Afterwards when they came to the galleys, by good fortune
+Martin, Jeffrey and he served on the same bench. Then Martin fell sick
+of some Southern fever, and being in port at Tunis at the time, where
+they could get fruit, they nursed him back to life and strength. Four
+months later the Emperor Charles attacked Tunis, and when it fell,
+through God's mercy, they were rescued with the other Christian slaves,
+after which Martin returned to England taking old Sir John's writings to
+be delivered to his next heir, for they all believed Cicely to be dead.
+
+But Christopher and Jeffrey, having nothing to seek at home, stayed to
+fight with the Spaniards against the Turks, who had oppressed them so
+sorely. When that war was over they made their way back to England,
+not knowing where else to go and having a score to settle against the
+Spanish Abbot of Blossholme, and--well, she knew the rest.
+
+Aye, answered Cicely, she knew it and never would forget it, but it
+was chill for him sitting on that bench, he must come in. Christopher
+laughed at her, and answered--
+
+"Sweetheart, if you could have seen the bench on which it was my lot
+to sit yonder off the coast of Africa, but new recovered from the wound
+which I had of Maldon's men at Cranwell Towers, you would not be anxious
+for me here. There for six long months chained to Jeffrey and to Father
+Martin, for it pleased those heathen devils to keep the three of us
+together, perhaps that they might watch us better, through the hot days
+that scorched us, and the chill, wet nights, we laboured at our oars,
+while infidel overseers ran up and down the boards and thrashed us with
+their whips of hide. Yes," he added slowly, "they thrashed us as though
+we were oxen in a yoke. You have seen the scars upon my back."
+
+"Oh, God! to think of it," she murmured; "you, a noble Englishman,
+beaten by those savage wretches like a brute? How did you bear it,
+Christopher?"
+
+"I know not, Wife. I think that had it not been for that angel in man's
+form, the priest Martin--peace be to his noble soul--that angel who
+thrice at least has saved my life, I should have dashed out my brains
+against the thwarts, or starved myself to death, or provoked the Moors
+to kill me; I, who, thinking you dead, had no hope to live for. But
+Martin taught me otherwise; he preached patience and submission,
+saying that I did not suffer for nothing--of his own miseries he never
+spoke--and that he was sure that fearful as was my lot, all things
+worked together for good to me."
+
+"And therefore it was that you lived on, Husband? Oh! I'll build a
+shrine to that saint Martin."
+
+"Not altogether, dear. I'll tell you true; I lived for
+vengeance--vengeance on Clement Maldon, the man, or the devil, who
+wrought me all this ill, and, being yet young, made me old with grief
+and pain," and he pointed to his scarred forehead and the hair above,
+that was now grizzled with white, "and vengeance, too, upon those
+worshippers of Mohammed, my masters. Yes; though Martin reproved me
+when I made confession to him, I think it was for that I lived, and the
+saints know," he added grimly, "afterwards at the sack, and elsewhere,
+I took it on the Turks. Oh! you should have seen the last meeting of
+Jeffrey and myself with the captain of that galley and his officers who
+had so often beaten us. No, I am glad you did not see it, for it was
+fierce and bloody; even the hard-hearted Spaniards stared."
+
+He paused, and perhaps to change the current of his mind--for during all
+his after-life, when Christopher brooded on these things he grew gloomy
+for hours, and even days--Cicely said hurriedly--
+
+"I wonder what has chanced to our enemy, the Abbot. The search has been
+close, the roads are watched, and we know that he had none with him, for
+all his foreign soldiers are slain or taken. I think he must be dead in
+the fire, Christopher."
+
+He shook his head.
+
+"A devil does not die in fire. He is away somewhere, to plot fresh
+murders--perhaps our own and our boy's. Oh!" he added savagely, "till
+my hands are about his throat and my dagger is in his heart there's no
+peace for me, who have a score to pay and you both to guard."
+
+Cicely knew not what to answer; indeed, when this mood was on him it
+was hard to reason with Christopher, who had suffered so fearfully, and,
+like herself, been saved but by a miracle or the mandate of Heaven.
+
+Of a sudden a hush fell upon the place. The blackbirds ceased their
+winter chatter in the laurels; it grew so still that they heard a dead
+leaf drop to the ground. The night was at hand. One last red ray from
+the set sun struck across the frosty sky and was reflected to the earth.
+In the light of that ray Christopher's trained eyes caught the gleam of
+something white that moved in the shadow of the beech tree where they
+sat. Like a tiger he sprang at it, and the next moment haled out a man.
+
+"Look," he said, twisting the head of his captive so that the glow fell
+on it. "Look; I have the snake. Ah! Wife, you saw nothing, but I saw
+him, and here he is at last--at last!"
+
+"The Abbot!" gasped Cicely.
+
+The Abbot it was indeed, but oh! how changed. His plump, olive-coloured
+countenance had shrunk to that of a skeleton still covered by yellow
+skin, in which the dark eyes rolled bloodshot and unnaturally large.
+His tonsure and jaws showed a growth of stubbly grey hair, his frame had
+become weak and small, his soft and delicate hands resembled those of a
+woman dead of some wasting disease, and, like his garments, were clogged
+with dirt. The mail shirt he wore hung loose upon him; one of his shoes
+was gone, and the toes peeped through his stockinged foot. He was but a
+living misery.
+
+"Deliver your arms," growled Christopher, shaking him as a terrier
+shakes a rat, "or you die. Do you yield? Answer!"
+
+"How can he," broke in Cicely, "when you have him by the throat?"
+
+Christopher loosed his grip of the man's windpipe, and instead seized
+his wrists, whereon the Abbot drew a great breath, for he was almost
+choked, and fell to his knees, in weakness, not in supplication.
+
+"I came to you for mercy," he said presently, "but, having overheard
+your talk, know that I can hope for none. Indeed, why should I, who
+showed none, and whose great cause seems dead, that cause for which I
+fought and lived? Let me die with it. I ask no more. Still, you are a
+gentleman, and therefore I beg a favour of you. Do not hand me over to
+be drawn, hanged and quartered by your brute-king. Kill me now. You can
+say that I attacked you, and that you did it in self-defence. I have no
+arms, but you may set a dagger in my hand."
+
+Christopher looked down at the poor creature huddled at his feet and
+laughed.
+
+"Who would believe me?" he asked; "though, indeed, who would question,
+seeing that your life is forfeit to me or any who can take it? Yet that
+is a matter of which the King's Justices shall judge."
+
+Maldon shivered. "Drawn, hanged and quartered," he repeated beneath
+his breath. "Drawn, hanged and quartered as a traitor to one I never
+served!"
+
+"Why not?" asked Christopher. "You have played a cruel game, and lost."
+
+He made no answer; indeed, it was Cicely who spoke, saying--
+
+"How came you in such a case? We thought you fled."
+
+"Lady," he answered, "I've starved for three days and nights in a hole
+in the ground like an earthed-up fox; a culvert in your garden hid me.
+At last I crept out to see the light and die, and heard you talking,
+and thought that I would ask for mercy, since mortal extremity has no
+honour."
+
+"Mercy!" said Cicely. "Of your treasons I say nothing, for you are not
+English, and serve your own king, who years ago sent you here to plot
+against England. But look on this man, my husband. Did he not starve
+for three days and nights in your strong dungeon ere you came thither to
+massacre him? Did you not strive to burn him in his Hall, and ship him
+wounded across the seas to doom? Did you not send your assassin to kill
+my babe, who stood between you and the wealth you needed for your plots,
+and bind me, the mother, to the stake--a food for fire? Did you not
+shoot down my father in the wood, fearing lest he should prove you
+traitor, and after rob me of my heritage? Did you not compel your monks
+to work evil and bring some of them to their deaths? Oh! have done! Worm
+dressed up as God's priest, how can you writhe there and ask for mercy?"
+
+"I said I _came_ to seek for mercy because the agony of sleepless hunger
+drove me, who _now_ seek only death. Insult not the fallen, Cicely
+Foterell, but take the vengeance that is your due, and kill," replied
+the Abbot, looking up at her with his hollow eyes, adding, with a laugh
+that sounded like a groan, "Come, Sir Christopher; you have got a sword,
+and it is time you went to supper. The air is cold; your wife--if such
+she be--said it but now."
+
+"Cicely," said Christopher, "go to the Hall and summon Jeffrey Stokes.
+Emlyn will know where to find him."
+
+"Emlyn!" groaned the Abbot. "Give me not over to Emlyn. She'd torture
+me."
+
+"Nay," said Christopher, "this is not Blossholme Abbey; though what may
+chance in London I know not. Go now, Wife."
+
+But Cicely did not stir; she only stared at the wretched creature at her
+feet.
+
+"I bid you go," repeated Christopher.
+
+"And I'll not obey," she answered. "Do you remember what I promised
+Martin ere he died?"
+
+"Martin dead! Is Martin, who saved your husband, dead?" exclaimed the
+Abbot, lifting his face and letting it fall again. "Happy Martin, to be
+dead."
+
+"I was not there, and I am not bound by your promises, Cicely."
+
+"But I am, and you and I are one. I vowed mercy to this man if he should
+fall into our power, and mercy he shall have."
+
+"Then you spare him to destroy us. The wheels go round quick in England,
+Wife."
+
+"So be it. What I vowed, I vowed. With God be the rest. He has watched
+us well heretofore, and I think," she added, with one of her bursts of
+triumphant faith, "will do so to the end. Abbot Maldon, sinful, fallen
+Abbot Maldon, you are as you were made, and Martin, the saint, said that
+there is good in your heart, though you have shown none of it to me or
+mine. Now, look you; yonder is a wooden summer-house, thatched and warm.
+Get you there, and I'll send you food and wine and new clothing by one
+who will not talk; also a pass to Lincoln. By to-morrow's dawn you will
+be refreshed, and then you will find a good horse tied to yonder tree,
+and so away to sanctuary at Lincoln, and, if aught of ill befalls you
+afterwards, know it is not our doing, but that of some other enemy, or
+of God, with Whom I pray you make your peace. May He forgive you, as
+I do, Who knows all hearts, which I do not. Now, farewell. Nay, say
+nothing. There is nothing to be said. Come, Christopher, for this once
+you obey me, not I you."
+
+So they went, and the wretched man raised himself upon his hands and
+looked after them, but what passed in his heart at that moment none will
+ever learn.
+
+
+
+Some months had gone by and Blossholme, with all the country round,
+was once more at peace. The tide of trouble had rolled away northward,
+whence came rumours of renewed rebellion. Abbot Maldon had been seen
+no more, and for a while it was believed that although he never took
+sanctuary at Lincoln, he had done a wiser thing and fled to Spain. Then
+Emlyn, who heard everything, got news that this was not so, but that
+he was foremost among those who stirred up sedition and war along the
+Scottish border.
+
+"I can well believe it," said Cicely. "The sow must to its wallowing in
+the mire. Nature made him a plotter, and he will follow his heart to the
+end."
+
+"Ere long he may find it hard to follow his head," answered Emlyn
+grimly. "Oh, to think that you had that wolf caged and turned him loose
+again to prey on England and on us!"
+
+"I did but show mercy to the fallen, Nurse."
+
+"Mercy? I call it madness. Why, when Jeffrey and Thomas heard of it I
+thought they would burst with rage, especially Jeffrey, who loved your
+father well and loved not the infidel galleys," answered the fierce
+Emlyn.
+
+"Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord," murmured Cicely in a
+gentle voice.
+
+"The Lord also said that whoso sheddeth man's blood by man shall his
+blood be shed. Why, I've heard this Maldon quote it to your husband at
+Cranwell Towers."
+
+"So will it be, Emlyn, if so it is to be, only let others shed that
+cruel blood. I would not have it on my hands or on those of any of my
+house, for after all he is an ordained priest of my own faith. Moreover,
+I had promised. Still, talk not of the matter lest it should bring
+trouble on us all, who had no right to loose him. Also these are ill
+thoughts for your wedding day. Go, deck yourself in those fine clothes
+which Jacob Smith has sent from London, since the clergyman will be
+at Blossholme church by four, and I think that Thomas has waited long
+enough for you."
+
+Emlyn smiled a little, and shrugged her broad shoulders, muttering
+something that would have angered Thomas if he could have heard it,
+as Cicely went off to join Christopher, who called to her from another
+room.
+
+She found him adding up figures on paper, a very different Christopher
+to the broken man they had rescued from the dungeon, though still much
+aged by the terrors of the past year and just now looking rueful.
+
+"See, Sweet," he said, "we should give a marriage portion to Emlyn, who
+has earned it if ever woman did, but where it is to come from I know
+not. Those Abbey lands Jacob Smith bought from the King are not yours
+yet, nor Henry's either, though doubtless he will have them soon.
+Neither have any rents been paid to you from your own estates, and when
+they come they are promised up in London, while the Abbot's razor has
+shaved my own poor parsimony bare as a churchyard skull. Also Mother
+Matilda and her nuns must be kept till we can endow them with their
+lands again. One day we, or our boy yonder, may be rich, but till it
+comes there are hard times for all of us."
+
+"Not so hard as some we have known, Husband," she answered, laughing,
+"for at least we are free and have food to eat, and for the rest we will
+borrow from Jacob Smith on the jewels that remain over. Indeed, I have
+written to him and he will not refuse."
+
+"Aye, but how about Thomas and Emlyn?"
+
+"They must do as their betters do. Though there is little stock on it,
+Thomas has the Manor Farm at low rent, which he may pay when he can,
+while Jacob put a present in the pocket of Emlyn's wedding dress. What's
+more, I think he will make her his heir, and if so she will be rich
+indeed, so rich that I shall have to curtsey to her. Now, go make ready
+for this marriage, and as you have no fine doublet, bid Jeffrey put on
+your mail, for you look best in that, or so at least I think, who to my
+mind look best in anything you chance to wear."
+
+Then while he demurred, saying that there was now no need to bear arms
+in Blossholme, also that Jeffrey was away settling himself as landlord
+of the Ford Inn, the same that the Abbot had once promised to Flounder
+Megges, she kissed him, and seizing her boy, who lay crowing in the
+sunlight, danced with him from the room. For oh, Cicely's heart was
+merry.
+
+
+
+There were many folk at the marriage of Emlyn Stower and Thomas Bolle,
+for of late Blossholme had been but a sorry place, and this wedding came
+to it like the breath of spring to the woods and meads around, a hint
+of happiness after the miseries of winter. The story of the pair had got
+about also. How they had been pledged in youth and separated by scheming
+men for their own purposes. How Emlyn had been married off against her
+will to an aged partner whom she hated, and Thomas, who was set down as
+a fool, forced to serve the monastery as a lay-brother, a strong hind
+skilled in the management of cattle and such matters, but half crazy, as
+indeed it had suited him to feign himself to be.
+
+People knew the end of the thing also; that Emlyn had cursed the Abbot,
+and that her curse had been fulfilled. That Thomas Bolle had shaken off
+his superstitious fears and risen up against him and at last been given
+the commission of the King, and, as his Grace's officer, shown himself
+no fool but a man of mettle who had taken the Abbey by storm and
+rescued Sir Christopher Harflete from its dungeons. Emlyn also, like her
+mistress, had been bound to the stake as a witch, and saved from burning
+by this same Thomas, who with her had been concerned in many remarkable
+events whereof the countryside was full of tales, true or false. Now at
+last after all these adventures they came together to be wed, and who
+was there for ten miles round that would not see it done?
+
+The monks being gone Father Roger Necton, the old vicar of Cranwell, he
+who had united Christopher and his wife Cicely in strange circumstances,
+and for that deed been obliged to fly for his life when the last Abbot
+of Blossholme burned Cranwell Towers, came to tie the knot before his
+great congregation. Notwithstanding that they were both of middle
+age, Emlyn in her grand gown and the brawny, red-haired Thomas in his
+yeoman's garb of green, such as he had worn when he wooed her many years
+before he put on the monk's russet robe, made a fine and handsome pair
+at the altar. Or so folk thought, though some friend of the monks,
+remembering Bolle's devil's livery and Emlyn's repute as a sorceress,
+cried out from the shadow that Satan was marrying a witch, and for his
+pains got his head broken by Jeffrey Stokes.
+
+So the white-haired and gentle Father Necton, having first read the
+King's order releasing Thomas from his vows, tied them fast according to
+the ancient rites and blessed them both. At length it was finished, and
+the pair walked from the old church to the Manor Farm, where they were
+to dwell, followed, as was the custom, by a company of their friends
+and well-wishers. As they went they passed through a little stretch of
+woodland by the stream, where on this spring day the wild daffodils and
+lilies of the valley were abloom making sweet the air. Here Emlyn paused
+a moment and said to her husband, Captain Bolle--
+
+"Do you remember this place?"
+
+"Aye, Wife," he answered, "it was here that we plighted our troth in
+youth, and looked up to see Maldon passing us just beyond that same oak,
+and felt the shadow of him strike cold to our hearts. You spoke of it
+yonder in the Priory chapel when I came up by the secret way, and its
+memory made me mad."
+
+"Yes, Thomas, I spoke of it," answered Emlyn in a rich and gentle
+voice, a new voice to him. "Well, now let its memory make you happy, as,
+notwithstanding all my faults, I will if I can," and swiftly she bent
+towards him and kissed him, adding, "Come on, Husband, they press behind
+us and I hope that we have done with perils and plottings."
+
+"Amen," answered Bolle, and as he spoke certain strange men who wore
+the King's colours and carried a long ladder went by them at a distance.
+Wondering what was their business at Blossholme, the pair passed through
+the last of the woodland and reached the rise whence they could see the
+gaunt skeleton of the burnt-out Abbey that appeared within fifty paces
+of them. At this they paused to look, and presently were joined there
+by Christopher and Cicely, Mother Matilda and her good nuns, Jeffrey
+Stokes, and others. The place seemed grim and desolate in the evening
+light, and all of them stood staring at it filled with their separate
+thoughts.
+
+"What is that?" said Cicely, with a start, pointing to a round black
+object new set over the ruin of the gateway tower.
+
+Just then a red ray from the sunset struck upon the thing.
+
+It was the severed head of Clement Maldon the Spaniard.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Lady Of Blossholme, by H. Rider Haggard
+
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diff --git a/old/3813.zip b/old/3813.zip
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+Project Gutenberg Etext The Lady Of Blossholme, by H. Rider Haggard
+#35 in our series by H. Rider Haggard
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+Title:  THE LADY OF BLOSSHOLME
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+Author:  H. Rider Haggard
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+Release Date: March, 2003  [Etext #3813]
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+Etext prepared by John Bickers, jbickers@ihug.co.nz
+and Dagny, dagnyj@hotmail.com
+
+
+
+
+
+THE LADY OF BLOSSHOLME
+
+by H. Rider Haggard
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+SIR JOHN FOTERELL
+
+Who that has ever seen them can forget the ruins of Blossholme Abbey,
+set upon their mount between the great waters of the tidal estuary to
+the north, the rich lands and grazing marshes that, backed with woods,
+border it east and south, and to the west by the rolling uplands,
+merging at last into purple moor, and, far away, the sombre eternal
+hills! Probably the scene has not changed very much since the days of
+Henry VIII, when those things happened of which we have to tell, for
+here no large town has arisen, nor have mines been dug or factories
+built to affront the earth and defile the air with their hideousness
+and smoke.
+
+The village of Blossholme we know has scarcely varied in its
+population, for the old records tell us this, and as there is no
+railway here its aspect must be much the same. Houses built of the
+local grey stone do not readily fall down. The folk of that generation
+walked in and out of the doorways of many of them, although the roofs
+for the most part are now covered with tiles or rough slates in place
+of reeds from the dike. The parish wells also, fitted with iron pumps
+that have superseded the old rollers and buckets, still serve the
+place with drinking-water as they have done since the days of the
+first Edward, and perhaps for centuries before.
+
+Although their use, if not their necessity, has passed away, not far
+from the Abbey gate the stocks and whipping-post, the latter arranged
+with three sets of iron loops fixed at different heights and of
+varying diameters to accommodate the wrists of man, woman, and child,
+may still be found in the middle of the Priests' Green. These stand,
+it will be remembered, under a quaint old roof supported on rough,
+oaken pillars, and surmounted by a weathercock which the monkish fancy
+has fashioned to the shape of the archangel blowing the last trump.
+His clarion or coach-horn, or whatever instrument of music it was he
+blew, has vanished. The parish book records that in the time of George
+I a boy broke it off, melted it down, and was publicly flogged in
+consequence, the last time, apparently, that the whipping-post was
+used. But Gabriel still twists about as manfully as he did when old
+Peter, the famous smith, fashioned and set him up with his own hand in
+the last year of King Henry VIII, as it is said to commemorate the
+fact that on this spot stood the stakes to which Cicely Harflete, Lady
+of Blossholme, and her foster-mother, Emlyn, were chained to be burned
+as witches.
+
+So it is with everything at Blossholme, a place that Time has touched
+but lightly. The fields, or many of them, bear the same names and
+remain identical in their shape and outline. The old farmsteads and
+the few halls in which reside the gentry of the district, stand where
+they always stood. The glorious tower of the Abbey still points
+upwards to the sky, although bells and roof are gone, while half-a-
+mile away the parish church that was there before it--having been
+rebuilt indeed upon Saxon foundations in the days of William Rufus--
+yet lies among its ancient elms. Farther on, situate upon the slope of
+a vale down which runs a brook through meadows, is the stark ruin of
+the old Nunnery that was subservient to the proud Abbey on the hill,
+some of it now roofed in with galvanised iron sheets and used as cow-
+sheds.
+
+It is of this Abbey and this Nunnery and of those who dwelt around
+them in a day bygone, and especially of that fair and persecuted woman
+who came to be known as the Lady of Blossholme, that our story has to
+tell.
+
+
+
+It was dead winter in the year 1535--the 31st of December, indeed. Old
+Sir John Foterell, a white-bearded, red-faced man of about sixty years
+of age, was seated before the log fire in the dining-hall of his great
+house at Shefton, spelling through a letter which had just been
+brought to him from Blossholme Abbey. He mastered it at length, and
+when it was done any one who had been there to look might have seen a
+knight and gentleman of large estate in a rage remarkable even for the
+time of the eighth Henry. He dashed the document to the ground; he
+drank three cups of strong ale, of which he had already had enough, in
+quick succession; he swore a number of the best oaths of the period,
+and finally, in the most expressive language, he consigned the body of
+the Abbot of Blossholme to the gallows and his soul to hell.
+
+"He claims my lands, does he?" he exclaimed, shaking his fist in the
+direction of Blossholme. "What does the rogue say? That the abbot who
+went before him parted with them to my grandfather for no good
+consideration, but under fear and threats. Now, writes he, this
+Secretary Cromwell, whom they call Vicar-General, has declared that
+the said transfer was without the law, and that I must hand over the
+said lands to the Abbey of Blossholme on or before Candlemas! What was
+Cromwell paid to sign that order with no inquiry made, I wonder?"
+
+Sir John poured out and drank a fourth cup of ale, then set to walking
+up and down the hall. Presently he halted in front of the fire and
+addressed it as though it were his enemy.
+
+"You are a clever fellow, Clement Maldon; they tell me that all
+Spaniards are, and you were taught your craft at Rome and sent here
+for a purpose. You began as nothing, and now you are Abbot of
+Blossholme, and, if the King had not faced the Pope, would be more.
+But you forget yourself at times, for the Southern blood is hot, and
+when the wine is in, the truth is out. There were certain words you
+spoke not a year ago before me and other witnesses of which I will
+remind you presently. Perhaps when Secretary Cromwell learns them he
+will cancel his gift of my lands, and mayhap lift that plotting head
+of yours up higher. I'll go remind you of them."
+
+Sir John strode to the door and shouted; it would not be too much to
+say that he bellowed like a bull. It opened after a while, and a
+serving-man appeared, a bow-legged, sturdy-looking fellow with a shock
+of black hair.
+
+"Why are you not quicker, Jeffrey Stokes?" he asked. "Must I wait your
+pleasure from noon to night?"
+
+"I came as fast as I could, master. Why, then, do you rate me?"
+
+"Would you argue with me, fellow? Do it again and I will have you tied
+to a post and lashed."
+
+"Lash yourself, master, and let out the choler and good ale, which you
+need to do," replied Jeffrey in his gruff voice. "There be some men
+who never know when they are well served, and such are apt to come to
+ill and lonely ends. What is your pleasure? I'll do it if I can, and
+if not, do it yourself."
+
+Sir John lifted his hand as though to strike him, then let it fall
+again.
+
+"I like one who braves me to my teeth," he said more gently, "and that
+was ever your nature. Take it not ill, man; I was angered, and have
+cause to be."
+
+"The anger I see, but not the cause, though, as a monk came from the
+Abbey but now, perhaps I can hazard a guess."
+
+"Aye, that's it, that's it, Jeffrey. Hark; I ride to yonder crows'-
+nest, and at once. Saddle me a horse."
+
+"Good, master. I'll saddle two horses."
+
+"Two? I said one. Fool, can I ride a pair at once, like a mountebank?"
+
+"I know not, but you can ride one and I another. When the Abbot of
+Blossholme visits Sir John Foterell of Shefton he comes with hawk on
+wrist, with chaplains and pages, and ten stout men-at-arms, of whom he
+keeps more of late than a priest would seem to need about him. When
+Sir John Foterell visits the Abbot of Blossholme, at least he should
+have one serving-man at his back to hold his nag and bear him
+witness."
+
+Sir John looked at him shrewdly.
+
+"I called you fool," he said, "but you are none except in looks. Do as
+you will, Jeffrey, but be swift. Stop. Where is my daughter?"
+
+"The Lady Cicely sits in her parlour. I saw her sweet face at the
+window but now staring out at the snow as though she thought to see a
+ghost in it."
+
+"Um," grunted Sir John, "the ghost she thinks to see rides a grand
+grey mare, stands over six feet high, has a jolly face, and a pair of
+arms well made for sword and shield, or to clip a girl in. Yet that
+ghost must be laid, Jeffrey."
+
+"Pity if so, master. Moreover, you may find it hard. Ghost-laying is a
+priest's job, and when maids' waists are willing, men's arms reach
+far."
+
+"Be off, sirrah," roared Sir John, and Jeffrey went.
+
+Ten minutes later they were riding for the Abbey, three miles away,
+and within half-an-hour Sir John was knocking, not gently, at its
+gate, while the monks within ran to and fro like startled ants, for
+the times were rough, and they were not sure who threatened them. When
+they knew their visitor at last they set to work to unbar the great
+doors and let down the drawbridge, that had been hoist up at sunset.
+
+Presently Sir John stood in the Abbot's chamber, warming himself at
+the great fire, and behind him stood his serving-man, Jeffrey,
+carrying his long cloak. It was a fine room, with a noble roof of
+carved chestnut wood and stone walls hung with costly tapestry,
+whereon were worked scenes from the Scriptures. The floor was hid with
+rich carpets made of coloured Eastern wools. The furniture also was
+rich and foreign-looking, being inlaid with ivory and silver, while on
+the table stood a golden crucifix, a miracle of art, and upon an
+easel, so that the light from a hanging silver lamp fell on it, a
+life-sized picture of the Magdalene by some great Italian painter,
+turning her beauteous eyes to heaven and beating her fair breast.
+
+Sir John looked about him and sniffed.
+
+"Now, Jeffrey, would you think that you were in a monk's cell or in
+some great dame's bower? Hunt under the table, man; sure, you will
+find her lute and needlework. Whose portrait is that, think you?" and
+he pointed to the Magdalene.
+
+"A sinner turning saint, I think, master. Good company for laymen when
+she was sinner, and good for priests now that she is saint. For the
+rest, I could snore well here after a cup of yon red wine," and he
+jerked his thumb towards a long-necked bottle on a sideboard. "Also,
+the fire burns bright, which is not to be wondered at, seeing that it
+is made of dry oak from your Sticksley Wood."
+
+"How know you that, Jeffrey?" asked Sir John.
+
+"By the grain of it, master--by the grain of it. I have hewn too many
+a timber there not to know. There's that in the Sticksley clays which
+makes the rings grow wavy and darker at the heart. See there."
+
+Sir John looked, and swore an angry oath.
+
+"You are right, man; and now I come to think of it, when I was a
+little lad my old grandsire bade me note this very thing about the
+Sticksley oaks. These cursed monks waste my woods beneath my nose. My
+forester is a rogue. They have scared or bribed him, and he shall hang
+for it."
+
+"First prove the crime, master, which won't be easy; then talk of
+hanging, which only kings and abbots, 'with right of gallows,' can do
+at will. Ah! you speak truth," he added in a changed voice; "it is a
+lovely chamber, though not good enough for the holy man who dwells in
+it, since such a saint should have a silver shrine like him before the
+altar yonder, as doubtless he will do when ere long he is old bones,"
+and, as though by chance, he trod upon his lord's foot, which was
+somewhat gouty.
+
+Round came Sir John like the Blossholme weathercock on a gusty day.
+
+"Clumsy toad!" he yelled, then paused, for there within the arras,
+that had been lifted silently, stood a tall, tonsured figure clothed
+in rich furs, and behind him two other figures, also tonsured, in
+simple black robes. It was the Abbot with his chaplains.
+
+"Benedicite!" said the Abbot in his soft, foreign voice, lifting the
+two fingers of his right hand in blessing.
+
+"Good-day," answered Sir John, while his retainer bowed his head and
+crossed himself. "Why do you steal upon a man like a thief in the
+night, holy Father?" he added irritably.
+
+"That is how we are told judgment shall come, my son," answered the
+Abbot, smiling; "and in truth there seems some need of it. We heard
+loud quarrelling and talk of hanging men. What is your argument?"
+
+"A hard one of oak," answered old Sir John sullenly. "My servant here
+said those logs upon your fire came from my Sticksley Wood, and I
+answered him that if so they were stolen, and my reeve should hang for
+it."
+
+"The worthy man is right, my son, and yet your forester deserves no
+punishment. I bought our scanty store of firing from him, and, to tell
+truth, the count has not yet been paid. The money that should have
+discharged it has gone to London, so I asked him to let it stand until
+the summer rents come in. Blame him not, Sir John, if, out of
+friendship, knowing it was naught to you, he has not bared the
+nakedness of our poor house."
+
+"Is it the nakedness of your poor house"--and he glanced round the
+sumptuous chamber--"that caused you to send me this letter saying that
+you have Cromwell's writ to seize my lands?" asked Sir John, rushing
+at his grievance like a bull, and casting down the document upon the
+table; "or do you also mean to make payment for them--when your summer
+rents come in?"
+
+"Nay, son. In that matter duty led me. For twenty years we have
+disputed of those estates which, as you know, your grandsire took from
+us in a time of trouble, thus cutting the Abbey lands in twain,
+against the protest of him who was Abbot in those days. Therefore, at
+last I laid the matter before the Vicar-General, who, I hear, has been
+pleased to decide the suit in favour of this Abbey."
+
+"To decide a suit of which the defendant had no notice!" exclaimed Sir
+John. "My Lord Abbot, this is not justice; it is roguery that I will
+never bear. Did you decide aught else, pray you?"
+
+"Since you ask it--something, my son. To save costs I laid before him
+the sundry points at issue between us, and in sum this is the
+judgment: Your title to all your Blossholme lands and those
+contiguous, totalling eight thousand acres, is not voided, yet it is
+held to be tainted and doubtful."
+
+"God's blood! Why?" asked Sir John.
+
+"My son, I will tell you," replied the Abbot gently. "Because within a
+hundred years they belonged to this Abbey by gift of the Crown, and
+there is no record that the Crown consented to their alienation."
+
+"No record," exclaimed Sir John, "when I have the indentured deed in
+my strong-box, signed by my great-grandfather and the Abbot Frank
+Ingham! No record, when my said forefather gave you other lands in
+place of them which you now hold? But go on, holy priest."
+
+"My son, I obey you. Your title, though pronounced so doubtful, is not
+utterly voided; yet it is held that you have all these lands as tenant
+of this Abbey, to which, should you die without issue, they will
+relapse. Or should you die with issue under age, such issue will be
+ward to the Abbot of Blossholme for the time being, and failing him,
+that is, if there were no Abbot and no Abbey, of the Crown."
+
+Sir John listened, then sank back into a chair, while his face went
+white as ashes.
+
+"Show me that judgment," he said slowly.
+
+"It is not yet engrossed, my son. Within ten days or so I hope---- But
+you seem faint. The warmth of this room after the cold outer air,
+perhaps. Drink a cup of our poor wine," and at a motion of his hand
+one of the chaplains stepped to the sideboard, filled a goblet from
+the long-necked flask that stood there, and brought it to Sir John.
+
+He took it as one that knows not what he does, then suddenly threw the
+silver cup and its contents into the fire, whence a chaplain recovered
+it with the wood-tongs.
+
+"It seems that you priests are my heirs," said Sir John in a new,
+quiet voice, "or so you say; and, if that is so, my life is likely to
+be short. I'll not drink your wine, lest it should be poisoned.
+Hearken now, Sir Abbot. I believe little of this tale, though
+doubtless by bribes and other means you have done your best to harm me
+behind my back up yonder in London. Well, to-morrow at the dawn, come
+fair weather or come foul, I ride through the snows to London, where I
+too have friends, and we will see, we will see. You are a clever man,
+Abbot Maldon, and I know that you need money, or its worth, to pay
+your men-at-arms and satisfy the great costs at which you live--and
+there are our famous jewels--yes, yes, the old Crusader jewels.
+Therefore you have sought to rob me, whom you ever hated, and
+perchance Cromwell has listened to your tale. Perchance, fool priest,"
+he added slowly, "he had it in his mind to fat this Church goose of
+yours with my meal before he wrings its neck and cooks it."
+
+At these words the Abbot started for the first time, and even the two
+impassive chaplains glanced at each other.
+
+"Ah! does that touch you?" asked Sir John Foterell. "Well, then, here
+is what shall make you smart. You think yourself in favour at the
+Court, do you not? because you took the oath of succession which
+braver men, like the brethren of the Charterhouse, refused, and died
+for it. But you forget the words you said to me when the wine you love
+had a hold of you in my hall----"
+
+"Silence! For your own sake, silence, Sir John Foterell!" broke in the
+Abbot. "You go too far."
+
+"Not so far as you shall go, my Lord Abbot, ere I have done with you.
+Not so far as Tower Hill or Tyburn, thither to be hung and quartered
+as a traitor to his Grace. I tell you, you forget the words you spoke,
+but I will remind you of them. Did you not say to me when the guests
+had gone, that King Henry was a heretic, a tyrant, and an infidel whom
+the Pope would do well to excommunicate and depose? Did you not, when
+I led you on, ask me if I could not bring about a rising of the common
+people in these parts, among whom I have great power, and of those
+gentry who know and love me, to overthrow him, and in his place set up
+a certain Cardinal Pole, and for the deed promise me the pardon and
+absolution of the Pope, and much advancement in his name and that of
+the Spanish Emperor?"
+
+"Never," answered the Abbot.
+
+"And did I not," went on Sir John, taking no note of his denial, "did
+I not refuse to listen to you and tell you that your words were
+traitorous, and that had they been spoken otherwhere than in my house,
+I, as in duty bound by my office, would make report of them? Aye, and
+have you not from that hour striven to undo me, whom you fear?"
+
+"I deny it all," said the Abbot again. "These be but empty lies bred
+of your malice, Sir John Foterell."
+
+"Empty words, are they, my Lord Abbot! Well, I tell you that they are
+all written down and signed in due form. I tell you I had witnesses
+you knew naught of who heard them with their ears. Here stands one of
+them behind my chair. Is it not so, Jeffrey?"
+
+"Aye, master," answered the serving-man. "I chanced to be in the
+little chamber beyond the wainscot with others waiting to escort the
+Abbot home, and heard them all, and afterward I and they put our marks
+upon the writing. As I am a Christian man that is so, though, master,
+this is not the place that I should have chosen to speak of it,
+however much I might be wronged."
+
+"It will serve my turn," said the enraged knight, "though it is true
+that I will speak of it louder elsewhere, namely, before the King's
+Council. To-morrow, my Lord Abbot, this paper and I go to London, and
+then you shall learn how well it pays you to try to pluck a Foterell
+of his own."
+
+Now it was the Abbot's turn to be frightened. His smooth, olive-
+coloured cheeks sank in and went white, as though already he felt the
+cord about his throat. His jewelled hand shook, and he caught the arm
+of one of his chaplains and hung to it.
+
+"Man," he hissed, "do you think that you can utter such false threats
+and go hence to ruin me, a consecrated abbot? I have dungeons here; I
+have power. It will be said that you attacked me, and that I did but
+strive to defend myself. Others can bring witness besides you, Sir
+John," and he whispered some words in Latin or Spanish into the ear of
+one of his chaplains, whereon that priest turned to leave the room.
+
+"Now it seems that we are getting to business," said Jeffrey Stokes,
+as, lying his hand upon the knife at his girdle, he slipped between
+the monk and the door.
+
+"That's it, Jeffrey," cried Sir John. "Stop the rat's hole. Look you,
+Spaniard, I have a sword. Show me to your gate, or, by virtue of the
+King's commission that I hold, I do instant justice on you as a
+traitor, and afterward answer for it if I win out."
+
+The Abbot considered a moment, taking the measure of the fierce old
+knight before him. Then he said slowly--
+
+"Go as you came, in peace, O man of wrath and evil, but know that the
+curse of the Church shall follow you. I say that you stand near to
+ill."
+
+Sir John looked at him. The anger went out of his face, and, instead,
+upon it appeared something strange--a breath of foresight, an
+inspiration, call it what you will.
+
+"By heaven and all its saints! I think you are right, Clement Maldon,"
+he muttered. "Beneath that black dress of yours you are a man like the
+rest of us, are you not? You have a heart, you have members, you have
+a brain to think with; you are a fiddle for God to play on, and
+however much your superstitions mask and alter it, out of those
+strings now and again will come some squeak of truth. Well, I am
+another fiddle, of a more honest sort, mayhap, though I do not lift
+two fingers of my right hand and say, 'Benedicite, my son,' and 'Your
+sins are forgiven you'; and just now the God of both of us plays His
+tune in me, and I will tell you what it is. I stand near to death, but
+you stand not far from the gallows. I'll die an honest man; you will
+die like a dog, false to everything, and afterwards let your beads and
+your masses and your saints help you if they can. We'll talk it over
+when we meet again elsewhere. And now, my Lord Abbot, lead me to your
+gate, remembering that I follow with my sword. Jeffrey, set those
+carrion crow in front of you, and watch them well. My Lord Abbot, I am
+your servant; march!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+THE MURDER BY THE MERE
+
+For a while Sir John and his retainer rode in silence. Then he laughed
+loudly.
+
+"Jeffrey," he called, "that was a near touch. Sir Priest was minded to
+stick his Spanish pick-tooth between our ribs, and shrive us
+afterwards, as we lay dying, to salve his conscience."
+
+"Yes, master; only, being reasonable, he remembered that English
+swords have a longer reach, and that his bullies are in the Ford ale-
+house seeing the Old Year out, and so put it off. Master, I have
+always told you that old October of yours is too strong to drink at
+noon. It should be saved till bed-time."
+
+"What do you mean, man?"
+
+"I mean that ale spoke yonder, not wisdom. You have showed your hand
+and played the fool."
+
+"Who are you to teach me?" asked Sir John angrily. "I meant that he
+should hear the truth for once, the slimy traitor."
+
+"Perhaps, perhaps; but these be bad days for Truth and those who court
+her. Was it needful to tell him that to-morrow you journey to London
+upon a certain errand?"
+
+"Why not? I'll be there before him."
+
+"Will you ever be there, master? The road runs past the Abbey, and
+that priest has good ruffians in his pay who can hold their tongues."
+
+"Do you mean that he will waylay me? I say he dare not. Still, to
+please you, we will take the longer path through the forest."
+
+"A rough one, master; but who goes with you on this business? Most of
+us are away with the wains, and others make holiday. There are but
+three serving-men at the hall, and you cannot leave the Lady Cicely
+without a guard, or take her with you through this cold. Remember
+there's wealth yonder which some may need more even than your lands,"
+he added meaningly. "Wait a while, then, till your people return or
+you can call up your tenants, and go to London as one of your quality
+should, with twenty good men at your back."
+
+"And so give our friend the Abbot time to get Cromwell's ear, and
+through him that of the King. No, no; I ride to-morrow at the dawn
+with you, or, if you are afraid, without you, as I have done before
+and taken no harm."
+
+"None shall say that Jeffrey Stokes is afraid of man or priest or
+devil," answered the old soldier, colouring. "Your road has been good
+enough for me this thirty years, and it is good enough now. If I
+warned you it was not for my own sake, who care little what comes, but
+for yours and that of your house."
+
+"I know it," said Sir John more kindly. "Take not my words ill, my
+temper is up to-day. Thank the saints! here is the hall at last. Why!
+whose horse has passed the gates before us?"
+
+Jeffrey glanced at the tracks which the moonlight showed very clearly
+in the new-fallen snow.
+
+"Sir Christopher Harflete's grey mare," he said. "I know the shoeing
+and the round shape of the hoof. Doubtless he is visiting Mistress
+Cicely."
+
+"Whom I have forbidden to him," grumbled Sir John, swinging himself
+from the saddle.
+
+"Forbid him not," answered Jeffrey, as he took his horse. "Christopher
+Harflete may yet be a good friend to a maid in need, and I think that
+need is nigh."
+
+"Mind your business, knave," shouted Sir John. "Am I to be set at
+naught in my own house by a chit of a girl and a gallant who would
+mend his broken fortunes?"
+
+"If you ask me, I think so," replied the imperturbable Jeffrey, as he
+led away the horses.
+
+Sir John strode into the house by the backway, which opened on to the
+stable-yard. Taking the lantern that stood by the door, he went along
+galleries and upstairs to the sitting-chamber above the hall, which,
+since her mother's death, his daughter had used as her own, for here
+he guessed that he would find her. Setting down the lantern upon the
+passage table, he pushed open the door, which was not latched, and
+entered.
+
+The room was large, and, being lighted only by the great fire that
+burned upon the hearth and two candles, all this end of it was hid in
+shadow. Near to the deep window-place the shadow ceased, however, and
+here, seated in a high-backed oak chair, with the light of the blazing
+fire falling full upon her, was Cicely Foterell, Sir John's only
+surviving child. She was a tall and graceful maiden, blue-eyed, brown-
+haired, fair-skinned, with a round and child-like face which most
+people thought beautiful to look upon. Just now this face, that
+generally was so arch and cheerful, seemed somewhat troubled. For this
+there might be a reason, since, seated upon a stool at her side, was a
+young man talking to her earnestly.
+
+He was a stalwart young man, very broad about the shoulders, clean-cut
+in feature, with a long, straight nose, black hair, and merry black
+eyes. Also, as such a gallant should do, he appeared to be making love
+with much vigour and directness, for his face was upturned pleading
+with the girl, who leaned back in her chair answering him nothing. At
+this moment, indeed, his copious flow of words came to an end, perhaps
+from exhaustion, perhaps for other reasons, and was succeeded by a
+more effective method of attack. Suddenly sinking from the stool to
+his knees, he took the unresisting hand of Cicely and kissed it
+several times; then, emboldened by his success, threw his long arms
+about her, and before Sir John, choked with indignation, could find
+words to stop him, drew her towards him and treated her red lips as he
+had treated her fingers. This rude proceeding seemed to break the
+spell that bound her, for she pushed back the chair and, escaping from
+his grasp, rose, saying in a broken voice----
+
+"Oh! Christopher, dear Christopher, this is most wrong."
+
+"May be," he answered. "So long as you love me I care not what it is."
+
+"That you have known these two years, Christopher. I love you well,
+but, alas! my father will have none of you. Get you hence now, ere he
+returns, or we both shall pay for it, and I, perhaps, be sent to a
+nunnery where no man may come."
+
+"Nay, sweet, I am here to ask his consent to my suit----"
+
+Then at last Sir John broke out.
+
+"To ask my consent to your suit, you dishonest knave!" he roared from
+the darkness; whereat Cicely sank back into her chair looking as
+though she would faint, and the strong Christopher staggered like a
+man pierced by an arrow. "First to take my girl and hug her before my
+very eyes, and then, when the mischief is done, to ask my consent to
+your suit!" and he rushed at them like a charging bull.
+
+Cicely rose to fly, then, seeing no escape, took refuge in her lover's
+arms. Her infuriated father seized the first part of her that came to
+his hand, which chanced to be one of her long brown plaits of hair,
+and tugged at it till she cried out with pain, purposing to tear her
+away, at which sight and sound Christopher lost his temper also.
+
+"Leave go of the maid, sir," he said in a low, fierce voice, "or, by
+God! I'll make you."
+
+"Leave go of the maid?" gasped Sir John. "Why, who holds her tightest,
+you or I? Do you leave go of her."
+
+"Yes, yes, Christopher," she whispered, "ere I am pulled in two."
+
+Then he obeyed, lifting her into the chair, but her father still kept
+his hold of the brown tress.
+
+"Now, Sir Christopher," he said, "I am minded to put my sword through
+you."
+
+"And pierce your daughter's heart as well as mine. Well, do it if you
+will, and when we are dead and you are childless, weep yourself and go
+to the grave."
+
+"Oh! father, father," broke in Cicely, who knew the old man's temper,
+and feared the worst, "in justice and in pity, listen to me. All my
+heart is Christopher's, and has been from a child. With him I shall
+have happiness, without him black despair; and that is his case too,
+or so he swears. Why, then, should you part us? Is he not a proper man
+and of good lineage, and name unstained? Until of late did you not
+ever favour him much and let us be together day by day? And now, when
+it is too late, you deny him. Oh! why, why?"
+
+"You know why well enough, girl? Because I have chosen another husband
+for you. The Lord Despard is taken with your baby face, and would
+marry you. But this morning I had it under his own hand."
+
+"The Lord Despard?" gasped Cicely. "Why, he only buried his second
+wife last month! Father, he is as old as you are, and drunken, and has
+grandchildren of well-nigh my age. I would obey you in all things, but
+never will I go to him alive."
+
+"And never shall he live to take you," muttered Christopher.
+
+"What matter his years, daughter? He is a sound man, and has no son,
+and should one be born to him, his will be the greatest heritage
+within three shires. Moreover, I need his friendship, who have bitter
+enemies. But enough of this. Get you gone, Christopher, before worse
+befall you."
+
+"So be it, sir, I will go; but first, as an honest man and my father's
+friend, and, as I thought, my own, answer me one question. Why have
+you changed your tune to me of late? Am I not the same Christopher
+Harflete I was a year or two ago? And have I done aught to lower me in
+the world's eye or in yours?"
+
+"No, lad," answered the old knight bluntly; "but since you will have
+it, here it is. Within that year or two your uncle whose heir you were
+has married and bred a son, and now you are but a gentleman of good
+name, and little to float it on. That big house of yours must go to
+the hammer, Christopher. You'll never stow a bride in it."
+
+"Ah! I thought as much. Christopher Harflete with the promise of the
+Lesborough lands was one man; Christopher Harflete without them is
+another--in your eyes. Yet, sir, I hold you foolish. I love your
+daughter and she loves me, and those lands and more may come back, or
+I, who am no fool, will win others. Soon there will be plenty going up
+there at Court, where I am known. Further, I tell you this: I believe
+that I shall marry Cicely, and earlier than you think, and I would
+have had your blessing with her."
+
+"What! Will you steal the girl away?" asked Sir John furiously.
+
+"By no means, sir. But this is a strange world of ours, in which from
+hour to hour top becomes bottom, and bottom top, and there--I think I
+shall marry her. At least I am sure that Despard the sot never will,
+for I'll kill him first, if I hang for it. Sir, sir, surely you will
+not throw your pearl upon that muckheap. Better crush it beneath your
+heel at once. Look, and say you cannot do it," and he pointed to the
+pathetic figure of Cicely, who stood by them with clasped hands,
+panting breast, and a face of agony.
+
+The old knight glanced at her out of the corners of his eyes, and saw
+something that moved him to pity, for at bottom his heart was honest,
+and though he treated her so roughly, as was the fashion of the times,
+he loved his daughter more than all the world.
+
+"Who are you, that would teach me my duty to my bone and blood?" he
+grumbled. Then he thought a while, and added, "Hear me, now,
+Christopher Harflete. To-morrow at the dawn I ride to London with
+Jeffrey Stokes on a somewhat risky business."
+
+"What business, sir?"
+
+"If you would know--that of a quarrel with yonder Spanish rogue of an
+Abbot, who claims the best part of my lands, and has poisoned the ear
+of that upstart, the Vicar-General Cromwell. I go to take the deeds
+and prove him a liar and a traitor also, which Cromwell does not know.
+Now, is my nest safe from you while I am away? Give me your word, and
+I'll believe you, for at least you are an honest gentleman, and if you
+have poached a kiss or two, that may be forgiven. Others have done the
+same before you were born. Give me your word, or I must drag the girl
+through the snows to London at my heels."
+
+"You have it, sir," answered Christopher. "If she needs my company she
+must come for it to Cranwell Towers, for I'll not seek hers while you
+are away."
+
+"Good. Then one gift for another. I'll not answer my Lord of Despard's
+letter till I get back again--not to please you, but because I hate
+writing. It is a labour to me, and I have no time to spare to-night.
+Now, have a cup of drink and be off with you. Love-making is thirsty
+work."
+
+"Aye, gladly, sir, but hear me, hear me. Ride not to London with such
+slight attendance after a quarrel with Abbot Maldon. Let me wait on
+you. Although my fortunes be so low I can bring a man or two--six or
+eight, indeed--while yours are away with the wains."
+
+"Never, Christopher. My own hand has guarded my head these sixty
+years, and can do so still. Also," he added, with a flash of insight,
+"as you say, the journey is dangerous, and who knows? If aught went
+wrong, you might be wanted nearer home. Christopher, you shall never
+have my girl; she's not for you. Yet, perhaps, if need were, you would
+strike a blow for her even if it made you excommunicate. Get hence,
+wench. Why do you stand there gaping on us, like an owl in sunlight?
+And remember, if I catch you at more such tricks, you'll spend your
+days mumbling at prayers in a nunnery, and much good may they do you."
+
+"At least I should find peace there, and gentle words," answered
+Cicely with spirit, for she knew her father, and the worst of her fear
+had departed. "Only, sir, I did not know that you wished to swell the
+wealth of the Abbots of Blossholme."
+
+"Swell their wealth!" roared her father. "Nay, I'll stretch their
+necks. Get you to your chamber, and send up Jeffrey with the liquor."
+
+Then, having no choice, Cicely curtseyed, first to her father and next
+to Christopher, to whom she sent a message with her eyes that she
+dared not utter with her lips, and so vanished into the shadows, where
+presently she was heard stumbling against some article of furniture.
+
+"Show the maid a light, Christopher," said Sir John, who, lost in his
+own thoughts, was now gazing into the fire.
+
+Seizing one of the two candles, Christopher sprang after her like a
+hound after a hare, and presently the pair of them passed through the
+door and down the long passage beyond. At a turn in it they halted,
+and once more, without word spoken, she found her way into those long
+arms.
+
+"You will not forget me, even if we must part?" sobbed Cicely.
+
+"Nay, sweet," he answered. "Moreover, keep a brave heart; we do not
+part for long, for God has given us to each other. Your father does
+not mean all he says, and his temper, which has been stirred to-day,
+will soften. If not, we must look to ourselves. I keep a swift horse
+or two, Cicely. Could you ride one if need were?"
+
+"I have ever loved riding," she said meaningly.
+
+"Good. Then you shall never go to that fat hog's sty, for I'll stick
+him first. And I have friends both in Scotland and in France. Which
+like you best?"
+
+"They say the air of France is softer. Now, away from me, or one will
+come to seek us," and they tore themselves apart.
+
+"Emlyn, your foster-mother, is to be trusted," he said rapidly; "also
+she loves me well. If there be need, let me hear of you through her."
+
+"Aye," she answered, "without fail," and glided from him like a ghost.
+
+"Have you been waiting to see the moon rise?" asked Sir John, glancing
+at Christopher from beneath his shaggy eyebrows as he returned.
+
+"Nay, sir, but the passages in this old house of yours are most
+wondrous long, and I took a wrong turn in threading them."
+
+"Oh!" said Sir John. "Well, you have a talent for wrong turns, and
+such partings are hard. Now, do you understand that this is the last
+of them?"
+
+"I understand that you may say so, sir."
+
+"And that I mean it, too, I hope. Listen, Christopher," he added, with
+earnestness, but in a kindly voice. "Believe me, I like you well, and
+would not give you pain, or the maid yonder, if I could help it. Yet I
+have no choice. I am threatened on all sides by priest and king, and
+you have lost your heritage. She is the only jewel that I can pawn,
+and for your own safety's sake and her children's sake, must marry
+well. Yonder Despard will not live long, he drinks too hard; and then
+your day may come, if you still care for his leavings--perhaps in two
+years, perhaps in less, for she will soon see him out. Now, let us
+talk no more of the matter, but if aught befalls me, be a friend to
+her. Here comes the liquor--drink it up and be off. Though I seem
+rough with you, my hope is that you may quaff many another cup at
+Shefton."
+
+
+
+It was seven o'clock of the next morning, and Sir John, having eaten
+his breakfast, was girding on his sword--for Jeffrey had already gone
+to fetch the horses--when the door opened and his daughter entered the
+great hall, candle in hand, wrapped in a fur cloak, over which her
+long hair fell. Glancing at her, Sir John noted that her eyes were
+wide and frightened.
+
+"What is it now, girl?" he asked. "You'll take your death of cold
+among these draughts."
+
+"Oh! father," she said, kissing him, "I came to bid you farewell, and
+--and--to pray you not to start."
+
+"Not to start? And why?"
+
+"Because, father, I have dreamed a bad dream. At first last night I
+could not sleep, and when at length I did I dreamed that dream
+thrice," and she paused.
+
+"Go on, Cicely; I am not afraid of dreams, which are but foolishness--
+coming from the stomach."
+
+"Mayhap; yet, father, it was so plain and clear I can scarcely bear to
+tell it to you. I stood in a dark place amidst black things that I
+knew to be trees. Then the red dawn broke upon the snow, and I saw a
+little pool with brown rushes frozen in its ice. And there--there, at
+the edge of the pool, by a pollard willow with one white limb, you
+lay, your bare sword in your hand and an arrow in your neck, shot from
+behind, while in the trunk of the willow were other arrows, and lying
+near you two slain. Then cloaked men came as though to carry them
+away, and I awoke. I say I dreamed it thrice."
+
+"A jolly good morrow indeed," said Sir John, turning a shade paler.
+"And now, daughter, what do you make of this business?"
+
+"I? Oh! I make that you should stop at home and send some one else to
+do your business. Sir Christopher, for instance."
+
+"Why, then I should baulk your dream, which is either true or false.
+If true, I have no choice, it must be fulfilled; if false, why should
+I heed it? Cicely, I am a plain man and take no note of such fancies.
+Yet I have enemies, and it may well chance that my day is done. If so,
+use your mother wit, girl; beware of Maldon, look to yourself, and as
+for your mother's jewels, hide them," and he turned to go.
+
+She clasped him by the arm.
+
+"In that sad case what should I do, father?" she asked eagerly.
+
+He stopped and stared at her up and down.
+
+"I see that you believe in your dream," he said, "and therefore,
+although it shall not stay a Foterell, I begin to believe in it too.
+In that case you have a lover whom I have forbid to you. Yet he is a
+man after my own heart, who would deal well by you. If I die, my game
+is played. Set your own anew, sweet Cicely, and set it soon, ere that
+Abbot is at your heels. Rough as I may have been, remember me with
+kindness, and God's blessing and mine be on you. Hark! Jeffrey calls,
+and if they stand, the horses will take cold. There, fare you well.
+Fear not for me, I wear a chain shirt beneath my cloak. Get back to
+bed and warm you," and he kissed her on the brow, thrust her from him
+and was gone.
+
+Thus did Cicely and her father part--for ever.
+
+
+
+All that day Sir John and Jeffrey, his serving-man, trotted forward
+through the snow--that is, when they were not obliged to walk because
+of the depth of the drifts. Their plan was to reach a certain farm in
+a glade of the woodland within two hours of sundown, and sleep there,
+for they had taken the forest path, leaving again for the Fens and
+Cambridge at the dawn. This, however, proved not possible because of
+the exceeding badness of the road. So it came about that when the
+darkness closed in on them a little before five o'clock, bringing with
+it a cold, moaning wind and a scurry of snow, they were obliged to
+shelter in a faggot-built woodman's hut, waiting for the moon to
+appear among the clouds. Here they fed the horses with corn that they
+had brought with them, and themselves also from their store of dried
+meat and barley cakes, which Jeffrey carried on his shoulder in a bag.
+It was a poor meal eaten thus in the darkness, but served to stay
+their stomachs and pass away the time.
+
+At length a ray of light pierced the doorway of the hut.
+
+"She's up," said Sir John, "let us be going ere the nags grow stiff."
+
+Making no answer, Jeffrey slipped the bits back into the horses'
+mouths and led them out. Now the full moon had appeared like a great
+white eye between two black banks of cloud and turned the world to
+silver. It was a dreary scene on which she shone; a dazzling plain of
+snow, broken by patches of hawthorns, and here and there by the gaunt
+shape of a pollard oak, since this being the outskirt of the forest,
+folk came hither to lop the tops of the trees for firing. A hundred
+and fifty yards away or so, at the crest of a slope, was a round-
+shaped hill, made, not by Nature, but by man. None knew what that hill
+might be, but tradition said that once, hundreds or thousands of years
+before, a big battle had been fought around it in which a king was
+killed, and that his victorious army had raised this mound above his
+bones to be a memorial for ever.
+
+The story was indeed that, being a sea-king, they had built a boat or
+dragged it thither from the river shore and set him in it with all the
+slain for rowers; also that he might be seen at nights seated on his
+horse in armour, and staring about him, as when he directed the
+battle. At least it is true that the mount was called King's Grave,
+and that people feared to pass it after sundown.
+
+As Jeffrey Stokes was holding his master's stirrup for him to mount,
+he uttered an exclamation and pointed. Following the line of his
+outstretched hand, in the clear moonlight Sir John saw a man, who sat,
+still as any statue, upon a horse on the very point of King's Grave.
+He appeared to be covered with a long cloak, but above it his helmet
+glittered like silver. Next moment a fringe of black cloud hid the
+face of the moon, and when it passed away the man and horse were gone.
+
+"What did that fellow there?" asked Sir John.
+
+"Fellow?" answered Jeffrey in a shaken voice, "I saw none. That was
+the Ghost of the Grave. My grandfather met him ere he came to his end
+in the forest, none know how, for the wolves, of which there were
+plenty in his day, picked his bones clean, and so have many others for
+hundreds of years; always just before their doom. He is an ill fowl,
+that Ghost of the Grave, and those who clap eyes on him do wisely to
+turn their horses' heads homewards, as I would to-night if I had my
+way, master."
+
+"What use, Jeffrey? If the sight of him means death, death will come.
+Moreover, I believe nothing of the tale. Your ghost was some forest
+reeve or herdsman."
+
+"A forest reeve or herdsman who wanders about in a steel helm on a
+fine horse in snow-time when there are no trees to cut or cattle to
+mind! Well, have it as you will, master; only God save me from such
+reeves and herdmen, for I think they hail from hell."
+
+"Then he was a spy watching whither we go," answered Sir John angrily.
+
+"If so, who sent him? The Abbot of Blossholme? In that case I would
+sooner meet the devil, for this means mischief. I say that we had
+better ride back to Shefton."
+
+"Then do so, Jeffrey, if you are scared, and I will go on alone, who,
+being on an honest business, fear not Satan or an abbot, either."
+
+"Nay, master. Many a year ago, when we were younger, I stood by you on
+Flodden Field when Sir Edward, Christopher Harflete's father, was
+killed at our side, and those red-bearded Scotch bare-breeks pressed
+us hard, yet I never itched to turn my back, even after that great
+fellow with an axe got you down, and we thought that all was lost.
+Then shall I do so now?--though it is true that I fear yon goblin more
+than all the Highlanders beyond the Tweed. Ride on; man can die but
+once, and for my part I care not when it comes, who have little to
+lose in an ill world."
+
+So without more words they started forward, peering about them as they
+went. Soon the forest thickened, and the track they followed wound its
+way round great trunks of primeval oaks, or the edges of bog-holes, or
+through brakes of thorns. Hard enough it was to find it at times,
+since the snow made it one with the bordering ground, and the gloom of
+the oaks was great. But Jeffrey was a woodman born, and from his
+childhood had known the shape of every tree in that waste, so that
+they held safely to their road. Well would it have been for them if
+they had not!
+
+They came to a place where three other tracks crossed that which they
+rode upon, and here Jeffrey Stokes, who was ahead, held up his hand.
+
+"What is it?" asked Sir John.
+
+"It is the marks of ten or a dozen shod horses passed within two
+hours, since the last snow fell. And who be they, I wonder?"
+
+"Doubtless travellers like ourselves. Ride on, man; that farm is not a
+mile ahead."
+
+Then Jeffrey broke out.
+
+"Master, I like it not," he said. "Battle-horses have gone by here,
+not chapmen's or farmers' nags, and I think I know their breed. I say
+that we had best turn about if we would not walk into some snare."
+
+"Turn you, then," grumbled Sir John indifferently. "I am cold and
+weary, and seek my rest."
+
+"Pray God that you may not find it when you are colder," muttered
+Jeffrey, spurring his horse.
+
+They went on through the dead winter silence, that was broken only by
+the hoots of a flitting owl hungry for the food that it could not
+find, and the swish of the feet of a galloping fox as it looped past
+them through the snow. Presently they came to an open place ringed in
+by forest, so wet that only marsh-trees would grow there. To their
+right lay a little ice-covered mere, with sere, brown reeds standing
+here and there upon its face, and at the end of it a group of stark
+pollarded willows, whereof the tops had been cut for poles by those
+who dwelt in the forest farm near by. Sir John looked at the place and
+shivered a little--perhaps because the frost bit him. Or was it that
+he remembered his daughter's dream, which told of such a spot? At any
+rate, he set his teeth, and his right hand sought the hilt of his
+sword. His weary horse sniffed the air and neighed, and the neigh was
+answered from close at hand.
+
+"Thank the saints! we are nearer to that farm than I thought," said
+Sir John.
+
+As he spoke the words a number of men appeared galloping down on them
+from out of the shelter of a thorn-brake, and the moonlight shone on
+the bared weapons in their hands.
+
+"Thieves!" shouted Sir John. "At them now, Jeffrey, and win through to
+the farm."
+
+The man hesitated, for he saw that their foes were many and no common
+robbers, but his master drew his sword and spurred his beast, so he
+must do likewise. In twenty seconds they were among them, and some one
+commanded them to yield. Sir John rushed at the fellow, and, rising in
+his stirrups, cut him down. He fell all of a heap and lay still in the
+snow, which grew crimson about him. One came at Jeffrey, who turned
+his horse so that the blow missed, then took his weight upon the point
+of his sword, so that this man, too, fell down and lay in the snow,
+moving feebly.
+
+The rest, thinking this greeting too warm for them, swung round and
+vanished again among the thorns.
+
+"Now ride for it," said Jeffrey.
+
+"I cannot," answered Sir John. "One of those knaves has hurt my mare,"
+and he pointed to blood that ran from a great gash in the beast's
+foreleg, which it held up piteously.
+
+"Take mine," said Jeffrey; "I'll dodge them afoot."
+
+"Never, man! To the willows; we will hold our own there;" and,
+springing from the wounded beast, which tried to hobble after them,
+but could not, for its sinews were cut, he ran to the shelter of the
+trees, followed by Jeffrey on his horse.
+
+"Who are these rogues?" he asked.
+
+"The Abbot's men-at-arms," answered Jeffrey. "I saw the face of him I
+spitted."
+
+Now Sir John's jaw dropped.
+
+"Then we are sped, friend, for they dare not let us go. Cicely dreams
+well."
+
+As he spoke an arrow whistled by them.
+
+"Jeffrey," he went on, "I have papers on me that should not be lost,
+for with them might go my girl's heritage. Take them," and he thrust a
+packet into his hand, "and this purse also. There's plenty in it. Away
+--anywhere, and lie hid out of reach a while, or they'll still your
+tongue. Then I charge you on your soul, come back with help and hang
+that knave Abbot--for your Lady's sake, Jeffrey. She'll reward you,
+and so will God above."
+
+The man thrust away purse and deeds in some deep pocket.
+
+"How can I leave you to be butchered?" he muttered, grinding his
+teeth.
+
+As the words left his lips he heard his master utter a gurgling sound,
+and saw that an arrow, shot from behind, had pierced him through the
+throat; saw, too, he who was skilled in war, that the wound was
+mortal. Then he hesitated no longer.
+
+"Christ rest you!" he said. "I'll do your bidding or die;" and,
+turning his horse, he drove the rowels into its sides, causing it to
+bound away like a deer.
+
+For a moment the stricken Sir John watched him go. Then he ran out of
+his cover, shaking his sword above his head--ran into the open
+moonlight to draw the arrows. They came fast enough, but ere ever he
+fell, for that steel shirt of his was strong, Jeffrey, lying low on
+his horse's neck, was safe away, and though the murderers followed
+hard they never caught him.
+
+Nor, though they searched for days, could they find him at Shefton or
+elsewhere, for Jeffrey, who knew that all roads were blocked, and who
+dared not venture home, doubling like a hare across country, had won
+down to the water, where a ship lay foreign bound, and by dawn was on
+the sea.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+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. Then there were
+merry voices about the house where now was silence, and she alone,
+with naught bout a spaniel dog for company. Also most of the men were
+away with the wains laden with the year's clip of wool, which her
+father had held until the price had heightened, nor in this snow would
+they be back for another week, or perhaps longer.
+
+Oh! her heart was heavy as the winter clouds without, and young and
+fair as she might be, almost she wished that she had gone when her
+brothers went, and found her peace.
+
+To cheer her spirits she drank from a cup of spiced ale, that the
+manservant had placed beside her covered with a napkin, and was glad
+of its warmth and comfort. Just then the door opened, and her foster-
+mother, Mrs. Stower, entered. She was still a handsome woman in her
+prime, for her husband had been carried off by a fever when she was
+but nineteen, and her baby with him, whereon she had been brought to
+the Hall to nurse Cicely, whose mother was very ill after her birth.
+Moreover, she was tall and dark, with black and flashing eyes, for her
+father had been a Spaniard of gentle birth, and, it was said, gypsy
+blood ran in her mother's veins.
+
+There were but two people in the world for whom Emlyn Stower cared--
+Cicely, her foster-child, and a certain playmate of hers, one Thomas
+Bolle, now a lay-brother at the Abbey who had charge of the cattle.
+The tale was that in their early youth he had courted her, not against
+her will, and that when, after her parents' tragic deaths, as a ward
+of the former Abbot of Blossholme, she was married to her husband, not
+with her will, this Thomas put on the robe of a monk of the lowest
+degree, being but a yeoman of good stock though of little learning.
+
+Something in the woman's manner attracted Cicely's attention, and gave
+a hint of tragedy. She paused at the door, fumbling with its latch,
+which was not her way, then turned and stood upright against it, like
+a picture in its frame.
+
+"What is it, Nurse?" asked Cicely in a shaken voice. "From your look
+you bear tidings."
+
+Emlyn Stower walked forward, rested one hand upon the oak table and
+answered--
+
+"Aye, evil tidings if they be true. Prepare your heart, my sweet."
+
+"Quick with them, Emlyn," gasped Cicely. "Who is dead? Christopher?"
+
+She shook her head, and Cicely sighed in relief, adding--
+
+"Who, then? Oh! was that dream true?"
+
+"Aye, dear; you are an orphan."
+
+The girl's head fell forward. Then she lifted it, and asked--
+
+"Who told you? Give me all the truth or I shall die."
+
+"A friend of mine who has to do with the Abbey yonder; ask not his
+name."
+
+"I know it, Emlyn; Thomas Bolle," she whispered back.
+
+"A friend of mine," repeated the tall, dark woman, "told me that Sir
+John Foterell, your sire, was murdered last night in the forest by a
+gang of armed men, of whom he slew two."
+
+"From the Abbey?" queried Cicely in the same whisper.
+
+"Who knows? I think it. They say that the arrow in his throat was such
+as they make there. Jeffrey Stokes was hunted, but escaped on to some
+ship that had her anchor up."
+
+"I'll have his life for it, the coward!" exclaimed Cicely.
+
+"Blame him not yet. He met another friend of mine, and sent a message.
+It was that he did but obey his master's last orders, and, as he had
+seen too much and to linger here was certain death, if he lived, he
+would return from over-seas with the papers when the times are safer.
+He prayed that you would not doubt him."
+
+"The papers! What papers, Emlyn?"
+
+She shrugged her broad shoulders.
+
+"How should I know? Doubtless some that your father was taking to
+London and did not desire to lose. His iron chest stands open in his
+chamber."
+
+Now poor Cicely remembered that her father had spoken of certain
+"deeds" which he must take with him, and began to sob.
+
+"Weep not, darling," said her foster-mother, smoothing Cicely's brown
+hair with her strong hand. "These things are decreed of God, and done
+with. Now you must look to yourself. Your father is gone, but one
+remains."
+
+Cicely lifted her tear-stained face.
+
+"Yes, I have you," she said.
+
+"Me!" she answered, with a quick smile. "Nay, of what use am I? Your
+nursing days are over. What did you tell me your father said to you
+before he rode--about Sir Christopher? Hush! there's no time to talk;
+you must away to Cranwell Towers."
+
+"Why?" asked Cicely. "He cannot bring my father back to life, and it
+would be thought strange indeed that at such a time I should visit a
+man in his own house. Send and tell him the tidings. I bide here to
+bury my father, and," she added proudly, "to avenge him."
+
+"If so, sweet, you bide here to be buried yourself in yonder Nunnery.
+Hark, I have not told you all my news. The Abbot Maldon claims the
+Blossholme lands under some trick of law. It was as to them that your
+father quarrelled with him the other night; and with the land goes
+your wardship, as once mine went under this monk's charter. Before
+sunset the Abbot rides here with his men-at-arms to take them, and to
+set you for safe-keeping in the Nunnery, where you will find a husband
+called Holy Church."
+
+"Name of God! is it so?" said Cicely, springing up; "and the most of
+the men are away! I cannot hold the Hall against that foreign Abbot
+and his hirelings, and an orphaned heiress is but a chattel to be
+sold. Oh! now I understand what my father meant. Order horses. I'll
+off to Christopher. Yet, stay, Nurse. What will he do with me? It may
+seem shameless, and will vex him."
+
+"I think he will marry you. I think to-night you will be a wife. If
+not, I'll know the reason why," she added viciously.
+
+"A wife! To-night!" exclaimed the girl, turning crimson to her hair.
+"And my father but just dead! How can it be?"
+
+"We'll talk of that with Harflete. Mayhap, like you, he'll wish to
+wait and ask the banns, or to lay the case before a London lawyer.
+Meanwhile, I have ordered horses and sent a message to the Abbot to
+say you come to learn the meaning of these rumours, which will keep
+him still till nightfall; and another to Cranwell Towers, that we may
+find food and lodging there. Quick, now, and get your cloak and hood.
+I have the jewels in their case, for Maldon seeks them more even than
+your lands, and with them all the money I can find. Also I have bid
+the sewing-girl make a pack of some garments. Come now, come, for that
+Abbot is hungry and will be stirring. There is no time for talk."
+
+
+
+Three hours later in the red glow of the sunset Christopher Harflete,
+watching at his door, saw two women riding towards him across the
+snow, and knew them while they were yet far off.
+
+"It is true, then," he said to Father Roger Necton, the old clergyman
+of Cranwell, whom he had summoned from the vicarage. "I thought that
+fool of a messenger must be drunk. What can have chanced, Father?"
+
+"Death, I think, my son, for sure naught else would bring the Lady
+Cicely here unaccompanied save by a waiting-woman. The question is--
+what will happen now?" and he glanced sideways at him.
+
+"I know well if I can get my way," answered Christopher, with a merry
+laugh. "Say now, Father, if it should so be that this lady were
+willing, could you marry us?"
+
+"Without a doubt, my son, with the consent of the parents;" and again
+he looked at him.
+
+"And if there were no parents?"
+
+"Then with the consent of the guardian, the bride being under age."
+
+"And if no guardian had been declared or admitted?"
+
+"Then such a marriage duly solemnized, being a sacrament of the
+Church, would hold fast until the crack of doom unless the Pope
+annulled it, and, as you know, the Pope is out of favour in this realm
+on this very matter of marriage. Let me explain the law to you,
+ecclesiastic and civil----"
+
+But Christopher was already running towards the gate, so the old
+parson's lecture remained undelivered.
+
+The two met in the snow, Emlyn Stower riding on ahead and leaving them
+together.
+
+"What is it, sweetest?" he asked. "What is it?"
+
+"Oh! Christopher," she answered, weeping, "my poor father is dead--
+murdered, or so says Emlyn."
+
+"Murdered! By whom?"
+
+"By the Abbot of Blossholme's soldiers--so says Emlyn, yonder in the
+forest last eve. And the Abbot is coming to Shefton to declare me his
+ward and thrust me into the Nunnery--that was Emlyn's tale. And so,
+although it is a strange thing to do, having none to protect me, I
+have fled to you--because Emlyn said I ought."
+
+"She is a wise woman, Emlyn," broke in Christopher; "I always thought
+well of her judgment. But did you only come to me because Emlyn told
+you?"
+
+"Not altogether, Christopher. I came because I am distraught, and you
+are a better friend than none at all, and--where else should I go?
+Also my poor father with his last words to me, although he was so
+angry with you, bade me seek your help if there were need--and--oh!
+Christopher, I came because you swore you loved me, and, therefore, it
+seemed right. If I had gone to the Nunnery, although the Prioress,
+Mother Matilda, is good, and my friend, who knows, she might not have
+let me out again, for the Abbot is her master, and /not/ my friend. It
+is our lands he loves, and the famous jewels--Emlyn has them with
+her."
+
+By now they were across the moat and at the steps of the house, so,
+without answering, Christopher lifted her tenderly from the saddle,
+pressing her to his breast as he did so, for that seemed his best
+answer. A groom came to lead away the horses, touching his bonnet, and
+staring at them curiously; and, leaning on her lover's shoulder,
+Cicely passed through the arched doorway of Cranwell Towers into the
+hall, where a great fire burned. Before this fire, warming his thin
+hands, stood Father Necton, engaged in eager conversation with Emlyn
+Stower. As the pair advanced this talk ceased, evidently because it
+was of them.
+
+"Mistress Cicely," said the kindly-faced old man, speaking in a
+nervous fashion, "I fear that you visit us in sad case," and he
+paused, not knowing what to add.
+
+"Yes, indeed," she answered, "if all I hear is true. They say that my
+father is killed by cruel men--I know not for certain why or by whom--
+and that the Abbot of Blossholme comes to claim me as his ward and
+immure me in Blossholme Priory, whither I would not go. I have fled
+here to escape him, having no other refuge, though you may think ill
+of me for this deed."
+
+"Not I, my child. I should not speak against yonder Abbot, for he is
+my superior in the Church, though, mind you, I owe him no allegiance,
+since this benefice is not in his gift, nor am I a Benedictine.
+Therefore I will tell you the truth. I hold the man not honest. All is
+provender that comes to his maw; moreover, he is no Englishman, but a
+Spaniard, one sent here to work against the welfare of this realm; to
+suck its wealth, stir up rebellion, and make report of all that passes
+in it, for the benefit of England's enemies."
+
+"Yet he has friends at Court, or so said my father."
+
+"Aye, aye, such folks have ever friends--their money buys them; though
+mayhap an ill day is at hand for him and his likes. Well, your poor
+father is gone, God knows how, though I thought for long that would be
+his end, who ever spoke his mind, or more; and you with your wealth
+are the morsel that tempts Maldon's appetite. And now what is to be
+done? This is a hard case. Would you refuge in some other Nunnery?"
+
+"Nay," answered Cicely, glancing sideways at her lover.
+
+"Then what's to be done?"
+
+"Oh! I know not," she said, bursting into a fit of weeping. "How can I
+tell you, who am mazed with grief and doubt? I had but a single friend
+--my father, though at times he was a rough one. Yet he loved me in
+his way, and I have obeyed his last counsel;" and, all her courage
+gone, she sank into a chair and rocked herself to and fro, her head
+resting on her hands.
+
+"That is not true," said Emlyn in her bold voice. "Am I who suckled
+you no friend, and is Father Necton here no friend, and is Sir
+Christopher no friend? Well, if you have lost your judgment, I have
+kept mine, and here it is. Yonder, not two bowshots away, stands a
+church, and before me I see a priest and a pair who would serve for
+bride and bridegroom. Also we can rake up witnesses and a cup of wine
+to drink your health; and after that let the Abbot of Blossholme do
+his worst. What say you, Sir Christopher?"
+
+"You know my mind, Nurse Emlyn; but what says Cicely? Oh! Cicely, what
+say /you/?" and he bent over her.
+
+She raised herself, still weeping, and, throwing her arms about his
+neck, laid her head upon his shoulder.
+
+"I think it is the will of God," she whispered, "and why should I
+fight against it, who am His servant?--and yours, Chris."
+
+"And now, Father, what say you?" asked Emlyn, pointing to the pair.
+
+"I do not think there is much to say," answered the old clergyman,
+turning his head aside, "save that if it should please you to come to
+the church in ten minutes' time you will find a candle on the altar,
+and a priest within the rails, and a clerk to hold the book. More we
+cannot do at such short notice."
+
+Then he paused for a while, and, hearing no dissent, walked down the
+hall and out of the door.
+
+Emlyn took Cicely by the hand, led her to a room that was shown to
+them, and there made her ready for her bridal as best she might. She
+had no fine dress in which to clothe her, nor, indeed, would there
+have been time to don it. But she combed out her beautiful brown hair,
+and, opening that box of Eastern jewels which were the great pride of
+the Foterells--being the rarest and the most ancient in all the
+countryside--she decked her with them. On her broad brow she set a
+circlet from which hung sparkling diamonds that had been brought, the
+story said, by her mother's ancestor, a Carfax, from the Holy Land,
+where once they were the peculiar treasure of a paynim queen, and upon
+her bosom a necklet of large pearls. Brooches and rings also she found
+for her breast and fingers, and for her waist a jewelled girdle with a
+golden clasp, while to her ears she hung the finest gems of all--two
+great pearls pink like the hawthorn-bloom when it begins to turn.
+Lastly she flung over her head a veil of lace most curiously wrought,
+and stood back with pride to look at her.
+
+Now Cicely, who all this while had been silent and unresisting, spoke
+for the first time, saying--
+
+"How came this here, Nurse?"
+
+"Your mother wore it at her bridal, and her mother too, so I have been
+told. Also once before I wrapped it about you--when you were
+christened, sweet."
+
+"Mayhap; but how came it here?"
+
+"In the bosom of my robe. Not knowing when we should get home again, I
+brought it, thinking that perhaps one day you might marry, when it
+would be useful. And now, strangely enough, the marriage has come."
+
+"Emlyn, Emlyn, I believe that you planned all this business, whereof
+God alone knows the end."
+
+"That is why He makes a beginning, dear, that His end may be fulfilled
+in due season."
+
+"Aye, but what is that end? Mayhap this is my shroud you wrap about
+me. In truth, I feel as though death were near."
+
+"He is ever that," replied Emlyn unconcernedly. "But so long as he
+doesn't touch, what does it matter? Now hark you, sweetest, I've
+Spanish and gypsy blood in me with which go gifts, and so I'll tell
+you something for your comfort. However oft he snatches, Death will
+not lay his bony hand on you for many a long year--not till you are
+well-nigh as thin with age as he is. Oh! you'll have your troubles
+like all of us, worse than many, mayhap, but you are Luck's own child,
+who lived when the rest were taken, and you'll win through and take
+others on your back, as a whale does barnacles. So snap your fingers
+at death, as I do," and she suited the action to the word, "and be
+happy while you may, and when you're not happy, wait till your turn
+comes round again. Now follow me and, though your father is murdered,
+smile as you should in such an hour, for what man wants a sad-faced
+bride?"
+
+They walked down the broad oaken stairs into the hall where
+Christopher stood waiting for them. Glancing at him shyly, Cicely saw
+that he was clad in mail beneath his cloak, and that his sword was
+girded at his side, also that some men with him were armed. For a
+moment he stared at her glittering beauty confused, then said--
+
+"Fear not this hint of war in love's own hour," and he touched his
+shining armour. "Cicely, these nuptials are strange as they are happy,
+and some might try to break in upon them. Come now, my sweet lady;"
+and bowing before her he took her by the hand and led her from the
+house, Emlyn walking behind them and the men with torches going before
+and following after.
+
+Outside it was freezing sharply, so that the snow crunched beneath
+their feet. In the west the last red glow of sunset still lingered on
+the steely sky, and over against it the great moon rose above the
+round edge of the world. In the bushes of the garden, and the tall
+poplars that bordered the moat, blackbirds and fieldfares chattered
+their winter evening song, while about the grey tower of the
+neighbouring church the daws still wheeled.
+
+The picture of that scene whereof at the time she seemed to take no
+note, always remained fixed in the mind of Cicely: the cold expanse of
+snow, the inky trees, the hard sky, the lambent beams of the moon, the
+dull glow of the torches caught and reflected by her jewels and her
+lover's mail, the midwinter sound of birds, the barking of a distant
+hound, the black porch of the church that drew nearer, the little
+oblong mounds which hid the bones of hundreds who in their day had
+passed it as infants, as bridegrooms and as brides, and at last as
+cold, white things that had been men and women.
+
+Now they were in the nave of the old fane where the cold struck them
+like a sword. The dim lights of the torches showed them that, short as
+had been the time, the news of this marvellous marriage had spread
+about, for at least a score of people were standing here and there in
+knots, or a few of them seated on the oak benches near the chancel.
+All these turned to stare at them eagerly as they walked towards the
+altar where stood the priest in his robes, and since his sight was
+dim, behind him the old clerk with a stable-lantern held on high to
+enable him to read from his book.
+
+They reached the carven rood-screen, and at a sign kneeled down. In a
+clear voice the clergyman began the service; presently, at another
+sign, the pair rose, advanced to the altar-rails and again knelt down.
+The moonlight, flowing through the eastern window, fell full on both
+of them, turning them to cold, white statues, such as those that knelt
+in marble upon the tomb at their side.
+
+All through the holy office Cicely watched these statues with
+fascinated eyes, and it seemed to her that they and the old crusaders,
+Harfletes of a long-past day who lay near by, were watching her with a
+wistful and kindly interest. She made certain answers, a ring that was
+somewhat too small was thrust upon her finger--all the rest of her
+life that ring hurt her at times, but she would have never it moved,
+and then some one was kissing her. At first she thought it must be her
+father, and remembering, nearly wept till she heard Christopher's
+voice calling her wife, and knew that she was wed.
+
+Father Roger, the old clerk still holding the lantern behind him,
+writing something in a little vellum book, asking her the date of her
+birth and her full name, which, as he had been present at her
+christening, she thought strange. Then her husband signed the book,
+using the altar as a table, not very easily for he was no great
+scholar, and she signed also in her maiden name for the last time, and
+the priest signed, and at his bidding Emlyn Stower, who could write
+well, signed too. Next, as though by an afterthought, Father Roger
+called several of the congregation, who rather unwillingly made their
+marks as witnesses. While they did so he explained to them that, as
+the circumstances were uncommon, it was well that there should be
+evidence, and that he intended to send copies of this entry to sundry
+dignities, not forgetting the holy Father at Rome.
+
+On learning this they appeared to be sorry that they had anything to
+do with the matter, and one and all of them melted into the darkness
+of the nave and out of Cicely's mind.
+
+So it was done at last.
+
+Father Necton blew on his little book till the ink was dry, then hid
+it away in his robe. The old clerk, having pocketed a handsome fee
+from Christopher, lit the pair down the nave to the porch, where he
+locked the oaken door behind them, extinguished his lantern and
+trudged off through the snow to the ale-house, there to discuss these
+nuptials and hot beer. Escorted by their torch-bearers Cicely and
+Christopher walked silently arm-in-arm back to the Towers, whither
+Emlyn, after embracing the bride, had already gone on ahead. So having
+added one more ceremony to its countless record, perhaps the strangest
+of them all, the ancient church behind them grew silent as the dead
+within its graves.
+
+The Towers reached, the new-wed pair, with Father Roger and Emlyn, sat
+down to the best meal that could be prepared for them at such short
+notice; a very curious wedding feast. Still, though the company was so
+small it did not lack for heartiness, since the old clergyman proposed
+their health in a speech full of Latin words which they did not
+understand, and every member of the household who had assembled to
+hear him drank to it in cups of wine. This done, the beautiful bride,
+now blushing and now pale, was led away to the best chamber, which had
+been hastily prepared for her. But Emlyn remained behind a while, for
+she had words to speak.
+
+"Sir Christopher," she said, "you are fast wed to the sweetest lady
+that ever sun or moon shone on, and in that may hold yourself a lucky
+man. Yet such deep joys seldom come without their pain, and I think
+that this is near at hand. There are those who will envy you your
+fortune, Sir Christopher."
+
+"Yet they cannot change it, Emlyn," he answered anxiously. "The knot
+that was tied to-night may not be unloosed."
+
+"Never," broke in Father Roger. "Though the suddenness and the
+circumstances of it may be unusual, this marriage is a sacrament
+celebrated in the face of the world with the full consent of both
+parties and of the Holy Church. Moreover, before the dawn I'll send
+the record of it to the bishop's registry and elsewhere, that it may
+not be questioned in days to come, giving copies of the same to you
+and your lady's foster-mother, who is her nearest friend at hand."
+
+"It may not be loosed on earth or in heaven," replied Emlyn solemnly,
+"yet perchance the sword can cut it. Sir Christopher, I think that we
+should all do well to travel as soon as may be."
+
+"Not to-night, surely, Nurse!" he exclaimed.
+
+"No, not to-night," she answered, with a faint smile. "Your wife has
+had a weary day, and could not. Moreover, preparation must be made
+which is impossible at this hour. But to-morrow, if the roads are open
+to you, I think we should start for London, where she may make
+complaint of her father's slaying and claim her heritage and the
+protection of the law."
+
+"That is good counsel," said the vicar, and Christopher, with whom
+words seemed to be few, nodded his head.
+
+"Meanwhile," went on Emlyn, "you have six men in this house and others
+round it. Send out a messenger and summon them all here at dawn,
+bidding them bring provision with them, and what bows and arms they
+have. Set a watch also, and after the Father and the messenger have
+gone, command that the drawbridge be triced."
+
+"What do you fear?" he asked, waking from his dream.
+
+"I fear the Abbot of Blossholme and his hired ruffians, who reck
+little of the laws, as the soul of dead Sir John knows now, or can use
+them as a cover to evil deeds. He'll not let such a prize slip between
+his fingers if he can help it, and the times are turbulent."
+
+"Alas! alas! it is true," said Father Roger, "and that Abbot is a
+relentless man who sticks at nothing, having much wealth and many
+friends both here and beyond the seas. Yet surely he would never
+dare----"
+
+"That we shall learn," interrupted Emlyn. "Meanwhile, Sir Christopher,
+rouse yourself and give the orders."
+
+So Christopher summoned his men and spoke words to them at which they
+looked very grave, but being true-hearted fellows who loved him, said
+they would do his bidding.
+
+A while later, having written out a copy of the marriage lines and
+witnessed it, Father Roger departed with the messenger. The drawbridge
+was hoisted above the moat, the doors were barred, and a man set to
+watch in the gateway tower, while Christopher, forgetful of all else,
+even of the danger in which they were, sought the company of her who
+waited for him.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+THE ABBOT'S OATH
+
+On the following morning, shortly after it was light, Christopher was
+called from his chamber by Emlyn, who gave him a letter.
+
+"Whence came this?" he asked, turning it over suspiciously.
+
+"A messenger has brought it from Blossholme Abbey," she answered.
+
+"Wife Cicely," he called through the door, "come hither if you will."
+
+Presently she appeared, looking quaint and lovely in her long fur
+cloak, and, having embraced her foster-mother, asked what was the
+matter.
+
+"This, my darling," he answered, handing her the paper. "I never loved
+book-learnings over-much, and this morn I seem to hate them; read, you
+who are more scholarly."
+
+"I mistrust me of that great seal; it bodes us no good, Chris," she
+replied doubtfully, and paling a little.
+
+"The message within is no medlar to soften by keeping," said Emlyn.
+"Give it me. I was schooled in a nunnery, and can read their scrawls."
+
+So, nothing loth, Cicely handed her the paper, which she took in her
+strong fingers, broke the seal, snapped the silk, unfolded, and read.
+It ran thus--
+
+
+ "To Sir Christopher Harflete, to Mistress Cicely Foterell, to Emlyn
+  Stower, the waiting-woman, and to all others whom it may concern.
+
+ "I, Clement Maldon, Abbot of Blossholme, having heard of the death
+  of Sir John Foterell, Knt., at the cruel hands of the forest
+  thieves and outlaws, sent last night to serve the declaration of
+  my wardship, according to my prerogative established by law and
+  custom, over the person and property of you, Cicely, his only
+  child surviving. My messengers returned saying that you had fled
+  from your home of Shefton Hall. They said further that it was
+  rumoured that you had ridden with your foster-mother, Emlyn
+  Stower, to Cranwell Towers, the house of Sir Christopher Harflete.
+  If this be so, for the sake of your good name it is needful that
+  you should remove from such company at once, as there is talk
+  about you and the said Sir Christopher Harflete. I purpose,
+  therefore, God permitting me, to ride this day to Cranwell Towers,
+  and if you be there, as your lawful guardian and ghostly father,
+  to command you, being an infant under age, to accompany me thence
+  to the Nunnery of Blossholme. There I have determined, in the
+  exercise of my authority, you shall abide until a fitting husband
+  is found for you, unless, indeed, God should move your heart to
+  remain within its walls as one of the brides of Christ.
+
+"Clement, Abbot."
+
+
+Now when the reading of this letter was finished, the three of them
+stood a little while staring at each other, knowing well that it meant
+trouble for them all, till Cicely said--
+
+"Bring me ink and paper, Nurse. I will answer this Abbot."
+
+So they were brought, and Cicely wrote in her round, girlish hand--
+
+
+ "My Lord Abbot,
+
+ "In answer to your letter, I would have you know that as my noble
+  father (whose cruel death must be inquired of and avenged) bade me
+  with his last words, I, fearing that a like fate would overtake me
+  at the hands of his murderers, did, as you suppose, seek refuge at
+  this house. Here, yesterday, I was married in the face of God and
+  man in the church of Cranwell, as you may learn from the paper
+  sent herewith. It is not, therefore, needful that you should seek
+  a husband for me, since my dear lord, Sir Christopher Harflete,
+  and I are one till death do part us. Nor do I admit that now, or
+  at any time, you had or have right of wardship over my person or
+  the lands and goods which I hold and inherit.
+"Your humble servant,
+"Cicely Harflete."
+
+
+This letter Cicely copied out fair and sealed, and presently it was
+given to the Abbot's messenger, who placed it in his pouch and rode
+off as fast as the snow would let him.
+
+They watched him go from a window.
+
+"Now," said Christopher, turning to his wife, "I think, dear, we shall
+do well to ride also as soon as may be. Yonder Abbot is sharp-set, and
+I doubt whether letters will satisfy his appetite."
+
+"I think so also," said Emlyn. "Make ready and eat, both of you. I go
+to see that the horses are saddled."
+
+An hour later everything was prepared. Three horses stood before the
+door, and with them an escort of four mounted men, who were all having
+arms and beasts to ride that Christopher could gather at such short
+notice, though others of his tenants and servants had already
+assembled at the Towers in answer to his summons, to the number of
+twelve, indeed. Without the snow was falling fast, and although she
+tried to look brave and happy, Cicely shivered a little as she saw it
+through the open door.
+
+"We go on a strange honeymoon, my sweet," said Christopher uneasily.
+
+"What matter, so long as we go together?" she answered in a gay voice
+that yet seemed to ring untrue, "although," she added, with a little
+choke of the throat, "I would that we could have stayed here until I
+had found and buried my father. It haunts me to think of him lying
+somewhere in the snows like a perished ox."
+
+"It is his murderers that I wish to bury," exclaimed Christopher;
+"and, by God's name, I swear I'll do it ere all is done. Think not,
+dear, that I forget your griefs because I do not speak much of them,
+but bridals and buryings are strange company. So while we may, let us
+take what joy we can, since the ill that goes before ofttimes follows
+after also. Come, let us mount and away to London to find friends and
+justice."
+
+Then, having spoken a few words to his house-people, he lifted Cicely
+to her horse, and they rode out into the softly-falling snow, thinking
+that they had seen their last of the Towers for many a day. But this
+was not to be. For as they passed along the Blossholme highway,
+purposing to leave the Abbey on their left, when they were about three
+miles from Cranwell, suddenly a tall fellow, who wore a great
+sheepskin coat with a monk's hood to it and carried a thick staff in
+his hand, burst through the fence and stood in front of them.
+
+"Who are you?" asked Christopher, laying his hand upon his sword.
+
+"You'd know me well enough if my hood were back," he answered in a
+deep voice; "but if you want my name, it's Thomas Bolle, cattle-reeve
+to the Abbey yonder."
+
+"Your voice proves you," said Christopher, laughing. "And now what is
+your business, lay-brother Bolle?"
+
+"To get up a bunch of yearling steers that have been running on the
+forest-edge, living, like the rest of us, on what they can find, as
+the weather is coming on hard enough to starve them. That's my
+business, Sir Christopher. But as I see an old friend of mine there,"
+and he nodded towards Emlyn, who was watching him from her horse,
+"with your leave I'll ask her if she has any confession to make, since
+she seems to be on a dangerous journey."
+
+Now Christopher made as though he would push on, for he was in no mood
+to chat with cattle-reeves. But Emlyn, who had been eyeing the man,
+called out--
+
+"Come here, Thomas, and I will answer you myself, who always have a
+few sins to spare for a priest's wallet, and need a blessing or two to
+warm me."
+
+He strode forward, and, taking her horse by the bridle, led it a
+little way apart, and as soon as they were out of earshot fell into an
+eager conversation with its rider. A minute or so later Cicely,
+looking round--for they had ridden forward at a slow pace--saw Thomas
+Bolle leap through the other fence of the roadway and vanish at a run
+into the falling snow, while Emlyn spurred her horse after them.
+
+"Stop," she said to Christopher; "I have tidings for you. The Abbot,
+with all his men-at-arms and servants, to the number of forty or more,
+waits for us under shelter of Blossholme Grove yonder, purposing to
+take the Lady Cicely by force. Some spy has told him of this journey."
+
+"I see no one," said Christopher, staring at the Grove, which lay
+below them about a quarter of a mile away, for they were on the top of
+a rise. "Still, the matter is not hard to prove," and he called to the
+two best mounted of his men and bade them ride forward and make report
+if any lurked behind that wood.
+
+So the men went off, while they remained where they were, silent, but
+anxious enough. Ten minutes or so later, before they could see them,
+for the snow was now falling quickly, they heard the sound of many
+horses galloping. Then the two men appeared, calling out as they
+came--
+
+"The Abbot and all his folk are after us. Back to Cranwell, ere you be
+taken!"
+
+Christopher thought for a moment, then, remembering that with but four
+men and cumbered by two women it was not possible to cut his way
+through so great a force, and admonished by that sound of advancing
+hoofs, he gave a sudden order. They turned about, and not too soon,
+for as they did so, scarce two hundred yards away, the first of the
+Abbot's horsemen appeared plunging towards them up the slope. Then the
+race began, and well for them was it that their horses were good and
+fresh, since before ever they came in sight of Cranwell Towers the
+pursuers were not ninety yards behind. But here on the flat their
+beasts, scenting home, answered nobly to whip and spur, and drew ahead
+a little. Moreover, those who watched within the house saw them, and
+ran to the drawbridge. When they were within fifty yards of the moat
+Cicely's horse stumbled, slipped, and fell, throwing her into the
+snow, then recovered itself and galloped on alone. Christopher reined
+up alongside of her, and, as she rose, frightened but unharmed, put
+out his long arm, and, lifting her to the saddle in front of him,
+plunged forward, while those behind shouted "Yield!"
+
+Under this double burden his horse went but slowly. Still they reached
+the bridge before any could lay hands upon them, and thundered over
+it.
+
+"Wind up," shouted Christopher, and all there, even the womenfolk,
+laid hands upon the cranks. The bridge began to rise, but now five or
+six of the Abbot's folk, dismounting, sprang at it, catching the end
+of it with their hands when it was about six feet in the air, and
+holding on so that it could not be lifted, but remained, moving
+neither up nor down.
+
+"Leave go, you knaves," shouted Christopher; but by way of answer one
+of them, with the help of his fellows, scrambled on to the end of the
+bridge, and stood there, hanging to the chains.
+
+Then Christopher snatched a bow from the hand of a serving-man, and
+the arrow being already on the string, again shouted--
+
+"Get off at your peril!"
+
+In answer the man called out something about the commands of the Lord
+Abbot.
+
+Christopher, looking past him, saw that others of the company had
+dismounted and were running towards the bridge. If they reached it he
+knew well that the game was played. So he hesitated no longer, but,
+aiming swiftly, drew and loosed the bow. At that distance he could not
+miss. The arrow struck the man where his steel cap joined the mail
+beneath, and pierced him through the throat, so that he fell back
+dead. The others, scared by his fate, loosed their hold, so that now
+the bridge, relieved of the weight upon it, instantly rose up beyond
+their reach, and presently came home and was made fast.
+
+As they afterwards discovered, this man, it may here be said, was a
+captain of the Abbot's guard. Moreover, it was he who had shot the
+arrow that killed Sir John Foterell some forty hours before, striking
+him through the throat, as it was fated that he himself should be
+struck. Thus, then, one of that good knight's murderers reaped his
+just reward.
+
+Now the men ran back out of range, for they feared more arrows, while
+Christopher watched them go in silence. Cicely, who stood by his side,
+her hands held before her face to shut out the sight of death, let
+them fall suddenly, and, turning to her husband, said, as she pointed
+to the corpse that lay upon the blood-stained snow of the roadway--
+
+"How many more will follow him, I wonder? I think that is but the
+first throw of a long game, husband."
+
+"Nay, sweet," he answered, "the second; the first was cast two nights
+gone by King's Grave Mount in the forest yonder, and blood ever calls
+for blood."
+
+"Aye," she answered, "blood calls for blood." Then, remembering that
+she was orphaned and what sort of a honeymoon hers was like to be, she
+turned and sought her chamber, weeping.
+
+Now, while Christopher still stood irresolute, for he was oppressed by
+the sense of this man-slaying, and knew not what he should do next, he
+saw three men separate from the knot of soldiers and ride towards the
+Towers, one of whom held a white cloth above his head in token of
+parley. Then Christopher went up into the little gateway turret,
+followed by Emlyn, who crouched down behind the brick battlement, so
+that she could see and hear without being seen. Having reached the
+further side of the moat, he who held the white cloth threw back the
+hood of his long cape, and they saw that it was the Abbot of
+Blossholme himself, also that his dark eyes flashed and that his
+olive-hued face was almost white with rage.
+
+"Why do you hunt me across my own park and come knocking so rudely at
+my doors, my Lord Abbot?" asked Christopher, leaning on the parapet of
+the gateway.
+
+"Why do you work murder on my servant, Christopher Harflete?" answered
+the Abbot, pointing to the dead man in the snow. "Know you not that
+whoso sheds blood, by man shall his blood be shed, and that under our
+ancient charters, here I have the right to execute justice on you, as,
+by God's holy Name, I swear that I will do?" he added in a choked
+voice.
+
+"Aye," repeated Christopher reflectively, "by man shall his blood be
+shed. Perhaps that is why this fellow died. Tell me, Abbot, was he not
+one of those who rode by moonlight round King's Grave lately, and
+there chanced to meet Sir John Foterell?"
+
+The shot was a random one, yet it seemed that it went home; at least,
+the Abbot's jaw dropped, and some words that were on his lips never
+passed them.
+
+"I know naught of the meaning of your talk," he said presently in a
+quieter voice, "or of how my late friend and neighbour, Sir John--may
+God rest his soul--came to his end. Yet it is of him, or rather of
+his, that we must speak. It seems that you have stolen his daughter, a
+woman under age, and by pretence of a false marriage, as I fear,
+brought her to shame--a crime even fouler than this murder."
+
+"Nay, by means of a true marriage I have brought her to such small
+honour as may be the share of Christopher Harflete's lawful wife. If
+there be any virtue in the rites of Holy Church, then God's own hand
+has bound us fast as man can be tied to woman, and death is the only
+pope who can loose that knot."
+
+"Death!" repeated the Abbot in a slow voice, looking up at him very
+curiously. For a little while he was silent, then went on, "Well, his
+court is always open, and he has many shrewd and instant messengers,
+such as this," and he pointed to the arrow in the neck of the slain
+soldier. "Yet I am a man of peace, and although you have murdered my
+servant, I would settle our cause more gently if I may. Listen now,
+Sir Christopher; here is my offer. Yield up to me the person of Cicely
+Foterell----"
+
+"Of Cicely Harflete," interrupted Christopher.
+
+"Of Cicely Foterell, and I swear to you that no violence shall be done
+to her, nor shall she be given to a husband till the King or his
+Vicar-General, or whatever court he may appoint, has passed judgment
+in this matter and declared this mock marriage of yours null and
+void."
+
+"What!" broke in Christopher scoffingly; "does the Abbot of Blossholme
+announce that the powers temporal of this realm have right of divorce?
+Ere now I have heard him argue differently, and so have others, when
+the case of Queen Catherine was in question."
+
+The Abbot bit his lip, but continued, taking no heed--
+
+"Nor will I lay any complaint against you as to the death of my
+servant here, for which otherwise you should hang. That I will write
+down as an accident, and, further, compensate his family. Now you have
+my offer--answer."
+
+"And what if I refuse this same generous offer to surrender her whom I
+hold dearer than a thousand lives?"
+
+"Then, by virtue of my rights and authority, I will take her by force,
+Christopher Harflete, and if harm should happen to come to you, now or
+hereafter, on your own head be it."
+
+At this Christopher's rage broke out.
+
+"Do you dare to threaten me, a loyal Englishman, you false priest and
+foreign traitor," he shouted, "whom all men know to be in the pay of
+Spain, and using the cover of a monk's dress to plot against the land
+on which you fatten like a horse-leech? Why was John Foterell murdered
+in the forest two nights gone? You won't answer? Then I will. Because
+he rode to Court to prove the truth about you and your treachery, and
+therefore you butchered him. Why do you claim my wife as your ward?
+Because you wish to steal her lands and goods to feed your plots and
+luxury. You think you have bought friends at Court, and that for
+money's sake those in power there will turn a blind eye to your
+crimes. So it may be for a while; but wait, wait. All eyes are not
+blind yonder, nor all ears deaf. That head of yours shall yet be
+lifted higher than you think--so high that it sticks upon the top of
+Blossholme Towers, a warning to all who would sell England to her
+enemies. John Foterell lies dead with your knave's arrow in his
+throat, but Jeffrey Stokes is away with the writings. And now do your
+worst, Clement Maldon. If you want my wife, come take her."
+
+The Abbot listened, listened intently, drinking in every ominous word.
+His swarthy face went white with fear, then turned black with rage.
+The veins upon his forehead gathered into knots; even from that
+distance Christopher could see them. He looked so evil that his
+countenance became twisted and ridiculous, and Christopher, noting it,
+burst into one of his hearty laughs.
+
+The Abbot, who was not accustomed to mockery, whispered something to
+the two men who were with him, whereon they lifted the crossbows which
+they carried and pulled trigger. One quarel went wide and hit the wall
+of the house behind, where it stuck fast in the joints of the stud-
+work. But the other, better aimed, smote Christopher above the heart,
+causing him to stagger, but being shot from below and turned by the
+mail he wore glanced upwards over his left shoulder. The men, seeing
+that he was unhurt, pulled their horses round and galloped off, but
+Christopher, setting another arrow to the string of the bow he
+carried, drew it to his ear, covering the Abbot.
+
+"Loose, and make an end of him," muttered Emlyn from her shelter
+behind the parapet. But Christopher thought a moment, then cried--
+
+"Stay a while, Sir Abbot; I have more to say to you."
+
+He took no heed who was also turning about.
+
+"Stay!" thundered Christopher, "or I will kill that fine nag of
+yours;" then, as the Abbot still dragged upon the reins, he let the
+arrow fly. The aim was true enough. Right through the arch of the neck
+it sped, cutting the cord between the bones, so that the poor beast
+reared straight up and fell in a heap, tumbling its rider off into the
+snow.
+
+"Now, Clement Maldon," cried Christopher, "will you listen, or will
+you bide with your horse and servant and hear no more till Judgment
+Day? If you do not guess it, learn that I have practised archery from
+my youth. Should you doubt, hold up your hand and I'll send a shaft
+between your fingers."
+
+The Abbot, who was shaken but unhurt, rose slowly and stood there, the
+dead horse on one side and the dead man on the other.
+
+"Speak," he said in a muffled voice.
+
+"My Lord Abbot," went on Christopher, "a minute ago you tried to
+murder me, and, had not my mail been good, would have succeeded. Now
+your life is in my hand, for, as you have seen, I do not miss. Those
+servants of yours are coming to your help. Call to them to halt,
+or----" and he lifted the bow.
+
+The Abbot obeyed, and the men, understanding, stayed where they were,
+at a distance, but within earshot.
+
+"You have a crucifix upon your breast," continued Christopher. "Take
+it in your right hand now and swear an oath."
+
+Again the Abbot obeyed.
+
+"Swear thus," he said, Emlyn, who was crouched beneath the parapet,
+prompting him from time to time; "I, Clement Maldon, Abbot of
+Blossholme, in the presence of Almighty God in heaven, and of
+Christopher Harflete and others upon earth," and he jerked his head
+backwards towards the windows of the house, where all therein were
+gathered, listening, "make oath upon the symbol of the Rood. I swear
+that I abandon all claim of wardship over the body of Cicely Harflete,
+born Cicely Foterell, the lawful wife of Christopher Harflete, and all
+claim to the lands and goods that she may possess, or that were
+possessed by her father, John Foterell, Knight, or by her mother, Dame
+Foterell, deceased. I swear that I will raise no suit in any court,
+spiritual or temporal, of this or other realms against the said Cicely
+Harflete or against the said Christopher Harflete, her husband, nor
+seek to work injury to their bodies or their souls, or to the bodies
+or the souls of any who cling to them, and that henceforth they may
+live and die in peace from me or any whom I control. Set your lips to
+the Rood and swear thus now, Clement Maldon."
+
+The Abbot hearkened, and so great was his rage, for he had no meek
+heart, that he seemed to swell like an angry toad.
+
+"Who gave you authority to administer oaths to me?" he asked at
+length. "I'll not swear," and he cast the crucifix down upon the snow.
+
+"Then I'll shoot," answered Christopher. "Come, pick up that cross."
+
+But Maldon stood silent, his arms folded on his breast. Christopher
+aimed and loosed, and so great was his skill--for there were few
+archers in England like to him--that the arrow pierced Maldon's fur
+cap and carried it away without touching the shaven head beneath.
+
+"The next shall be two inches lower," he said, as he set another on
+the string. "I waste no more good shafts."
+
+Then, very slowly, to save his life, which he loved well enough,
+Maldon bent down, and, lifting the crucifix from the snow, held it to
+his lips and kissed it, muttering--
+
+"I swear." But the oath he swore was very different to that which
+Christopher had repeated to him, for, like a hunted fox, he knew how
+to meet guile with guile.
+
+"Now that I, a consecrated abbot, deeming it right that I should live
+on to fulfil my work on earth, have done your bidding, have I leave to
+go about my business, Christopher Harflete?" he asked, with bitter
+irony.
+
+"Why not?" asked Christopher. "Only be pleased henceforth not to
+meddle with me and my business. To-morrow I wish to ride to London
+with my lady, and we do not seek your company on the road."
+
+Then, having found his cap, the Abbot turned and walked back towards
+his own men, drawing the arrow from it as he went, and presently all
+of them rode away over the rise towards Blossholme.
+
+"Now that is well finished, and I have an oath that he will scarcely
+dare to break," said Christopher presently. "What say you, Nurse?"
+
+"I say that you are even a bigger simpleton than I took you to be,"
+answered Emlyn angrily, as she rose and stretched herself, for her
+limbs were cramped. "The oath, pshaw! By now he is absolved from it as
+given under fear. Did you not hear me whisper to you to put an arrow
+through his heart, instead of playing boy's pranks with his cap?"
+
+"I did not wish to kill an abbot, Nurse."
+
+"Foolish man, what is the difference in such a matter between him and
+one of his servants? Moreover, he will only say that you tried to slay
+him, and missed, and produce the cap and arrow in evidence against
+you. Well, my talk serves nothing to mend a bad matter, and soon you
+will hear it straighter from himself. Go now and make your house ready
+for attack, and never dare to set a foot without its doors, for death
+waits you there."
+
+Emlyn was right. Within three hours an unarmed monk trudged up to
+Cranwell Towers through the falling snow and cast across the moat a
+letter that was tied to a stone. Then he nailed a writing to one of
+the oak posts of the outer gate, and, without a word, departed as he
+had come. In the presence of Christopher and Cicely, Emlyn opened and
+read this second letter, as she had read the first. It was short, and
+ran--
+
+
+ "Take notice, Sir Christopher Harflete, and all others whom it may
+  concern, that the oath which I, Clement Maldon, Abbot of
+  Blossholme, swore to you this day, is utterly void and of none
+  effect, having been wrung from me under the threat of instant
+  death. Take notice, further, that a report of the murder which you
+  have done has been forwarded to the King's grace and to the
+  Sheriff and other officers of this county, and that by virtue of
+  my rights and authority, ecclesiastical and civil, I shall proceed
+  to possess myself of the person of Cicely Foterell, my ward, and
+  of the lands and other property held by her father, Sir John
+  Foterell, deceased, upon the former of which I have already
+  entered on her behalf, and by exercise of such force as may be
+  needful to seize you, Christopher Harflete, and to hand you over
+  to justice. Further, by means of notice sent herewith, I warn all
+  that cling to you and abet you in your crimes that they will do so
+  at the peril of their souls and bodies.
+
+"Clement Maldon, Abbot of Blossholme."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+WHAT PASSED AT CRANWELL
+
+A week had gone by. For the first three days of that time little of
+note had happened at Cranwell Towers; that is, no assault was
+delivered. Only Christopher and his dozen or so of house-servants and
+small tenants discovered that they were quite surrounded. Once or
+twice some of them rode out a little way, to be hunted back again by a
+much superior force, which emerged from the copses near by or from
+cottages in the village, and even from the porch of the church. With
+these men they never came to close quarters, so that no lives were
+lost. In a fashion this was a disadvantage to them, since they lacked
+the excitement of actual fighting, the dread of which was ever
+present, but not its joy.
+
+Meanwhile in other ways things went ill with them. Thus, first of all
+their beer gave out, and then such other cordials as they had, so that
+they were reduced to water to drink. Next their fuel became exhausted,
+for nearly all the stock of it was kept at the farmstead about a
+quarter of a mile away, and on the second day of the siege this stead
+was fired and burned with its contents, the cattle and horses being
+driven off, they knew not where.
+
+So it came about at length they could keep only one fire, in the
+kitchen, and that but small, which in the end they were obliged to
+feed with the doors of the outhouses, and even with the floorings torn
+out of the attics, in order that they might cook their food. Nor was
+there much of this; only a store of salt meat and some pickled pork
+and smoked bacon, together with a certain amount of oatmeal and flour,
+that they made into cakes and bread.
+
+On the fourth day, however, these gave out, so that they were reduced
+to a scanty diet of hung flesh, with a few apples by way of
+vegetables, and hot water to drink to warm them. At length, too, there
+was nothing more to burn, and therefore they must eat their meat raw,
+and grew sick on it. Moreover, a cold thaw set in, and the house grew
+icy, so that they moved about it with chattering teeth, and at night,
+ill-nurtured as they were, could scarce keep the life in them beneath
+all the coverings which they had.
+
+Ah! how long were those nights, with never a blaze upon the hearth or
+so much as a candle to light them. At four o'clock the darkness came
+down, which did not lessen, for the moon grew low and the mists were
+thick, until day broke about seven on the following morning. And all
+this time, fearing attack, they must keep watch and ward through the
+gloom, so that even sleep was denied them.
+
+For a while they bore up bravely, even the tenants, though news was
+shouted to these that their steads had been harried, and their wives
+and children hunted off to seek shelter where they might.
+
+Cicely and Emlyn never murmured. Indeed, this new-made wife kept her
+dreadful honeymoon with a cheerful face, trudging through the black
+hours around the circle of the moat at her husband's side, or from
+window-place to window-place in the empty rooms, till at length they
+cast themselves down upon some bed to sleep a while, giving over the
+watch to others. Only Emlyn never seemed to sleep. But at length their
+companions did begin to murmur.
+
+One morning at the dawn, after a very bitter night, they waited upon
+Christopher and told him that they were willing to fight for his sake
+and his lady's, but that, as there was no hope of help, they could no
+longer freeze and starve; in short, that they must either escape from
+the house or surrender. He listened to them patiently, knowing that
+what they said was true, and then consulted for a while with Cicely
+and Emlyn.
+
+"Our case is desperate, dear wife. Now what shall we do, who have no
+chance of succour, since none know of our plight? Yield, or strive to
+escape through the darkness?"
+
+"Not yield, I think," answered Cicely, choking back a sob. "If we
+yield certainly they will separate us, and that merciless Abbot will
+bring you to your death and me to a nunnery."
+
+"That may happen in any case," muttered Christopher, turning his head
+aside. "But what say you, Nurse?"
+
+"I say fight for it," answered Emlyn boldly. "It is certain that we
+cannot stay here, for, to be plain, Sir Christopher, there are some
+among us whom I do not trust. What wonder? Their stomachs are empty,
+their hands are blue, their wives and children are they know not
+where, and the heavy curse of the Church hangs over them, all of which
+things may be mended if they play you false. Let us take what horses
+remain and slip away at dead of night if we can; or if we cannot, then
+let us die, as many better folk have done before."
+
+So they agreed to try their fortune, thinking that it was so bad it
+could not be worse, and spent the rest of that day in getting ready as
+best they could. The seven horses still stood in the stable, and
+although they were stiff from want of exercise, had been hay-fed and
+watered. On these they proposed to ride, but first they must tell the
+truth to those who had stood by them. So about three o'clock of the
+afternoon Christopher called all the men together beneath the gateway
+and sorrowfully set out his tale. Here, he showed them, they could
+bide no longer, and to surrender meant that his new-wed wife would
+soon be made a widow. Therefore they must fly, taking with them as
+many as there were horses for them to ride, if they cared to risk such
+a journey. If not, he and the two women would go alone.
+
+Now four of the stoutest-hearted of them, men who had served him and
+his father for many years, stepped forward, saying that, evil as these
+seemed to be, they would follow his fortunes to the last. He thanked
+them shortly, whereon one of the others asked what they were to do,
+and if he proposed to desert them after leading them into this plight.
+
+"God knows I would rather die," he replied, with a swelling heart;
+"but, my friends, consider the case. If I bide here, what of my wife?
+Alas! it has come to this: that you must choose whether you will slip
+out with us and scatter in the woods, where I think you will not be
+followed, since yonder Abbot has no quarrel against you; or whether
+you will wait here, and to-morrow at the dawn, surrender. In either
+event you can say that I compelled you to stand by us, and that you
+have shed no man's blood; also I will give you a writing."
+
+So they talked together gloomily, and at last announced that when he
+and their lady went they would go also and get off as best they could.
+But there was a man among them, a small farmer named Jonathan Dicksey,
+who thought otherwise. This Jonathan, who held his land under
+Christopher, had been forced to this business of the defence of
+Cranwell Towers somewhat against his will, namely, by the pressure of
+Christopher's largest tenant, to whose daughter he was affianced. He
+was a sly young man, and even during the siege, by means that need not
+be described, he had contrived to convey a message to the Abbot of
+Blossholme, telling him that had it been in his power he would gladly
+be in any other place. Therefore, as he knew well, whatever had
+happened to others, his farm remained unharried. Now he determined to
+be out of a bad business as soon as he might, for Jonathan was one of
+those who liked to stand upon the winning side.
+
+Therefore, although he said "Aye, aye," more loudly than his comrades,
+as soon as the dusk had fallen, while the others were making ready the
+horses and mounting guard, Jonathan thrust a ladder across the moat at
+the back of the stable, and clambered along its rungs into the shelter
+of a cattle-shed in the meadow, and so away.
+
+Half-an-hour later he stood before the Abbot in the cottage where he
+had taken up his quarters, having contrived to blunder among his
+people and be captured. To him at first Jonathan would say nothing,
+but when at length they threatened to take him out and hang him, to
+save his life, as he said, he found his tongue and told all.
+
+"So, so," said the Abbot when he had finished. "Now God is good to us.
+We have these birds in our net, and I shall keep St. Hilary's at
+Blossholme after all. For your services, Master Dicksey, you shall be
+my reeve at Cranwell Towers when they are in my hands."
+
+But here it may be said that in the end things went otherwise, since,
+so far from getting the stewardship of Cranwell, when the truth came
+to be known, Jonathan's maiden would have no more to do with him, and
+the folk in those parts sacked his farm and hunted him out of the
+country, so that he was never heard of among them again.
+
+Meanwhile, all being ready, Christopher at the Towers was closeted
+with Cicely, taking his farewell of her in the dark, for no light was
+left to them.
+
+"This is a desperate venture," he said to her, "nor can I tell how it
+will end, or if ever I shall see your sweet face again. Yet, dearest,
+we have been happy together for some few hours, and if I fall and you
+live on I am sure that you will always remember me till, as we are
+taught, we meet again where no enemy has the power to torment us, and
+cold and hunger and darkness are not. Cicely, if that should be so and
+any child should come to you, teach it to love the father whom it
+never saw."
+
+Now she threw her arms about him and wept, and wept, and wept.
+
+"If you die," she sobbed, "surely I will do so also, for although I am
+but young I find this world a very evil place, and now that my father
+is gone, without you, husband, it would be a hell."
+
+"Nay, nay," he answered; "live on while you may; for who knows? Often
+out of the worst comes the best. At least we have had our joy. Swear
+it now, sweet."
+
+"Aye, if you will swear it also, for I may be taken and you left. In
+the dark swords do not choose. Let us promise that we will both endure
+our lives, together or separate, until God calls us."
+
+So they swore there in the icy gloom, and sealed the oath with kisses.
+
+Now the time was come at last, and they crept their way to the
+courtyard hand in hand, taking some comfort because the night was very
+favourable to their project. The snow had melted, and a great gale
+blew from the sou'-west, boisterous but not cold, which caused the
+tall elms that stood about to screech and groan like things alive. In
+such a wind as this they were sure that they would not be heard, nor
+could they be seen beneath that murky, starless sky, while the rain
+which fell between the gusts would wash out the footprints of their
+horses.
+
+They mounted silently, and with the four men--for by now all the rest
+had gone--rode across the drawbridge, which had been lowered in
+preparation for their flight. Three hundred yards or so away their
+road ran through an ancient marl-pit worked out generations before, in
+which self-sown trees grew on either side of the path. As they drew
+near this place suddenly, in the silence of the night, a horse neighed
+ahead of them, and one of their beasts answered to the neigh.
+
+"Halt!" whispered Cicely, whose ears were made sharp by fear. "I hear
+men moving."
+
+They pulled rein and listened. Yes; between the gusts of wind there
+was a faint sound as of the clanking of armour. They strained their
+eyes in the darkness, but could see nothing. Again the horse neighed
+and was answered. One of their servants cursed the beast beneath his
+breath and struck it savagely with the flat of his sword, whereon,
+being fresh, it took the bit between its teeth and bolted. Another
+minute and there arose a great clamour from the marl-pit in front of
+them--a noise of shoutings, of sword-strokes, and then a heavy groan
+as from the lips of a dying man.
+
+"An ambush!" exclaimed Christopher.
+
+"Can we get round?" asked Cicely, and there was terror in her voice.
+
+"Nay," he answered, "the stream is in flood; we should be bogged.
+Hark! they charge us. Back to the Towers--there is no other way."
+
+So they turned and fled, followed by shouts and the thunder of many
+horses galloping. In two minutes they were there and across the bridge
+--the women, Christopher, and the three men who were left.
+
+"Up with the bridge!" cried Christopher, and they leapt from their
+saddles and fumbled for the cranks; too late, for already the Abbot's
+horsemen pressed it down.
+
+Then a fight began. The horses of the enemy shrank back from the
+trembling bridge, so their riders, dismounting, rushed forward, to be
+met by Christopher and his three remaining men, who in that narrow
+place were as good as a hundred. Wild, random blows were struck in the
+darkness, and, as it chanced, two of the Abbot's people fell, whereon
+a deep voice cried--
+
+"Come back and wait for light."
+
+When they had gone, dragging off their wounded with them, Christopher
+and his servants again strove to wind up the bridge, only to find that
+it would not stir.
+
+"Some traitor has fouled the chains," he said in the quiet voice of
+despair. "Cicely and Emlyn, get you into the house. I, and any who
+will bide with me, stay here to see this business out. When I am down,
+yield yourself. Afterwards I think that the King will give you
+justice, if you can come to him."
+
+"I'll not go," she wailed; "I'll die with you."
+
+"Nay, you shall go," he said, stamping his foot, and, as he spoke, an
+arrow hissed between them. "Emlyn, drag her hence ere she is shot.
+Swift, I say, swift, or God's curse and mine rest on you. Unclasp your
+arms, wife; how can I fight while you hang about my neck? What! Must I
+strike you? Then, there and there!"
+
+She loosed her grasp, and, groaning, fell back upon the breast of
+Emlyn, who half led, half carried her across the courtyard, where
+their scared horses galloped loose.
+
+"Whither go we?" sobbed Cicely.
+
+"To the central tower," answered Emlyn; "it seems safest there."
+
+To this tower, whence the place took its name, they groped their way.
+Unlike the rest of the house, which for the most part was of wood, it
+was built of stone, being part of an older fabric dating from the
+Norman days. Slowly they stumbled up the steps till at length they
+reached the roof, for some instinct prompted them to find a spot
+whence they could see, should the stars break out. Here, on this lofty
+perch, they crouched them down and waited the end, whatever it might
+be--waited in silence.
+
+A while passed--they never knew how long--till at length a sudden
+flame shot up above the roof of the kitchens at the rear, which the
+wind caught and blew on to the timbers of the main building, so that
+presently this began to blaze also. The house had been fired, by whom
+was never known, though it was said that the traitor, Jonathan
+Dicksey, had returned and done it, either for a bribe or that his own
+sin might be forgotten in this great catastrophe.
+
+"The house burns," said Emlyn in her quiet voice. "Now, if you would
+save your life, follow me. Beneath this tower is a vault where no
+flame can touch us."
+
+But Cicely would not stir, for by the fierce and ever-growing light
+she could see what passed beneath, and, as it chanced, the wind blew
+the smoke away from them. There, beyond the drawbridge, were gathered
+the Abbey guards, and there in the gateway stood Christopher and his
+three men with drawn swords, while in the courtyard the horses
+galloped madly, screaming in their fear. A soldier looked up and saw
+the two women standing on the top of the tower, then called out
+something to the Abbot, who sat on horseback near to him. He looked
+and saw also.
+
+"Yield, Sir Christopher," he shouted; "the Lady Cicely burns. Yield,
+that we may save her."
+
+Christopher turned and saw also. For a moment he hesitated, then
+wheeled round to run across the courtyard. Too late, for as he came
+the flames burst through the main roof of the house, and the timber
+front of it, blazing furiously, fell outwards, blocking the doorway,
+so that the place became a furnace into which none might enter and
+live.
+
+Now a madness seemed to take hold of him. For a moment he stared up at
+the figures of the two women standing high above the rolling smoke and
+wrapping flame. Then, with his three men, he charged with a roar into
+the crowd of soldiers who had followed him into the courtyard,
+striving, it would seem, to cut his way to the Abbot, who lurked
+behind. It was a dreadful sight, for he and those with him fought
+furiously, and many went down. Presently, of the four only Christopher
+was left upon his feet. Swords and spears smote upon his armour, but
+he did not fall; it was those in front of him who fell. A great fellow
+with an axe got behind him and struck with all his might upon his
+helm. The sword dropped from Harflete's hand; slowly he turned about,
+looked upward, then stretched out his arms and fell heavily to earth.
+
+The Abbot leapt from his horse and ran to him, kneeling at his side.
+
+"Dead!" he cried, and began to shrive his passing soul, or so it
+seemed.
+
+"Dead," repeated Emlyn, "and a gallant death!"
+
+"Dead!" wailed Cicely, in so terrible a voice that all below heard it.
+"Dead, dead!" and sank senseless on Emlyn's breast.
+
+At that moment the rest of the roof fell in, hiding the tower in
+spouts and veils of flame. Here they might not stay if they would
+live. Lifting her mistress in her strong arms, as she was wont to do
+when she was little, Emlyn found the head of the stair, so that when
+the wind blew the smoke aside for an instant, those below saw that
+both had vanished, as they thought withered in the fire.
+
+"Now you can enter on the Shefton lands, Abbot," cried a voice from
+the darkness of the gateway, though in the turmoil none knew who
+spoke; "but not for all England would I bear that innocent blood!"
+
+The Abbot's face turned ghastly, and though it was hot enough in that
+courtyard his teeth chattered.
+
+"It is on the head of this woman-thief," he exclaimed with an effort,
+looking down on Christopher, who lay at his feet. "Take him up, that
+inquest may be held on him, who died doing murder. Can none enter the
+house? His pocket full of gold to him who saves the Lady Cicely!"
+
+"Can any enter hell and live?" answered the same voice out of the
+smoke and gloom. "Seek her sweet soul in heaven, if you may come
+there, Abbot."
+
+Then, with scared faces, they lifted up Christopher and the other dead
+and wounded and carried them away, leaving Cranwell Towers to burn
+itself to ashes, for so fierce was the heat that none could bide there
+longer.
+
+
+
+Two hours had gone by. The Abbot sat in the little room of a cottage
+at Cranwell that he had occupied during the siege of the Towers. It
+was near midnight, yet, weary as he was, he could not rest; indeed,
+had the night been less foul and dark he would have spent the time in
+riding back to Blossholme. His heart was ill at ease. Things had gone
+well with him, it is true. Sir John Foterell was dead--slain by
+"outlawed men"; Sir Christopher Harflete was dead--did not his body
+lie in the neat-house yonder? Cicely, daughter of the one and wife to
+the other, was dead also, burned in the fire at the Towers, so that
+doubtless the precious gems and the wide lands he coveted would fall
+into his lap without further trouble. For, Cromwell being bribed, who
+would try to snatch them from the powerful Abbot of Blossholme, and
+had he not a title to them--of a sort?
+
+And yet he was very ill at ease, for, as that voice had said--whose
+voice was it? he wondered, somehow it seemed familiar--the blood of
+these people lay on his head; and there came into his mind the text of
+Holy Writ which he had quoted to Christopher, that he who shed man's
+blood by man should his blood be shed. Also, although he had paid the
+Vicar-General to back him, monks were in no great favour at the
+English Court, and if this story travelled there, as it might, for
+even the strengthless dead find friends, it was possible that
+questions would be asked, questions hard to answer. Before Heaven he
+could justify himself for all that he had done, but before King Henry,
+who would usurp the powers of the very Pope, if the truth should
+chance to reach the royal ear--ah! that was another matter.
+
+The room was cold after the heat of that great fire; his Southern
+blood, which had been warm enough, grew chill; loneliness and
+depression took hold of him; he began to wonder how far in the eyes of
+God above the end justifies the means. He opened the door of the
+place, and holding on to it lest the rough, wintry gale should tear it
+from its frail hinges, shouted aloud for Brother Martin, one of his
+chaplains.
+
+Presently Martin arrived, emerging from the cattleshed, a lantern in
+his hand--a tall, thin man, with perplexed and melancholy eyes, long
+nose, and a clever face--and, bowing, asked his superior's pleasure.
+
+"My pleasure, Brother," answered the Abbot, "is that you shut the door
+and keep out the wind, for this accursed climate is killing me. Yes,
+make up the fire if you can, but the wood is too wet to burn; also it
+smokes. There, what did I tell you? If this goes on we shall be hams
+by to-morrow morning. Let it be, for, after all, we have seen enough
+of fires to-night, and sit down to a cup of wine--nay, I forgot, you
+drink but water--well, then, to a bite of bread and meat."
+
+"I thank you, my Lord Abbot," answered Martin, "but I may not touch
+flesh; this is Friday."
+
+"Friday or no we have touched flesh--the flesh of men--up at the
+Towers yonder this night," answered the Abbot, with an uneasy laugh.
+"Still, obey your conscience, Brother, and eat bread. Soon it will be
+midnight, and the meat can follow."
+
+The lean monk bowed, and, taking a hunch of bread, began to bite at
+it, for he was almost starving.
+
+"Have you come from watching by the body of that bloody and rebellious
+man who has worked us so much harm and loss?" asked the Abbot
+presently.
+
+The secretary nodded, then swallowing a crust, said--
+
+"Aye, I have been praying over him and the others. At least he was
+brave, and it must be hard to see one's new-wed wife burn like a
+witch. Also, now that I come to study the matter, I know not what his
+sin was who did but fight bravely when he was attacked. For without
+doubt the marriage is good, and whether he should have waited to ask
+your leave to make it is a point that might be debated through every
+court in Christendom."
+
+The Abbot frowned, not appreciating this open and judicial tone in
+matters that touched him so nearly.
+
+"You have honoured me of late by choosing me as one of your
+confessors, though I think you do not tell me everything, my Lord
+Abbot; therefore I bare my mind to you," continued Brother Martin
+apologetically.
+
+"Speak on then, man. What do you mean?"
+
+"I mean that I do not like this business," he answered slowly, in the
+intervals of munching at his bread. "You had a quarrel with Sir John
+Foterell about those lands which you say belong to the Abbey. God
+knows the right of it, for I understand no law; but he denied it, for
+did I not hear it yonder in your chamber at Blossholme? He denied it,
+and accused you of treason enough to hang all Blossholme, of which
+again God knows the truth. You threatened him in your anger, but he
+and his servant were armed and won out, and next day the two of them
+rode for London with certain papers. Well, that night Sir John
+Foterell was killed in the forest, though his servant Stokes escaped
+with the papers. Now, who killed him?"
+
+The Abbot looked at him, then seemed to take a sudden resolution.
+
+"Our people, those men-at-arms whom I have gathered for the defence of
+our House and the Church. My orders to them were to seize him living,
+but the old English bull would not yield, and fought so fiercely that
+it ended otherwise--to my sorrow."
+
+The monk put down his bread, for which he seemed to have no further
+appetite.
+
+"A dreadful deed," he said, "for which one day you must answer to God
+and man."
+
+"For which we all must answer," corrected the Abbot, "down to the last
+lay-brother and soldier--you as much as any of us, Brother, for were
+you not present at our quarrel?"
+
+"So be it, Abbot. Being innocent, I am ready. But that is not the end
+of it. The Lady Cicely, on hearing of this murder--nay, be not wrath,
+I know no other name for it--and learning that you claimed her as your
+ward, flies to her affianced lover, Sir Christopher Harflete, and that
+very day is married to him by the parish priest in yonder church."
+
+"It was no marriage. Due notice had not been given. Moreover, how
+could my ward be wed without my leave?"
+
+"She had not been served with notice of your wardship, if such exists,
+or so she declared," replied Martin in his quiet, obstinate voice. "I
+think that there is no court in Europe which would void this open
+marriage when it learned that the parties lived a while as man and
+wife, and were so received by those about them--no, not the Pope
+himself."
+
+"He who says that he is no lawyer still sets out the law," broke in
+Maldon sarcastically. "Well, what does it matter, seeing that death
+has voided it? Husband and wife, if such they were, are both dead; it
+is finished."
+
+"No; for now they lay their appeal in the Court of Heaven, to which
+every one of us is summoned; and Heaven can stir up its ministers on
+earth. Oh! I like it not, I like it not; and I mourn for those two, so
+loving, brave, and young. Their blood and that of many more is on our
+hands--for what? A stretch of upland and of marsh which the King or
+others may seize to-morrow."
+
+The Abbot seemed to cower beneath the weight of these sad, earnest
+words, and for a little while there was silence. Then he plucked up
+courage, and said--
+
+"I am glad that you remember that their blood is on your hands as well
+as mine, since now, perhaps, you will keep them hidden."
+
+He rose and walked to the door and the window to see that none were
+without, then returned and exclaimed fiercely--
+
+"Fool, do you then think that these deeds were done to win a new
+estate? True it is that those lands are ours by right, and we need
+their revenues; but there is more behind. The whole Church of this
+realm is threatened by that accursed son of Belial who sits upon the
+throne. Why, what is it now, man?"
+
+"Only that I am an Englishman, and love not to hear England's king
+called a son of Belial. His sins, I know, are many and black, like
+those of others--still, 'son of Belial!' Let his Highness hear it, and
+that name alone is enough to hang you!"
+
+"Well, then, angel of grace, if it suits you better. At the least we
+are threatened. Against the law of God and man our blessed Queen,
+Catherine of Spain, is thrust away in favour of the slut who fills her
+place. Even now I have tidings from Kimbolton that she lies dying
+there of slow poison; so they say and I believe. Also I have other
+tidings. Fisher and More being murdered, Parliament next month will be
+moved to strike at the lesser monasteries and steal their goods, and
+after them our turn will come. But we will not bear it tamely, for ere
+this new year is out all England shall be ablaze, and I, Clement
+Maldon, I--I will light the fire. Now you have the truth, Martin. Will
+you betray me, as that dead knight would have done?"
+
+"Nay, my Lord Abbot, your secrets are safe with me. Am I not your
+chaplain, and does not this wilful and rebellious King of ours work
+much mischief against God and His servants? Yet I tell you that I like
+it not, and cannot see the end. We English are a stiff-necked folk
+whom you of Spain do not understand and will never break, and Henry is
+strong and subtle; moreover, his people love him."
+
+"I knew that I could trust you, Martin, and the proof of it is that I
+have spoken to you so openly," went on Maldon in a gentler voice.
+"Well, you shall hear all. The great Emperor of Germany and Spain is
+on our side, as, seeing his blood and faith, he must be. He will
+avenge the wrongs of the Church and of his royal aunt. I, who know
+him, am his agent here, and what I do is done at his bidding. But I
+must have more money than he finds me, and that is why I stirred in
+this matter of the Shefton lands. Also the Lady Cicely had jewels of
+vast price, though I fear greatly lest they should have been lost in
+the fire this night."
+
+"Filthy lucre--the root of all evil," muttered Brother Martin.
+
+"Aye, and of all good. Money, money--I must have more money to bribe
+men and buy arms, to defend that stronghold of Heaven, the Church.
+What matters it if lives are lost so that the immortal Church holds
+her own? Let them go. My friend, you are fearful; these deaths weigh
+upon your soul--aye, and on mine. I loved that girl, whom as a babe I
+held in my arms, and even her rough father, I loved him for his honest
+heart, although he always mistrusted me, the Spaniard--and rightly.
+The knight Harflete, too, who lies yonder, he was of a brave breed,
+but not one who would have served our turn. Well, they are gone, and
+for these blood-sheddings we must find absolution."
+
+"If we can."
+
+"Oh! we can, we can. Already I have it in my pouch, under a seal you
+know. And for our bodies, fear not. There is such a gale rising in
+England as will blow out this petty breeze. A question of rights, some
+arrows shot, a fire and lives lost--what of that when it agitates
+betwixt powers temporal and spiritual, and which of them shall hold
+the sceptre in this mighty Britain? Martin, I have a mission for you
+that may lead you to a bishopric ere all is done, for that's your mind
+and aim, and if you would put off your doubts and moodiness you've got
+the brain to rule. That ship, the /Great Yarmouth/, which sailed for
+Spain some days ago, has been beat back into the river, and should
+weigh anchor again to-morrow morning. I have letters for the Spanish
+Court, and you shall take them with my verbal explanations, which I
+will give you presently, for they would hang us, and may not be
+trusted to writing. She is bound for Seville, but you will follow the
+Emperor wherever he may be. You will go, won't you?" and he glanced at
+him sideways.
+
+"I obey orders," answered Martin, "though I know little of Spaniards
+or of Spanish."
+
+"In every town the Benedictines have a monastery, and in every
+monastery interpreters, and you shall be accredited to them all who
+are of that great Brotherhood. Well, 'tis settled. Go, make ready as
+best you can; I must write. Stay; the sooner this Harflete is under
+ground the better. Bid that sturdy fellow, Bolle, find the sexton of
+the church and help dig his grave, for we will bury him at dawn. Now
+go, go, I tell you I must write. Come back in an hour, and I will give
+you money for your faring, also my secret messages."
+
+Brother Martin bowed and went.
+
+"A dangerous man," muttered the Abbot, as the door closed on him; "too
+honest for our game, and too much an Englishman. That native spirit
+peeps beneath his cowl; a monk should have no country and no kin.
+Well, he will learn a trick or two in Spain, and I'll make sure they
+keep him there a while. Now for my letters," and he sat down at the
+rude table and began to write.
+
+Half-an-hour later the door opened and Martin entered.
+
+"What is it now?" asked the Abbot testily. "I said, 'Come back in an
+hour.'"
+
+"Aye, you said that, but I have good news for you that I thought you
+might like to hear."
+
+"Out with it, then, man. It's scarce now-a-days. Have they found those
+jewels? No, how could they? the place still flares," and he glanced
+through the window-place. "What's the news?"
+
+"Better than jewels. Christopher Harflete is not dead. While I was
+praying over him he turned his head and muttered. I think he is only
+stunned. You are skilled in medicine; come, look at him."
+
+A minute later and the Abbot knelt over the senseless form of
+Christopher where it lay on the filthy floor of the neat-house. By the
+light of the lanterns with deft fingers he felt his wounded head, from
+which the shattered casque had been removed, and afterwards his heart
+and pulse.
+
+"The skull is cut, but not broken," he said. "My judgment is that
+though he may lie unsensed for days, if fed and tended this man will
+live, being so young and strong. But if left alone in this cold place
+he will be dead by morning, and perhaps he is better dead," and he
+looked at Martin.
+
+"That would be murder indeed," answered the secretary. "Come, let us
+bear him to the fire and pour milk down his throat. We may save him
+yet. Lift you his feet and I will take his head."
+
+The Abbot did so, not very willingly, as it seemed to Martin, but
+rather as one who has no choice.
+
+Half-an-hour later, when the hurts of Christopher had been dressed
+with ointment and bound up, and milk poured down his throat, which he
+swallowed although he was so senseless, the Abbot, looking at him,
+said to Martin--
+
+"You gave orders for this Harflete's burial, did you not?"
+
+The monk nodded.
+
+"Then have you told any that he needs no grave at present?"
+
+"No one except yourself."
+
+The Abbot thought a while, rubbing his shaven chin.
+
+"I think the funeral should go forward," he said presently. "Look not
+so frightened; I do not purpose to inter him living. But there is a
+dead man lying in that shed, Andrew Woods, my servant, the Scotch
+soldier whom Harflete slew. He has no friends here to claim him, and
+these two were of much the same height and breadth. Shrouded in a
+blanket, none would know one body from the other, and it will be
+thought that Andrew was buried with the rest. Let him be promoted in
+his death, and fill a knight's grave."
+
+"To what purpose would you play so unholy a trick, which must,
+moreover, be discovered in a day, seeing that Sir Christopher lives?"
+asked Martin, staring at him.
+
+"For a very good purpose, my friend. It is well that Sir Christopher
+Harflete should seem to die, who, if he is known to be alive, has
+powerful kin in the south who will bring much trouble on us."
+
+"Do you mean----? If so, before God I will have no hand in it."
+
+"I said--seem to die. Where are your wits to-night?" answered the
+Abbot, with irritation. "Sir Christopher travels with you to Spain as
+our sick Brother Luiz, who, like myself, is of that country, and
+desires to return there, as we know, but is too ill to do so. You will
+nurse him, and on the ship he will die or recover, as God wills. If he
+recovers our Brotherhood will show him hospitality at Seville,
+notwithstanding his crimes, and by the time that he reaches England
+again, which may not be for a long while, men will have forgotten all
+this fray in a greater that draws on. Nor will he be harmed, seeing
+that the lady whom he pretends to have married is dead beyond a doubt,
+as you can tell him should he find his understanding."
+
+"A strange game," muttered Martin.
+
+"Strange or no, it is my game which I must play. Therefore question
+not, but be obedient, and silent also, on your oath," replied the
+Abbot in a cold, hard voice. "That covered litter which was brought
+here for the wounded is in the next chamber. Wrap this man in blankets
+and a monk's robe, and we will place him in it. Then let him be borne
+to Blossholme as one of the dead by brethren who will ask no
+questions, and ere dawn on to the ship /Great Yarmouth/, if he still
+lives. It lies near the quay not half-a-mile from the Abbey gate. Be
+swift now, and help me. I will overtake you with the letters, and see
+that you are furnished with all things needful from our store. Also I
+must speak with the captain ere he weighs anchor. Waste no more time
+in talking, but obey and be secret."
+
+"I obey, and I will be secret, as is my duty," answered Brother
+Martin, bowing his head humbly. "But what will be the end of all this
+business, God and His angels know alone. I say that I like it not."
+
+"A /very/ dangerous man," muttered the Abbot, as he watched Martin go.
+"He also must bide a while in Spain; a long while. I'll see to it!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+EMLYN'S CURSE
+
+Just before the wild dawn broke on the morrow of the burning of the
+Towers, a corpse, roughly shrouded, was borne from the village into
+the churchyard of Cranwell, where a shallow grave had been dug for its
+last home.
+
+"Whom do we bury in such haste?" asked the tall Thomas Bolle, who had
+delved the grave alone in the dark, for his orders were urgent, and
+the sexton was fled away from these tumults.
+
+"That man of blood, Sir Christopher Harflete, who has caused us so
+much loss," said the old monk who had been bidden to perform the
+office, as the clergyman, Father Necton, had gone also, fearing the
+vengeance of the Abbot for his part in the marriage of Cicely. "A sad
+story, a very sad story. Wedded by night, and now buried by night,
+both of them, one in the flame and one in the earth. Truly, O God, Thy
+judgments are wonderful, and woe to those who lift hands against Thine
+anointed ministers!"
+
+"Very wonderful," answered Bolle, as, standing in the grave, he took
+the head of the body and laid it down between his straddled feet; "so
+wonderful that a plain man wonders what will be the wondrous end of
+them, also why this noble young knight has grown so wondrously lighter
+than he used to be. Trouble and hunger in those burnt Towers, I
+suppose. Why did they not set him in the vault with his ancestors? It
+would have saved me a lonely job among the ghosts that haunt this
+place. What do you say, Father? Because the stone is cemented down and
+the entrance bricked up, and there is no mason to be found? Then why
+not have waited till one could be fetched? Oh, it is wonderful, all
+wonderful. But who am I that I should dare to ask questions? When the
+Lord Abbot orders, the lay-brother obeys, for he also is wonderful--a
+wonderful abbot.
+
+"There, he is tidy now--straight on his back and his feet pointing to
+the east, at least I hope so, for I could take no good bearings in the
+dark; and the whole wonderful story comes to its wonderful end. So
+give me your hand out of this hole, Father, and say your prayers over
+the sinful body of this wicked fellow who dared to marry the maid he
+loved, and to let out the souls of certain holy monks, or rather of
+their hired rufflers, for monks don't fight, because they wished to
+separate those whom God--I mean the devil--had joined together, and to
+add their temporalities to the estate of Mother Church."
+
+Then the old priest, who was shivering with cold, and understood
+little of this dark talk, began to mumble his ritual, skipping those
+parts of it which he could not remember. So another grain was planted
+in the cornfields of death and immortality, though when and where it
+should grow and what it should bear he neither knew nor cared, who
+wished to escape from fears and fightings back to his accustomed cell.
+
+It was done, and he and the bearers departed, beating their way
+against the rough, raw wind, and leaving Thomas Bolle to fill in the
+grave, which, so long as they were in sight, or rather hearing, he did
+with much vigour. When they were gone, however, he descended into the
+hole under pretence of trampling the loose soil, and there, to be out
+of the wind, sat himself down upon the feet of the corpse and waited,
+full of reflections.
+
+"Sir Christopher dead," he muttered to himself. "I knew his
+grandfather when I was a lad, and my grandfather told me that he knew
+his grandfather's great-grandfather--say three hundred years of them--
+and now I sit on the cold toes of the last of the lot, butchered like
+a mad ox in his own yard by a Spanish priest and his hirelings, to win
+his wife's goods. Oh! yes, it is wonderful, all very wonderful; and
+the Lady Cicely dead, burnt like a common witch. And Emlyn dead--
+Emlyn, whom I have hugged many a time in this very churchyard, before
+they whipped her into marrying that fat old grieve and made a monk of
+me.
+
+"Well, I had her first kiss, and, by the saints! how she cursed old
+Stower all the way down yonder path. I stood behind that tree and
+heard her. She said he would die soon, and he did, and his brat with
+him. She said she would dance on his grave, and she did; I saw her do
+it in the moonlight the night after he was buried; dressed in white
+she danced on his grave! She always kept her promises, did Emlyn.
+That's her blood. If her mother had not been a gypsy witch, she
+wouldn't have married a Spaniard when every man in the place was after
+her for her beautiful eyes. Emlyn is a witch too, or was, for they say
+she is dead; but I can't think it, she isn't the sort that dies.
+Still, she must be dead, and that's good for my soul. Oh! miserable
+man, what are you thinking? Get behind me, Satan, if you can find
+room. A grave is no place for you, Satan, but I wish you were in it
+with me, Emlyn. You /must/ have been a witch, since, after you, I
+could never fancy any other woman, which is against nature, for all's
+fish that comes to a man's net. Evidently a witch of the worst sort,
+but, my darling, witch or no I wish you weren't dead, and I'll break
+that Abbot's neck for you yet, if it costs me my soul. Oh! Emlyn, my
+darling, my darling, do you remember how we kissed in the copse by the
+river? Never was there a woman who could love like you."
+
+So he moaned on, rocking himself to and fro on the legs of the corpse,
+till at length a wild ray from the red, risen sun crept into the
+darksome hole, lighting first of all upon a mouldering skull which
+Bolle had thrown back among the soil. He rose up and pitched it out
+with a word that should not have passed the lips of a lay-brother,
+even as such thoughts should not have passed his mind. Then he set
+himself to a task which he had planned in the intervals of his amorous
+meditations--a somewhat grizzly task.
+
+Drawing his knife from its sheath, he cut the rough stitching of the
+grave-clothes, and, with numb hands, dragged them away from the body's
+head.
+
+The light went out behind a cloud, but, not to waste time, he began to
+feel the face.
+
+"Sir Christopher's nose wasn't broken," he muttered to himself,
+"unless it were in that last fray, and then the bone would be loose,
+and this is stiff. No, no, he had a very pretty nose."
+
+The light came again, and Thomas peered down at the dead face beneath
+him; then suddenly burst into a hoarse laugh.
+
+"By all the saints! here's another of our Spaniard's tricks. It is
+drunken Andrew the Scotchman, turned into a dead English knight.
+Christopher killed him, and now he is Christopher. But where's
+Christopher?"
+
+He thought a little while, then, jumping out of the grave, began to
+fill it in with all his might.
+
+"You're Christopher," he said; "well, stop Christopher until I can
+prove you're Andrew. Good-bye, Sir Andrew Christopher; I am off to
+seek your betters. If you are dead, who may not be alive? Emlyn
+herself, perhaps, after this. Oh, the devil is playing a merry game
+round old Cranwell Towers to-night, and Thomas Bolle will take a hand
+in it."
+
+He was right. The devil was playing a merry game. At least, so thought
+others beside Thomas. For instance, that misguided but honest bigot,
+Martin, as he contemplated the still senseless form of Christopher,
+who, re-christened Brother Luiz, had been safely conveyed aboard the
+/Great Yarmouth/, and now, whether dead or living, which he was not
+sure, lay in the little cabin that had been allotted to the two of
+them. Almost did Martin, as he looked at him and shook his bald head,
+seem to smell brimstone in that close place, which, as he knew well,
+was the fiend's favourite scent.
+
+The captain also, a sour-faced mariner with a squint, known in
+Dunwich, whence he hailed, as Miser Goody, because of his earnestness
+in pursuing wealth and his skill in hoarding it, seemed to feel the
+unhallowed influence of his Satanic Majesty. So far everything had
+gone wrong upon this voyage, which already had been delayed six weeks,
+that is, till the very worst period of the year, while he waited for
+certain mysterious letters and cargo which his owners said he must
+carry to Seville. Then he had sailed out of the river with a fair
+wind, only to be beaten back by fearful weather that nearly sank the
+ship.
+
+Item: six of his best men had deserted because they feared a trip to
+Spain at that season, and he had been obliged to take others at
+hazard. Among them was a broad-shouldered, black-bearded fellow clad
+in a leather jerkin, with spurs upon his heels--bloody spurs--that he
+seemed to have found no time to take off. This hard rider came aboard
+in a skiff after the anchor was up, and, having cast the skiff adrift,
+offered good money for a passage to Spain or any other foreign port,
+and paid it down upon the nail. He, Goody, had taken the money, though
+with a doubtful heart, and given a receipt to the name of Charles
+Smith, asking no questions, since for this gold he need not account to
+the owners. Afterwards also the man, having put off his spurs and
+soldier's jerkin, set himself to work among the crew, some of whom
+seemed to know him, and in the storm that followed showed that he was
+stout-hearted and useful, though not a skilled sailor.
+
+Still, he mistrusted him of Charles Smith, and his bloody spurs, and
+had he not been so short-handed and taken the knave's broad pieces
+would have liked to set him ashore again when they were driven back
+into the river, especially as he heard that there had been man-slaying
+about Blossholme, and that Sir John Foterell lay slaughtered in the
+forest. Perhaps this Charles Smith had murdered him. Well, if so, it
+was no affair of his, and he could not spare a hand.
+
+Now, when at length the weather had moderated, just as he was hauling
+up his anchor, comes the Abbot of Blossholme, on whose will he had
+been bidden to wait, with a lean-faced monk and another passenger,
+said to be a sick religious, wrapped up in blankets and to all
+appearance dead.
+
+Why, wondered that astute mariner Goody, should a sick monk wear
+harness, for he felt it through the blankets as he helped him up the
+ladder, although monk's shoes were stuck upon his feet. And why, as he
+saw when the covering slipped aside for a moment, was his crown bound
+up with bloody cloths?
+
+Indeed, he ventured to question the Abbot as to this mysterious matter
+while his Lordship was paying the passage money in his cabin, only to
+get a very sharp answer.
+
+"Were you not commanded to obey me in all things, Captain Goody, and
+does obedience lie in prying out my business? Another word and I will
+report you to those in Spain who know how to deal with mischief-
+makers. If you would see Dunwich again, hold your peace."
+
+"Your pardon, my Lord Abbot," said Goody; "but things go so upon this
+ship that I grow afraid. That is an ill voyage upon which one lifts
+anchor twice in the same port."
+
+"You will not make them go better, captain, by seeking to nose out my
+affairs and those of the Church. Do you desire that I should lay its
+curse upon you?"
+
+"Nay, your Reverence, I desire that you should take the curse off,"
+answered Goody, who was very superstitious. "Do that and I'll carry a
+dozen sick priests to Spain, even though they choose to wear chain
+shirts--for penance."
+
+The Abbot smiled, then, lifting his hand, pronounced some words in
+Latin, which, as he did not understand them, Goody found very
+comforting. As they passed his lips the /Great Yarmouth/ began to
+move, for the sailors were hoisting up her anchor.
+
+"As I do not accompany you on this voyage, fare you well," he said.
+"The saints go with you, as shall my prayers. Since you will not pass
+the Gibraltar Straits, where I hear many infidel pirates lurk, given
+good weather your voyage should be safe and easy. Again farewell. I
+commend Brother Martin and our sick friend to your keeping, and shall
+ask account of them when we meet again."
+
+I pray it may not be this side of hell, for I do not like that Spanish
+Abbot and his passengers, dead or living, thought Goody to himself, as
+he bowed him from the cabin.
+
+A minute later the Abbot, after a few earnest, hurried words with
+Martin, began to descend the ladder to the boat, that, manned by his
+own people, was already being drawn slowly through the water. As he
+did so he glanced back, and, in the clinging mist of dawn, which was
+almost as dense as wool, caught sight of the face of a man who had
+been ordered to hold the ladder, and knew it for that of Jeffrey
+Stokes, who had escaped from the slaying of Sir John--escaped with the
+damning papers that had cost his master's life. Yes, Jeffrey Stokes,
+no other. His lips shaped themselves to call out something, but before
+ever a syllable had passed them an accident happened.
+
+To the Abbot it seemed as though the whole ship had struck him
+violently behind--so violently that he was propelled headfirst among
+the rowers in the boat, and lay there hurt and breathless.
+
+"What is it?" called the captain, who heard the noise.
+
+"The Abbot slipped, or the ladder slipped, I know not which," answered
+Jeffrey gruffly, staring at the toe of his sea-boot. "At least he is
+safe enough in the boat now," and, turning, he vanished aft into the
+mist, muttering to himself--
+
+"A very good kick, though a little high. Yet I wish it had been off
+another kind of ladder. That murdering rogue would look well with a
+rope round his neck. Still I dared do no more and it served to stop
+his lying mouth before he betrayed me. Oh, my poor master, my poor old
+master!"
+
+
+
+Bruised and sore as he was--and he was very sore--within little over
+an hour Abbot Maldon was back at the ruin of Cranwell Towers. It
+seemed strange that he should go there, but in truth his uneasy heart
+would not let him rest. His plans had succeeded only far too well. Sir
+John Foterell was dead--a crime, no doubt, but necessary, for had the
+knight lived to reach London with that evidence in his pocket, his own
+life and those of many others might have paid the price of it, since
+who knows what truths may be twisted from a victim on the rack? Maldon
+had always feared the rack; it was a nightmare that haunted his sleep,
+although the ambitious cunning of his nature and the cause he served
+with heart and soul prompted him to put himself in continual danger of
+that fate.
+
+In an unguarded moment, when his tongue was loosed with wine, he had
+placed himself in the power of Sir John Foterell, hoping to win him to
+the side of Spain, and afterwards, forgetting it, made of him a
+dreadful enemy. Therefore this enemy must die, for had he lived, not
+only might he himself have died in place of him, but all his plans for
+the rebellion of the Church against the Crown must have come to
+nothing. Yes, yes, that deed was lawful, and pardon for it assured
+should the truth become known. Till this morning he had hoped that it
+never would be known, but now Jeffrey Stokes had escaped upon the ship
+/Great Yarmouth/.
+
+Oh, if only he had seen him a minute earlier; if only something--could
+it have been that impious knave, Jeffrey? he wondered--had not struck
+him so violently in the back and hurled him to the boat, where he lay
+almost senseless till the vessel had glided from them down the river!
+Well, she was gone, and Jeffrey in her. He was but a common serving-
+man, after all, who, if he knew anything, would never have the wit to
+use his knowledge, although it was true he had been wise enough to fly
+from England.
+
+No papers had been discovered upon Sir John's body, and no money.
+Without doubt the old knight had found time to pass them on to
+Jeffrey, who now fled the kingdom disguised as a sailor. Oh! what ill
+chance had put him on board the same vessel with Sir Christopher
+Harflete?
+
+Well, Sir Christopher would probably die; were Brother Martin a little
+less of a fool he would certainly die, but the fact remained that this
+monk, though able, in such matters /was/ a fool, with a conscience
+that would not suit itself to circumstances. If Christopher could be
+saved, Martin would save him, as he had already saved him in the shed,
+even if he handed him over to the Inquisition afterwards. Still, he
+might slip through his fingers or the vessel might be lost, as was
+devoutly to be prayed, and seemed not unlikely at this season of the
+year. Also, the first opportunity must be taken to send certain
+messages to Spain that might result in hampering the activities of
+Brother Martin, and of Sir Christopher Harflete, if he lived to reach
+that land.
+
+Meanwhile, reflected Maldon, other things had gone wrong. He had
+wished to proclaim his wardship over Cicely and to immure her in a
+nunnery because of her great possessions, which he needed for the
+cause, but he had not wished her death. Indeed, he was fond of the
+girl, whom he had known from a child, and her innocent blood was a
+weight that he ill could bear, he who at heart always shrank from the
+shedding of blood. Still, Heaven had killed her, not he, and the
+matter could not now be mended. Also, as she was dead, her inheritance
+would, he thought, fall into his hands without further trouble, for he
+--a mitred Abbot with a seat among the Lords of the realm--had friends
+in London, who, for a fee, could stifle inquiry into all this far-off
+business.
+
+No, no, he must not be faint-hearted, who, after all, had much for
+which to be thankful. Meanwhile the cause went on--that great cause of
+the threatened Church to which he had devoted his life. Henry the
+heretic would fall; the Spanish Emperor, whose spy he was and who
+loved him well, would invade and take England. He would yet live to
+see the Holy Inquisition at work at Westminster, and himself--yes,
+himself; had it not been hinted to him?--enthroned at Canterbury, the
+Cardinal's red hat he coveted upon his head, and--oh, glorious
+thought!--perhaps afterwards wearing the triple crown at Rome.
+
+
+
+Rain was falling heavily when the Abbot, with his escort of two monks
+and half-a-dozen men-at-arms, rode up to Cranwell. The house was now
+but a smoking heap of ashes, mingled with charred beams and burnt
+clay, in the midst of which, scarcely visible through the clouds of
+steam caused by the falling rain, rose the grim old Norman tower, for
+on its stonework the flames had beat vainly.
+
+"Why have we come here?" asked one of the monks, surveying the dismal
+scene with a shudder.
+
+"To seek the bodies of the Lady Cicely and her woman, and give them
+Christian burial," answered the Abbot.
+
+"After bringing them to a most unchristian death," muttered the monk
+to himself, then added aloud, "You were ever charitable, my Lord
+Abbot, and though she defied you, such is that noble lady's due. As
+for the nurse Emlyn, she was a witch, and did but come to the end that
+she deserved, if she be really dead."
+
+"What mean you?" asked the Abbot sharply.
+
+"I mean that, being a witch, the fire may have turned from her."
+
+"Pray God, then, that it turned from her mistress also! But it cannot
+be. Only a fiend could have lived in the heat of that furnace; look,
+even the tower is gutted."
+
+"No, it cannot be," answered the monk; "so, since we shall never find
+them, let us chant the Burial Office over this great grave of theirs
+and begone--the sooner the better, for yon place has a haunted look."
+
+"Not till we have searched out their bones, which must be beneath the
+tower yonder, whereon we saw them last," replied the Abbot, adding in
+a low voice, "Remember, Brother, the Lady Cicely had jewels of great
+price, which, if they were wrapped in leather, the fire may have
+spared, and these are among our heritage. At Shefton they cannot be
+found; therefore they must be here, and the seeking of them is no task
+for common folk. That is why I hurried hither so fast. Do you
+understand?"
+
+The monk nodded his head. Having dismounted, they gave their horses to
+the serving-men and began to make an examination of the ruin, the
+Abbot leaning on his inferior's arm, for he was in great pain from the
+blow in the back that Jeffrey had administered with his sea-boot, and
+the bruises which he had received in falling to the boat.
+
+First they passed under the gatehouse, which still stood, only to find
+that the courtyard beyond was so choked with smouldering rubbish that
+they could make no entry--for it will be remembered that the house had
+fallen outwards. Here, however, lying by the carcass of a horse, they
+found the body of one of the men whom Christopher had killed in his
+last stand, and caused it to be borne out. Then, followed by their
+people, leaving the dead man in the gateway, they walked round the
+ruin, keeping on the inner side of the moat, till they came to the
+little pleasaunce garden at its back.
+
+"Look," said the monk in a frightened voice, pointing to some scorched
+bushes that had been a bower.
+
+The Abbot did so, but for a while could see nothing because of the
+wreaths of steam. Presently a puff of wind blew these aside, and
+there, standing hand in hand, he beheld the figures of two women. His
+men beheld them also, and called aloud that these were the ghosts of
+Cicely and Emlyn. As they spoke the figures, still hand in hand, began
+to walk towards them, and they saw that they were Cicely and Emlyn
+indeed, but in the flesh, quite unharmed.
+
+For a moment there was deep silence; then the Abbot asked--
+
+"Whence come you, Mistress Cicely?"
+
+"Out of the fire," she answered in a small, cold voice.
+
+"Out of the fire! How did you live through the fire?"
+
+"God sent His angel to save us," she answered, again in that small
+voice.
+
+"A miracle," muttered the monk; "a true miracle!"
+
+"Or mayhap Emlyn Stower's witchcraft," exclaimed one of the men
+behind; and Maldon started at his words.
+
+"Lead me to my husband, my Lord Abbot, lest, thinking me dead, his
+heart should break," said Cicely.
+
+Now again there was silence so deep that they could hear the patter of
+every drop of falling rain. Twice the Abbot strove to speak, but could
+not, but at the third effort his words came.
+
+"The man you call your husband, but who was not your husband, but your
+ravisher, was slain in the fray last night, Cicely Foterell."
+
+She stood quite quiet for a while, as though considering his words,
+then said, in the same unnatural voice--
+
+"You lie, my Lord Abbot. You were ever a liar, like your father the
+devil, for the angel told me so in the midst of the fire. Also he told
+me that, though I seemed to see him fall, Christopher is alive upon
+the earth--yes, and other things, many other things;" and she passed
+her hand before her eyes and held it there, as though to shut out the
+sight of her enemy's face.
+
+Now the Abbot trembled in his terror, he who knew that he lied, though
+at that time none else there knew it. It was as though suddenly he had
+been haled before the Judgment-seat where all secrets must be bared.
+
+"Some evil spirit has entered into you," he said huskily.
+
+She dropped her hand, pointing at him.
+
+"Nay, nay; I never knew but one evil spirit, and he stands before me."
+
+"Cicely," he went on, "cease your blaspheming. Alas! that I must tell
+it you. Sir Christopher Harflete is dead and buried in yonder
+churchyard."
+
+"What! So soon, and all uncoffined, he who was a noble knight? Then
+you buried him living, and, living, in a day to come he shall rise up
+against you. Hear my words, all. Christopher Harflete shall rise up
+living and give testimony against this devil in a monk's robe, and
+afterwards--afterwards--" and she laughed shrilly, then suddenly fell
+down and lay still.
+
+Now Emlyn, the dark and handsome, as became her Spanish, or perhaps
+gypsy blood, who all this while had stood silent, her arms folded upon
+her high bosom, leaned down and looked at her. Then she straightened
+herself, and her face was like the face of a beautiful fiend.
+
+"She is dead!" she screamed. "My dove is dead. She whom these breasts
+nursed, the greatest lady of all the wolds and all the vales, the Lady
+of Blossholme, of Cranwell and of Shefton, in whose veins ran the
+blood of mighty nobles, aye, and of old kings, is dead, murdered by a
+beggarly foreign monk, who not ten days gone butchered her father also
+yonder by King's Grave--yonder by the mere. Oh! the arrow in his
+throat! the arrow in his throat! I cursed the hand that shot it, and
+to-day that hand is blue beneath the mould. So, too, I curse you,
+Maldonado, evil-gifted one, Abbot consecrated by Satan, you and all
+your herd of butchers!" and she broke into the stream of Spanish
+imprecations whereof the Abbot knew the meaning well.
+
+Presently Emlyn paused and looked behind her at the smouldering ruins.
+
+"This house is burned," she cried; "well, mark Emlyn's words: even so
+shall your house burn, while your monks run squeaking like rats from a
+flaming rick. You have stolen the lands; they shall be taken from you,
+and yours also, every acre of them. Not enough shall be left to bury
+you in, for, priest, you'll need no burial. The fowls of the air shall
+bury you, and that's the nearest you will ever get to heaven--in their
+filthy crops. Murderer, if Christopher Harflete is dead, yet he shall
+live, as his lady swore, for his seed shall rise up against you. Oh! I
+forgot; how can it, how can it, seeing that she is dead with him, and
+their bridal coverlet has become a pall woven by the black monks? Yet
+it shall, it shall. Christopher Harflete's seed shall sit where the
+Abbots of Blossholme sat, and from father to son tell the tale of the
+last of them--the Spaniard who plotted against England's king and
+overshot himself."
+
+Her rage veered like a hurricane wind. Forgetting the Abbot, she
+turned upon the monk at his side and cursed him. Then she cursed the
+hired men-at-arms, those present and those absent, many by name, and
+lastly--greatest crime of all--she cursed the Pope and the King of
+Spain, and called to God in heaven and Henry of England upon earth to
+avenge her Lady Cicely's wrongings, and the murder of Sir John
+Foterell, and the murder of Christopher Harflete, on each and all of
+them, individually and separately.
+
+So fierce and fearful was her onslaught that all who heard her were
+reduced to utter silence. The Abbot and the monk leaned against each
+other, the soldiers crossed themselves and muttered prayers, while one
+of them, running up, fell upon his knees and assured her that he had
+had nothing to do with all this business, having only returned from a
+journey last night, and been called thither that morning.
+
+Emlyn, who had paused from lack of breath, listened to him, and said--
+
+"Then I take the curse off you and yours, John Athey. Now lift up my
+lady and bear her to the church, for there we will lay her out as
+becomes her rank; though not with her jewels, her great and priceless
+jewels, for which she was hunted like a doe. She must lie without her
+jewels; her pearls and coronet, and rings, her stomacher and necklets
+of bright gems, that were worth so much more than those beggarly acres
+--those that once a Sultan's woman wore. They are lost, though perhaps
+yonder Abbot has found them. Sir John Foterell bore them to London for
+safe keeping, and good Sir John is dead; footpads set on him in the
+forest, and an arrow shot from behind pierced his throat. Those who
+killed him have the jewels, and the dead bride must lie without them,
+adorned in the naked beauty that God gave to her. Lift her, John
+Athey, and you monks, set up your funeral chant; we'll to the church.
+The bride who knelt before the altar shall lie there before the altar
+--Clement Maldonado's last offering to God. First the father, then the
+husband, and now the wife--the sweet, new-made wife!"
+
+So she raved on, while they stood before her dumb-founded, and the man
+lifted up Cicely. Then suddenly this same Cicely, whom all thought
+dead, opened her eyes and struggled from his arms to her feet.
+
+"See," screamed Emlyn; "did I not tell you that Harflete's seed should
+live to be avenged upon all your tribe, and she stands there who will
+bear it? Now where shall we shelter till England hears this tale?
+Cranwell is down, though it shall rise again, and Shefton is stolen.
+Where shall we shelter?"
+
+"Thrust away that woman," said the Abbot in a hoarse voice, "for her
+witchcrafts poison the air. Set the Lady Cicely on a horse and bear
+her to our Nunnery of Blossholme, where she shall be tended."
+
+The men advanced to do his bidding, though very doubtfully. But Emlyn,
+hearing his words, ran to the Abbot and whispered something in his ear
+in a foreign tongue that caused him to cross himself and stagger back
+from her.
+
+"I have changed my mind," he said to the servants. "Mistress Emlyn
+reminds me that between her and her lady there is the tie of foster-
+motherhood. They may not be separated as yet. Take them both to the
+Nunnery, where they shall dwell, and as for this woman's words, forget
+them, for she was mad with fear and grief, and knew not what she said.
+May God and His saints forgive her, as I do."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+THE ABBOT'S OFFER
+
+The Nunnery at Blossholme was a peaceful place, a long, grey-gabled
+house set under the shelter of a hill and surrounded by a high wall.
+Within this wall lay also the great garden--neglected enough--and the
+chapel, a building that still was beautiful in its decay.
+
+Once, indeed, Blossholme Priory, which was older than the Abbey, had
+been rich and famous. Its foundress in the time of the first Edward, a
+certain Lady Matilda, one of the Plantagenets, who retired from the
+world after her husband had been killed in the Crusade, being
+childless, endowed it with all her lands. Other noble ladies who
+accompanied her there, or sought its refuge in after days, had done
+likewise, so that it grew in power and in wealth, till at its most
+prosperous time over twenty nuns told their beads within its walls.
+Then the proud Abbey rose upon the opposing hill, and obtained some
+royal charter that the Pope confirmed, under which the Priory of
+Blossholme was affiliated to the Abbey of Blossholme, and the Abbot of
+Blossholme became the spiritual lord of its religious. From that day
+forward its fortunes began to decline, since under this pretext and
+that the abbots filched away its lands to swell their own estates.
+
+So it came about that at the date of our history the total revenue of
+this Nunnery was but �130 a year of the money of the day, and even of
+this sum the Abbot took tithe and toll. Now in all the great house,
+that once had been so full, there dwelt but six nuns, one of whom was,
+in fact, a servant, while an aged monk from the Abbey celebrated Mass
+in the fair chapel where lay the bones of so many who had gone before.
+Also on certain feasts the Abbot himself attended, confessed the nuns,
+and granted them absolution and his holy blessing. On these days, too,
+he would examine their accounts, and if there were money in hand take
+a share of it to serve his necessities, for which reason the Prioress
+looked forward to his coming with little joy.
+
+It was to this ancient home of peace that the distraught Cicely and
+her servant Emlyn were conveyed upon the morrow of the great burning.
+Indeed, Cicely knew it well enough already, since as a child during
+three years or more she had gone there daily to be taught by the
+Prioress Matilda, for every head of the Priory took this name in turn
+to the honour of their foundress and in accordance with the provisions
+of her will. Happy years they were, as these old nuns loved her in her
+youth and innocence, and she, too, loved them every one. Now, by the
+workings of fate, she was borne back to the same quiet room where she
+had played and studied--a new-made wife, a new-made widow.
+
+But of all this poor Cicely knew nothing till three weeks or more had
+gone by, when at length her wandering brain cleared and she opened her
+eyes to the world again. At the moment she was alone, and lay looking
+about her. The place was familiar. She recognized the deep windows,
+the faded tapestries of Abraham cutting Isaac's throat with a
+butcher's knife, and Jonah being shot into the very gateway of a
+castle where his family awaited him, from the mouth of a gigantic carp
+with goggle eyes, for the simple artist had found his whale's model in
+a stewpond. Well she remembered those delightful pictures, and how
+often she had wondered whether Isaac could escape bleeding to death,
+or Jonah's wife, with the outspread arms, withstand the sudden shock
+of her husband's unexpected arrival out of the interior of the whale.
+There also was the splendid fireplace of wrought stone, and above it,
+cunningly carved in gilded oak, gleamed many coats-of-arms without
+crests, for they were those of sundry noble prioresses.
+
+Yes, this was certainly the great guest-chamber of the Blossholme
+Priory, which, since the nuns had now few guests and many places in
+which to put them, had been given up to her, Sir John Foterell's
+heiress, as her schoolroom. There she lay, thinking that she was a
+child again, a happy, careless child, or that she dreamed, till
+presently the door opened and Mother Matilda appeared, followed by
+Emlyn, who bore a tray, on which stood a silver bowl that smoked.
+There was no mistaking Mother Matilda in her black Benedictine robe
+and her white whimple, wearing the great silver crucifix which was her
+badge of office, and the golden ring with an emerald bezel whereon was
+cut St. Catherine being broken on the wheel--the ancient ring which
+every Prioress of Blossholme had worn from the beginning. Moreover,
+who that had ever seen it could forget her sweet, old, high-bred face,
+with the fine lips, the arched nose, and the quick, kind grey eyes!
+
+Cicely strove to rise and to do her reverence, as had been her custom
+during those childish years, only to find that she could not, for lo!
+she fell back heavily upon her pillow. Thereon Emlyn, setting down the
+tray with a clatter upon a table, ran to her, and putting her arms
+about her, began to scold, as was her fashion, but in a very gentle
+voice; and Mother Matilda, kneeling by her bed, gave thanks to Jesus
+and His blessed saints--though why she thanked Him at first Cicely did
+not understand.
+
+"Am I ill, reverend Mother?" she asked.
+
+"Not now, daughter, but you were very ill," answered the Prioress in
+her sweet, low voice. "Now we think that God has healed you."
+
+"How long have I been here?" she asked.
+
+The Mother began to reckon, counting her beads, one for every day--for
+in such places time slips by--but long before she had finished Emlyn
+replied quickly--
+
+"Cranwell Towers was burned three weeks yesternight."
+
+Then Cicely remembered, and with a bitter groan turned her face to the
+wall, while the Mother reproached Emlyn, saying she had killed her.
+
+"I think not," answered the nurse in a low voice. "I think she has
+that which will not let her die"--a saying that puzzled the Prioress
+at this time.
+
+Emlyn was right. Cicely did not die. On the contrary, she grew strong
+and well in her body, though it was long before her mind recovered.
+Indeed, she glided about the place like a ghost in her black mourning
+robe, for now she no longer doubted that Christopher was dead, and
+she, the wife of a week, widowed as well as orphaned.
+
+Then in her utter desolation came comfort; a light broke on the
+darkness of her soul like the moon above a tortured midnight sea. She
+was no longer quite alone; the murdered Christopher had left his image
+with her. If she lived a child would be born to him, and therefore she
+would surely live. One evening, on her knees, she whispered her secret
+to the Prioress Matilda, whereat the old nun blushed like a girl, yet,
+after a moment's silent prayer, laid a thin hand upon her head in
+blessing.
+
+"The Lord Abbot declares that your marriage was no true marriage, my
+daughter, though why I do not understand, since the man was he whom
+your heart chose, and you were wed to him by an ordained priest before
+God's altar and in presence of the congregation."
+
+"I care not what he says," answered Cicely in a stubborn voice. "If I
+am not a true wife, then no woman ever was."
+
+"Dear daughter," answered Mother Matilda, "it is not for us unlearned
+women to question the wisdom of a holy Abbot who doubtless is inspired
+from on high."
+
+"If he is inspired it is not from on high, Mother. Would God or His
+saints teach him to murder my father and my husband, to seize my
+heritage, or to hold my person in this gentle prison? Such
+inspirations do not come from above, Mother."
+
+"Hush! hush!" said the Prioress, glancing round her nervously; "your
+woes have crazed you. Besides, you have no proof. In this world there
+are so many things that we cannot understand. Being an abbot, how
+could he do wrong, although to us his acts seem wrong? But let us not
+talk of these matters, of which, indeed, I only know from that rough-
+tongued Emlyn of yours, who, I am told, was not afraid to curse him
+terribly. I was about to say that whatever may be the law of it, I
+hold your marriage good and true, and its issue, should such come to
+you, pure and holy, and night by night I will pray that it shall be
+crowned with Heaven's richest blessings."
+
+"I thank you, dear Mother," answered Cicely, as she rose and left her.
+
+When she had gone the Prioress rose also, and, with a troubled face,
+began to walk up and down the refectory, for it was here that they had
+spoken together. Truly she could not understand, for unless all these
+tales were false--and how could they be false?--this Abbot, whom her
+high-bred English nature had always mistrusted, this dark, able
+Spanish monk was no saint, but a wicked villain? There must be some
+explanation. It was only that /she/ did not understand.
+
+Soon the news spread throughout the Nunnery, and if the sisters had
+loved Cicely before, now they loved her twice as well. Of the doubts
+as to the validity to her marriage, like their Prioress, they took no
+heed, for had it not been celebrated in a church? But that a child was
+to be born among them--ah! that was a joyful thing, a thing that had
+not happened for quite two hundred years, when, alas!--so said
+tradition and their records--there had been a dreadful scandal which
+to this day was spoken of with bated breath. For be it known at once
+this Nunnery, whatever may or may not have been the case with some
+others, was one of which no evil could be said.
+
+Beneath their black robes, however, these old nuns were still as much
+women as the mothers who bore them, and this news of a child stirred
+them to the marrow. Among themselves in their hours of recreation they
+talked of little else, and even their prayers were largely occupied
+with this same matter. Indeed, poor, weak-witted, old Sister Bridget,
+who hitherto had been secretly looked down upon because she was the
+only one of the seven who was not of gentle birth, now became very
+popular. For Sister Bridget in her youth had been married and borne
+two children, both of whom had been carried off by the smallpox after
+she was widowed, whereon, as her face was seamed by this same disease,
+so that she had no hope of another husband, as her neighbours said, or
+because her heart was broken, as she said, she entered into religion.
+
+Now she constituted herself Cicely's chief attendant, and although
+that lady was quite well and strong, persecuted her with advice and
+with noxious mixtures which she brewed, till Emlyn, descending on her
+like a storm, hunted her from the room and cast her medicines through
+the window.
+
+That these sisters should be thus interested in so small a matter was
+not, indeed, wonderful, seeing that if their lives had been secluded
+before, since the Lady Cicely came amongst them they were ten times
+more so. Soon they discovered that she and her servant, Emlyn Stower,
+were, in fact, prisoners, which meant that they, her hostesses, were
+prisoners also. None were allowed to enter the Nunnery save the silent
+old monk who confessed them and celebrated the Mass, nor, by an order
+of the Abbot, were they suffered to go abroad upon any business
+whatsoever.
+
+For the rest, as their only means of communication with those who
+dwelt beyond was the surly gardener, who was deaf and set there to spy
+on them, little news ever reached them. They were almost dead to the
+world, which, had they known it, was busy enough just then with
+matters that concerned them and all other religious houses.
+
+At length one day, when Cicely and Emlyn were seated in the garden
+beneath a flowering hawthorn-tree--for now June had come and with it
+warm weather--of a sudden Sister Bridget hurried up saying that the
+Abbot of Blossholme desired their presence. At this tidings Cicely
+turned faint, and Emlyn rated Bridget, asking if her few wits had left
+her, or if she thought that name was so pleasant to her mistress that
+she should suddenly bawl it in her ear.
+
+Thereon the poor old soul, who was not too strong-brained and much
+afraid of Emlyn since she had thrown her medicines out of the window,
+began to weep, protesting that she had meant no harm, till Cicely,
+recovering, soothed her and sent her back to say that she would wait
+upon his lordship.
+
+"Are you afraid of him, Mistress?" asked Emlyn, as they prepared to
+follow.
+
+"A little, Nurse. He has shown himself a man to be afraid of, has he
+not? My father and my husband are in his net, and will he spare the
+last fish in the pool--a very narrow pool?" and she glanced at the
+high walls about her. "I fear lest he should take you from me, and
+wonder why he has not done so already."
+
+"Because my father was a Spaniard, and through him I know that which
+would ruin him with his friends, the Pope and the Emperor. Also, he
+believes that I have the evil eye, and dreads my curse. Still, one day
+he may try to murder me; who knows? Only then the secret of the jewels
+will go with me, for that is mine alone; not yours even, for if you
+had it they would squeeze it out of you. Meanwhile he will try to
+profess you a nun, but push him off with soft words. Say that you will
+think of it after your child is born. Till then he can do nothing,
+and, if Mother Matilda's fresh tidings are true, by that time
+perchance there will be no more nuns in England."
+
+Now very quietly and by the side door they were entering the old
+reception-hall, that was only used for the entertainment of visitors
+and on other great occasions, and close to them saw the Abbot seated
+in his chair, while the Prioress stood before him, rendering her
+accounts.
+
+"Whether you can spare it or no," they heard him say sharply, "I must
+have the half-year's rent. The times are evil; we servants of the Lord
+are threatened by that adulterous king and his proud ministers, who
+swear they will strip us to the shirt and turn us out to starve. I'm
+but just from London, and, although our enemy Anne Boleyn has lost her
+wanton head, I tell you the danger is great. Money must be had to stir
+up rebellion, for who can arm without it, and but little comes from
+Spain. I am in treaty to sell the Foterell lands for what they will
+fetch, but as yet can give no title. Either that stiff-necked girl
+must sign a release, or she must profess, for otherwise, while she
+lives, some lawyer or relative might upset the sale. Is she yet
+prepared to take her first vows? If not, I shall hold you much to
+blame."
+
+"Nay," answered the Prioress; "there are reasons. You have been away,
+and have not heard"--she hesitated and looked about her nervously, to
+see Cicely and Emlyn standing behind them. "What do you there,
+daughter?" she asked, with as much asperity as she ever showed.
+
+"In truth I know not, Mother," answered Cicely. "Sister Bridget told
+us that the Lord Abbot desired our presence."
+
+"I bid her say that you were to wait him in my chamber," said the
+Prioress in a vexed voice.
+
+"Well," broke in the Abbot, "it would seem that you have a fool for a
+messenger; if it is that pockmarked hag, her brain has been gone for
+years. Ward Cicely, I greet you, though after the sorrows that have
+fallen on you, whereof by your leave we will not speak, since there is
+no use in stirring up such memories, I grieve to see you in that
+worldly garb, who thought you would have changed it for a better. But
+ere you entered the holy Mother here spoke of some obstacle that stood
+between you and God. What is it? Perchance my counsel may be of
+service. Not this woman, as I trust," and he frowned at Emlyn, who at
+once answered, in her steady voice--
+
+"Nay, my Lord Abbot, I stand not between her and God and His holiness,
+but between her and man and his iniquity. Still I can tell you of that
+obstacle--which comes from God--if you so need."
+
+Now the old Prioress, blushing to her white hair, bent forward and
+whispered in the Abbot's ear words at which he sprang up as though a
+wasp had stung him.
+
+"Pest on it! it cannot be," he said. "Well, well, there it is, and
+must be swallowed with the rest. Pity, though," he added, with a sneer
+on his dark face, "since many a year has gone by since these walls
+have seen a bastard, and, as things are, that may pull them down about
+your ears."
+
+"I know such brats are dangerous," interrupted Emlyn, looking Maldon
+full in the eyes; "my father told me of a young monk in Spain--I
+forget his name--who brought certain ladies to the torture in some
+such matter. But who talks of bastards in the case of Dame Cicely
+Harflete, widow of Sir Christopher Harflete, slain by the Abbot of
+Blossholme?"
+
+"Silence, woman. Where there is no lawful marriage there can be no
+lawful child----"
+
+"To take that lawful inheritance that it lawfully inherits. Say, my
+Lord Abbot, did Sir Christopher make you his heir also?"
+
+Then, before he could answer, Cicely, who had been silent all this
+while, broke in--
+
+"Heap what insults you will on me, my Lord Abbot, and having robbed me
+of my father, my husband, and my heart, rob me of my goods also, if
+you can. In my case it matters little. But slander not my child, if
+one should be born to me, nor dare to touch its rights. Think not that
+you can break the mother as you broke the girl, for there you will
+find that you have a she-wolf by the ear."
+
+He looked at her, they all looked at her, for in her eyes was
+something that compelled theirs. Clement Maldon, who knew the world
+and how a she-wolf can fight for its cub, read in them a warning which
+caused him to change his tone.
+
+"Tut, tut, daughter," he said; "what is the good of vapouring of a
+child that is not and may never be? When it comes I will christen it,
+and we will talk."
+
+"When it comes you will not lay a finger on it. I'd rather that it
+went unbaptized to its grave than marked with your cross of blood."
+
+He waved his hand.
+
+"There is another matter, or rather two, of which I must speak to you,
+my daughter. When do you take your first vows?"
+
+"We will talk of it after my child is born. 'Tis a child of sin, you
+say, and I am unrepentant, a wicked woman not fit to take a holy vow,
+to which, moreover, you cannot force me," she replied, with bitter
+sarcasm.
+
+Again he waved his hand, for the she-wolf showed her teeth.
+
+"The second matter is," he went on, "that I need your signature to a
+writing. It is nothing but a form, and one I fear you cannot read, nor
+in faith can I," and with a somewhat doubtful smile he drew out a
+crabbed indenture and spread it before her on the table.
+
+"What?" she laughed, brushing aside the parchment. "Have you
+remembered that yesterday I came of age, and am, therefore, no more
+your ward, if such I ever was? You should have sold my inheritance
+more swiftly, for now the title you can give is rotten as last year's
+apples, and I'll sign nothing. Bear witness, Mother Matilda, and you,
+Emlyn Stower, that I have signed and will sign nothing. Clement
+Maldon, Abbot of Blossholme, I am a free woman of full age, even
+though, as you say, I am a wanton. Where is your right to chain up a
+wanton who is no religious? Unlock these gates and let me go."
+
+Now he felt the wolf's fangs, and they were sharp.
+
+"Whither would you go?" he asked.
+
+"Whither but to the King, to lay my cause before him, as my father
+would have done last Christmas-time."
+
+It was a bold speech, but foolish. The she-wolf had loosed her hold to
+growl--to growl at a hunter with a bloody sword.
+
+"I think your father never reached his Grace with his sack of
+falsehoods; nor might you, Cicely Foterell. The times are rough,
+rebellion is in the air, and many wild men hunt the woods and roads.
+No, no; for your own sake you bide here in safety till----"
+
+"Till you murder me. Oh! it is in your mind. Do you remember the angel
+who spoke with me in the fire and told me my husband was not dead?"
+
+"A lying spirit, then; no angel."
+
+"I am not so sure," and again she passed her hand across her eyes, as
+she had done in that dreadful dawn at Cranwell. "Well, I prayed to God
+to help me, and last night that angel came again and spoke in my
+sleep. He told me to fear you not at all, my Lord Abbot; however sore
+my case and however near my death might seem, since God had shaped a
+stone to drop upon your head. He showed it me; it was like an axe."
+
+Now the old Prioress held up her hands and gasped in horror, but the
+Abbot leapt from his seat in rage--or was it fear?
+
+"Wanton, you named yourself," he exclaimed; "but I name you witch
+also, who, if you had your deserts, should die the death of a witch by
+fire. Mother Matilda, I command you, on your oath, keep this witch
+fast and make report to me of all her sorceries. It is not fitting
+that such a one should walk abroad to bring evil on the innocent.
+Witch and wanton, begone to your chamber!"
+
+Cicely listened, then, without another word, broke into a little
+scornful laugh, and, turning, left the room, followed by the Prioress.
+
+But Emlyn did not go; she stayed behind, a smile on her dark, handsome
+face.
+
+"You've lost the throw, though all your dice were loaded," she said
+boldly.
+
+The Abbot turned on her and reviled her.
+
+"Woman," he said, "if she is a witch, you're the familiar, and
+certainly you shall burn even though she escape. It is you who taught
+her how to call up the devil."
+
+"Then you had best keep me living, my Lord Abbot, that I may teach her
+how to lay him. Nay, threaten not. Why, the rack might make me speak,
+and the birds of the air carry the matter!"
+
+His face paled; then suddenly he asked--
+
+"Where are those jewels? I need them. Give me the jewels and you shall
+go free, and perchance your accursed mistress with you."
+
+"I told you," she answered. "Sir John took them to London, and if they
+were not found upon his body, then either he threw them away or
+Jeffrey Stokes carried them to wherever he has gone. Drag the mere,
+search the forest, find Jeffrey and ask him."
+
+"You lie, woman. When you and your mistress fled from Shefton a
+servant there saw you with the box that held those jewels in your
+hand."
+
+"True, my Lord Abbot, but it no longer held them; only my mistress's
+love-letters, which she would not leave behind."
+
+"Then where is the box, and where are those letters?"
+
+"We grew short of fuel in the siege, and burned both. When a woman has
+her man she doesn't want his letters. Surely, Maldonado," she added,
+with meaning, "you should know that it is not always wise to keep old
+letters. What, I wonder, would you give for some that I have seen and
+that are /not/ burned?"
+
+"Accursed spawn of Satan," hissed the Abbot, "how dare you flaunt me
+thus? When Cicely was wed to Christopher she wore those very gems; I
+have it from those who saw her decked in them--the necklace on her
+bosom, the priceless rosebud pearls hanging from her ears."
+
+"Oho! oho!" said Emlyn; "so you own that she was wed, the pure soul
+whom but now you called a wanton. Look you, Sir Abbot, we will fence
+no more. She wore the jewels. Jeffrey took nothing hence save your
+death-warrant."
+
+"Then where are they?" he asked, striking his fist upon the table.
+
+"Where? Why, where you'll never follow them--gone up to heaven in the
+fire. Thinking we might be robbed, I hid them behind a secret panel in
+her chamber, purposing to return for them later. Go, rake out the
+ashes; you might find a cracked diamond or two, but not the pearls;
+they fly in fire. There, that's the truth at last, and much good may
+it do to you."
+
+The Abbot groaned. Like most Spaniards he was emotional, and could not
+help it; his bitterness burst from his heart.
+
+Emlyn laughed at him.
+
+"See how the wise and mighty of this world overshoot themselves," she
+said. "Clement Maldonado, I have known you for some twenty years, and
+when I was called the Beauty of Blossholme, and the Abbot who went
+before you made me the Church's ward, though I ever hated you, who
+hunted down my father, you had softer words for me than those you name
+me by to-day. Well, I have watched you rise and I shall watch you
+fall, and I know your heart and its desires. Money is what you lust
+for and must have, for otherwise how will you gain your end? It was
+the jewels that you needed, not the Shefton lands, which are worth
+little now-a-days, and will soon be worth less. Why, one of those pink
+pearls placed among the Jews would buy three parishes, with their
+halls thrown in. For the sake of those jewels you have brought death
+on some and misery on some, and on your own soul damnation without
+end, though had you but been wise and consulted me--why, they, or some
+of them, might have been yours. Sir John was no fool; he would have
+parted with a pearl or two, of which he did not know the value, to end
+a feud against the Church and safeguard his title and his daughter.
+And now, in your madness, you've burnt them--burnt a king's ransom, or
+what might have pulled down a king. Oh! had you but guessed it, you'd
+have hacked off the hand that put a torch to Cranwell Towers, for now
+the gold you need is lacking to you, and therefore all your grand
+schemes will fail, and you'll be buried in their ruin, as you thought
+we were in Cranwell."
+
+The Abbot, who had listened to this long and bitter speech in
+patience, groaned again.
+
+"You are a clever woman," he said; "we understand each other, coming
+from the same blood. You know the case; what is your counsel to me
+now?"
+
+"That which you will not take, being foredoomed for your sins. Still
+I'll give it honestly. Set the Lady Cicely free, restore her lands,
+confess your evil doings. Fly the kingdom before Cromwell turns on you
+and Henry finds you out, taking with you all the gold that you can
+gather, and bribe the Emperor Charles to give you a bishopric in
+Granada or elsewhere--not near Seville, for reasons that you know. So
+shall you live honoured, and one day, after you have been dead a long
+while and many things are forgotten, perchance be beatified as Saint
+Clement of Blossholme."
+
+The Abbot looked at her reflectively.
+
+"If I sought safety only and old age comforts your counsel might be
+good, but I play for higher stakes."
+
+"You set your head against them," broke in Emlyn.
+
+"Not so, woman, for in any case that head must win. If it stays upon
+my shoulders it will wear an archbishop's mitre, or a cardinal's hat,
+or perhaps something nobler yet; and if it parts from them, why, then
+a heavenly crown of glory."
+
+"Your head? /Your/ head?" exclaimed Emlyn, with a contemptuous laugh.
+
+"Why not?" he answered gravely. "You chance to know of some errors of
+my youth, but they are long ago repented of, and for such there is
+plentiful forgiveness," and he crossed himself. "Were it not so, who
+would escape?"
+
+Emlyn, who had been standing all this while, sat herself down, set her
+elbows on the table and rested her chin upon her clenched hands.
+
+"True," she said, looking him in the eyes; "none of us would escape.
+But, Clement Maldon, how about the unrepented errors of your age? Sir
+John Foterell, for instance; Sir Christopher Harflete, for instance;
+my Lady Cicely, for instance; to say nothing of black treason and a
+few other matters?"
+
+"Even were all these charges true, which I deny, they are no sins,
+seeing that they would have been done, every one of them, not for my
+own sake, but for that of the Church, to overset her enemies, to
+rebuild her tottering walls, to secure her eternally in this realm."
+
+"And to lift you, Clement Maldon, to the topmost pinnacle of her
+temple, whence Satan shows you all the kingdoms of the world, swearing
+that they shall be yours."
+
+Apparently the Abbot did not resent this bold speech; indeed, Emlyn's
+apt illustration seemed to please him. Only he corrected her gently,
+saying--
+
+"Not Satan, but Satan's Lord." Then he paused a while, looked round
+the chamber to see that the doors were shut and make sure that they
+were alone, and went on, "Emlyn Stower, you have great wits and
+courage--more than any woman that I know. Also you have knowledge both
+of the world and of what lies beyond it, being what superstitious
+fools call a witch, but I, a prophetess or a seer. These things come
+to you with your blood, I suppose, seeing that your mother was of a
+gypsy tribe and your father a high-bred Spanish gentleman, very
+learned and clever, though a pestilent heretic, for which cause he
+fled for his life from Spain."
+
+"To find his dark death in England. The Holy Inquisition is patent and
+has a long arm. If I remember right, also it was this business of the
+heresy of my father that first brought you to Blossholme, where, after
+his vanishing and the public burning of that book of his, you so
+greatly prospered."
+
+"You are always right, Emlyn, and therefore I need not tell you
+further that we had been old enemies in Spain, which is why I was
+chosen to hunt him down and how you come to know certain things."
+
+She nodded, and he went on--
+
+"So much for the heretic father--now for the gypsy mother. She died,
+by her own hand it is said, to escape the punishment of the law."
+
+"No need to beat about the bush, Abbot; let's have truth between old
+friends. You mean, to escape being burnt by you as a witch, because
+she had the letters which were not burned and threatened to use them--
+as I do."
+
+"Why rake up such tales, Emlyn?" he interposed blandly. "At least she
+died, but not until she had taught you all she knew. The rest of the
+history is short. You fell in love with old yeoman Bolle's son, or
+said you did--that same great, silly Thomas who is now a lay-brother
+at the Abbey----"
+
+"Or said I did," she repeated. "At least he fell in love with me, and
+perhaps I wished an honest man to protect me, who in those days was
+young and fair. Moreover, he was not silly then. That came upon him
+after he fell into /your/ hands. Oh! have done with it," she went on,
+in a voice of suppressed passion. "The witch's fair daughter was the
+Church's ward, and you ruled the Abbot of that time, and he forced me
+into marriage with old Peter Stower, as his third wife. I cursed him,
+and he died, as I warned him that he would, and I bore a child, and it
+died. Then with what was left to me I took refuge with Sir John
+Foterell, who ever was my friend, and became foster-mother to his
+daughter, the only creature, save one, that I have loved in this wide,
+wicked world. That's all the story; and now what more do you want of
+me, Clement Maldonado--evil-gifted one?"
+
+"Emlyn, I want what I always wanted and you always refused--your help,
+your partnership. I mean the partnership of that brain of yours--the
+help of the knowledge that you have--no more. At Cranwell Towers you
+called down evil on me. Take off that ban, for I'll speak truth, it
+weighs heavy on my mind. Let us bury the past; let us clasp hands and
+be friends. You have the true vision. Do you remember that when you
+thought Cicely dead, you said that her seed should rise up against me,
+and now it seems that it will be so."
+
+"What would you give me?" asked Emlyn curiously.
+
+"I will give you wealth; I will give you what you love more--power,
+and rank too, if you wish it. The whole Church shall listen to you.
+What you desire shall be done in this realm--yes, and across the
+world. I speak no lie; I pledge my soul on it, and the honour of those
+I serve, which I have authority to do. In return all I ask of you is
+your wisdom--that you should read the future for me, that you should
+show me which way to walk."
+
+"Nothing more?"
+
+"Yes, two things--that you should find me those burned jewels and with
+them the old letters that were not burned, and that this child of the
+Lady Cicely shall not chance to live to take what you promised to it.
+Her life I give you, for a nun more or less can matter little."
+
+"A noble offer, and in this case I am sure you will pay what /you/
+promise--should you live. But what if I refuse?"
+
+"Then," answered the Abbot, dropping his fist upon the table, "then
+death for both of you--the witch's death, for I dare not let you go to
+work my ruin. Remember, I am master here, you are my prisoners. Few
+know that you live in this place, except a handful of weak-brained
+women who will fear to speak--puppets that must dance when I pull the
+string--and I'll see that no soul shall come near these walls. Choose,
+then, between death and all its terrors or life and all its hopes."
+
+On the table there stood a wooden bowl filled with roses. Emlyn drew
+it to her, and taking the roses into her hands, threw them to the
+floor. Then she waited for the water to steady, saying--
+
+"The riddle is hard; perhaps, if in truth I have such power, I shall
+find its answer here." Presently, as he gazed at her, fascinated, she
+breathed upon the water and stared into it for a long while. At length
+she looked up, and said--
+
+"Death or Life; that was the choice you gave me. Well, Clement
+Maldonado, on behalf of myself and the Lady Cicely, and her husband
+Sir Christopher, and the child that shall be born, and of God who
+directs all these things, I choose--death."
+
+There was a solemn silence. Then the Abbot rose, and said--
+
+"Good! On your own head be it."
+
+Again there was a silence, and, as she made no answer, he turned and
+walked towards the door, leaving her still staring into the bowl.
+
+"Good!" she repeated, as he laid his hand upon the latch. "I have told
+you that I choose death, but I have not told you whose death it is I
+choose. Play your game, my Lord Abbot, and I'll play mine, remembering
+that God holds the stakes. Meanwhile I confirm the words I spoke in my
+rage at Cranwell. Expect evil, for I see now that it shall fall on you
+and all with which you have to do."
+
+Then with a sudden movement she upset the bowl upon the table and
+watched him go.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+EMLYN CALLS HER MAN
+
+One by one the weeks passed over the heads of Cicely and Emlyn in
+their prison, and brought them neither hope nor tidings. Indeed,
+although they could not see its cords, they felt that the evil net
+which held them was drawing ever tighter. There were fear and pity as
+well as love in the eyes of Mother Matilda when she looked at Cicely,
+which she did only if she thought that no one observed her. The nuns
+also were afraid, though it was clear that they knew not of what. One
+evening Emlyn, finding the Prioress alone, sprang questions on her,
+asking what was in the wind, and why her lady, a free woman of full
+age, was detained there against her will.
+
+The old nun's face grew secret. She answered that she did not know of
+anything unusual, and that, as regarded the detention, she must obey
+the commands of her spiritual superior.
+
+"Then," burst out Emlyn, "I tell you that you do so at your peril. I
+tell you that whether my lady lives or dies, there are those who will
+call you to a strict account, aye, and those who will listen to the
+prayer of the helpless. Mother Matilda, England is not the land it was
+when as a girl they buried you in these mouldy walls. Where does God
+say that you have the right to hold free women like felons in a jail?
+Tell me."
+
+"I cannot," moaned Mother Matilda, wringing her thin hands. "The right
+is very hard to find, this place is strictly guarded, and whatever I
+may think, I must do what I am bid, lest my soul should suffer."
+
+"Your soul! You cloistered women think always of your miserable souls,
+but of those of other folk, aye, and of their bodies too, nothing.
+Then you'll not help me?"
+
+"I cannot, I cannot, who am myself in bonds," she replied again.
+
+"So be it, Mother; then I'll help myself, and when I do, God help
+/you/ all," and with a contemptuous shrug of her broad shoulders she
+walked away, leaving the poor old Prioress almost in tears.
+
+Emlyn's threats were bold as her own heart, but how could she execute
+even a tenth of them? The right was on their side, indeed, but, as
+many a captive has found in those and other days, right is no Joshua's
+trumpet to cause high walls to fall. Moreover, Cicely would not aid
+her. Now that her husband was dead she took interest in one thing only
+--his child who was to be.
+
+For the rest she seemed to care nothing. Since she had no friends with
+whom she could communicate, and her wealth, as she understood, had
+been taken from her, what better place, she asked, could there be for
+that child to see the light than in this quiet Nunnery? When it was
+born and she was well again she would consider other matters.
+Meanwhile she was languid, and why was Emlyn always prating to her of
+freedom? If she were free, what should she do and whither should she
+go? The nuns were very kind to her; they loved her as she did them.
+
+So she talked on, and Emlyn, listening, did not dare to tell her the
+truth: that here she feared for the life of her child, dreading lest
+that news might bring about the death of both of them. So she let her
+be, and fell back on her own wits.
+
+First she thought of escape, only to abandon the idea, for her
+mistress was in no state to face its perils. Moreover, whither should
+they go? Then rescue came into her mind, but, alas! who would rescue
+them? The great men in London, perhaps, as a matter of policy, but
+great men are hard to come at, even for the free. If she were free she
+might find means to make them listen, but she was not, nor could she
+leave her lady at such a time. What remained, then? So to contrive
+that they should be set free.
+
+Perhaps it might be done at a price--that of Cicely's jewels, of which
+she alone knew the hiding-place, and with them a deed of indemnity
+against her persecutors. Emlyn was not minded to give either.
+Moreover, she guessed that it might be in vain. Once outside those
+walls, they knew too much to be allowed to live. And yet within those
+walls Cicely's child would not be allowed to live--the child that was
+heir to all. What, then, could loose them and make them safe?
+
+Terror, perhaps--such terror as that through which the Israelites
+escaped from bondage. Oh! if she could but find a Moses to call down
+the plagues of Egypt upon this Pharaoh of an Abbot--those plagues with
+which she had threatened him--but although she believed that they
+would fall (why did she believe it? she wondered), she was as yet
+impotent to fulfil.
+
+Now Thomas Bolle! If only she could have words with that faithful
+Thomas Bolle, the fierce and cunning man whom they thought foolish!
+
+This idea of Thomas Bolle took possession of Emlyn's mind--Thomas
+Bolle, who had loved her all his life, who would die to serve her. She
+strove in vain to get in touch with him. The old gardener was so deaf
+that he could not, or would not, understand. The silly Bridget gave
+the letter that she wrote to him to the Prioress by mistake, who burnt
+it before her eyes and said nothing. The monks who brought provisions
+to the Nunnery were always received by three of the sisters, set to
+spy on each other and on them, so that she could not come near to them
+alone. The priest who celebrated Mass was an old enemy of hers; with
+him she could do nothing, and no one else was allowed to approach the
+place except once or twice the Abbot, who was closeted for hours with
+the Prioress, but spoke to her no more.
+
+Why, wondered Emlyn, should less than half-a-mile of space be such a
+barrier between her and Thomas Bolle? If he stood within twenty yards
+of her she could make him understand; why not, then, when he stood
+within five hundred? This idea possessed her; these limitations of
+nature made her mad. She refused to accept them. Night by night, lying
+brooding in her bed, while Cicely slept in peace at her side, she
+threw out her strong soul towards the soul of her old lover, Thomas
+Bolle, commanding him to listen, to obey, to come.
+
+At first nothing happened. Afterwards she had a vague sense of being
+answered; although she could not see or hear him, she felt his
+presence. Then one afternoon, looking from an upper dormer window, she
+saw a scuffle going on outside the gateway, and heard angry voices.
+Thomas Bolle was trying to force his way in at the door, whence he was
+repelled by the Abbot's men who always watched there.
+
+In the evening she gathered the truth from the nuns, who did not know
+that she was listening to what they said. It seemed that Thomas, whom
+they spoke of as a madman or as drunk, had tried to break into the
+Nunnery. When he was asked what he wanted, he answered that he did not
+know, but he must speak with Emlyn Stower. At this tidings she smiled
+to herself, for now she knew that he had heard her, and that in this
+way or in that he would obey her summons and come.
+
+Two days later Thomas came--thus.
+
+The September evening was fading into night, and Emlyn, leaving Cicely
+resting on her bed, which now she often did for a while before the
+supper-hour, had gone into the garden to enjoy the pleasant air. There
+she walked until she wearied of its sameness, then entered the old
+chapel by a side door and sat herself down to think in the chancel,
+not far from a life-sized statue of the Virgin, in painted oak, which
+stood here because of its peculiarities, for the back half of it
+seemed to be built into the masonry. Also the eye-sockets were empty,
+which suggested to the observant Emlyn either that they had once held
+jewels or that this was no likeness of the holy Mother, but rather one
+of the blind St. Lucy.
+
+While Emlyn mused there quite alone--for at this hour none entered the
+place, nor would until the next morning--she thought that she heard
+strange noises, as of some one stirring, which came from the
+neighbourhood of the statue. Now many would have been scared and
+departed; but not so Emlyn, who only sat still and listened.
+Presently, without moving her head, she looked also. As it happened,
+the light of the setting sun, pouring through the west window, fell
+almost full upon the figure, and by it she saw, or thought she saw,
+that the eye-sockets were no longer empty; there were eyes in them
+which moved and flashed.
+
+Now for a moment even Emlyn was frightened. Then she reasoned with
+herself, reflecting that a priest or one of the nuns was watching her
+from behind the statue, which they might do for as long as they
+pleased. Or perhaps this was a miracle, such as she had heard so much
+of but never seen. Well, why should she fear spies or miracles? She
+would sit where she was and see what happened. Nor had she long to
+wait, for presently a voice, a hoarse, manly voice, whispered--
+
+"Emlyn! Emlyn Stower!"
+
+"Yes," she answered, also in a whisper. "Who speaks?"
+
+"Who do you think?" asked the voice, with a chuckle. "A devil,
+perhaps."
+
+"Well, if it be a friendly devil I don't know that I mind, who need
+company in this lone place. So appear, man or devil," answered Emlyn
+stoutly. But in secret she crossed herself beneath her cape, for in
+those days folk believed in the appearance of devils for no good
+purposes.
+
+The statue began to creak, then opened like a door, though very
+unwillingly, as though its hinges had been fixed for a long, long time
+and rusted in the damp, which was indeed the case. Inside of it, like
+a corpse in an upright coffin, appeared a figure, a square, strong
+figure, clad in a tattered monk's robe, surmounted by a large head
+with fiery red hair and beetling brows, beneath which shone two wild
+grey eyes. Emlyn, whose heart had stood still--for, after all, Satan
+is awkward company for a mortal woman--waited till it gave a jump in
+her breast and went on again as usual. Then she said quietly--
+
+"What are you doing here, Thomas Bolle?"
+
+"That is what I want to know, Emlyn. Night and day for weeks you have
+been calling me, and so I came."
+
+"Yes, I have been calling you; but how did you come?"
+
+"By the old monk's road. They have forgotten it long ago, but my
+grandfather told me of it when I was a boy, and at last a fox showed
+me where it ran. It's a dark road, and when first I tried it I thought
+I should be poisoned, but now the air is none so bad. It ran to the
+Abbey once, and may still, but my door and Mrs. Fox's is in the copse
+by the park wall, where none would ever look for it. If you would like
+a cub to play with, I will bring you one. Or perhaps you want
+something more than cubs," he added, with his cunning laugh.
+
+"Aye, Thomas, I want much more. Man," she said fiercely, "will you do
+what I tell you?"
+
+"That depends, Mistress Emlyn. Have I not done what you told me all my
+life, and for no reward?"
+
+She moved across the chancel and sat herself down against him, pushing
+the image door almost to and speaking to him through the crack.
+
+"If you have had no reward, Thomas," she said in a gentle voice,
+"whose fault was it? Not mine, I think. I loved you once when we were
+young, did I not? I would have given myself to you, body and soul,
+would I not? Well, who came between us and spoiled our lives?"
+
+"The monks," groaned Thomas; "the accursed monks, who married you to
+Stower because he paid them."
+
+"Yes, the accursed monks. And now our youth has gone, and love--of
+that sort--is behind us. I have been another man's wife, Thomas, who
+might have been yours. Think of it--your loving wife, the mother of
+your children. And you--they have tamed you and made you their
+servant, their cattle-herd, the strong fellow to fetch and carry, the
+half-wit, as they call you, who can still be trusted to run an errand
+and hold his tongue, the Abbey mule that does not dare to kick, the
+grieve of your own stolen lands--you, whose father was almost a
+gentleman. That's what they have done for you, Thomas; and for me, the
+Church's ward--well, I will not speak of it. Now, if you had your
+will, what would you do for them?"
+
+"Do for them? Do for them?" gasped Thomas, worked up to fury by this
+recital of his wrongs. "Why, if I dared I'd cut their throats, every
+one, and grallock them like deer," and he ground his strong white
+teeth. "But I am afraid. They have my soul, and month by month I must
+confess. You remember, Emlyn, I warned you when you and the lady would
+have ridden to London before the siege. Well, afterward--I must
+confess it--the Abbot heard it himself, and oh! sore, sore was my
+penance. Before I had done with it my ribs showed through my skin and
+my back was like a red osier basket. There's only one thing I didn't
+tell them, because, after all, it is no sin to grub the earth off the
+face of a corpse."
+
+"Ah!" said Emlyn, looking at him. "You're not to be trusted. Well, I
+thought as much. Good-bye, Thomas Bolle, you coward. I'll find me a
+man for a friend, not a whimpering, priest-ridden hound who sets a
+Latin blessing which he does not understand above his honour. God in
+heaven! to think I should ever have loved such a thing. Oh! I am
+shamed, I am shamed. I'll go wash my hands. Shut your trap and get you
+gone down your rat-run, Thomas Bolle, and, living or dead, never dare
+to speak to me again. Also forget not to tell your monks how I called
+you to my side--for that's witchcraft, you know, and I shall burn for
+it, and your soul gain benefit. God in heaven! to think that once you
+were Thomas Bolle," and she made as though to go away.
+
+He stretched out his great arm and caught her by the robe,
+exclaiming--
+
+"What would you have me do, Emlyn? I can't bear your scorn. Take it
+off me or I go kill myself."
+
+"That's what you had best do. You'll find the devil a better master
+than a foreign abbot. Farewell for ever."
+
+"Nay, nay; what's your will? Soul or no soul, I'll work it."
+
+"Will you? Will you indeed? If so, stay a moment," and she ran down
+the chapel, bolting the doors; then returned to him, saying--
+
+"Now come forth, Thomas, and since you are once more a man, kiss me as
+you used to do twenty years ago and more. You'll not confess to that,
+will you? There. Now, kneel before the altar here and swear an oath.
+Nay, listen to it before you swear, for it is wide."
+
+Emlyn said the oath to him. It was a great and terrible oath. Under it
+he bound himself to be her slave and join himself with her in working
+woe to the monks of Blossholme, and especially to their Abbot, Clement
+Maldon, in payment of the wrongs that these had done to them both; in
+payment for the murder of Sir John Foterell and of Christopher
+Harflete, and of the imprisonment and robbery of Cicely Harflete, the
+daughter of the one and the wife of the other. He bound himself to do
+those things which she should tell him. He bound himself neither in
+the confessional nor, should it come to that, on the bed of torture or
+the scaffold to breathe a word of all their counsel. He prayed that if
+he did so his soul might pay the price in everlasting torment, and of
+all these things he took Heaven to be his witness.
+
+"Now," said Emlyn, when she had finished setting out this fearful vow,
+"will you be a man and swear and thereby avenge the dead and save the
+innocent from death; or will you who have my secret be a crawling monk
+and go back to Blossholme Abbey and betray me?"
+
+He thought a moment, rubbing his red head, for the thing frightened
+him, as well it might. The scales of the balance of his mind hung
+evenly, and Emlyn knew not which way they would turn. She saw, and put
+out all her woman's strength. Resting her hand upon his shoulder, she
+leaned forward and whispered into his ear.
+
+"Do you remember, Thomas, how first we told our young love that spring
+day down in the copse by the water, and how sweet the daffodils
+bloomed about our feet--the daffodils and the wood-lilies? Do you
+remember how we swore ourselves each to each for all our lives, aye,
+and all the lives that were to come, and how for us two the earth was
+turned to heaven? And then--do you remember how that monk walked by--
+it was this Clement Maldon--and froze us with his cruel eyes, and
+said, 'What do you with the witch's daughter? She is not for you.' And
+--oh! Thomas, I can no more of it," and she broke down and sobbed,
+then added, "Swear nothing; get you gone and betray me, if you will.
+I'll bear you no malice, even when I die for it, for after more than
+twenty years of monkcraft, how could I hope that you would still
+remain a man? Come, get you gone swiftly, ere they take us together,
+and your fair fame is besmirched. Quick, now, and leave me and my lady
+and her unborn child to the doom Maldon brews for us. Alas! for the
+copse by the river; alas! for the withered lilies!"
+
+Thomas heard; the big blue veins stood out upon his forehead, his
+great breast heaved, his utterance choked. At length the words came in
+a thick torrent.
+
+"I'll not go, dearie; I'll swear what you will, by your eyes and by
+your lips, by the flowers on which we trod, by all the empty years of
+aching woe and shame, by God upon His throne in heaven, and by the
+devil in his fires in hell. Come, come," and he ran to the altar and
+clasped the crucifix that stood there. "Say the words again, or any
+others that you will, and I'll repeat them and take the oath, and may
+fiery worms eat me living for ever and ever if I break a letter of
+it."
+
+With a little smile of triumph in her dark eyes Emlyn bent over the
+kneeling man and whispered--whispered through the gathering bloom,
+while he whispered after her, and kissed the Rood in token.
+
+It was done, and they drew away from the altar back to the painted
+saint.
+
+"So you are a man after all," she said, laughing aloud. "Now, man--my
+man--who, if we live through this, shall be my husband if you will--
+yes, my husband, for I'll pay, and be proud of it--listen to my
+commands. See you, I am Moses, and yonder in the Abbey sits Pharaoh
+with a hardened heart, and you are the angel--the destroying angel
+with the sword of the plagues of Egypt. To-night there will be fire in
+the Abbey--such fire as fell on Cranwell Towers. Nay, nay, I know; the
+church will not burn, nor all the great stone halls. But the
+dormitories, and the storehouses, and the hayricks, and the cattle-
+byres, they'll flame bravely after this time of drought, and if the
+wains are ashes, how will they draw in their harvest? Will you do it,
+my man?"
+
+"Surely. Have I not sworn?"
+
+"Then away to the work, and afterwards--to-morrow or next day--come
+back and make report. Just now I am much moved to solitary prayer, so
+wait till you see me here alone upon my knees. Stay! Wrap yourself in
+grave-clothes, for then if you are seen they will think you are a
+ghost, such as they say haunt this place. Fear not, by then I will
+have more work for you. Have you mastered it?"
+
+He nodded his head. "All. All, especially your promise. Oh! I'll not
+die now; I'll live to claim it."
+
+"Good. There's on account," and again she kissed him. "Go."
+
+He reeled in the intoxication of his joy; then said--
+
+"One word; my head swims; I forgot. Sir Christopher is not dead, or
+wasn't----"
+
+"What do you mean?" she almost hissed at him. "In Christ's name be
+quick; I hear voices without."
+
+"They buried another man for Christopher. I scraped him up and saw.
+Christopher was sent foreign, sore wounded, on the ship--pest! I have
+forgotten its name--the same ship that took Jeffrey Stokes."
+
+"Blessings on your head for that tidings," exclaimed Emlyn, in a
+strange, low voice. "Away; they are coming to the door!"
+
+The wooden figure creaked to and stared at her blandly, as it had
+stared for generations. For a moment Emlyn stood still, her hand upon
+her heart. Then she walked swiftly down the chapel, unlocked the door,
+and in the porch, just entering it, met the Prioress Matilda, another
+nun, and old Bridget, who was chattering.
+
+"Oh! it is you, Mistress Stower," said Mother Matilda, with evident
+relief. "Sister Bridget here swore that she heard a man talking in the
+chapel when she came to shut the outer window at sunset."
+
+"Did she?" answered Emlyn indifferently. "Then her luck's better than
+my own, who long for the sound of a man's voice in this home of
+babbling women. Nay, be not shocked, good Mother; I am no nun, and God
+did not create the world all female, or we should none of us be here.
+But, now you speak of it, I think there's something strange about that
+chapel. It is a place where some might fear to be alone, for twice
+when I knelt there at my prayers I have heard odd sounds, and once,
+when there was no sun, a cold shadow fell upon me. Some ghost of the
+dead, I suppose, of whom so many lie about. Well, ghosts I never
+feared; and now I must away to fetch my lady's supper, for she eats in
+her room to-night."
+
+When she had gone the Prioress shook her head and remarked in her
+gentle fashion--
+
+"A strange woman and a rough, but, my sisters, we must not judge her
+harshly, for she is of a different world to ours, and I fear has met
+with sorrows there, such as we are protected from by our holy office."
+
+"Yes," answered the sister, "but I think also that she has met with
+the ghost that haunts the chapel, of which there are many records, and
+that once I saw myself when I was a novice. The Prioress Matilda--I
+mean the fourth of that name, she who was mixed up with Edward the
+Lame, the monk, and died suddenly after the----"
+
+"Peace, sister; let us have no scandal about that departed--woman, who
+left the earth two hundred years ago. Also, if her unquiet spirit
+still haunts the place, as many say, I know not why it should speak
+with the voice of a man."
+
+"Perhaps it was the monk Edward's voice that Bridget heard," replied
+the sister, "for no doubt he still hangs about her skirts as he did in
+life, if all tales are true. Well, Mistress Emlyn says that she does
+not mind ghosts, and I can well believe it, for she is a witch's
+daughter, and has a strange look in her eyes. Did you ever see such
+bold eyes, Mother? However it may be, I hate ghosts, and rather would
+I pass a month on bread and water than be alone in that chapel at or
+after sundown. My back creeps to think of it, for they say that the
+unhallowed babe walks too, and gibbers round the font seeking baptism
+--ugh!" and she shuddered.
+
+"Peace, sister, peace to your goblin talk," said Mother Matilda again.
+"Let us think of holier things lest the foul fiend draw near to us."
+
+
+
+That night, about one in the morning, the foul fiend drew very near to
+Blossholme, and he came in the shape of fire. Suddenly the nuns were
+aroused from their beds by the sound of bells tolling wildly. Running
+to the window-places, they saw great sheets of flame leaping from the
+Abbey roofs. They threw open the casements and stared out terrified.
+Sister Bridget was sent even to wake the deaf gardener and his wife,
+who lived in the gateway, and command them to go forth and learn what
+passed, and the meaning of the shouts they heard, for they feared that
+Blossholme was attacked by some army.
+
+A long while went by, and Bridget returned with a confused tale,
+which, as it had been gathered by an imbecile from a deaf gardener,
+was not easy to understand. Meanwhile the shoutings went on and the
+fire at the Abbey burnt ever more fiercely, so that the nuns thought
+that their last hour had come, and knelt down to pray at the casement.
+
+Just then Cicely and Emlyn appeared among them, and stared at the
+great fire.
+
+Suddenly Cicely turned round, and, fixing her large blue eyes on
+Emlyn, said, in the hearing of them all--
+
+"The Abbey burns. Why, Nurse, they told me that you said it would be
+so, yonder amid the ashes of Cranwell Towers. Surely you are
+foresighted."
+
+"Fire calls for fire," answered Emlyn grimly, and the nuns around
+looked at her with doubtful eyes.
+
+It was a very fierce fire, which appeared to have begun in the
+dormitories, whence, even at that distance, they saw half-clad monks
+escaping through the windows, some by means of bed-coverings tied
+together and some by jumping, notwithstanding the height. Presently
+the roof of the building fell in, sending up showers of glowing
+embers, which lit upon the thatch of the farm byres and sheds, and
+upon the ricks built and building in the stackyard, so that all these
+caught also, and before dawn were utterly consumed.
+
+One by one the watchers in the Nunnery wearied of the lamentable
+sight, and muttering prayers, departed terrified to their beds. But
+Emlyn sat on at the open casement till the rim of the splendid
+September sun showed above the hills. There she sat, her head resting
+on her hand, her strong face set like that of a statue. Only her dark
+eyes, in which the flames were reflected, seemed to smile hardly.
+
+"Thomas is a great tool," she muttered to herself at length, "and the
+first cut has bitten to the bone. Well, there shall be worse to come.
+You will live to beg Emlyn's mercy yet, Clement Maldonado."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+THE BLOSSHOLME WITCHINGS
+
+On the afternoon of that day the Abbot came again to visit the
+Nunnery, and sent for Cicely and Emlyn. They found him alone in the
+guest-hall, walking up and down its length with a troubled face.
+
+"Cicely Foterell," he said, without any form of greeting, "when last
+we met you refused to sign the deed which I brought with me. Well, it
+matters nothing, for that purchaser has gone back upon his bargain."
+
+"Saying that he liked not the title?" suggested Cicely.
+
+"Aye; though who taught you of titles and the ins and outs of law? But
+what need to ask----?" and he glowered at Emlyn. "Well, let it pass,
+for now I have a paper with me that you /must/ sign. Read it if you
+will. It is harmless--only an instruction to the tenants of the lands
+your father held to pay their rents to me this Michaelmas, as warden
+of that property."
+
+"Do they refuse, then, seeing that you hold it all, my Lord Abbot?"
+
+"Aye, some one has been at work among them, and the stubborn churls
+will not without instruction under your hand and seal. The farms your
+father worked himself I have reaped, but last night every grain of
+corn and every fleece of wool were burned in the fire."
+
+"Then I pray you keep account of them, my Lord, that you may pay me
+their value when we come to settle our score, seeing that I never gave
+you leave to shear my sheep and harvest my corn."
+
+"You are pleased to be saucy, girl," he replied, biting his lip. "I
+have no time to bandy words--sign, and do you witness, Emlyn Stower."
+
+Cicely took the document, glanced at it, then slowly tore it into four
+pieces and threw it to the floor.
+
+"Rob me and my unborn child if you can and will, at least I'll be no
+thief's partner," she said quietly. "Now, if you want my name, go
+forge it, for I sign nothing."
+
+The Abbot's face grew very evil.
+
+"Do you remember, woman," he asked, "that here you are in my power? Do
+you not know that rebellious sinners such as you are can be shut in a
+dark dungeon and fed on the bread and water of affliction and beaten
+with the rods of penance? Will you do my bidding, or shall these
+things fall on you?"
+
+Cicely's beautiful face flushed up, and for a moment her blue eyes
+filled with the tears of shame and terror. Then they cleared again,
+and she looked at him boldly and answered--
+
+"I know that a murderer can be a torturer also. Why should not he who
+butchered the father scourge the daughter too? But I know also that
+there is a God who protects the innocent, though sometimes He is slow
+to lift His hand, and to Him I appeal, my Lord Abbot. I know,
+moreover, that I am Foterell and Carfax, and that no man or woman of
+my blood has ever yet yielded to fear or pain. I sign nothing," and,
+turning, she left the room.
+
+Now the Abbot and Emlyn were alone. Suddenly, before she could speak,
+for her tongue was tied with rage, he began to rate and curse her and
+to threaten horrible things against her and her mistress, such things
+as only a cruel Spaniard could imagine. At length he paused for
+breath, and she broke in--
+
+"Peace, wicked man, lest the roof fall on you, for I am sure that
+every cruel word you speak shall become a snake to strike you. Will
+you not take warning by what befell you last night, or must there be
+more such lessons?"
+
+"Oho!" he answered; "so you know of that, do you? As I thought, your
+witchcraft was at work there."
+
+"How can I help knowing what the whole sky blazoned? The fat monks of
+Blossholme must draw their girdles tight this winter. Those stolen
+lands bring no luck, it seems, and John Foterell's blood has turned to
+fire. Be warned, I say, be warned. Nay, I'll hear no more of your foul
+tongue. Lay a finger on that poor lady if you dare, and pay the
+price," and she too turned and went.
+
+Ere he left the Nunnery the Abbot had an interview with Mother
+Matilda.
+
+Cicely must be disciplined, he said; gently at first, afterwards with
+roughness, even to scourging, if need were--for her soul's sake. Also
+her servant Emlyn must be kept away from her--for her soul's sake,
+since without doubt she was a dangerous witch. Also, when the time of
+the birth of the child came on, he would send a wise woman to wait
+upon her, one who was accustomed to such cases--for her body's sake
+and that of her child. In the midst of the great trouble that had
+fallen upon them through the terrible fire at the Abbey, which had
+cost them such fearful loss, to say nothing of the lives of two of the
+servants and others burned and maimed, he had not much time to talk of
+such small things; but did she understand?
+
+Then it was that Mother Matilda, the meek and gentle, brought pain and
+astonishment to the heart of the Lord Abbot, her spiritual superior.
+
+She did not understand in the least. Such discipline as he suggested,
+whatever might be her faults and frailty, was, she declared with
+vigour, entirely unsuited to the case of the Lady Cicely, who, in her
+opinion, had suffered much for a small cause, and who, moreover, was
+about to become a mother, and therefore should be treated with every
+gentleness. For her part, she washed her hands of the whole business,
+and rather than enforce such commands would lay the case before the
+Vicar-General in London, who, she understood, was ready to look into
+such matters. Or at least she would set the Lady Harflete and her
+servant outside the gates and call upon the charitable to assist them.
+Of course, however, if his Lordship chose to send a skilled woman to
+wait upon her in her trouble, she could have no objection, provided
+that this woman were a person of good repute. But in the circumstances
+it was idle to talk to her of bread and water and dark cells and
+scourgings. Such things should never happen while she was Prioress.
+Before they did, she and her sisters would walk out of the Nunnery and
+leave the King's Courts to judge of the matter.
+
+Now the state of the Abbot was very like to that of a terrier dog
+which, being accustomed to worry and torment a certain ewe-sheep,
+comes upon the same after it has lambed and finds a new creature--one
+that, instead of running in affright, turns upon it and, with head and
+hood and all its weight of mutton, butts, and leaps, and tramples.
+Then what chance has that dog against the terrible and unsuspected
+fury of the sheep, born, as it thought, for it to tear? Then what can
+it do but run, panting and discomfited, to its kennel? So it was with
+the Abbot at the onslaught of Mother Matilda in the defence of her
+lamb--Cicely. With Emlyn he had been prepared to exchange bite for
+bite--but Mother Matilda! his own pet quarry. It was too much. He
+could only go away, cursing all women and their infinite variety, on
+which no man might build. Who would have thought it of Mother Matilda,
+of all people on the earth!
+
+So it came to pass that at the Nunnery, notwithstanding these terrible
+threats, things went on much as they had done before, since the times
+were such that even an all-powerful and remote Lord Abbot, with "right
+of gallows," could not drive matters to an extremity. Cicely was not
+shut into the dungeon and fed on bread and water, much less was she
+scourged. Nor was she separated from her nurse Emlyn, although it is
+true that the Prioress reproved her for her resistance to established
+authority, and when she had finished her lecture, kissed and blessed
+her, and called her "her sweet child, her dove and joy."
+
+But if there was sameness at the Nunnery, at the Abbey there was
+constant change and excitement. Only three days after the fire the
+great flock of eight hundred lambs rushed one night over the Red Cliff
+on the fell, where, as all shepherds in that country know, there is a
+sheer drop of forty feet. Never was lamb's flesh so cheap in
+Blossholme and the country round as on the morrow of that night, while
+every hind within ten miles could have a winter coat for the skinning.
+Moreover, it was said and sworn to by the shepherds that the devil
+himself, with horns and hoofs, and mounted on a jackass, had been seen
+driving the same lambs.
+
+Next the ghost of Sir John Foterell appeared, clad in armour,
+sometimes mounted and sometimes afoot, but always at night-time. First
+this dreadful spirit was perceived walking in the gardens of Shefton
+Hall, where it met the Abbot's caretaker--for the place was now shut
+up--as he went to set a springe for hares. He was a man advanced in
+years, yet few horses ever covered the distance between Shefton and
+Blossholme Abbey more quickly than he did that night.
+
+Nor would he or any other return to his charge, so that henceforth
+Shefton was left as a dwelling for the ghost, which, as all might see
+from time to time, shone in the window-places like a candle. Moreover,
+the said ghost travelled far and wide, for on dark, windy nights it
+knocked upon the doors of those that in its lifetime had been its
+tenants, and in a hollow voice declared that it had been murdered by
+the Abbot of Blossholme and his underlings, who held its daughter in
+durance, and, under threats of unearthly vengeance, commanded all men
+to bring him to justice, and to pay him neither fees nor homage.
+
+So much terror did this ghost cause that Thomas Bolle, the swift of
+foot, was set to watch for it, and returned announcing that he had
+seen it and that it called him by his name, whereon he, being a bold
+fellow and believing that it was but a man, sent an arrow straight
+through it, at which it laughed and forthwith vanished away. More; in
+proof of these things he led the Abbot and his monks to the very
+place, and showed them where he had stood and where the ghost stood--
+yes, and the arrow, of which all the feathers had been mysteriously
+burnt off and the wood seared as though by fire, sunk deep into a tree
+beyond. Then, as this thing had become a scandal and a dread, the
+Abbot, in his robes, solemnly laid the ghost, Thomas Bolle showing him
+exactly where it had passed.
+
+This spirit being well and truly laid (like a foundation-stone), the
+Abbot and his monks returned homeward through the wood, but as they
+went a dreadful voice, which all recognized as that of Sir John
+Foterell, called these words from the shadows of an impenetrable
+thicket--for now the night was falling--
+
+"Clement Maldonado, Abbot of Blossholme, I, whom thou didst murder,
+summon thee to meet me within a year before the throne of God."
+
+Thereon all fled; yes, even the Abbot fled, or rather, as he said, his
+horse did, Thomas Bolle, who had lagged behind, outrunning them every
+one and getting home the first, saying /Aves/ as he went.
+
+After this, although the whole countryside hunted for it, Sir John's
+ghost was seen no more. Doubtless its work was done; but the Abbot
+explained matters differently. Other and worse things were seen,
+however.
+
+One moonlight night a disturbance was heard among the cows, that
+bellowed and rushed about the field into which they had been turned
+after milking. Thinking that dogs had got amongst them, the herd and a
+watchman--for now no man would stir alone after sunset at Blossholme--
+went to see what was happening, and presently fell down half dead with
+fright. For there, leaning over the gate and laughing at them, was the
+foul fiend himself--the fiend with horns and tail, and in his hand an
+instrument like a pitchfork.
+
+How the pair got home again, they never knew, but this is certain,
+that after that night no one could milk those cows; moreover, some of
+them slipped their calves, and became so wild that they must be
+slaughtered.
+
+Next came rumours that even the Nunnery itself was haunted, especially
+the chapel. Here voices were heard talking, and Emlyn Stower, who was
+praying there, came out vowing that she had seen a ball of fire which
+rolled up and down the aisle, and in the centre of it a man's head,
+that seemed to try to talk to her, but could not.
+
+Into this matter inquiry was held by the Abbot himself, who asked
+Emlyn if she knew the face that was in the ball of fire. She answered
+that she thought so. It seemed very like to one of his own guards,
+named Andrew Woods, or more commonly Drunken Andrew, a Scotchman whom
+Sir Christopher Harflete was said to have killed on the night of the
+great burning. At least his Lordship would remember that this Andrew
+had a broken nose, and so had the head in the fire, but, as it
+appeared to have changed a great deal since death, she could not be
+quite certain. All she was sure of was that it seemed to be trying to
+give her some message.
+
+Now, recalling the trick that had been played with the said Andrew's
+body, the Abbot was silent. Only he asked shrewdly, if Emlyn had seen
+so terrible a thing there, how it came about that she was not afraid
+to be alone in the chapel, which he was informed she frequented much.
+She answered, with a laugh, that it was men she dreaded, not spirits,
+good or ill.
+
+"No," he exclaimed, with a burst of rage, "you do not dread them,
+woman, because you are a witch, and summon them; nor shall we be free
+from these wizardries until the fire has you and your company."
+
+"If so," replied Emlyn coolly, "I will ask dead Andrew for his message
+to you next time we meet, unless he chooses to deliver it to you
+himself."
+
+So they parted, but that very night there happened the worst thing of
+all. It was about one in the morning when the Abbot, whose window was
+set open, was wakened by a voice that spoke with a Scotch accent and
+repeatedly called him by his name, summoning him to look out and see.
+He and others rose and looked, but could see nothing, for the night
+was very dark and rain fell. When the dawn came, however, their search
+was rewarded, for there, set upon a pinnacle of the Abbey church, and
+staring straight into the window of his Lordship's sleeping-room, from
+which it was but a few yards distant, was the dreadful head of Andrew
+Woods!
+
+Furiously the Abbot asked who had done this horrible thing, but the
+monks, who were sure that it was the same being that had bewitched the
+cows, only shrugged their shoulders, and suggested that the grave of
+Andrew should be opened to see if he had lost his head. This was done
+at length, although, for his own reasons, the Abbot forbade it,
+talking of the violation of the dead.
+
+Well, the grave was opened when Maldon was away on one of his
+mysterious journeys, and lo! no Andrew was there, but only a beam of
+oakwood stuffed out with straw to the shape of a man and sewn up in a
+blanket. For the real Andrew, or rather what was left of him, lay, it
+may be remembered, in another grave that was supposed to be filled by
+Sir Christopher Harflete.
+
+From this day forward the whole countryside for fifty miles round rang
+with the tales of what were known as the Blossholme witchings, of
+which a proof was still to be seen by all men in the withered head of
+Andrew perched upon its pinnacle, whence none could be found to remove
+it for love or money. Only it was noted that the Abbot changed his
+sleeping-chamber, after which, except for a sickness which struck the
+monks--it was thought from the drinking of sour beer--these
+bedevilments were abated.
+
+Indeed, at that time men had other things to think of, since the air
+was thick with rumours of impending change. The King threatened the
+Church, and the Church prepared to resist the King. There was talk of
+the suppression of the monasteries--some, in fact, had already been
+suppressed--and more talk of a rising of the faithful in the shires of
+York and Lincoln; high matters which called Abbot Maldon much away
+from home.
+
+One day he returned weary, but satisfied, from a long journey, and
+amongst the news that awaited him found a message from the Prioress,
+over which he pondered while he ate his food. Also there was a letter
+from Spain, which he studied eagerly.
+
+Some nine months had passed since the ship /Great Yarmouth/ sailed,
+and during this time all that had been heard of her was that she had
+never reached Seville, so that, like every one else, the Abbot
+believed she had foundered in the deep seas. This was a sad event
+which he had borne with resignation, seeing that, although it meant
+the loss of his letters, which were of importance, she had aboard of
+her several persons whom he wished to see no more, especially Sir
+Christopher Harflete and Sir John Foterell's serving-man, Jeffrey
+Stokes, who was said to carry with him certain inconvenient documents.
+Even his secretary and chaplain, Brother Martin, could be spared,
+being, Maldon felt, a character better suited to heaven than to an
+earth where the best of men must be prepared sometimes to compromise
+with conscience.
+
+In short, the vanishing of the /Great Yarmouth/ was the wise decree of
+a far-seeing Providence, that had removed certain stumbling-blocks
+from his feet, which of late had been forced to travel over a rough
+and thorny road. For the dead tell no tales, although it was true that
+the ghost of Sir John Foterell and the grinning head of Drunken Andrew
+on his pinnacle seemed to be instances to the contrary. Christopher
+Harflete and Jeffrey Stokes at the bottom of the Bay of Biscay could
+bring no awkward charges, and left him none to deal with save an
+imprisoned and forgotten girl and an unborn child.
+
+Now things were changed again, however, for the Spanish letter in his
+hand told him that the /Great Yarmouth/ had not sunk, since two
+members of her crew who escaped--how, it was not said--declared that
+she had been captured by Turkish or other infidel pirates and taken
+away through the Straits of Gibraltar to some place unknown.
+Therefore, if he had survived the voyage, Christopher Harflete might
+still be living, and so might Jeffrey Stokes and Brother Martin. Yet
+this was not likely, for probably they would have perished in the
+fight, being hot-headed Englishmen, all three of them, or at the best
+have been committed to the Turkish galleys, whence not one man in a
+thousand ever returned.
+
+On the whole, then, he had little cause to fear them, who were dead,
+or as good as dead, especially in the midst of so many more pressing
+dangers. All he had to fear, all that stood between him, or rather the
+Church, and a very rich inheritance was the girl in the Nunnery and an
+unborn child, and--yes, Emlyn Stower. Well, he was sure that the child
+would not live, and probably the mother would not live. As for Emlyn,
+as she deserved, she would be burned for a witch, ere long too, now
+that he had time to see to it, and, if she survived her sickness,
+although he grieved for her, Cicely, her accomplice, should justly
+accompany her to the stake. Meanwhile, as Mother Matilda's message
+told him, this matter of the child was urgent.
+
+The Abbot called a monk who was waiting on him and bade him send word
+to a woman known as Goody Megges, bidding her come at once. Within ten
+minutes she entered, having, as she explained, been warned to be close
+at hand.
+
+This Goody Megges, who had some local repute as a "wise woman," was a
+person of about fifty years of age, remarkable for her enormous size,
+a flat face with small oblong eyes and a little, twisted mouth, which
+had caused her to be nicknamed "the Flounder." She greeted the Abbot
+with much reverence, curtseying till he thought she would fall
+backwards, and having received his fatherly blessing, sank into a
+chair, that seemed to vanish beneath her bulk.
+
+"You will wonder why I summon you here, friend, since this is no place
+for the services of those of your trade," began the Abbot, with a
+smile.
+
+"Oh, no, my Lord," answered the woman; "I've heard it is to wait upon
+Sir Christopher Harflete's wife in her trouble."
+
+"I wish that I could call her by the honoured name of wife," said the
+Abbot, with a sigh. "But a mock-marriage does not make a wife,
+Mistress Megges, and, alas! the poor babe, if ever it should be born,
+will be but a bastard, marked from its birth with the brand of shame."
+
+Now, the Flounder, who was no fool, began to take her cue.
+
+"It is sad, very sad, your Holiness--no, that's wrong; but never mind,
+it will be right before all's done, and a good omen, I say, coming so
+sudden and chancy--your Lordship, I mean--not but what there's lots of
+the sort about here, as is generally the case round a--I mean
+everywhere. Moreover, they generally grow up bad and ungrateful, as I
+know well from my own three--not but what, of course, I was married
+fast enough. Well, what I was going to say was, that when things is
+so, sometimes it is a true blessing if the little innocents should go
+off at the first, and so be spared the finger of shame and the sniff
+of scorn," and she paused.
+
+"Yes, Mistress Megges, or at least in such a case it is not for us to
+rail at the decree of Heaven--provided, of course, that the infant has
+lived long enough to be baptized," he added hastily.
+
+"No, your Eminence, no. That's just what I said to that Smith girl
+last spring, when, being a heavy sleeper, I happened to overlie her
+brat and woke up to find it flat and blue. When she saw it she took
+on, bellowing like a heifer that has lost its first calf, and I said
+to her, 'Mary, this isn't me; it's Heaven. Mary, you should be very
+thankful, since my burden has rid you of your burden, and you can bury
+such a tiny one for next to nothing. Mary, cry a little if you like,
+for that's natural with the first, but don't come here flying in the
+face of Heaven with your railings, and gates, and posts--especially
+the rails, for Heaven hates 'em.'"
+
+"Ah!" asked the Abbot, with mild interest, "and pray what did Mary do
+then?"
+
+"Do, the graceless wench? Why, she said, 'Is it rails you're talking
+of, you pig-smothering old sow? Then here's a rail for you,' and she
+pulled the top bar off my own fence--for we were talking by the door--
+oak it was, and three by two--and knocked me flat--here's the scar of
+it on my head--singing out, 'Is that enough, or will you have the gate
+and the posts too?' Oh! If there's one thing I hate, it is railing,
+'specially if made of hard oak and held edgeways."
+
+So the wicked old hag babbled on, after her hideous fashion, while the
+Abbot stared at the ceiling.
+
+"Enough of these sad stories of vice and violence. Such mischances
+will happen, and of course you were not to blame. Now, good Mistress
+Megges, will you undertake this case, which cannot be left to ignorant
+nuns? Though times are hard here, since of late many losses have
+fallen on our house, your skill shall be well paid."
+
+The woman shuffled her big feet and stared at the floor, then looked
+up suddenly with a glance that seemed to bore to his heart like a
+bradawl, and asked--
+
+"And if perchance the blessed babe should fly to heaven through my
+fingers, as in my time I have known dozens of them do, should I still
+get that pay?"
+
+"Then," the Abbot answered, with a smile--a somewhat sickly smile--
+"then I think, mistress, you should have double pay, to console you
+for your sorrow and for any doubts that might be thrown upon your
+skill."
+
+"Now that's noble trading," she replied, with an evil leer, "such as
+one might hope for from an Abbot. But, my Lord, they say the Nunnery
+is haunted, and I can't face ghosts. Man or woman, with rails or
+without 'em, Mother Flounder doesn't mind, but ghosts--no! Also
+Mistress Stower is a witch, and might lay a curse on me; and those
+nuns are full of crinks and cranks, and can pray an honest soul to
+death."
+
+"Come, come, my time is short. What is it you want, woman? Out with
+it."
+
+"The inn there at the ford--your Lordship, will need a tenant next
+month. It's a good paying house for those who know how to keep their
+mouths shut and to look the other way, and through vile scandal and
+evil slanderers, such as the Smith girl, my business isn't what it
+was. Now if I could have it without rent for the first two years, till
+I had time to work up the trade----"
+
+The Abbot, who could bear no more of the creature, rose from his chair
+and said sharply--
+
+"I will remember. Yes, I will promise. Go now; the reverent Mother is
+advised of your coming. And report to me night and morning of the
+progress of the case. Why, woman, what are you doing?" for she had
+suddenly slid to her knees and grasped his robes with her thick,
+filthy hands.
+
+"Absolution, holy Lordship; I ask absolution and blessing--/pax
+Meggiscum/, and the rest of it."
+
+"Absolution? There is nothing to absolve."
+
+"Oh! yes, my Lord, there is plenty, though I am wondering who will
+absolve /you/ for your half. Also there are rows of little angels that
+sometimes won't let me sleep, and that's why I can't stomach ghosts.
+I'd rather sup in winter on cold small ale and half-cooked pork than
+face even a still-born ghost."
+
+"Begone!" said the Abbot, in such a voice that she scrambled to her
+feet and went, unblessed and unabsolved.
+
+When the door had closed behind her he went to the window and flung it
+wide, although the night was foul.
+
+"By all the saints!" he muttered, "that beastly murderess poisons the
+air. Why, I wonder, does God allow such filthy things to live? Cannot
+she ply her hell-trade less grossly? Oh! Clement Maldonado, how low
+are you sunk that you must use tools like these, and on such a
+business. And yet there is no other way. Not for myself, but for the
+Church, O Lord! The great plot thickens, and all men clamour to me,
+its head and spring, for money. Give me money, and within six months
+Yorkshire and the North will be up, and without a year Henry the Anti-
+Christ will be dead and the Princess Mary fast upon the throne, with
+the Emperor and the Pope for watchdogs. That stiff-necked Cicely must
+die and her babe must die, and then I'll twist the secret of the
+jewels out of the witch, Emlyn--on the rack, if need be. Those jewels
+--I've seen them so often; why, they would feed an army; but while
+Cicely or her brat lives where is my claim to them? So, alas! they
+must die, but oh! the hag is right. Who shall give me absolution for a
+deed I hate? Not for me, not for me, O my Patron, but for the Church!"
+and flinging himself to the floor before the holy image of his chosen
+Saint, he rested his head upon its feet and wept.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+MOTHER MEGGES AND THE GHOST
+
+Flounder Megges, with all the paraphernalia of her trade, was
+established as nurse to Cicely at the Nunnery. This establishment, it
+is true, had not been easy since Emlyn, who knew something of the
+woman's repute, and suspected more, resisted it with all her strength,
+but here the Prioress intervened in her gentle way. She herself, she
+explained, did not like this person, who looked so odd, drank so much
+beer and talked so fast. Yet she had made inquiries and found that she
+was extraordinarily skilled in matters of that nature. Indeed, it was
+said that she had succeeded in cases that were wonderfully difficult
+which the leech had abandoned as hopeless, though of course there had
+been other cases where she had not succeeded. But these, she was
+informed, were generally those of poor people who did not pay her
+well. Now in this instance her pay would be ample, for she, Mother
+Matilda, had promised her a splendid fee out of her private store, and
+for the rest, since no man doctor might enter there, who else was
+competent? Not she or the other nuns, for none of them had been
+married save old Bridget, who was silly and had long ago forgotten all
+such things. Not Emlyn even, who was but a girl when her own child was
+born, and since then had been otherwise employed. Therefore there was
+no choice.
+
+To this reasoning Emlyn agreed perforce, though she mistrusted her of
+the fat wretch, whose appearance poor Cicely also disliked. Still, for
+very fear Emlyn was humble and civil to her, for if she were not, who
+could know if she would put out all her skill upon behalf of her
+mistress? Therefore she did her bidding like a slave, and spiced her
+beer and made her bed and even listened to her foul jests and talk
+unmurmuringly.
+
+
+
+The business was over at length, and the child, a noble boy, born into
+the world. Had not the Flounder produced it in triumph laid upon a
+little basket covered with a lamb-skin, and had not Emlyn and Mother
+Matilda and all the nuns kissed and blessed it? Had it not also, for
+fear of accident (such was the fatherly forethought of the Abbot),
+been baptized at once by a priest who was waiting, under the names of
+John Christopher Foterell, John after its grandfather and Christopher
+after its father, with Foterell for a surname, since the Abbot would
+not allow that it should be called Harflete, being, as he averred,
+base-born?
+
+So this child was born, and Mother Megges swore that of all the two
+hundred and three that she had issued into the world it was the
+finest, nine and a half pounds in weight at the very least. Also, as
+its voice and movements testified, it was lusty and like to live, for
+did not the Flounder, in sight of all the wondering nuns, hold it up
+hanging by its hands to her two fat forefingers, and afterwards drink
+a whole quart of spiced ale to its health and long life?
+
+But if the babe was like to live, Cicely was like to die. Indeed, she
+was very, very ill, and perhaps would have passed away had it not been
+for a device of Emlyn's. For when she was at her worst and the
+Flounder, shaking her head and saying that she could do no more, had
+departed to her eternal ale and a nap, Emlyn crept up and took her
+mistress's cold hand.
+
+"Darling," she said, "hear me," but Cicely did not stir. "Darling,"
+she repeated, "hear me, I have news for you of your husband."
+
+Cicely's white face turned a little on the pillow and her blue eyes
+opened.
+
+"Of my husband?" she whispered. "Why, he is gone, as I soon shall be.
+What news of him?"
+
+"That he is not gone, that he lives, or so I believe, though
+heretofore I have hid it from you."
+
+The head was lifted for a moment, and the eyes stared at her with
+wondering joy.
+
+"Do you trick me, Nurse? Nay, you would never do that. Give me the
+milk, I want it now. I'll listen. I promise you I'll not die till you
+have told me. If Christopher lives why should I die who only hoped to
+find him?"
+
+So Emlyn whispered all she knew. It was not much, only that
+Christopher had not been buried in the grave where he was said to be
+buried, and that he had been taken wounded aboard the ship /Great
+Yarmouth/, of the fate of which ship fortunately she had heard
+nothing. Still, slight as they might be, to Cicely these tidings were
+a magic medicine, for did they not mean the rebirth of hope, hope that
+for nine long months had been dead and buried with Christopher? From
+that moment she began to mend.
+
+When the Flounder, having slept off her drink, returned to the sick-
+bed, she stared at her amazed and muttered something about witchcraft,
+she who had been sure that she would die, as in those days so many
+women did who fell into hands like hers. Indeed, she was bitterly
+disappointed, knowing that this death was desired by her employer, who
+now after all might let the Ford Inn to another. Moreover, the child
+was no waster, but one who was set for life. Well, that at least she
+could mend, and if it were done quickly the shock might kill the
+mother. Yet the thing was not so easy as it looked, for there were
+many loving eyes upon that babe.
+
+When she wished to take it to her bed at night Emlyn forbade her
+fiercely, and on being appealed to, the Prioress, who knew the
+creature's drunken habits and had heard rumours of the fate of the
+Smith infant and others, gave orders that it was not to be. So, since
+the mother was too weak to have it with her, the boy was laid in a
+little cot at her side. And always day and night one or more of the
+sweet-faced nuns stood at the head of that cot watching as might a
+guardian angel. Also it took only Nature's food since from the first
+Cicely would nurse it, so that she could not mix any drug with its
+milk that would cause it to sleep itself away.
+
+So the days went on, bringing black wrath, despair almost, to the
+heart of Mother Megges, till at length there came the chance she
+sought. One fine evening, when the nuns were gathered at vespers, but
+as it happened not in the chapel, because since the tale of the
+hauntings they shunned the place after high noon, Cicely, whose
+strength was returning to her, asked Emlyn to change her garments and
+remake her bed. Meanwhile, the babe was given to Sister Bridget, who
+doted on it, with instructions to take it to walk in the garden for a
+time, since the rain had passed off and the afternoon was now very
+soft and pleasant. So she went, and there presently was met by the
+Flounder, who was supposed to be asleep, but had followed her, a
+person of whom the half-witted Bridget was much afraid.
+
+"What are you doing with my babe, old fool?" she screeched at her,
+thrusting her fat face to within an inch of the nun's. "You'll let it
+fall and I shall be blamed. Give me the angel or I will twist your
+nose for you. Give it me, I say, and get you gone."
+
+In her fear and flurry old Bridget obeyed and departed at a run. Then,
+recovering herself a little, or drawn by some instinct, she returned,
+hid herself in a clump of lilac bushes and watched.
+
+Presently she saw the Flounder, after glancing about to make sure that
+she was alone, enter the chapel, carrying the child, and heard her
+bolt the door after her. Now Bridget, as she said afterwards, grew
+very frightened, she knew not why, and, acting on impulse, ran to the
+chancel window and, climbing on to a wheelbarrow that stood there,
+looked through it. This is what she saw.
+
+Mother Megges was kneeling in the chancel, as she thought at first, to
+say her prayers, till she perceived, for a ray from the setting sun
+showed it all, that on the paving before her lay the infant and that
+this she-devil was thrusting her thick forefinger down its throat, for
+already it grew black in the face, and as she thrust muttering
+savagely. So horror-struck was Bridget that she could neither move nor
+cry.
+
+Then, while she stood petrified, suddenly there appeared the figure of
+a man in rusty armour. The Flounder looked up, saw him and,
+withdrawing her finger from the mouth of the child, let out yell after
+yell. The man, who said nothing, drew a sword and lifted it, whereon
+the murderess screamed--
+
+"The ghost! The ghost! Spare me, Sir John, I am poor and he paid me.
+Spare me for Christ's sake!" and so saying, she rolled on to the floor
+in a fit, and there turned and twisted until she lay still.
+
+Then the man, or the ghost of a man, having looked at her, sheathed
+his sword and lifting up the babe, which now drew its breath again and
+cried, marched with it down the aisle. The next thing of which Bridget
+became aware was that he stood before her, the infant in his arms,
+holding it out to her. His face she could not see, for the vizor was
+down, but he spoke in a hollow voice, saying--
+
+"This gift from Heaven to the Lady Harflete. Bid her fear nothing, for
+one devil I have garnered and the others are ripe for reaping."
+
+Bridget took the child and sank down on to the ground, and at that
+moment the nuns, alarmed by the awful yells, rushed through the side
+door, headed by Mother Matilda. They too saw the figure, and knew the
+Foterell cognizance upon its helm and shield. But it waited not to
+speak to them, only passed behind some trees and vanished.
+
+Their first care was for the infant, which they thought the man was
+stealing; then, after they were sure that it had taken no real hurt,
+they questioned old Bridget, but could get nothing from her, for all
+she did was to gibber and point first to the barrow and next to the
+chancel window. At length Mother Matilda understood and, climbing on
+to the barrow, looked through the window as Bridget had done. She
+looked, she saw, and fell back fainting.
+
+
+
+An hour had gone by. The child, unhurt save for a little bruising of
+its tender mouth, was asleep upon its mother's breast. Bridget, having
+recovered, at length had told all her tale to every one of them save
+Cicely, who as yet knew nothing, for she and Emlyn did not hear the
+screams, their rooms being on the other side of the building. The
+Abbot had been sent for, and, accompanied by monks, arrived in the
+midst of a thunder-storm and pouring rain. He, too, had heard the
+tale, heard it with a pale face while his monks crossed themselves. At
+length he asked of the woman Megges. They replied that living or dead
+she was, as they supposed, still in the chapel, which none of them had
+dared to enter.
+
+"Come, let us see," said the Abbot, and they went there to find the
+door locked as Bridget had said.
+
+Smiths were sent for and broke it in while all stood in the pouring
+rain and watched. It was open at last, and they entered with torches
+and tapers, for now the darkness was dense, the Abbot leading them.
+They came to the chancel, where something lay upon the floor, and held
+down the torches to look. Then they saw that which caused them all to
+turn and fly, calling on the saints to protect them. In her life
+Mother Megges had not been lovely, but in the death that had overtaken
+her----!
+
+
+
+It was morning. The Lord Abbot and his monks were assembled in the
+guest-chamber, and opposite to them were the Lady Prioress and her
+nuns, and with them Emlyn.
+
+"Witchcraft!" shouted the Abbot, smiting his fist upon the table,
+"black witchcraft! Satan himself and his foulest demons walk the
+countryside and have their home in this Nunnery. Last night they
+manifested themselves----"
+
+"By saving a babe from a cruel death and bringing a hateful murderess
+to doom," broke in Emlyn.
+
+"Silence, Sorceress," shouted the Abbot. "Get thee behind me, Satan. I
+know you and your familiars," and he glared at the Prioress.
+
+"What may you mean, my Lord Abbot?" asked Mother Matilda, bridling up.
+"My sisters and I do not understand. Emlyn Stower is right. Do you
+call that witchcraft which works so good an end? The ghost of Sir John
+Foterell appeared here--we admit it who saw that ghost. But what did
+the spirit do? It slew the hellish woman whom you sent among us and it
+rescued the blessed babe when her finger was down its throat to choke
+out its pure life. If that be witchcraft I stand by it. Tell us what
+did the wretch mean when she cried out to the spirit to spare her
+because she was poor and had been bribed for her iniquity? Who bribed
+her, my Lord Abbot? None in this house, I'll swear. And who changed
+Sir John Foterell from flesh to spirit? Why is he a ghost to-day?"
+
+"Am I here to answer riddles, woman, and who are you that you dare put
+such questions to me? I depose you, I set your house under ban. The
+judgment of the Church shall be pronounced against you all. Dare not
+to leave your doors until the Court is composed to try you. Think not
+you shall escape. Your English land is sick and heresy stalks abroad;
+but," he added slowly, "fire can still bite and there is store of
+faggots in the woods. Prepare your souls for judgment. Now I go."
+
+"Do as it pleases you," answered the enraged Mother Matilda. "When you
+set out your case we will answer it; but, meanwhile, we pray that you
+take what is left of your dead hireling with you, for we find her ill
+company and here she shall have no burial. My Lord Abbot, the charter
+of this Nunnery is from the monarch of England, whatever authority you
+and those that went before you have usurped. It was granted by the
+first Edward, and the appointment of every prioress since his day has
+been signed by the sovereign and no other. I hold mine under the
+manual of the eighth Henry. You cannot depose me, for I appeal from
+the Abbot to the King. Fare you well, my Lord," and, followed by her
+little train of aged nuns, she swept from the room like an offended
+queen.
+
+After the terrible death of the child-murderess and the restoration of
+her babe to her unharmed, Cicely's recovery was swift. Within a week
+she was up and walking, and within ten days as strong, or stronger,
+than ever she had been. Nothing more had been heard of the Abbot, and
+though all knew that danger threatened them from this quarter they
+were content to enjoy the present hour of peace and wait till it was
+at hand.
+
+But in Cicely's awakened mind there arose a keen desire to learn more
+of what her nurse had hinted to her when she lay upon the very edge of
+death. Day by day she plied Emlyn with questions till at length she
+knew all; namely, that the tidings came from Thomas Bolle, and that
+he, dressed in her father's armour, was the ghost who had saved her
+boy from death. Now nothing would serve her but that she must see
+Thomas herself, as she said, to thank him, though truly, as Emlyn knew
+well, to draw from his own lips every detail and circumstance that she
+could gather concerning Christopher.
+
+For a while Emlyn held out against her, for she knew the dangers of
+such a meeting; but in the end, being able to refuse her lady nothing,
+she gave way.
+
+At length at the appointed hour of sunset Emlyn and Cicely stood in
+the chapel, whither the latter told the nuns she wished to go to
+return thanks for her deliverance from many dangers. They knelt before
+the altar, and while they made pretence to pray there heard knocks,
+which were the signal of the presence of Thomas Bolle. Emlyn answered
+them with other knocks, which told that all was safe, whereon the
+wooden image turned and Thomas appeared, dressed as before in Sir John
+Foterell's armour. So like did he seem to her dead father in this
+familiar mail that for a moment Cicely thought it must be he, and her
+knees trembled until he knelt before her, kissing her hand, asking
+after her health and that of the infant and whether she were satisfied
+with his service.
+
+"Indeed and indeed yes," she answered; "and oh, friend! all that I
+have henceforth is yours should I ever have anything again, who am but
+a prisoned beggar. Meanwhile, my blessing and that of Heaven rest upon
+you, you gallant man."
+
+"Thank me not, Lady," answered the honest Thomas. "To speak truth it
+was Emlyn whom I served, for though monks parted us we have been
+friends for many a year. As for the matter of the child and that spawn
+of hell, the Flounder, be grateful to God, not to me, for it was by
+mere chance that I came here that evening, which I had not intended to
+do. I was going about my business with the cattle when something
+seemed to tell me to arm and come. It was as though a hand pushed me,
+and the rest you know, and so I think by now does Mother Megges," he
+added grimly.
+
+"Yes, yes, Thomas; and in truth I do thank God, Whose finger I see in
+all this business, as I thank you, His instrument. But there are other
+things whereof Emlyn has spoken to me. She said--ah! she said my
+husband, whom I thought slain and buried, in truth was only wounded
+and not buried, but shipped over-sea. Tell me that story, friend,
+omitting nothing, but swiftly for our time is short. I thirst to hear
+it from your own lips."
+
+So in his slow, wandering way he told her, word by word, all that he
+had seen, all that he had learned, and the sum of it was that Sir
+Christopher had been shipped abroad upon the /Great Yarmouth/, sorely
+wounded but not dead, and that with him had sailed Jeffrey Stokes and
+the monk Martin.
+
+"That's ten months gone," said Cicely. "Has naught been heard of this
+ship? By now she should be home again."
+
+Thomas hesitated, then answered--
+
+"No tidings came of her from Spain. Then, although I said nothing of
+it even to Emlyn, she was reported lost with all hands at sea. Then
+came another story----"
+
+"Ah! that other story?"
+
+"Lady, two of her crew reached the Wash. I did not see them, and they
+have shipped again for Marseilles in France. But I spoke with a
+shepherd who is half-brother to one of them, and he told me that from
+him he learned that the /Great Yarmouth/ was set upon by two Turkish
+pirates and captured after a brave fight in which the captain Goody
+and others were killed. This man and his comrade escaped in a boat and
+drifted to and fro till they were picked up by a homeward-bound
+caravel which landed them at Hull. That's all I know--save one thing."
+
+"One thing! Oh, what thing, Thomas? That my husband is dead?"
+
+"Nay, nay, the very opposite, that he is alive, or was, for these men
+saw him and Jeffrey Stokes and Martin the priest, no craven as I know,
+fighting like devils till the Turks overwhelmed them by numbers, and,
+having bound their hands, carried them all three unwounded on board
+one of their ships, wishing doubtless to make slaves of such brave
+fellows."
+
+Now, although Emlyn would have stopped her, still Cicely plied him
+with questions, which he answered as best he could, till suddenly a
+sound caught his ear.
+
+"Look at the window!" he exclaimed.
+
+They looked, and saw a sight that froze their blood, for there staring
+at them through the glass was the dark face of the Abbot, and with it
+other faces.
+
+"Betray me not, or I shall burn," he whispered. "Say only that I came
+to haunt you," and silently as a shadow he glided to his niche and was
+gone.
+
+"What now, Emlyn?"
+
+"One thing only--Thomas must be saved. A bold face and stand to it. Is
+it our fault if your father's ghost should haunt this chapel?
+Remember, your father's ghost, no other. Ah! here they come."
+
+As she spoke the door was thrown wide, and through it came the Abbot
+and his rout of attendants. Within two paces of the women they halted,
+hanging together like bees, for they were afraid, while a voice cried,
+"Seize the witches!"
+
+Cicely's terror passed from her and she faced them boldly.
+
+"What would you with us, my Lord Abbot?" she asked.
+
+"We would know, Sorceress, what shape was that which spoke with you
+but now, and whither has it gone?"
+
+"The same that saved my child and called the Sword of God down upon
+the murderess. It wore my father's armour, but its face I did not see.
+It has gone whence it came, but where that is I know not. Discover if
+you can."
+
+"Woman, you trifle with us. What said the Thing?"
+
+"It spoke of the slaughter of Sir John Foterell by King's Grave Mount
+and of those who wrought it," and she looked at him steadily until his
+eyes fell before hers.
+
+"What else?"
+
+"It told me that my husband is not dead. Neither did you bury him as
+you put about, but shipped him hence to Spain, whence it prophesied he
+will return again to be revenged upon you. It told me that he was
+captured by the infidel Moors, and with him Jeffrey Stokes, my
+father's servant, and the priest Martin, your secretary. Then it
+looked up and vanished, or seemed to vanish, though perhaps it is
+among us now."
+
+"Aye," answered the Abbot, "Satan, with whom you hold converse, is
+always among us. Cicely Foterell and Emlyn Stower, you are foul
+witches, self-confessed. The world has borne your sorceries too long,
+and you shall answer for them before God and man, as I, the Lord Abbot
+of Blossholme, have right and authority to make you do. Seize these
+witches and let them be kept fast in their chamber till I constitute
+the Court Ecclesiastic for their trial."
+
+So they took hold of Cicely and Emlyn and led them to the Nunnery. As
+they crossed the garden they were met by Mother Matilda and the nuns,
+who, for a second time within a month, ran out to see what was the
+tumult in the chapel.
+
+"What is it now, Cicely?" asked the Prioress.
+
+"Now we are witches, Mother," she answered, with a sad smile.
+
+"Aye," broke in Emlyn, "and the charge is that the ghost of the
+murdered Sir John Foterell was seen speaking to us."
+
+"Why, why?" exclaimed the Prioress. "If the spirit of a woman's father
+appears to her is she therefore to be declared a witch? Then is poor
+Sister Bridget a witch also, for this same spirit brought the child to
+her?"
+
+"Aye," said the Abbot, "I had forgotten her. She is another of the
+crew, let her be seized and shut up also. Greatly do I hope, when it
+comes to the hour of trial, that there may not be found to be more of
+them," and he glanced at the poor nuns with menace in his eye.
+
+So Cicely and Emlyn were shut within their room and strictly guarded
+by monks, but otherwise not ill-treated. Indeed, save for their
+confinement, there was little change in their condition. The child was
+allowed to be with Cicely, the nuns were allowed to visit her.
+
+Only over both of them hung the shadow of great trouble. They were
+aware, and it seemed to them purposely suffered to be aware, that they
+were about to be tried for their lives upon monstrous and obscene
+charges; namely, that they had consorted with a dim and awful creature
+called the Enemy of Mankind, whom, it was supposed, human beings had
+power to call to their counsel and assistance. To them who knew well
+that this being was Thomas Bolle, the thing seemed absurd. Yet it
+could not be denied that the said Thomas at Emlyn's instigation had
+worked much evil on the monks of Blossholme, paying them, or rather
+their Abbot, back in his own coin.
+
+Yet what was to be done? To tell the facts would be to condemn Thomas
+to some fearful fate which even then they would be called upon to
+share, although possibly they might be cleared of the charge of
+witchcraft.
+
+Emlyn set the matter before Cicely, urging neither one side nor the
+other, and waited her judgment. It was swift and decisive.
+
+"This is a coil that we cannot untangle," said Cicely. "Let us betray
+no one, but put our trust in God. I am sure," she added, "that God
+will help us as He did when Mother Megges would have murdered my boy.
+I shall not attempt to defend myself by wronging others. I leave
+everything to Him."
+
+"Strange things have happened to many who trusted in God; to that the
+whole evil world bears witness," said Emlyn doubtfully.
+
+"May be," answered Cicely in her quiet fashion, "perhaps because they
+did not trust enough or rightly. At least there lies my path and I
+will walk in it--to the fire if need be."
+
+"There is some seed of greatness in you; to what will it grow, I
+wonder?" replied Emlyn, with a shrug of her shoulders.
+
+On the morrow this faith of Cicely's was put to a sharp test. The
+Abbot came and spoke with Emlyn apart. This was the burden of his
+song--
+
+"Give me those jewels and all may yet be well with you and your
+mistress, vile witches though you are. If not, you burn."
+
+As before she denied all knowledge of them.
+
+"Find me the jewels or you burn," he answered. "Would you pay your
+lives for a few miserable gems?"
+
+Now Emlyn weakened, not for her own sake, and said she would speak
+with her mistress.
+
+He bade her do so.
+
+"I thought that those jewels were burned, Emlyn, do you then know
+where they are?" asked Cicely.
+
+"Aye, I have said nothing of it to you, but I know. Speak the word and
+I give them up to save you."
+
+Cicely thought a while and kissed her child, which she held in her
+arms, then laughed aloud and answered--
+
+"Not so. That Abbot shall never be richer for any gem of mine. I have
+told you in what I trust, and it is not jewels. Whether I burn or
+whether I am saved, he shall not have them."
+
+"Good," said Emlyn, "that is my mind also, I only spoke for your
+sake," and she went out and told the Abbot.
+
+He came into Cicely's chamber and raged at them. He said that they
+should be excommunicated, then tortured and then burned; but Cicely,
+whom he had thought to frighten, never winced.
+
+"If so, so let it be," she replied, "and I will bear all as best I
+can. I know nothing of these jewels, but if they still exist they are
+mine, not yours, and I am innocent of any witchcraft. Do your work,
+for I am sure that the end shall be far other than you think."
+
+"What!" said the Abbot, "has the foul fiend been with you again that
+you talk thus certainly? Well, Sorceress, soon you will sing another
+tune," and he went to the door and summoned the Prioress.
+
+"Put these women upon bread and water," he said, "and prepare them for
+the rack, that they may discover their accomplices."
+
+Mother Matilda set her gentle face, and answered--
+
+"It shall not be done in this Nunnery, my Lord Abbot. I know the law,
+and you have no such power. Moreover, if you move them hence, who are
+my guests, I appeal to the King, and meanwhile raise the country on
+you."
+
+"Said I not that they had accomplices?" sneered the Abbot, and went
+his way.
+
+But of the torture no more was heard, for that appeal to the King had
+an ill sound in his ears.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+DOOMED
+
+It was the day of trial. From dawn Cicely and Emlyn had seen people
+hurrying in and out of the gates of the Nunnery, and heard workmen
+making preparation in the guest-hall below their chamber. About eight
+one of the nuns brought them their breakfast. Her face was scared and
+white; she only spoke in whispers, looking behind her continually as
+though she knew she was being watched.
+
+Emlyn asked who their judges were, and she answered--
+
+"The Abbot, a strange, black-faced Prior, and the Old Bishop. Oh! God
+help you, my sisters; God help us all!" and she fled away.
+
+Now for a moment Emlyn's heart failed her, since before such a
+tribunal what chance had they? The Abbot was their bitter enemy and
+accuser; the strange Prior, no doubt, one of his friends and kindred;
+while the ecclesiastic spoken of as the "Old Bishop" was well known as
+perhaps the cruelest man in England, a scourge of heretics--that is,
+before heresy became the fashion--a hunter-out of witches and wizards,
+and a time-server to boot. But to Cicely she said nothing, for what
+was the use, seeing that soon she would learn all?
+
+They ate their food, knowing both of them that they would need
+strength. Then Cicely nursed her child, and, placing it in Emlyn's
+arms, knelt down to pray. While she was still praying the door opened
+and a procession appeared. First came two monks, then six armed men of
+the Abbot's guard, then the Prioress and three of her nuns. At the
+sight of the beautiful young woman kneeling at her prayers the guards,
+rough men though they were, stopped, as if unwilling to disturb her,
+but one of the monks cried brutally--
+
+"Seize the accursed hypocrite, and if she will not come, drag her with
+you," at the same time stretching out his hand as though to grasp her
+arm.
+
+But Cicely rose and faced him, saying--
+
+"Do not touch me; I follow. Emlyn, give me the child, and let us go."
+
+So they went in the midst of the armed men, the monks preceding, the
+nuns, with bowed heads, following after. Presently they entered the
+large hall, but on its threshold were ordered to pause while way was
+made for them. Cicely never forgot the sight of it as it appeared that
+day. The lofty, arched roof of rich chestnut-wood, set there hundreds
+of years before by hands that spared neither work nor timber, amongst
+the beams of which the bright light of morning played so clearly that
+she could see the spiders' webs, and in one of them a sleepy autumn
+wasp caught fast. The mob of people gathered to watch her public trial
+--faces, many of them, that she had known from childhood.
+
+How they stared at her as she stood there by the head of the steps,
+her sleeping child held in her arms! They were a packed audience and
+had been prepared to condemn her--that she could see and hear, for did
+not some of them point and frown, and set up a cry of "Witch!" as they
+had been told to do? But it died away. The sight of her, the daughter
+of one of their great men and the widow of another, standing in her
+innocent beauty, the slumbering babe upon her breast, seemed to quell
+them, till the hardest faces grew pitiful--full of resentment, too,
+some of them, but not against her.
+
+Then the three judges on the bench behind the table, at which sat the
+monkish secretaries; the hard-faced, hook-nosed "Old Bishop" in his
+gorgeous robes and mitre, his crozier resting against the panelling
+behind him, peering about him with beady eyes. The sullen, heavy-jawed
+Prior, from some distant county, on his left, clad in a simple black
+gown with a girdle about his waist. And on the right Clement Maldon,
+Abbot of Blossholme and enemy of her house, suave, olive-faced,
+foreign-looking, his black, uneasy eyes observing all, his keen ears
+catching every word and murmur as he whispered something to the Bishop
+that caused him to smile grimly. Lastly, placed already in the roped
+space and guarded by a soldier, poor old Bridget, the half-witted, who
+was gabbling words to which no one paid any heed.
+
+The path was clear now, and they were ordered to walk on. Half-way up
+the hall something red attracted Cicely's attention, and, glancing
+round, she saw that it was the beard of Thomas Bolle. Their eyes met,
+and his were full of fear. In an instant she understood that he
+dreaded lest he should be betrayed and given over to some awful doom.
+
+"Fear nothing," she whispered as she passed, and he heard her, or
+perhaps Emlyn's glance told him that he was safe. At least, a sign of
+relief broke from him.
+
+Now they had entered the roped space, and stood there.
+
+"Your name?" asked one of the secretaries, pointing to Cicely with the
+feather of his quill.
+
+"All know it, it is Cicely Harflete," she answered gently, whereon the
+clerk said roughly that she lied, and the old wrangle began again as
+to the validity of her marriage, the Abbot maintaining that she was
+still Cicely Foterell, the mother of a base-born child.
+
+Into this argument the Bishop entered with some zest, asking many
+questions, and seeming more or less to take her side, since, where
+matters of religion were not concerned, he was a keen lawyer, and just
+enough. At length, however, he swept the thing away, remarking
+brutally that if half he had heard were true, soon the name by which
+she had last been called in life would not concern her, and bade the
+clerks write her down as Cicely Harflete or Foterell.
+
+Then Emlyn gave her name, and Sister Bridget's was written without
+question. Next the charge against them was read. It was long and
+technical, mixed up with Latin words and phrases, and all that Cicely
+made out of it was that they were accused of many horrible crimes, and
+of having called up the devil and consorted with him in the shape of a
+monster with horns and hoofs, and of her father's ghost. When it was
+finished they were commanded to answer, and pleaded Not Guilty, or
+rather Cicely and Emlyn did, for Bridget broke into a long tale that
+could not be followed. She was ordered to be silent, after which no
+one took any more heed of what she said.
+
+Now the Bishop asked whether these women had been put to the question,
+and when he was told No, said that it seemed a pity, as evidently they
+were stubborn witches, and some discipline of the sort might have
+saved trouble. Again he asked if the witch's marks had been found on
+them--that is, the spot where the devil had sealed their bodies, on
+which, as was well known, his chosen could feel no pain. He even
+suggested that the trial should be adjourned until they had been
+pricked all over with a nail to find this spot, but ultimately gave up
+the point to save time.
+
+A last question was raised by the beetle-browed Prior, who submitted
+that the infant ought also to be accused, since he, too, was said to
+have consorted with the devil, having, according to the story, been
+rescued from death by him and afterwards been carried in his arms and
+given to the nun Bridget, which was the only evidence against the said
+Bridget. If she was guilty, why, then, was the infant innocent? Ought
+not they to burn together, since a babe that had been nursed by the
+Evil One was obviously damned?
+
+The legal-minded Bishop found this argument interesting, but
+ultimately decided that it was safer to overrule it on account of the
+tender age of the criminal. He added that it did not matter, since
+doubtless the foul fiend would claim his own ere long.
+
+Lastly, before the witnesses were called, Emlyn asked for an advocate
+to defend them, but the Bishop replied, with a chuckle, that it was
+quite unnecessary, since already they had the best of all advocates--
+Satan himself.
+
+"True, my Lord," said Cicely, looking up, "we have the best of all
+advocates, only you have mis-named him. The God of the innocent is our
+advocate, and in Him I trust."
+
+"Blaspheme not, Sorceress," shouted the old man; and the evidence
+commenced.
+
+To follow it in detail is not necessary, and, indeed, would be long,
+for it took many hours. First of all Emlyn's early life was set out,
+much being made of the fact that her mother was a gypsy who had
+committed suicide and that her father had fallen under the ban of the
+Inquisition, an heretical work of his having been publicly burned.
+Then the Abbot himself gave evidence, since, where the charge was
+sorcery, no one seemed to think it strange that the same man should
+both act as judge and be the principal witness for the prosecution. He
+told of Cicely's wild words after the burning of Cranwell Towers, from
+which burning she and her familiar, Emlyn, had evidently escaped by
+magic, without the aid of which it was plain they could not have
+lived. He told of Emlyn's threats to him after she had looked into the
+bowl of water; of all the dreadful things that had been seen and done
+at Blossholme, which no doubt these witches had brought about--here he
+was right--though how he knew not. He told of the death of the midwife
+and of the appearance which she presented afterwards--a tale that
+caused his audience to shudder; and, lastly, he told of the vision of
+the ghost of Sir John Foterell holding converse with the two accused
+in the chapel of the Nunnery, and its vanishing away.
+
+When at length he had finished Emlyn asked leave to cross-examine him,
+but this was refused on the ground that persons accused of such crimes
+had no right to cross-examine.
+
+Then the Court adjourned for a while to eat, some food being brought
+for the prisoners, who were forced to take it where they stood. Worse
+still, Cicely was driven to nurse her child in the presence of all
+that audience, who stared and gibed at her rudely, and were angry
+because Emlyn and some of the nuns stood round her to form a living
+screen.
+
+When the judges returned the evidence went on. Though most of it was
+entirely irrelevant, its volume was so great that at length the Old
+Bishop grew weary, and said he would hear no more. Then the judges
+went on to put, first to Cicely and afterwards to Emlyn, a series of
+questions of a nature so abominable that after denying the first of
+them indignantly, they stood silent, refusing to answer--proof
+positive of their guilt, as the black-browed Prior remarked in
+triumph. Lastly, these hideous queries being exhausted, Cicely was
+asked if she had anything to say.
+
+"Somewhat," she answered; "but I am weary, and must be brief. I am no
+witch; I do not know what it means. The Abbot of Blossholme, who sits
+as my judge, is my grievous enemy. He claimed my father's lands--which
+lands I believe he now holds--and cruelly murdered my said father by
+King's Grave Mount in the forest as he was riding to London to make
+complaint of him and reveal his treachery to his Grace the King and
+his Council----"
+
+"It is a lie, witch," broke in the Abbot, but, taking no heed, Cicely
+went on--
+
+"Afterwards he and his hired soldiers attacked the house of my
+husband, Sir Christopher Harflete, and burnt it, slaying, or striving
+to slay--I know not which--my said husband, who has vanished away.
+Then he imprisoned me and my servant, Emlyn Stower, in this Nunnery,
+and strove to force me to sign papers conveying all my own and my
+child's property to him. This I refused to do, and therefore it is
+that he puts me on my trial, because, as I am told, those who are
+found guilty of witchcraft are stripped of all their possessions,
+which those take who are strong enough to keep them. Lastly, I deny
+the authority of this Court, and appeal to the King, who soon or late
+will hear my cry and avenge my wrongs, and maybe my murder, upon those
+who wrought them. Good people all, hear my words. I appeal to the
+King, and to him under God above I entrust my cause, and, should I
+die, the guardianship of my orphan son, whom the Abbot sent his
+creature to murder--his vile creature, upon whose head fell the
+Almighty's justice, as it will fall on yours, you slaughterers of the
+innocent."
+
+So spoke Cicely, and, having spoken, worn out with fatigue and misery,
+sank to the floor--for all these hours there had been no stool for her
+to sit on--and crouched there, still holding her child in her arms--a
+piteous sight indeed, which touched even the superstitious hearts of
+the crowd who watched her.
+
+Now this appeal of hers to the King seemed to scare the fierce Old
+Bishop, who turned and began to argue with the Abbot. Cicely,
+listening, caught some of his words, such as--
+
+"On your head be it, then. I judge only of the cause ecclesiastic, and
+shall direct it to be so entered upon the records. Of the execution of
+the sentence or the disposal of the property I wash my hands. See you
+to it."
+
+"So spoke Pilate," broke in Cicely, lifting her head and looking him
+in the eyes. Then she let it fall again, and was silent.
+
+Now Emlyn opened her lips, and from them burst a fierce torrent of
+words.
+
+"Do you know," she began, "who and what is this Spanish priest who
+sits to judge us of witchcraft? Well, I will tell you. Years ago he
+fled from Spain because of hideous crimes that he had committed there.
+Ask him of Isabella the nun, who was my father's cousin, and her end
+and that of her companions. Ask him of----"
+
+At this point a monk, to whom the Abbot had whispered something,
+slipped behind Emlyn and threw a cloth over her face. She tore it away
+with her strong hands, and screamed out--
+
+"He is a murderer, he is a traitor. He plots to kill the King. I can
+prove it, and that's why Foterell died--because he knew----"
+
+The Abbot shouted something, and again the monk, a stout fellow named
+Ambrose, got the cloth over her mouth. Once more she wrenched herself
+loose, and, turning towards the people, called--
+
+"Have I never a friend, who have befriended so many? Is there no man
+in Blossholme who will avenge me of this brute Ambrose? Aye, I see
+some."
+
+Then this Ambrose, and others aiding him, fell upon her, striking her
+on the head and choking her, till at length she sank, half stunned and
+gasping, to the ground.
+
+Now, after a hurried word or two with his colleagues, the Bishop
+sprang up, and as darkness gathered in the hall--for the sun had set--
+pronounced the sentence of the Court.
+
+First he declared the prisoners guilty of the foulest witchcraft. Next
+he excommunicated them with much ceremony, delivering their souls to
+their master, Satan. Then, incidentally, he condemned their bodies to
+be burnt, without specifying when, how, or by whom. Out of the gloom a
+clear voice spoke, saying--
+
+"You exceed your powers, Priest, and usurp those of the King. Beware!"
+
+A tumult followed, in which some cried "Aye" and some "Nay," and when
+at length it died down the Bishop, or it may have been the Abbot--for
+none could see who spoke--exclaimed--
+
+"The Church guards her own rights; let the King see to his."
+
+"He will, he will," answered the same voice. "The Pope is in his bag.
+Monks, your day is done."
+
+Again there was tumult, a very great tumult. In truth the scene, or
+rather the sounds, were strange. The Bishop shrieking with rage upon
+the bench, like a hen that has been caught upon her perch at night,
+the black-browed Prior bellowing like a bull, the populace surging and
+shouting this and that, the secretary calling for candles, and when at
+length one was brought, making a little star of light in that huge
+gloom, putting his hand to his mouth and roaring--
+
+"What of this Bridget? Does she go free?"
+
+The Bishop made no answer; it seemed as though he were frightened at
+the forces which he had let loose; but the Abbot hallooed back--
+
+"Burn the hag with the others," and the secretary wrote it down upon
+his brief.
+
+Then the guards seized the three of them to lead them away, and the
+frightened babe set up a thin, piercing wail, while the Bishop and his
+companions, preceded by one of the monks bearing the candle--it was
+that Ambrose who had choked Emlyn--marched in procession down the hall
+to gain the great door.
+
+Ere ever they reached it the candle was dashed from the hand of
+Ambrose, and a fearful tumult arose in the dense darkness, for now all
+light had vanished. There were screams, and sounds of fighting, and
+cries for help. These died away; the hall emptied by degrees, for it
+seemed that none wished to stay there. Torches were lit, and showed a
+strange scene.
+
+The Bishop, the Abbot, and the foreign Prior lay here and there,
+buffeted, bleeding, their robes torn off them, so that they were
+almost naked, while by the Bishop was his crozier, broken in two,
+apparently across his own head. Worse of all, the monk Ambrose leaned
+against a pillar; his feet seemed to go forward but his face looked
+backward, for his neck was twisted like that of a Michaelmas goose.
+
+The Bishop looked about him and felt his hurts; then he called to his
+people--
+
+"Bring me my cloak and a horse, for I have had enough of Blossholme
+and its wizardries. Settle your own matters henceforth, Abbot Maldon,
+for in them I find no luck," and he glanced at his broken staff.
+
+Thus ended the great trial of the Blossholme witches.
+
+
+
+Cicely had sunk to sleep at last, and Emlyn watched her, for, since
+there was nowhere else to put them, they were back in their own room,
+but guarded by armed men, lest they should escape. Of this, as Emlyn
+knew well, there was little chance, for even if they were once outside
+the Priory walls, how could they get away without friends to help, or
+food to eat, or horses to carry them? They would be run down within a
+mile. Moreover, there was the child, which Cicely would never leave,
+and, after all she had undergone, she herself was not fit to travel.
+Therefore it was that Emlyn sat sleepless, full of bitter wrath and
+fear, for she could see no hope. All was black as the night about
+them.
+
+The door opened, and was shut and locked again. Then, from behind the
+curtain, appeared the tall figure of the Prioress, carrying a candle
+that made a star of light upon the shadows. As she stood there holding
+it up and looking about her, something came into Emlyn's mind. Perhaps
+she would help, she who loved Cicely. Did she not look like a figure
+of hope, with her sweet face and her taper in the gloom? Emlyn
+advanced to meet her, her finger on her lips.
+
+"She sleeps; wake her not," she said. "Have you come to tell us that
+we burn to-morrow?"
+
+"Nay, Emlyn; the Old Bishop has commanded that it shall not be for a
+week. He would have time to get across England first. Indeed, had it
+not been for the beating of him in the dark and the twisting of the
+neck of Brother Ambrose, I believe that he would not have suffered it
+at all, for fear of trouble afterwards. But now he is full of rage,
+and swears that he was set upon by evil spirits in the hall, and that
+those who loosed them shall not live. Emlyn, /who/ killed Father
+Ambrose? Was it men or----?"
+
+"Men, I think, Mother. The devil does not twist necks except in
+monkish dreams. Is it wonderful that my lady--the greatest lady of all
+these parts and the most foully treated--should have friends left to
+her? Why, if they were not curs, ere now her people would have pulled
+that Abbey stone from stone and cut the throat of every man within its
+walls."
+
+"Emlyn," said the Prioress again, "in the name of Jesus and on your
+soul, tell me true, is there witchcraft in all this business? And if
+not, what is its meaning?"
+
+"As much witchcraft as dwells in your gentle heart; no more. A man did
+these things; I'll not give you his name, lest it should be wrung from
+you. A man wore Foterell's armour, and came here by a secret hole to
+take counsel with us in the chapel. A man burnt the Abbey dormers and
+the stacks, and harried the beasts with a goatskin on his head, and
+dragged the skull of drunken Andrew from his grave. Doubtless it was
+his hand also that twisted Ambrose's neck because he struck me."
+
+The two women looked each other in the eyes.
+
+"Ah!" said the Prioress. "I think I can guess now; but, Emlyn, you
+choose rough tools. Well, fear not; your secret is safe with me." She
+paused a moment; then went on, "Oh! I am glad, who feared lest the
+Fiend's finger was in it all, as, in truth, they believe. Now I see my
+path clear, and will follow it to the death. Yes, yes; I will save you
+all or die."
+
+"What path, Mother?"
+
+"Emlyn, you have heard no tidings for these many months, but I have.
+Listen; there is much afoot. The King, or the Lord Cromwell, or both,
+make war upon the lesser Houses, dissolving them, seizing their goods,
+turning the religious out of them upon the world to starve. His Grace
+sends Royal Commissioners to visit them, and be judge and jury both.
+They were coming here, but I have friends and some fortune of my own,
+who was not born meanly or ill-dowered, and I found a way to buy them
+off. One of these Commissioners, Thomas Legh, as I heard only to-day,
+makes inquisition at the monastery of Bayfleet, in Yorkshire, some
+eighty miles away, of which my cousin, Alfred Stukley, whose letter
+reached me this morning, is the Prior. Emlyn, I'll go to this rough
+man--for rough he is, they say. Old and feeble as I am, I'll seek him
+out and offer up the ancient House I rule to save your life and
+Cicely's--yes, and Bridget's also."
+
+"You will go, Mother! Oh! God's blessing be on you. But how will you
+go? They will never suffer it."
+
+The old nun drew herself up, and answered--
+
+"Who has the right to say to the Prioress of Blossholme that she shall
+not travel whither she will? No Spanish Abbot, I think. Why, but now
+that proud priest's servants would have forbidden me to enter your
+chamber in my own House, but I read them a lesson they will not
+forget. Also I have horses at my command, but it is true I need an
+escort, who am not too strong and little versed in the ways of the
+outside world, where I have scarcely strayed for many years. Now I
+have bethought me of that red-haired lay-brother, Thomas Bolle. I am
+told that though foolish, he is a valiant man whom few care to face;
+moreover, that he understands horses and knows all roads. Do you
+think, Emlyn Stower, that Thomas Bolle will be my companion on this
+journey, with leave from the Abbot, or without it?" and again she
+looked her in the eyes.
+
+"He might, he might; he is a venturous man, or so I remember him in my
+youth," answered Emlyn. "Moreover, his forefathers have served the
+Harfletes and the Foterells for generations in peace and war, and
+doubtless, therefore, he loves my lady yonder. But the trouble is to
+get at him."
+
+"No trouble at all, Emlyn; he is one of the watch outside the gate.
+But, woman, what token?"
+
+Emlyn thought for a moment, then drew a ring off her finger in which
+was set a cornelian heart.
+
+"Give him this," she said, "and say that the wearer bade him follow
+the bearer to the death, for the sake of that wearer's life and
+another's. He is a simple soul, and if the Abbot does not catch him
+first I believe that he will go."
+
+Mother Matilda took the ring and set it on her own finger. Then she
+walked to where Cicely lay sleeping, looked at her and the boy upon
+her breast. Stretching out her thin hands, she called down the
+blessing and protection of Almighty God upon them both, then turned to
+depart.
+
+Emlyn caught her by the robe.
+
+"Stay," she said. "You think I do not understand; but I do. You are
+giving up everything for us. Even if you live through it, this House,
+which has been your charge for many years, will be dissolved; your
+sheep will be scattered to starve in their toothless age; the fold
+that has sheltered them for four hundred years will become a home of
+wolves. I understand full well, and she"--pointing to the sleeping
+Cicely--"will understand also."
+
+"Say nothing to her," murmured Mother Matilda; "I may fail."
+
+"You may fail, or you may succeed. If you fail and we burn, God shall
+reward you. If you succeed and we are saved, on her behalf I swear
+that you shall not suffer. There is wealth hidden away--wealth worth
+many priories; you and yours shall have your share of it, and that
+Commissioner shall not go lacking. Tell him that there is some small
+store to pay him for his trouble, and that the Abbot of Blossholme
+would rob him of it. Now, my Lady Margaret--for that, I think, used to
+be your name, and will be again when you have done with priests and
+nuns--bless me also and begone, and know that, living or dead, I hold
+you great and holy."
+
+So the Prioress blessed her ere she glided thence in her stately
+fashion, and the oaken door opened and shut behind her.
+
+
+
+Three days later the Abbot visited them alone.
+
+"Foul and accursed witches," he said, "I come to tell you that next
+Monday at noon you burn upon the green in front of the Abbey gate,
+who, were it not for the mercy of the Church, should have been
+tortured also till you discovered your accomplices, of whom I think
+that you have many."
+
+"Show me the King's warrant for this slaughter," said Cicely.
+
+"I will show you nothing save the stake, witch. Repent, repent, ere it
+be too late. Hell and its eternal fires yawn for you."
+
+"Do they yawn for my child also, my Lord Abbot?"
+
+"Your brat will be taken from you ere you enter the flames and laid
+upon the ground, since it is baptized and too young to burn. If any
+have pity on it, good; if not, where it lies, there it will be
+buried."
+
+"So be it," answered Cicely. "God gave it; God save it. In God I put
+my trust. Murderer, leave me to make my peace with Him," and she
+turned and walked away.
+
+Now the Abbot and Emlyn were face to face.
+
+"Do we really burn on Monday?" she asked.
+
+"Without doubt, unless faggots will not take fire. Yet," he added
+slowly, "if certain jewels should chance to be found and handed over,
+the case might be remitted to another Court."
+
+"And the torment prolonged. My Lord Abbot, I fear that those jewels
+will never be found."
+
+"Well, then you burn--slowly, perhaps, for much rain has fallen of
+late and the wood is green. They say the death is dreadful."
+
+"Doubtless one day you will find it so, Clement Maldonado, here or
+hereafter. But of that we will talk together when all is done--of that
+and many other things. I mean before the Judgment-seat of God. Nay,
+nay, I do not threaten after your fashion--it shall be so. Meanwhile I
+ask the boon of a dying woman. There are two whom I would see--the
+Prioress Matilda, in whose charge I desire to leave a certain secret,
+and Thomas Bolle, a lay-brother in your Abbey, a man who once engaged
+himself to me in marriage. For your own sake, deny me not these
+favours."
+
+"They should be granted readily enough were it in my power, but it is
+not," answered the Abbot, looking at her curiously, for he thought
+that to them she might tell what she had refused to him--the hiding-
+place of the jewels, which afterwards he could wring out.
+
+"Why not, my Lord Abbot?"
+
+"Because the Prioress has gone hence, secretly, upon some journey of
+her own, and Thomas Bolle has vanished away I knew not where. If they,
+or either of them, return ere Monday you shall see them."
+
+"And if they do not return I shall see them afterwards," replied
+Emlyn, with a shrug of her shoulders. "What does it matter? Fare you
+well till we meet at the fire, my Lord Abbot."
+
+
+
+On the Sunday--that is, the day before the burning--the Abbot came
+again.
+
+"Three days ago," he said, addressing them both, "I offered you a
+chance of life upon certain conditions, but, obstinate witches that
+you are, you refused to listen. Now I offer you the last boon in my
+power--not life, indeed; it is too late for that--but a merciful
+death. If you will give me what I seek, the executioner shall dispatch
+you both before the fire bites--never mind how. If not--well, as I
+have told you, there has been much rain, and they say the faggots are
+somewhat green."
+
+Cicely paled a little--who would not, even in those cruel days?--then
+asked--
+
+"And what is it that you seek, or that we can give? A confession of
+our guilt, to cover up your crime in the eyes of the world? If so, you
+shall never have it, though we burn by inches."
+
+"Yes, I seek that, but for your own sakes, not for mine, since those
+who confess and repent may receive absolution. Also I seek more--the
+rich jewels which you have in hiding, that they may be used for the
+purposes of the Church."
+
+Then it was that Cicely showed the courage of her blood.
+
+"Never, never!" she cried, turning on him with eyes ablaze. "Torture
+and slay me if you will, but my wealth you shall not thieve. I know
+not where these jewels are, but wherever they may be, there let them
+lie till my heirs find them, or they rot."
+
+The Abbot's face grew very evil.
+
+"Is that your last word, Cicely Foterell?" he asked.
+
+She bowed her head, and he repeated the question to Emlyn, who
+answered--
+
+"What my mistress says, I say."
+
+"So be it!" he exclaimed. "Doubtless you sorceresses put your trust in
+the devil. Well, we shall see if he will help you to-morrow."
+
+"God will help us," replied Cicely in a quiet voice. "Remember my
+words when the time comes."
+
+Then he went.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+THE STAKE
+
+It was an awful night. Let those who have followed this history think
+of the state of these two women, one of them still but a girl, who on
+the morrow, amidst the jeers and curses of superstitious men, were to
+suffer the cruelest of deaths for no crime at all, unless the
+traffickings of Emlyn with Thomas Bolle, in which Cicely had small
+share, could be held a crime. Well, thousands quite as blameless were
+called on to undergo that, and even worse fates in the days which some
+name good and old, the days of chivalry and gallant knights, when even
+little children were tormented and burned by holy and learned folk who
+feared a visible or at least a tangible devil and his works.
+
+Doubtless their cruelty was that of terror. Doubtless, although he had
+other ends to gain which to him were sacred, the Abbot Maldon did
+believe that Cicely and Emlyn had practised horrible witchcraft; that
+they had conversed with Satan in order to revenge themselves upon him,
+and therefore were too foul to live. The "Old Bishop" believed it
+also, and so did the black-browed Prior and the most of the ignorant
+people who lived around and knew of the terrible things which had
+happened in Blossholme. Had not some of them actually seen the fiend
+with horns and hoofs and tail driving the Abbey cattle, and had not
+others met the ghost of Sir John Foterell, which doubtless was but
+that fiend in another shape? Oh, these women were guilty, without
+doubt they were guilty and deserved the stake! What did it matter if
+the husband and father of one of them had been murdered and the other
+had suffered grievous but forgotten wrongs? Compared to witchcraft
+murder was but a light and homely crime, one that would happen when
+men's passions and needs were involved, quite a familiar thing.
+
+It was an awful night. Sometimes Cicely slept a little, but the most
+of it she spent in prayer. The fierce Emlyn neither slept nor prayed,
+except once or twice that vengeance might fall upon the Abbot's head,
+for her whole soul was up in arms and it galled her to think that she
+and her beloved mistress must die shamefully while their enemy lived
+on triumphant and in honour. Even the infant seemed nervous and
+disturbed, as though some instinct warned it of terror at hand, for
+although it was well enough, against its custom it woke continually
+and wailed.
+
+"Emlyn," said Cicely towards morning, but before the light had come,
+after at length she had soothed it to rest, "do you think that Mother
+Matilda will be able to help us?"
+
+"No, no; put it from your mind, dearie. She is weak and old, the road
+is rough and long, and mayhap she has never reached the place. It was
+a great venture for her to try such a journey, and if she came there,
+why, perhaps the Commissioner man had gone, or perhaps he will not
+listen, or perhaps he cannot come. What would he care about the
+burning of two witches a hundred miles away, this leech who is sucking
+himself full upon the carcass of some fat monastery? No, no, never
+count on her."
+
+"At least she is brave and true, Emlyn, and has done her best, for
+which may Heaven's blessing rest upon her always. Now, what of Thomas
+Bolle?"
+
+"Nothing, except that he is a red-headed jackass that can bray but
+daren't kick," answered Emlyn viciously. "Never speak to me of Thomas
+Bolle. Had he been a man long ago he'd have broken the neck of that
+rogue Abbot instead of dressing himself up like a he-goat and hunting
+his cows."
+
+"If what they say is true he did break the neck of Father Ambrose,"
+replied Cicely, with a faint smile. "Perhaps he made a mistake in the
+dark."
+
+"If so it is like Thomas Bolle, who ever wished the right thing and
+did the wrong. Talk no more of him, since I would not meet my end in a
+bad spirit. Thomas Bolle, who lets us die for his elfish pranks! A
+pest on the half-witted cur, say I. And after I had kissed him too!"
+
+Cicely wondered vaguely to what she referred, then, thinking it well
+not to inquire, said--
+
+"Not so, a blessing on him, say I, who saved my child from that
+hateful hag."
+
+Then there was silence for a while, the matter of poor Thomas Bolle
+and his conduct being exhausted between them, who indeed were in no
+mood for argument about people whom they would never see again. At
+last Cicely spoke once more through the darkness--
+
+"Emlyn, I will try to be brave; but once, do you remember, I burnt my
+hand as a child when I stole the sweetmeats from the cooling pot, and
+ah! it hurt me. I will try to die as those who went before me would
+have died, but if I should break down think not the less of me, for
+the spirit is willing though the flesh be weak."
+
+Emlyn ground her teeth in silence, and Cicely went on--
+
+"But that is not the worst of it, Emlyn. A few minutes and it will be
+over and I shall sleep, as I think, to awake elsewhere. Only if
+Christopher should really live, how he will mourn when he learns----"
+
+"I pray that he does," broke in Emlyn, "for then ere long there will
+be a Spanish priest the less on earth and one the more in hell."
+
+"And the child, Emlyn, the child!" she went on in a trembling voice,
+not heeding the interruption. "What will become of my son, the heir to
+so much if he had his rights, and yet so friendless? They'll murder
+him also, Emlyn, or let him die, which is the same thing, since how
+otherwise will they get title to his lands and goods?"
+
+"If so, his troubles will be done and he will be better with you in
+heaven," Emlyn answered, with a dry sob. "The boy and you in heaven
+midst the blessed saints, and the Abbot and I in hell settling our
+score there with the devil for company, that's all I ask. There,
+there, I blaspheme, for injustice makes me mad; it clogs my heart and
+I throw it up in bitter words, for your sake, dear, and his, not my
+own. Child, you are good and gentle, to such as you the Ear of God is
+open. Call to him; ask for light, He will not refuse. Do you remember
+in the fire at the Towers, when we crouched in that vault and the
+walls crumbled overhead, you said you saw His angel bending over us
+and heard his speech. Call to Him, Cicely, and if He will not listen,
+hear me. I have a means of death about me. Ask not what it is, but if
+at the end I turn on you and strike, blame me not here or hereafter,
+for it will be love's blow, my last service."
+
+It seemed as though Cicely did not understand those heavy words, at
+the least she took no heed of them.
+
+"I'll pray again," she whispered, "though I fear that heaven's doors
+are closed to me; no light comes through," and she knelt down.
+
+For long, long she prayed, till at length weariness overcame her, and
+Emlyn heard her breathing softly like one asleep.
+
+"Let her sleep," she murmured to herself. "Oh! if I were sure--she
+should never wake again to see the dawn. I have half a mind to do it,
+but there it is, I am not sure. If there is a God He will never suffer
+such a thing. I'd have paid the jewels, but what's the use? They would
+have killed her all the same, for else where's their title? No, my
+heart bids me wait."
+
+
+
+Cicely awoke.
+
+"Emlyn," she said in a low, thrilling voice, "do you hear me, Emlyn?
+That angel has been with me again. He spoke to me," and she paused.
+
+"Well, well, what did he say?"
+
+"I don't know, Emlyn," she answered, confused; "it has gone from me.
+But, Emlyn, have no fear, all is well with us, and not only with us
+but with Christopher and the babe also. Oh, yes, with Christopher and
+the babe also," and she let her fair head fall upon the couch and
+burst into a flood of happy tears. Then, rising, she took up the child
+and kissed it, laid herself down and slept sweetly.
+
+Just then the dawn broke, a glorious dawn, and Emlyn held out her arms
+to it in an ecstasy of gratitude. For with that light her terror
+passed away as the darkness passed. She believed that God had spoken
+to Cicely and for a while her heart was at peace.
+
+
+
+When about eight o'clock that morning the door was opened to allow a
+nun to bring them their food, she saw a sight which filled her with
+amazement. Her own eyes, poor woman, were red with tears, for, like
+all in the Priory, she loved Cicely, whom as a child she had nursed on
+her knee, and with the other sisters had spent a sleepless night in
+prayer for her, for Emlyn, and for Bridget, who was to be burned with
+them. She had expected to find the victims prostrate and perhaps
+senseless with fear, but behold! there they sat together in the
+window-place, dressed in their best garments and talking quietly.
+Indeed, as she entered one of them--it was Cicely--laughed a little at
+something that the other had said.
+
+"Good-morning to you, Sister Mary," said Cicely. "Tell me now, has the
+Prioress returned?"
+
+"Nay, nay, we know not where she is; no word has come from her. Well,
+at least she will be spared a dreadful sight. Have you any message for
+her ear? If so, give it swiftly ere the guard call me."
+
+"I thank you," said Cicely; "but I think that I shall be the bearer of
+my own messages."
+
+"What? Do you, then, mean that our Mother is dead? Must we suffer woe
+upon woe? Oh! who could have told you these sorrowful tidings?"
+
+"No, sister, I think that she is alive and that I, yet living, shall
+talk with her again."
+
+Sister Mary looked bewildered, for how, she wondered, could close
+prisoners know these things? Staring round to see that she was not
+observed, she thrust two little packets into Cicely's hand.
+
+"Wear these at the last, both of you," she whispered. "Whatever they
+say we believe you innocent, and for your sake we have done a great
+crime. Yes, we have opened the reliquary and taken from it our most
+precious treasure, a fragment of the cord that bound St. Catherine to
+the wheel, and divided it into three, one strand for each of you.
+Perhaps, if you are really guiltless, it will work a miracle. Perhaps
+the fire will not burn or the rain will extinguish it, or the Abbot
+may relent."
+
+"That last would be the greatest miracle of all," broke in Emlyn, with
+grim humour. "Still we thank you from our hearts and will wear the
+relics if they do not take them from us. Hark! they are calling you.
+Farewell, and all blessings be on your gentle heads."
+
+Again the loud voices of the guards called, and Sister Mary turned and
+fled, wondering if these women were not witches, how it came about
+that they could be so brave, so different from poor Bridget, who
+wailed and moaned in her cell below.
+
+Cicely and Emlyn ate their food with good appetite, knowing that they
+would need support that day, and when it was done sat themselves again
+by the window-place, through which they could see hundreds of people,
+mounted and on foot, passing up the slope that led to the green in
+front of the Abbey, though this green they could not see because of a
+belt of trees.
+
+"Listen," said Emlyn presently. "It is hard to say, but it may be that
+your vision of the night was but a merciful dream, and, if so, within
+a few hours we shall be dead. Now I have the secret of the hiding-
+place of those jewels, which, without me, none can ever find; shall I
+pass it on, if I get the chance, to one whom I can trust? Some good
+soul--the nuns, perhaps--will surely shelter your boy, and he might
+need them in days to come."
+
+Cicely thought a while, then answered--
+
+"Not so, Emlyn. I believe that God has spoken to me by His angel, as
+He spoke to Peter in the prison. To do this would be to tempt God,
+showing that we have no trust in Him. Let that secret lie where it is,
+in your breast."
+
+"Great is your faith," said Emlyn, looking at her with admiration.
+"Well, I will stand or fall by it, for I think there is enough for
+two."
+
+The Convent bell chimed ten, and they heard a sound of feet and voices
+below.
+
+"They come for us," said Emlyn; "the burning is set for eleven, that
+after the sight folk may get away in comfort to their dinners. Now
+summon that great Faith of yours and hold him fast for both our sakes,
+since mine grows faint."
+
+The door opened and through it came monks followed by guards, the
+officer of whom bade them rise and follow. They obeyed without
+speaking, Cicely throwing her cloak about her shoulders.
+
+"You'll be warm enough without that, Witch," said the man, with a
+hideous chuckle.
+
+"Sir," she answered, "I shall need it to wrap my child in when we are
+parted. Give me the babe, Emlyn. There, now we are ready; nay, no need
+to lead us, we cannot escape and shall not vex you."
+
+"God's truth, the girl has spirit!" muttered the officer to his
+companions, but one of the priests shook his head and answered--
+
+"Witchcraft! Satan will leave them presently."
+
+A few more minutes and, for the first time during all those weary
+months, they passed the gate of the Priory. Here the third victim was
+waiting to join them, poor, old, half-witted Bridget, clad in a kind
+of sheet, for her habit had been stripped off. She was wild-eyed and
+her grey locks hung loose about her shoulders, as she shook her
+ancient head and screamed prayers for mercy. Cicely shivered at the
+sight of her, which indeed was dreadful.
+
+"Peace, good Bridget," she said as they passed, "being innocent, what
+have you to fear?"
+
+"The fire, the fire!" cried the poor creature. "I dread the fire."
+
+Then they were led to their place in the procession and saw no more of
+Bridget for a while, although they could not escape the sound of her
+lamentations behind them.
+
+It was a great procession. First went the monks and choristers,
+singing a melancholy Latin dirge. Then came the victims in the midst
+of a guard of twelve armed men, and after these the nuns who were
+forced to be present, while behind and about were all the folk for
+twenty miles round, a crowd without number. They crossed the
+footbridge, where stood the Ford Inn for which the Flounder had
+bargained as the price of murder. They walked up the rise by the right
+of way, muddy now with the autumn rains, and through the belt of trees
+where Thomas Bolle's secret passage had its exit, and so came at last
+to the green in front of the towering Abbey portal.
+
+Here a dreadful sight awaited them, for on this green were planted
+three fourteen-inch posts of new-felled oak six feet or more in
+height, such as no fire would easily burn through, and around each of
+them a kind of bower of faggots open to the front. Moreover, to the
+posts hung new wagon chains, and near by stood the village blacksmith
+and his apprentice, who carried a hand anvil and a sledge hammer for
+the cold welding of those chains.
+
+At a distance from these stakes the procession was halted. Then out
+from the gate of the Abbey came the Abbot in his robes and mitre,
+preceded by acolytes and followed by more monks. He advanced to where
+the condemned women stood and halted, while a friar stepped forward
+and read their sentence to them, of which, being in Latin or in
+crabbed, legal words, they understood nothing at all. Then in
+sonorous tones he adjured them for the sake of their sinful souls to
+make full confession of their guilt, that they might receive pardon
+before they suffered in the flesh for their hideous crime of sorcery.
+
+To this invitation Cicely and Emlyn shook their heads, saying that
+being innocent of any sorceries they had nothing to confess. But old
+Bridget gave another answer. She declared in a high, screaming voice
+that she was a witch, as her mother and grandmother had been before
+her. She described, while the crowd listened with intense interest,
+how Emlyn Stower had introduced her to the devil, who was clad in red
+hose and looked like a black boy with a hump on his back and a tuft of
+red hair hanging from his nose, also many unedifying details of her
+interviews with this same fiend.
+
+Asked what he said to her, she answered that he told her to bewitch
+the Abbot of Blossholme because he was such a holy man that God had
+need of him and he did too much good upon the earth. Also he prevented
+Emlyn Stower and Cicely Foterell from working his, the devil's, will,
+and enabled them to keep alive the baby who would be a great wizard.
+He told her moreover that midwife Megges was an angel (here the crowd
+laughed) sent to kill the said infant, who really was his own child,
+as might be seen by its black eyebrows and cleft tongue, also its
+webbed feet, and that he would appear in the shape of the ghost of Sir
+John Foterell to save it and give it to her, which he did, saying the
+Lord's Prayer backwards, and that she must bring it up "in the faith
+of the Pentagon."
+
+Thus the poor crazed thing raved on, while sentence by sentence a
+scribe wrote down her gibberish, causing her at last to make her mark
+to it, all of which took a very long time. At the end she begged that
+she might be pardoned and not burnt, but this, she was informed, was
+impossible. Thereon she became enraged and asked why then had she been
+led to tell so many lies if after all she must burn, a question at
+which the crowd roared with laughter. On hearing this the priest, who
+was about to absolve her, changed his mind and ordered her to be
+fastened to her stake, which was done by the blacksmith with the help
+of his apprentice and his portable anvil.
+
+Still, her "confession" was solemnly read over to Cicely and Emlyn,
+who were asked whether, after hearing it, they still persisted in a
+denial of their guilt. By way of answer Cicely lifted the hood from
+her boy's face and showed that his eyebrows were not black, but light-
+coloured. Also she bared his feet, passing her little finger between
+his toes, and asking them if they were webbed. Some of them answered,
+"No," but a monk roared, "What of that? Cannot Satan web and unweb?"
+Then he snatched the infant from Cicely's arms and laid it down upon
+the stump of an oak that had been placed there to receive it, crying
+out--
+
+"Let this child live or die as God pleases."
+
+Some brute who stood by aimed a blow at it with a stick, yelling,
+"Death to the witch's brat!" but a big man, whom Emlyn recognized as
+one of old Sir John's tenants, caught the falling stick from his hand
+and dealt him such a clout with it that he fell like a stone, and went
+for the rest of his life with but one eye and the nose flattened on
+the side of his face. Thenceforward no one tried to harm the babe,
+who, as all know, because of what befell him on this day, went in
+after life by the nickname of Christopher Oak-stump.
+
+The Abbot's men stepped forward to tie Cicely to her stake, but ere
+they laid hands on her she took off her wool-lined cloak and threw it
+to the yeoman who had struck down the fellow with his own stick,
+saying--
+
+"Friend, wrap my boy in this and guard him till I ask him from you
+again."
+
+"Aye, Lady," answered the great man, bending his knee; "I have served
+the grandsire and the sire, and so I'll serve the son," and throwing
+aside the stick he drew a sword and set himself in front of the oak
+boll where the infant lay. Nor did any venture to meddle with him, for
+they saw other men of a like sort ranging themselves about him.
+
+Now slowly enough the smith began to rivet the chain round Cicely.
+
+"Man," she said to him, "I have seen you shoe many of my father's
+nags. Who could have thought that you would live to use your honest
+skill upon his daughter!"
+
+On hearing these words the fellow burst into tears, cast down his
+tools and fled away, cursing the Abbot. His apprentice would have
+followed, but him they caught and forced to complete the task. Then
+Emlyn was chained up also, so that at length all was ready for the
+last terrible act of the drama.
+
+Now the head executioner--he was the Abbey cook--placed some pine
+splinters to light in a brazier that stood near by, and while waiting
+for the word of command, remarked audibly to his mate that there was a
+good wind and that the witches would burn briskly.
+
+The spectators were ordered back out of earshot, and went at last,
+some of them muttering sullenly to each other. For here the company
+could not be picked as it had been at the trial, and the Abbot noted
+anxiously that among them the victims had many friends. It was time
+the deed was done ere their smouldering love and pity flowed out into
+bloody tumult, he thought to himself. So, advancing quickly, he stood
+in front of Emlyn and asked her in a low voice if she still refused to
+give up the secret of the jewels, seeing that there was yet time for
+him to command that they should die mercifully and not by the fire.
+
+"Let the mistress judge, not the maid," answered Emlyn in a steady
+voice.
+
+He turned and repeated the question to Cicely, who replied--
+
+"Have I not told you--never. Get you behind me, O evil man, and go,
+repent your sins ere it be too late."
+
+The Abbot stared at her, feeling that such constancy and courage were
+almost superhuman. He had an acute, imaginative mind which could fancy
+himself in like case and what his state would be. Though he was in
+such haste a great curiosity entered into him to know whence she drew
+her strength, which even then he tried to satisfy.
+
+"Are you mad or drugged, Cicely Foterell?" he asked. "Do you not know
+how fire will feel when it eats up that delicate flesh of yours?"
+
+"I do not know and I shall never know," she answered quietly.
+
+"Do you mean that you will die before it touches you, building on some
+promise of your master, Satan?"
+
+"Yes, I shall die before the fire touches me; but not here and now,
+and I build upon a promise from the Master of us all in heaven."
+
+He laughed, a shrill, nervous laugh, and called out loud to the people
+around--
+
+"This witch says that she will not burn, for Heaven has promised it to
+her. Do you not, Witch?"
+
+"Yes, I say so; bear witness to my words, good people all," replied
+Cicely in clear and ringing tones.
+
+"Well, we'll see," shouted the Abbot. "Man, bring flame, and let
+Heaven--or hell--help her if it can!"
+
+The cook-executioner blew at his brands, but he was nervous, or
+clumsy, and a minute or more went by before they flamed. At length one
+was fit for the task, and unwillingly enough he stooped to lift it up.
+
+Then it was that in the midst of the intense silence, for of all that
+multitude none seemed even to breathe, and old Bridget, who had
+fainted, cried no more, a bull's voice was heard beyond the brow of
+the hill, roaring--
+
+"/In the King's name, stay! In the King's name, stay!/"
+
+All turned to look, and there between the trees appeared a white
+horse, its sides streaked with blood, that staggered rather than
+galloped towards them, and on the horse a huge, red-bearded man, clad
+in mail and holding in his hand a woodman's axe.
+
+"Fire the faggots!" shouted the Abbot, but the cook, who was not by
+nature brave, had already let fall his torch, which went out on the
+damp ground.
+
+By now the horse was rushing through them, treading them under foot.
+With great, convulsive bounds it reached the ring and, as the rider
+leapt from its back, rolled over and lay there panting, for its
+strength was done.
+
+"It is Thomas Bolle!" exclaimed a voice, while the Abbot cried again--
+
+"Fire the faggots! Fire the faggots!" and a soldier ran to fetch
+another brand.
+
+But Thomas was before him. Snatching up the brazier by its legs he
+smote downwards with it so that the burning charcoal fell all about
+the soldier and the iron cage remained fixed upon his head, shouting
+as he smote--
+
+"You sought fire--take it!"
+
+The man rolled upon the ground screaming in pain and terror till some
+one dragged the cage off his head, leaving his face barred like a
+grilled herring. None took further heed of what became of him, for now
+Thomas Bolle stood in front of the stakes waving his great axe, and
+repeating, "In the King's name, stay! In the King's name, stay!"
+
+"What mean you, knave?" exclaimed the furious Abbot.
+
+"What I say, Priest. One step nearer and I'll split your crown."
+
+The Abbot fell back and Thomas went on--
+
+"A Foterell! A Foterell! A Harflete! A Harflete! O ye who have eaten
+their bread, come, scatter these faggots and save their flesh. Who'll
+stand with me against Maldon and his butchers?"
+
+"I," answered voices, "and I, and I, and I!"
+
+"And I too," hallooed the yeoman by the oak stump, "only I watch the
+child. Nay, by God I'll bring it with me!" and, snatching up the
+screaming babe under his left arm, he ran to him.
+
+On came the others also, hurling the faggots this way and that.
+
+"Break the chains," roared Bolle again, and somehow those strong hands
+did it; indeed, the only hurt that Cicely took that day was from their
+hacking at these chains. They were loose. Cicely snatched the child
+from the yeoman, who was glad enough to be rid of it, having other
+work to do, for now the Abbot's men-at-arms were coming on.
+
+"Ring the women round," roared Bolle, "and strike home for Foterell,
+strike home for Harflete! Ah, priest's dog, in the King's name--this!"
+and the axe sank up to the haft into the breast of the captain who had
+told Cicely that she would be warm enough that day without her cloak.
+
+Then there began a great fight. The party of Foterell, of whom there
+may have been a score, captained by Bolle, made a circle round the
+three green oak stakes, within which stood Cicely and Emlyn and old
+Bridget, still tied to her post, for no one had thought or found time
+to cut her loose. These were attacked by the Abbot's guard, thirty or
+more of them, urged on by Maldon himself, who was maddened by the
+rescue of his victims and full of fear lest Cicely's words should be
+fulfilled and she herself set down henceforth, not as a witch, but as
+a prophetess favoured by God.
+
+On came the soldiers and were beaten back. Thrice they came on and
+thrice they were beaten back with loss, for Bolle's axe was terrible
+to face and, now that they had found a leader and their courage, the
+yeoman lads who stood with him were sturdy fighters. Also tumult broke
+out among the hundreds who watched, some of them taking one side and
+some the other, so that they fell upon each other with sticks and
+stones and fists, even the women joining in the fray, biting and
+tearing like bagged cats. The scene was hideous and the sounds those
+of a sacked city, for many were hurt and all gave tongue, while shrill
+and clear above this hateful music rose the yells of Bridget, who had
+awakened from her faint and imagined all was over and that she
+fathomed hell.
+
+Thrice the attackers were rolled back, but of those who defended a
+third were down, and now the Abbot took another counsel.
+
+"Bring bows," he cried, "and shoot them, for they have none!" and men
+ran off to do his bidding.
+
+Then it was that Emlyn's wit came to their aid, for when Bolle shook
+his red head and gasped out that he feared they were lost, since how
+could they fight against arrows, she answered--
+
+"If so, why stand here to be spitted, fool? Come, let us cut our way
+through ere the shafts begin to fly, and take refuge among the trees
+or in the Nunnery."
+
+"Women's counsel is good sometimes," said Bolle. "Form up, Foterells,
+and march."
+
+"Nay," broke in Cicely, "loose Bridget first, lest they should burn
+her after all; I'll not stir else."
+
+So Bridget was hacked free, and together with the wounded men, of whom
+there were several, dragged and supported thence. Then began a running
+fight, but one in which they still held their own. Yet they would have
+been overwhelmed at last, for the women and the wounded hampered them,
+had not help come. For as they hewed their path towards the belt of
+trees with the Abbot's fierce fellows, some of whom were French or
+Spanish, hanging on their flanks, suddenly, in the gap where the
+roadway ran, appeared a horse galloping and on it a woman, who clung
+to its mane with both hands, and after her many armed men.
+
+"Look, Emlyn, look!" exclaimed Cicely. "Who is that?" for she could
+not believe her eyes.
+
+"Who but Mother Matilda," answered Emlyn; "and by the saints, she is a
+strange sight!"
+
+A strange sight she was indeed, for her hood was gone, her hair, that
+was ever so neat, flew loose, her robe was ruckled up about her knees,
+the rosary and crucifix she wore streamed on the air behind her and
+beat against her back, and her garb had burst open at the front; in
+short, never was holy, aged Prioress seen in such a state before. Down
+she came on them like a whirlwind, for her frightened horse scented
+its Blossholme stable, clinging grimly to her unaccustomed seat, and
+crying as she sped--
+
+"For God's love, stop this mad beast!"
+
+Bolle caught it by the bridle and threw it to its haunches so that,
+its rider speeding on, flew over its head on to the broad breast of
+the yeoman who had watched the child, and there rested thankfully.
+For, as Mother Matilda said afterwards with her gentle smile, never
+before did she know what comfort there was to be found in man.
+
+When at length she loosed her arms from about his neck the yeoman
+stood her on her feet, saying that this was worse than the baby, and
+her wandering eyes fell upon Cicely.
+
+"So I am in time! Oh! never more will I revile that horse," she
+exclaimed, and sinking to her knees then and there she gasped out some
+prayer of thankfulness. Meanwhile, those who followed her had reined
+up in front, and the Abbot's soldiers with the accompanying crowd had
+halted behind, not knowing what to make of these strangers, so that
+Bolle and his party with the women were now between the two.
+
+From among the new-comers rode out a fat, coarse man, with a pompous
+air as of one who is accustomed to be obeyed, who inquired in a
+laboured voice, for he was breathless from hard riding, what all this
+turmoil meant.
+
+"Ask the Abbot of Blossholme," said some one, "for it is his work."
+
+"Abbot of Blossholme? That's the man I want," puffed the fat stranger.
+"Appear, Abbot of Blossholme, and give account of these doings. And
+you fellows," he added to his escort, "range up and be ready, lest
+this said priest should prove contumacious."
+
+Now the Abbot stepped forward with some of his monks and, looking the
+horseman up and down, said--
+
+"Who may it be that demands account so roughly of a consecrated
+Abbot?"
+
+"A consecrated Abbot? A consecrated peacock, a tumultuous, turbulent,
+traitorous priest, a Spanish rogue ruffler who, I am told, keeps about
+him a band of bloody mercenaries to break the King's peace and slay
+loyal English folk. Well, consecrated Abbot, I'll tell you who I am. I
+am Thomas Legh, his Grace's Visitor and Royal Commissioner to inspect
+the Houses called religious, and I am come hither upon complaint made
+by yonder Prioress of Blossholme Nunnery, as to your dealings with
+certain of his Highness's subjects whom, she says, you have accused of
+witchcraft for purposes of revenge and unlawful gain. That is who I
+am, my fine fowl of an Abbot."
+
+Now when he heard this pompous speech the rage in Maldon's face was
+replaced by fear, for he knew of this Doctor Legh and his mission, and
+understood what Thomas Bolle had meant by his cry of, "In the King's
+name!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+THE MESSENGER
+
+"Who makes all this tumult?" shouted the Commissioner. "Why do I see
+blood and wounds and dead men? And how were you about to handle these
+women, one of whom by her mien is of no low degree?" and he stared at
+Cicely.
+
+"The tumult," answered the Abbot, "was caused by yonder fool, Thomas
+Bolle, a lay-brother of my monastery, who rushed among us armed and
+shouting 'In the King's name, stay.'"
+
+"Then why did you not stay, Sir Abbot? Is the King's name one to be
+mocked at? Know that I sent on the man."
+
+"He had no warrant, Sir Commissioner, unless his bull's voice and
+great axe are a warrant, and I did not stay because we were doing
+justice upon the three foulest witches in the realm."
+
+"Doing justice? Whose justice and what justice? Say, had you a warrant
+for your justice? If so, show it me."
+
+"These witches have been condemned by a Court Ecclesiastic, the judges
+being a bishop, a prior and myself, and in pursuance of that judgment
+were about to suffer for their sins by fire," replied Maldon.
+
+"A Court Ecclesiastic!" roared Dr. Legh. "Can Courts Ecclesiastic,
+then, toast free English folk to death? If you would not stand your
+trial for attempted murder, show me your warrant signed by his Grace
+the King, or by his Justices of Assize. What! You do not answer. Have
+you none? I thought as much. Oho, Clement Maldon, you hang-faced
+Spanish dog, learn that eyes have been on you for long, and now it
+seems that you would usurp the King's prerogative besides----" and he
+checked himself, then went on, "Seize that priest, and keep him fast
+while I make inquiry of this business."
+
+Now some of the Commissioner's guard surrounded Maldon, nor did his
+own men venture to interfere with them, for they had enough of
+fighting and were frightened by this talk about the King's warrant.
+
+Then the Commissioner turned to Cicely, and said--
+
+"You are Sir John Foterell's only child, are you not, who allege
+yourself to be wife to Sir Christopher Harflete, or so says yonder
+Prioress? Now, what was about to happen to you, and why?"
+
+"Sir," answered Cicely, "I and my waiting-woman and the old sister,
+Bridget, were condemned to die by fire at those stakes upon a charge
+of sorcery. Although it is true," she added, "that I knew we should
+not perish thus."
+
+"How did you know that, Lady? By all tokens your bodies and hot flame
+were near enough together," and he glanced towards the stakes and the
+scattered faggots.
+
+"Sir, I knew it because of a vision that God sent to me in my sleep
+last night."
+
+"Aye, she swore that at the stake," exclaimed a voice, "and we thought
+her mad."
+
+"Now can you deny that she is a witch?" broke in Maldon. "If she were
+not one of Satan's own, how could she see visions and prophecy her own
+deliverance?"
+
+"If visions and prophecies are proof of witchcraft, then, Priest, all
+Holy Writ is but a seething pot of sorcery," answered Legh. "Then the
+Blessed Virgin and St. Elizabeth were witches, and Paul and John
+should have been burnt as wizards. Continue, Lady, leaving out your
+dreams until a more convenient time."
+
+"Sir," went on Cicely, "we have worked no sorcery, and my crime is
+that I will not name my child a bastard and sign away my lands and
+goods to yonder Abbot, the murderer of my father and perhaps of my
+husband. Oh! listen, listen, you and all folk here, and briefly as I
+may I will tell my tale. Have I your leave to speak?"
+
+The Commissioner nodded, and she set out her story from the beginning,
+so sweetly, so simply and with such truth and earnestness, that the
+concourse of people packed close about her, hung upon her every word,
+and even Dr. Legh's coarse face softened as he heard. For the half of
+an hour or more she spoke, telling of her father's death, of her
+flight and marriage, of the burning of Cranwell Towers, and her
+widowing, if such it were; of her imprisonment in the Priory and the
+Abbot's dealings with her and Emlyn; of the birth of her child and its
+attempted murder by the midwife, his creature; of their trial and
+condemnation, they being innocent, and of all they had endured that
+day.
+
+"If you are innocent," shouted a priest as she paused for breath,
+"what was that Thing dressed in the livery of Satan which worked evil
+at Blossholme? Did we not see it with our eyes?"
+
+Just then some one uttered an exclamation and pointed to the shadow of
+the trees where a strange form was moving. Another moment and it came
+out into the light. One more and all that multitude scattered like
+frightened sheep, rushing this way and that; yes, even the horses took
+the bits between their teeth and bolted. For there, visible to all,
+Satan himself strolled towards them. On his head were horns, behind
+his back hung down a tail, his body was shaggy like a beast's, and his
+face hideous and of many colours, while in his hand he held a pronged
+fork with a long handle. This way and that rushed the throng, only the
+Commissioner, who had dismounted, stood still, perhaps because he was
+too afraid to stir, and with him the women and some of the nuns,
+including the Prioress, who fell upon their knees and began to utter
+prayers.
+
+On came the dreadful thing till it reached the King's Visitor, bowing
+to him and bellowing like a bull, then very deliberately untied some
+strings and let its horrid garb fall off, revealing the person of
+Thomas Bolle!
+
+"What means this mummery, knave?" gasped Dr. Legh.
+
+"Mummery do you call it, sir?" answered Thomas with a grin. "Well, if
+so, 'tis on the faith of such mummery that priests burn women in merry
+England. Come, good people, come," he roared in his great voice,
+"come, see Satan in the flesh. Here are his horns," and he held them
+up, "once they grew upon the head of Widow Johnson's billy-goat.
+Here's his tail, many a fly has it flicked off the belly of an Abbey
+cow. Here's his ugly mug, begotten of parchment and the paint-box.
+Here's his dreadful fork that drives the damned to some hotter corner;
+it has been death to whole stones of eels down in the marsh-fleet
+yonder. I have some hell-fire too among the bag of tricks; you'll make
+the best of brimstone and a little oil dried out upon the hearth.
+Come, see the devil all complete and naught to pay."
+
+Back trooped the crowd a little fearfully, taking the properties which
+he held, and handling them, till first one and then all of them began
+to laugh.
+
+"Laugh not," shouted Bolle. "Is it a matter of laughter that noble
+ladies and others whose lives are as dear to some," and he glanced at
+Emlyn, "should grill like herrings because a poor fool walks about
+clad in skins to keep out the cold and frighten villains? Hark you, I
+played this trick. I am Beelzebub, also the ghost of Sir John
+Foterell. I entered the Priory chapel by a passage that I know, and
+saved yonder babe from murder and scared the murderess down to hell;
+yes, from the sham devil to the true. Why did I do it? Well, to
+protect the innocent and scourge the wicked in his pride. But the
+wicked seized the innocent and the innocent said nothing, fearing lest
+I should suffer with them, and---- O God, you know the rest!
+
+"It was a near thing, a very near thing, but I'm not the half-wit I've
+feigned to be for years. Moreover, I had a good horse and a heavy axe,
+and there are still true hearts round Blossholme; the dead men that
+lie yonder show it. Heaven has still its angels on the earth, though
+they wear strange shapes. There stands one of them, and there
+another," and he pointed first to the fat and pompous Visitor, and
+next to the dishevelled Prioress, adding: "And now, Sir Commissioner,
+for all that I have done in the cause of justice I ask pardon of you
+who wear the King's grace and majesty as I wore old Nick's horns and
+hoofs, since otherwise the Abbot and his hired butchers, who hold
+themselves masters of King and people, will murder me for this as they
+have done by better men. Therefore pardon, your Mightiness, pardon,"
+and he kneeled down before him.
+
+"You have it, Bolle; in the King's name you have it," replied Legh,
+who was more flattered by the titles and attributes poured upon him by
+the cunning Thomas than a closer consideration might have warranted.
+"For all that you have done, or left undone, I, the Commissioner of
+his Grace, declare that you shall go scot free and that no action
+criminal or civil shall lie against you, and this my secretary shall
+give to you in writing. Now, good fellow, rise, but steal Satan's
+plumes no more lest you should feel his claws and beak, for he is an
+ill fowl to mock. Bring hither that Spaniard Maldon. I have somewhat
+to say to him."
+
+Now they looked this way and that, but no Abbot could they see. The
+guards swore that they had never taken eye off him, even when they all
+ran before the devil, yet certainly he was gone.
+
+"The knave has given us the slip," bellowed the Commissioner, who was
+purple with rage. "Search for him! Seize him, for which my command
+shall be your warrant. Draw the wood. I'll to the Abbey, where
+perchance the fox has gone to earth. Five golden crowns to the man who
+nets the slimy traitor."
+
+Now every one, burning with zeal to show their loyalty and to win the
+crowns, scattered on the search, so that presently the three
+"witches," Thomas Bolle, Mother Matilda, and the nuns, were left
+standing almost alone and staring at each other and the dead and
+wounded men who lay about.
+
+"Let us to the Priory," said Mother Matilda, "for by the sun I judge
+that it is time for evening prayer, and there seem to be none to
+hinder us."
+
+Thomas went to her horse, which grazed close at hand, and led it up.
+
+"Nay, good friend," she exclaimed, with energy, "while I live no more
+of that evil beast for me. Henceforth I'll walk till I am carried.
+Keep it, Thomas, as a gift; it is bought and paid for. Sister, your
+arm."
+
+"Have I done well, Emlyn?" Bolle asked, as he tightened the girths.
+
+"I don't know," she answered, looking at him sideways. "You played the
+cur at first, leaving us to burn for your sins, but afterwards, well,
+you found the wits you say you never lost. Also your manners mended,
+and yonder captain knave learned that you can handle an axe, so we'll
+say no more about it, lad, for doubtless that Abbot and his spies were
+sore task-masters and broke your spirit with their penances and talk
+of hell to come. Here, lift my lady on to this horse, for she is
+spent, and let me lean upon your shoulder, Thomas. It's weary work
+standing at a stake."
+
+
+
+Cicely's recollections of the remainder of that day were always
+shadowy and tangled. She remembered a prayer of thanksgiving in which
+she took small part with her lips, she whose heart was one great
+thanksgiving. She remembered the good sister who had given them the
+relics of St. Catherine assuring her, as she received them back with
+care, that these and these alone had worked the miracle and saved
+their lives. She remembered eating food and straining her boy to her
+breast, and then she remembered no more till she woke to see the
+morning sun streaming into that same room whence on the previous day
+they had been led out to suffer the most horrible of deaths.
+
+Yes, she woke, and see, near by was Emlyn making ready her garments,
+as she had done these many years, and at her side lay the boy crowing
+in the sunlight and waving his little arms, the blessed boy who knew
+not the terrors he had passed. At first she thought that she had
+dreamed a very evil dream, till by degrees all the truth came back to
+her, and she shivered at its memory, yes, even as the weight of it
+rolled off her heart she shivered and whitened like an aspen in the
+wind. Then she rose and thanked God for His mercies, which were great.
+
+Oh, if the strength of that horse of Thomas Bolle's had failed one
+short five minutes sooner, she, in whom the red blood still ran so
+healthily, would have been but a handful of charred bones. Or if her
+faith had left her so that she had yielded to the Abbot and shortened
+all his talk at the place of burning, then Bolle would have come too
+late. But it proved sufficient to her need, and for this also truly
+she should be thankful to its Giver.
+
+After they had eaten, a message came to them from the Prioress, who
+desired to see them in her chamber. Thither they went, rejoiced to
+find that they were no longer prisoners but had liberty to come and
+go, and found her seated in a tall chair, for she was too stiff to
+walk. Cicely ran to her, knelt down and kissed her, and she laid her
+left hand upon her head in blessing, for the right was cut with the
+chafing of the reins.
+
+"Surely, Cicely," she said, smiling, "it is I who should kneel to you,
+were I in any state to do so. For now I have heard all the tale, and
+it seems that we have a prophetess among us, one favoured with visions
+from on high, which visions have been most marvellously fulfilled."
+
+"That is so, Mother," she answered briefly, for this was a matter of
+which she would never talk at length, either then or thereafter, "but
+the fulfilment came through you."
+
+"My daughter, I was but the minister, you were the chosen seer, still
+let the holy business lie a while. Perhaps you will tell me of it
+afterwards, and meantime the world and its affairs press us hard. Your
+deliverance has been bought at no small cost, my daughter, for know
+that yonder coarse and ungodly man, the King's Visitor, told me as we
+rode that this Nunnery must be dissolved, its house and revenues
+seized, and I and my sisters turned out to starve in our old age.
+Indeed, to bring him here at all I was forced to petition that it
+might be so in a writing that I signed. See, then, how great is my
+love for you, dear Cicely."
+
+"Mother," she answered, "it cannot be, it shall not be."
+
+"Alas! child, how will you prevent it? These Visitors, and those who
+commission them, are hungry folk. I hear they take the lands and goods
+of poor religious such as we are, and if these are fortunate, give one
+or two of them a little pittance to get bread. Once I had moneys of my
+own, but I spent them to buy back the Valley Farm which the Abbot had
+seized, and of late to satisfy his extortions," and she wept a little.
+
+"Mother, listen. I have wealth hidden away, I know not where exactly,
+but Emlyn knows. It is my very own, the Carfax jewels that came to me
+from my mother. It was because of these that we were brought to the
+stake, since the Abbot offered us life in return for them, and when it
+was too late to save us, a more merciful death than that by fire. But
+I forbade Emlyn to yield the secret; something in my heart told me to
+do so, now I know why. Mother, the price of those gems shall buy back
+your lands, and mayhap buy also permission from his Grace the King for
+the continuance of your house, where you and yours shall worship as
+those who went before you have done for many generations. I swear it
+in my own name and in that of my child and of my husband also--if he
+lives."
+
+"Your husband if he lives might need this wealth, sweet Cicely."
+
+"Then, Mother, except to save his life, or liberty or honour, I tell
+you I will refuse it to him, who, when he learns what you have done
+for me and our son, would give it you and all else he has besides--
+nay, would pay it as an honourable debt."
+
+"Well, Cicely, in God's name and my own I thank you, and we'll see,
+we'll see! Only be advised, lest Dr. Legh should learn of this
+treasure. But where is it, Emlyn? Fear not to tell me who can be
+secret, for it is well that more than one should know, and I think
+that your danger is past."
+
+"Yes, speak, Emlyn," said Cicely, "for though I never asked before,
+fearing my own weakness, I am curious. None can hear us here."
+
+"Then, Mistress, I will tell you. You remember that on the day of the
+burning of Cranwell we sought refuge on the central tower, whence I
+carried you senseless to the vault. Now in that vault we lay all
+night, and while you swooned I searched with my fingers till I found a
+stone that time and damp had loosened, behind which was a hollow. In
+that hollow I hid the jewels that I carried wrapt in silk in the bosom
+of my robe. Then I filled up the hole with dust scraped from the
+floor, and replaced the stone, wedging it tight with bits of mortar.
+It is the third stone counting from the eastern angle in the second
+course above the floor line. There I set them, and there doubtless
+they lie to this day, for unless the tower is pulled down to its
+foundations none will ever find them in that masonry."
+
+At this moment there came a knocking on the door. When it was opened
+by Emlyn a nun entered, saying that the King's Visitor demanded to
+speak with the Prioress.
+
+"Show him here since I cannot come to him," said Mother Matilda, "and
+you, Cicely and Emlyn, bide with me, for in such company it is well to
+have witnesses."
+
+A minute later Dr. Legh appeared accompanied by his secretaries,
+gorgeously attired and puffing from the stairs.
+
+"To business, to business," he said, scarcely stopping to acknowledge
+the greetings of the Prioress. "Your convent is sequestrated upon your
+own petition, Madam, therefore I need not stop to make the usual
+inquiries, and indeed I will admit that from all I hear it has a good
+repute, for none allege scandal against you, perhaps because you are
+all too old for such follies. Produce now your deeds, your terrier of
+lands and your rent-rolls, that I may take them over in due form and
+dissolve the sisterhood."
+
+"I will send for them, Sir," answered the Prioress humbly; "but,
+meanwhile, tell us what we poor religious are to do? I am turned sixty
+years of age, and have dwelt in this house for forty of them; none of
+my sisters are young, and some of them are older than myself. Whither
+shall we go?"
+
+"Into the world, Madam, which you will find a fine, large place. Cease
+snuffling prayers and from all vulgar superstitions--by the way,
+forget not to hand over any reliquaries of value, or any papistical
+emblems in precious metals that you may possess, including images, of
+which my secretaries will take account--and go out into the world.
+Marry there if you can find husbands, follow useful trades there. Do
+what you will there, and thank the King who frees you from the
+incumbrance of silly vows and from the circle of a convent's walls."
+
+"To give us liberty to starve outside of them. Sir, do you understand
+your work? For hundreds of years we have sat at Blossholme, and during
+all those generations have prayed to God for the souls of men and
+ministered to their bodies. We have done no harm to any creature, and
+what wealth came to us from the earth or from the benefactions of the
+pious we have dispensed with a liberal hand, taking nothing for
+ourselves. The poor by multitudes have fed at our gates, their sick we
+have nursed, their children we have taught; often we have gone hungry
+that they might be full. Now you drive us forth in our age to perish.
+If that is the will of God, so be it, but what must chance to
+England's poor?"
+
+"That is England's business, Madam, and the poor's. Meanwhile I have
+told you that I have no time to waste, since I must away to London to
+make report concerning this Abbot of yours, a veritable rogue, of
+whose villainous plots I have discovered many things. I pray you send
+a messenger to bid them hurry with the deeds."
+
+Just then a nun entered bearing a tray, on which were cakes and wine.
+Emlyn took it from her, and pouring the wine into cups offered them to
+the Visitor and his secretaries.
+
+"Good wine," he said, after he had drunk, "a very generous wine. You
+nuns know the best in liquor; be careful, I pray you, to include it in
+your inventory. Why, woman, are you not one of those whom that Abbot
+would have burnt? Yes, and there is your mistress, Dame Foterell, or
+Dame Harflete, with whom I desire a word."
+
+"I am at your service, Sir," said Cicely.
+
+"Well, Madam, you and your servant have escaped the stake to which, as
+near as I can judge, you were sentenced upon no evidence at all.
+Still, you were condemned by a competent ecclesiastical Court, and
+under that condemnation you must therefore remain until or unless the
+King pardons you. My judgment is, then, that you stay here awaiting
+his command."
+
+"But, Sir," said Cicely, "if the good nuns who have befriended me are
+to be driven forth, how can I dwell on in their house alone? Yet you
+say I must not leave it, and indeed if I could, whither should I go?
+My husband's hall is burnt, my own the Abbot holds. Moreover, if I
+bide here, in this way or in that he will have my life."
+
+"The knave has fled away," said Dr. Legh, rubbing his fat chin.
+
+"Aye, but he will come back again, or his people will, and, Sir, you
+know these Spaniards are good haters, and I have defied him long. Oh,
+Sir, I crave the protection of the King for my child's sake and my
+own, and for Emlyn Stower also."
+
+The Commissioner went on rubbing his chin.
+
+"You can give much evidence against this Maldon, can you not?" he
+asked at length.
+
+"Aye," broke in Emlyn, "enough to hang him ten times over, and so can
+I."
+
+"And you have large estates which he has seized, have you not?"
+
+"I have, Sir, who am of no mean birth and station."
+
+"Lady," he said, with more deference in his voice, "step aside with
+me, I would speak with you privately," and he walked to the window,
+where she followed him. "Now tell me, what was the value of these
+properties of yours?"
+
+"I know not rightly, Sir, but I have heard my father say about �300 a
+year."
+
+His manner became more deferential still, since for those days such
+wealth was great.
+
+"Indeed, my Lady. A large sum, a very comfortable fortune if you can
+get it back. Now I will be frank with you. The King's Commissioners
+are not well paid and their costs are great. If I so arrange your
+matters that you come to your own again and that the judgment of
+witchcraft pronounced against you and your servant is annulled, will
+you promise to pay me one year's rent of these estates to meet the
+various expenses I must incur on your behalf?"
+
+Now it was Cicely's turn to think.
+
+"Surely," she answered at length, "if you will add a condition--that
+these good sisters shall be left undisturbed in their Nunnery."
+
+He shook his fat head.
+
+"It is not possible now. The thing is too public. Why, the Lord
+Cromwell would say I had been bribed, and I might lose my office."
+
+"Well, then," went on Cicely, "if you will promise that one year of
+grace shall be given to them to make arrangements for their future."
+
+"That I can do," he answered, nodding, "on the ground that they are of
+blameless life, and have protected you from the King's enemy. But this
+is an uncertain world; I must ask you to sign an indenture, and its
+form will be that you acknowledge to have received from me a loan of
+�300 to be repaid with interest when you recover your estates."
+
+"Draw it up and I will sign, Sir."
+
+"Good, Madam; and now that we may get this business through, you will
+accompany me to London, where you will be safe from harm. We'll not
+ride to-day, but to-morrow morning at the light."
+
+"Then my servant Emlyn must come also, Sir, to help me with the babe,
+and Thomas Bolle too, for he can prove that the witchcraft upon which
+we were condemned was but his trickery."
+
+"Yes, yes; but the costs of travel for so many will be great. Have
+you, perchance, any money?"
+
+"Yes, Sir, about �50 in gold that is sewn up in one of Emlyn's robes."
+
+"Ah! A sufficient sum. Too much indeed to be risked upon your persons
+in these rough times. You will let me take charge of half of it for
+you?"
+
+"With pleasure, Sir, trusting you as I do. Keep to your bargain and I
+will keep to mine."
+
+"Good. When Thomas Legh is fairly dealt with, Thomas Legh deals
+fairly, no man can say otherwise. This afternoon I will bring the
+deed, and you'll give me that �25 in charge."
+
+Then, followed by Cicely, he returned to where the Prioress sat, and
+said--
+
+"Mother Matilda, for so I understand you are called in religion, the
+Lady Harflete has been pleading with me for you, and because you have
+dealt so well by her I have promised in the King's name that you and
+your nuns shall live on here undisturbed for one year from this day,
+after which you must yield up peaceable possession to his Majesty,
+whom I will beg that you shall be pensioned."
+
+"I thank you, Sir," the Prioress answered. "When one is old a year of
+grace is much, and in a year many things may happen--for instance, my
+death."
+
+"Thank me not--a plain man who but follows after justice and duty. The
+documents for your signature shall be ready this afternoon, and by the
+way, the Lady Harflete and her servant, also that stout, shrewd
+fellow, Thomas Bolle, ride with me to London to-morrow. She will
+explain all. At three of the clock I wait upon you."
+
+The Visitor and his secretaries bustled out of the room as pompously
+as they had entered, and when they had gone Cicely explained to Mother
+Matilda and Emlyn what had passed.
+
+"I think that you have done wisely," said the Prioress, when she had
+listened. "That man is a shark, but better give him your little finger
+than your whole body. Certainly, you have bargained well for us, for
+what may not happen in a year? Also, dear Cicely, you will be safer in
+London than at Blossholme, since with the great sum of �300 to gain
+that Commissioner will watch you like the apple of his eye and push
+your cause."
+
+"Unless some one promises him the greater sum of �1000 to scotch it,"
+interrupted Emlyn. "Well, there was but one road to take, and paper
+promises are little, though I grudge the good �25 in gold. Meanwhile,
+Mother, we have much to make ready. I pray you send some one to find
+Thomas Bolle, who will not be far away, for since we are no longer
+prisoners I wish to go out walking with him on an errand of my own
+that perchance you can guess. Wealth may be useful in London town for
+all our sakes. Also horses and a packbeast must be got, and other
+things."
+
+
+
+In due course Thomas Bolle was found fast asleep in a neighbour's
+house, for after his adventures and triumph he had drunk hard and
+rested long. When she discovered the truth Emlyn rated him well,
+calling him a beer-tub and not a man, and many other hard names, till
+at last she provoked him to answer, that had it not been for the said
+beer-tub she would be but ash-dust this day. Thereon she turned the
+talk and told them their needs, and that he must ride with them to
+London. To this he replied that good horses should be saddled by the
+dawn, for he knew where to lay hands on them, since some were left in
+the Abbot's stables that wanted exercise; further, that he would be
+glad to leave Blossholme for a while, where he had made enemies on the
+yesterday, whose friends yet lay wounded or unburied. After this Emlyn
+whispered something in his ear, to which he nodded assent, saying that
+he would bustle round and be ready.
+
+That afternoon Emlyn went out riding with Thomas Bolle, who was fully
+armed, as she said, to try two of the horses that should carry them on
+the morrow, and it was late when she returned out of the dark night.
+
+"Have you got them?" asked Cicely, when they were together in their
+room.
+
+"Aye," she answered, "every one; but some stones have fallen, and it
+was hard to win an entrance to that vault. Indeed, had it not been for
+Thomas Bolle, who has the strength of a bull, I could never have done
+it. Moreover, the Abbot has been there before us and dug over every
+inch of the floor. But the fool never thought of the wall, so all's
+well. I'll sew half of them into my petticoat and half into yours, to
+share the risk. In case of thieves, the money that hungry Visitor has
+left to us, for I paid him over half when you signed the deeds, we
+will carry openly in pouches upon our girdles. They'll not search
+further. Oh, I forgot, I've something more besides the jewels, here it
+is," and she produced a packet from her bosom and laid it on the
+table.
+
+"What's this?" asked Cicely, looking suspiciously at the worn sail-
+cloth in which it was wrapped.
+
+"How can I tell? Cut it and see. All I know is that when I stood at
+the Nunnery door as Thomas led away the horses, a man crept on me out
+of the rain swathed in a great cloak and asked if I were not Emlyn
+Stower. I said Yea, whereon he thrust this into my hand, bidding me
+not fail to give it to the Lady Harflete, and was gone."
+
+"It has an over-seas look about it," murmured Cicely, as with eager,
+trembling fingers she cut the stitches. At length they were undone and
+a sealed inner wrapping also, revealing, amongst other documents, a
+little packet of parchments covered with crabbed, unreadable writing,
+on the back of which, however, they could decipher the names of
+Shefton and Blossholme by reason of the larger letters in which they
+were engrossed. Also there was a writing in the scrawling hand of Sir
+John Foterell, and at the foot of it his name and, amongst others,
+those of Father Necton and of Jeffrey Stokes. Cicely stared at the
+deeds, then said--
+
+"Emlyn, I know these parchments. They are those that my father took
+with him when he rode for London to disprove the Abbot's claim, and
+with them the evidence of the traitorous words he spoke last year at
+Shefton. Yes, this inner wrapping is my own; I took it from the store
+of worn linen in the passage-cupboard. But how come they here?"
+
+Emlyn made no answer, only lifted the wrappings and shook them,
+whereon a strip of paper that they had not seen fell to the table.
+
+"This may tell us," she said. "Read, if you can; it has words on its
+inner side."
+
+Cicely snatched at it, and as the writing was clear and clerkly, read
+with ease save for the chokings of her throat. It ran--
+
+
+ "My Lady Harflete,
+
+ "These are the papers that Jeffrey Stokes saved when your father
+  fell. They were given for safekeeping to the writer of these
+  words, far away across the sea, and he hands them on unopened.
+  Your husband lives and is well again, also Jeffrey Stokes, and
+  though they have been hindered on their journey, doubtless he
+  will find his way back to England, whither, believing you to be
+  dead, as I did, he has not hurried. There are reasons why I, his
+  friend and yours, cannot see you or write more, since my duty
+  calls me hence. When it is finished I will seek you out if I still
+  live. If not, wait in peace until your joy finds you, as I think
+  it will.
+
+"One who loves your lord well, and for his sake you also."
+
+
+Cicely laid down the paper and burst into a flood of weeping.
+
+"Oh, cruel, cruel!" she sobbed, "to tell so much and yet so little.
+Nay, what an ungrateful wretch am I, since Christopher truly lives,
+and I also live to learn it, I, whom he deems dead."
+
+"By my soul," said Emlyn, when she had calmed her, "that cloaked man
+is a prince of messengers. Oh, had I but known what he bore I'd have
+had all the story, if I must cling to him like Potiphar's wife to
+Joseph. Well, well, Joseph got away and half a herring is better than
+no fish, also this is good herring. Moreover, you have got the deeds
+when you most wanted them and what is better, a written testimony that
+will bring the traitor Maldon to the scaffold."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+JACOB AND THE JEWELS
+
+Cicely's journey to London was strange enough to her, who never before
+had travelled farther than fifty miles from her home, and but once as
+a child spent a month in a town when visiting an aunt at Lincoln. She
+went in ease, it is true, for Commissioner Legh did not love hard
+travelling, and for this reason they started late and halted early,
+either at some good inn, if in those days any such places could be
+called good, or perhaps in a monastery where he claimed of the best
+that the frightened monks had to offer. Indeed, as she observed, his
+treatment of these poor folk was cruel, for he blustered and
+threatened and inquired, accusing them of crimes that they had not
+committed, and finally, although he had no mission to them at the
+time, extracted great gifts, saying that if these were not forthcoming
+he would make a note and return later. Also he got hold of tale-
+bearers, and wrote down all their scandalous and lying stories told
+against those whose bread they ate.
+
+Thus, long before they saw Charing Cross, Cicely came to hate this
+proud, avaricious and overbearing man, who hid a savage nature under a
+cloak of virtue, and whilst serving his own ends, mouthed great words
+about God and the King. Still, she who was schooled in adversity,
+learned to hide her heart, fearing to make an enemy of one who could
+ruin her, and forced Emlyn, much against her will, to do the same.
+Moreover, there were worse things than that since, being beautiful,
+some of his companions talked to her in a way she could not
+misunderstand, till at length Thomas Bolle, coming on one of them,
+thrashed him as he had never been thrashed before, after which there
+was trouble that was only appeased by a gift.
+
+Yet on the whole things went well. No one molested the King's Visitor
+or those with him, the autumn weather held fine, the baby boy kept his
+health, and the country through which they passed was new to her and
+full of interest.
+
+At last one evening they rode from Barnet into the great city, which
+she thought a most marvellous place, who had never seen such a
+multitude of houses or of men running to and fro about their business
+up and down the narrow streets that at night were lit with lamps. Now
+there had been a great discussion where they were to lodge, Dr. Legh
+saying that he knew of a house suitable to them. But Emlyn would not
+hear of this place, where she was sure they would be robbed, for the
+wealth that they carried secretly in jewels bore heavily on her mind.
+Remembering a cousin of her mother's of the name of Smith, a
+goldsmith, who till within a year or two before was alive and dwelling
+in Cheapside, she said that they would seek him out.
+
+Thither then they rode, guided by one of the Visitor's clerks, not he
+whom Bolle had beaten, but another, and at last, after some search,
+found a dingy house in a court and over it a sign on which were
+painted three balls and the name of Jacob Smith. Emlyn dismounted and,
+the door being open, entered, to be greeted by an old, white-bearded
+man with horn spectacles thrust up over his forehead and dark eyes
+like her own, since the same gypsy blood ran strong in both of them.
+
+What passed between them Cicely did not hear, but presently the old
+man came out with Emlyn, and looked her and Bolle up and down sharply
+for a long while as though to take their measures. At length he said
+that he understood from his cousin, whom he now saw for the first time
+for over thirty years, that the two of them and their man desired
+lodgings, which, as he had empty rooms, he would be pleased to give
+them if they would pay the price.
+
+Cicely asked how much this might be, and on his naming a sum, ten
+silver shillings a week for the three of them and their horses, that
+would be stabled close by, told Emlyn to pay him a pound on account.
+This he took, biting the gold to see that it was good, but bidding
+them in to inspect the rooms before he pouched it. They did so, and
+finding them clean and commodious if somewhat dark, closed the bargain
+with him, after which they dismissed the clerk to take their address
+to Dr. Legh, who had promised to advise them so soon as he could put
+their business forward.
+
+When he was gone and Thomas Bolle, conducted by Smith's apprentice,
+had led off the three horses and the packbeast, the old man changed
+his manner, and conducting them into a parlour at the back of his
+shop, sent his housekeeper, a middle-aged woman with a pleasant face,
+to make ready food for them while he produced cordials from squat
+Dutch bottles which he made them drink. Indeed he was all kindness to
+them, being, as he explained, rejoiced to see one of his own blood,
+for he had no relations living, his wife and their two children having
+died in one of the London sicknesses. Also he was Blossholme born,
+though he had left that place fifty years before, and had known
+Cicely's grandfather and played with her father when he was a boy. So
+he plied them with question after question, some of which they thought
+it was not to answer, for he was a merry and talkative old man.
+
+"Aha!" he said, "you would prove me before you trust me, and who can
+blame you in this naughty world? But perhaps I know more about you all
+than you think, since in this trade my business is to learn many
+things. For instance, I have heard that there was a great trying of
+witches down at Blossholme lately, whereat a certain Abbot came off
+worst, also that the famous Carfax jewels had been lost, which vexed
+the said holy Abbot. They were jewels indeed, or so I have heard, for
+among them were two pink pearls worth a king's ransom--or so I have
+heard. Great pity that they should be lost, since my Lady there would
+own them otherwise, and much should I have liked, who am a little man
+in that trade, to set my old eyes upon them. Well, well, perhaps I
+shall, perhaps I shall yet, for that which is lost is sometimes found
+again. Now here comes your dinner; eat, eat, we'll talk afterwards."
+
+This was the first of many pleasant meals which they shared with their
+host, Jacob Smith. Soon Emlyn found from inquiries that she made among
+his neighbours without seeming to do so, that this cousin of hers bore
+an excellent name and was trusted by all.
+
+"Then why should we not trust him also?" asked Cicely, "who must find
+friends and put faith in some one."
+
+"Even with the jewels, Mistress?"
+
+"Even with the jewels, for such things are his business, and they
+would be safer in his strong chest than tacked into our garments,
+where the thought of them haunts me night and day."
+
+"Let us wait a while," said Emlyn, "for once they were in that box how
+do we know if we should get them out again?"
+
+On the morrow of this talk the Visitor Legh came to see them, and had
+no cheerful tale to tell. According to him the Lord Cromwell declared
+that as the Abbot of Blossholme claimed these Shefton estates, the
+King stood, or would soon stand, in the shoes of the said Abbot of
+Blossholme, and therefore the King claimed them and could not
+surrender them. Moreover, money was so wanted at Court just then," and
+here Legh looked hard at them, "that there could be no talk of parting
+with anything of value except in return for a consideration," and he
+looked at them harder still.
+
+"And how can my Lady give that," broke in Emlyn sharply, for she
+feared lest Cicely should commit herself. "To-day she is but a
+homeless pauper, save for a few pounds in gold, and even if she should
+come to her own again, as your Worship knows, her first year's profits
+are all promised."
+
+"Ah!" said the Doctor sadly, "doubtless the case is hard. Only," he
+added, with cunning emphasis, "a tale has just reached me that the
+Lady Harflete has wealth hidden away which came to her from her
+mother; trinkets of value and such things."
+
+Now Cicely coloured, for the man's little eyes pierced her like
+gintlets, and her powers of deceit were very small. But this was not
+so with Emlyn, who, as she said, could play thief to catch a thief.
+
+"Listen, Sir," she said, with a secret air, "you have heard true.
+There were some things of value--why should we hide it from you, our
+good friend? But, alas! that greedy rogue, the Abbot of Blossholme,
+has them. He has stripped my poor Lady as bare as a fowl for roasting.
+Get them back from him, Sir, and on her behalf I say she'll give you
+half of them, will you not, my Lady?"
+
+"Surely," said Cicely. "The Doctor, to whom we owe so much, will be
+most welcome to the half of any movables of mine that he can recover
+from the Abbot Maldon," and she paused, for the fib stuck in her
+throat. Moreover, she knew herself to be the colour of a peony.
+
+Happily the Commissioner did not notice her blushes, or if he did, he
+put them down to grief and anger.
+
+"The Abbot Maldon," he grumbled, "always the Abbot Maldon. Oh! what a
+wicked thief must be that high-stomached Spaniard who does not scruple
+first to make orphans and then to rob them? A black-hearted traitor,
+too. Do you know that at this moment he stirs up rebellion in the
+north? Well, I'll see him on the rack before I have done. Have you a
+list of those movables, Madam?"
+
+Cicely said no, and Emlyn added that one should be made from memory.
+
+"Good; I'll see you again to-morrow or the next day, and meanwhile
+fear not, I'll be as active in your business as a cat after a sparrow.
+Oh, my rat of a Spanish Abbot, you wait till I get my claws into your
+fat back. Farewell, my Lady Harflete, farewell. Mistress Stower, I
+must away to deal with other priests almost as wicked," and he
+departed, still muttering objurgations on the Abbot.
+
+"Now, I think the time has come to trust Jacob Smith," said Emlyn,
+when the door closed behind him, "for he may be honest, whereas this
+Doctor is certainly a villain; also, the man has heard something and
+suspects us. Ah! there you are, Cousin Smith, come in, if you please,
+since we desire to talk with you for a minute. Come in, and be so good
+as to lock the door behind you."
+
+Five minutes later all the jewels, whereof not one was wanting, lay on
+the table before old Jacob, who stared at them with round eyes.
+
+"The Carfax gems," he muttered, "the Carfax gems of which I have so
+often heard; those that the old Crusader brought from the East, having
+sacked them from a Sultan; from the East, where they talk of them
+still. A sultan's wealth, unless, indeed, they came straight from the
+New Jerusalem and were an angel's gauds. And do you say that you two
+women have carried these priceless things tacked in your cloaks,
+which, as I have seen, you throw down here and there and leave behind
+you? Oh, fools, fools, even among women incomparable fools! Fellow-
+travellers with Dr. Legh also, who would rob a baby of its bauble."
+
+"Fools or no," exclaimed Emlyn tartly, "we have got them safe enough
+after they have run some risks, as I pray that you may keep them,
+Cousin Smith."
+
+Old Jacob threw a cloth over the gems, and slowly transferred them to
+his pocket.
+
+"This is an upper floor," he explained, "and the door is locked, yet
+some one might put a ladder up to the window. Were I in the street I
+should know by the glitter in the light that there were precious
+things here. Stay, they are not safe in my pocket even for an hour,"
+and going to the wall he did something to a panel in the wainscot
+causing it to open and reveal a space behind it where lay sundry
+wrapped-up parcels, among which he placed, not all, but a portion of
+the gems. Then he went to other panels that opened likewise, showing
+more parcels, and in the holes behind these he distributed the rest of
+the treasure.
+
+"There, foolish women," he said, "since you have trusted me, I will
+trust you. You have seen my big strong-boxes in my office, and
+doubtless thought I keep all my little wares there. Well, so does
+every thief in London, for they have searched them twice and gained
+some store of pewter; I remember that some of it was discovered again
+in the King's household. But behind these panels all is safe, though
+no woman would ever have thought of a device so simple and so sure."
+
+For a moment Emlyn could find no answer, perhaps because of her
+indignation, but Cicely asked sweetly--
+
+"Do you ever have fires in London, Master Smith? It seems to me that I
+have heard of such things, and then--in a hurry, you know----"
+
+Smith thrust up his horned spectacles and looked at her in mild
+astonishment.
+
+"To think," he said, "that I should live to learn wisdom out of the
+mouth of babes and sucklers----"
+
+"Sucklings," suggested Cicely.
+
+"Sucklers or sucklings, it means the same thing--women," he replied
+testily; then added, with a chuckle, "Well, well, my Lady, you are
+right. You have caught out Jacob at his own game. I never thought of
+fire, though it is true we had one next door last year, when I ran out
+with my bed and forgot all about the gold and stones. I'll have new
+hiding-places made in the masonry of the cellar, where no fire would
+hurt. Ah! you women would never have thought of that, who carry
+treasure sewn up in a nightshift."
+
+Now Emlyn could bear it no longer.
+
+"And how would you have us carry it, Cousin Smith?" she asked
+indignantly. "Tied about our necks, or hanging from our heels? Well do
+I remember my mother telling me that you were always a simple youth,
+and that your saint must have been a very strong one who brought you
+safe to London and showed you how to earn a living there, or else that
+you had married a woman of excellent intelligence--though it is plain
+now she has long been dead. Well, well," she added, with a laugh,
+"cling to your man's vanities, you son of a woman, and since you are
+so clever, give us of your wisdom, for we need it. But first let me
+tell you that I have rescued those very jewels from a fire, and by
+hiding them in masonry in a vault."
+
+"It is the fashion of the female to wrangle when she has the worst of
+the case," said Jacob, with a twinkle in his eye. "So, daughter of
+man, set out your trouble. Perchance the wisdom that I have inherited
+from my mothers straight back to Eve may help that which your mothers
+lacked. Now, have you done with jests. I listen, if it pleases you to
+tell me."
+
+So, having first invoked the curse of Heaven on him if ever he should
+breathe a word, Emlyn, with the help of Cicely, repeated the whole
+matter from the beginning, and the candles were lighted ere ever her
+tale was done. All this while Jacob Smith sat opposite to them, saying
+little, save now and again to ask a shrewd question. At length, when
+they had finished, he exclaimed--
+
+"Truly women are fools!"
+
+"We have heard that before, Master Smith," replied Cicely; "but this
+time--why?"
+
+"Not to have unbosomed to me before, which would have saved you a week
+of time, although, as it happens, I knew more of your story than you
+chose to tell, and therefore the days have not been altogether wasted.
+Well, to be brief, this Dr. Legh is a ravenous rogue."
+
+"O Solomon, to have discovered that!" exclaimed Emlyn.
+
+"One whose only aim is to line his nest with your feathers, some of
+which you have promised him, as, indeed, you were right to do. Now he
+has got wind of these jewels, which is not wonderful, seeing that such
+things cannot be hid. If you buried them in a coffin, six foot
+underground, still they would shine through the solid earth and
+declare themselves. This is his plan--to strip you of everything ere
+his master, Cromwell, gets a hold of you; and if you go to him empty-
+handed, what chance has your suit with Vicar-General Cromwell, the
+hungriest shark of all--save one?"
+
+"We understand," said Emlyn; "but what is your plan, Cousin Smith?"
+
+"Mine? I don't know that I have one. Still, here is that which might
+do. Though I seem so small and humble, I am remembered at Court--when
+money is wanted, and just now much money is wanted, for soon they will
+be in arms in Yorkshire--and therefore I am much remembered. Now, if
+you care to give Dr. Legh the go-by and leave your cause to me,
+perhaps I might serve you as cheaply as another."
+
+"At what charge?" blurted out Emlyn.
+
+The old man turned on her indignantly, asking--
+
+"Cousin, how have I defrauded you or your mistress, that you should
+insult me to my face? Go to! you do not trust me. Go to, with your
+jewels, and seek some other helper!" and he went to the panelling as
+though to collect them again.
+
+"Nay, nay, Master Smith," said Cicely, catching him by the arm; "be
+not angry with Emlyn. Remember that of late we have learned in a hard
+school, with Abbot Maldon and Dr. Legh for masters. At least I trust
+you, so forsake me not, who have no other to whom to turn in all my
+troubles, which are many," and as she spoke the great tears that had
+gathered in her blue eyes fell upon the child's face, and woke him, so
+that she must turn aside to quiet him, which she was glad to do.
+
+"Grieve not," said the kind-hearted old man, in distress; "'tis I
+should grieve, whose brutal words have made you weep. Moreover, Emlyn
+is right; even foolish women should not trust the first Jack with whom
+they take a lodging. Still, since you swear that you do in your
+kindness, I'll try to show myself not all unworthy, my Lady Harflete.
+Now, what is it you want from the King? Justice on the Abbot? That
+you'll get for nothing, if his Grace can give it, for this same Abbot
+stirs up rebellion against him. No need, therefore, to set out his
+past misdeeds. A clean title to your large inheritance, which the
+Abbot claims? That will be more difficult, since the King claims
+through him. At best, money must be paid for it. A declaration that
+your marriage is good and your boy born in lawful wedlock? Not so
+hard, but will cost something. The annulment of the sentence of
+witchcraft on you both? Easy, for the Abbot passed it. Is there aught
+more?"
+
+"Yes, Master Smith; the good nuns who befriended me--I would save
+their house and lands to them. Those jewels are pledged to do it, if
+it can be done."
+
+"A matter of money, Lady--a mere matter of money. You will have to buy
+the property, that is all. Now, let us see what it will cost, if
+fortune goes with me," and he took pen and paper and began to write
+down figures.
+
+Finally he rose, sighing and shaking his head. "Two thousand pounds,"
+he groaned; "a vast sum, but I can't lessen it by a shilling--there
+are so many to be bought. Yes; �1000 in gifts and �1000 as loan to his
+Majesty, who does not repay."
+
+"Two thousand pounds!" exclaimed Cicely in dismay; "oh! how shall I
+find so much, whose first year's rents are already pledged?"
+
+"Know you the worth of those jewels?" asked Jacob, looking at her.
+
+"Nay; the half of that, perhaps."
+
+"Let us say double that, and then right cheap."
+
+"Well, if so," replied Cicely, with a gasp, "where shall we sell them?
+Who has so much money?"
+
+"I'll try to find it, or what is needful. Now, Cousin Emlyn," he added
+sarcastically, "you see where my profit lies. I buy the gems at half
+their value, and the rest I keep."
+
+"In your own words: go to!" said Emlyn, "and keep your gibes until we
+have more leisure."
+
+The old man thought a while, and said--
+
+"It grows late, but the evening is pleasant, and I think I need some
+air. That crack-brained, red-haired fellow of yours will watch you
+while I am gone, and for mercy's sake be careful with those candles.
+Nay, nay; you must have no fire, you must go cold. After what you said
+to me, I can think of naught but fire. It is for this night only. By
+to-morrow evening I'll prepare a place where Abbot Maldon himself
+might sit unscorched in the midst of hell. But till then make out with
+clothes. I have some furs in pledge that I will send up to you. It is
+your own fault, and in my youth we did not need a fire on an autumn
+day. No more, no more," and he was gone, nor did they see him again
+that night.
+
+On the following morning, as they sat at their breakfast, Jacob Smith
+appeared, and began to talk of many things, such as the badness of the
+weather--for it rained--the toughness of the ham, which he said was
+not to be compared to those they cured at Blossholme in his youth, and
+the likeness of the baby boy to his mother.
+
+"Indeed, no," broke in Cicely, who felt that he was playing with them;
+"he is his father's self; there is no look of me in him."
+
+"Oh!" answered Jacob; "well, I'll give my judgment when I see the
+father. By the way, let me read that note again which the cloaked man
+brought to Emlyn."
+
+Cicely gave it to him, and he studied it carefully; then said, in an
+indifferent voice--
+
+"The other day I saw a list of Christian captives said to have been
+recovered from the Turks by the Emperor Charles at Tunis, and among
+them was one 'Huflit,' described as an English se�or, and his servant.
+I wonder now----"
+
+Cicely sprang upon him.
+
+"Oh! cruel wretch," she said, 'to have known this so long and not to
+have told me!"
+
+"Peace, Lady," he said, retreating before her; "I only learned it at
+eleven of the clock last night, when you were fast asleep. Yesterday
+is not this same day, and therefore 'tis the other day, is it not?"
+
+"Surely you might have woke me. But, swift, where is he now?"
+
+"How can I know? Not here, at least. But the writing said----"
+
+"Well, what did the writing say?"
+
+"I am trying to think--my memory fails me at times; perhaps you will
+find the same thing when you have my years, should it please
+Heaven----"
+
+"Oh! that it might please Heaven to make you speak! What said the
+writing?"
+
+"Ah! I have it now. It said, in a note appended amidst other news,
+for--did I tell you this was a letter from his Grace's ambassador in
+Spain? and, oh! his is the vilest scrawl to read. Nay, hurry me not--
+it said that this 'Sir Huflit'--the ambassador has put a query against
+his name--and his servant--yes, yes, I am sure it said his servant too
+--well, that they both of them, being angry at the treatment they had
+met with from the infidel Turks--no, I forgot to add there were three
+of them, one a priest, who did otherwise. Well, as I said, being
+angry, they stopped there to serve with the Spaniards against the
+Turks till the end of that campaign. There, that is all."
+
+"How little is your all!" exclaimed Cicely. "Yet, 'tis something. Oh!
+why should a married man stop across the seas to be revenged on poor
+ignorant Turks?"
+
+"Why should he not?" interrupted Emlyn, "when he deems himself a
+widower, as does your lord?"
+
+"Yes, I forgot; he thinks me dead, who doubtless himself will be dead,
+if he is not so already, seeing that those wicked, murderous Turks
+will kill him," and she began to weep.
+
+"I should have added," said Jacob hastily, "that in a second letter,
+of later date, the ambassador declares that the Emperor's war against
+the Turks is finished for this season, and that the Englishmen who
+were with him fought with great honour and were all escaped unharmed,
+though this time he gives no names."
+
+"All escaped! If my husband were dead, who could not die meanly or
+without fame, how could he say that they were all escaped? Nay, nay;
+he lives, though who knows if he will return? Perchance he will wander
+off elsewhere, or stay and wed again."
+
+"Impossible," said old Jacob, bowing to her; "having called you wife--
+impossible."
+
+"Impossible," echoed Emlyn, "having such a score to settle with yonder
+Maldon! A man may forget his love, especially if he deems her buried.
+But as he stayed foreign to fight the Turk, who wronged him, so he'll
+come home to fight the Abbot, who ruined him and slew his bride."
+
+There followed a silence, which the goldsmith, who felt it somewhat
+painful, hastened to break, saying--
+
+"Yes, doubtless he will come home; for aught we know he may be here
+already. But meanwhile we also have our score against this Abbot, a
+bad one, though think not for his sake that all Abbots are bad, for I
+have known some who might be counted angels upon earth, and, having
+gone to martyrdom, doubtless to-day are angels in heaven. Now, my
+Lady, I will tell you what I have done, hoping that it will please you
+better than it does me. Last night I saw the Lord Cromwell, with whom
+I have many dealings, at his house in Austin Friars, and told him the
+case, of which, as I thought, that false villain Legh had said nothing
+to him, purposing to pick the plums out of the pudding ere he handed
+on the suet to his master. He read your deeds and hunted up some
+petition from the Abbot, with which he compared them; then made a note
+of my demands and asked straight out--How much?
+
+"I told him �1000 on loan to the King, which would not be asked for
+back again, the said loan to be discharged by the grant to me--that
+is, to you--of all the Abbey lands, in addition to your own, when the
+said Abbey lands are sequestered, as they will be shortly. To this he
+agreed, on behalf of his Grace, who needs money much, but inquired as
+to himself. I replied �500 for him and his jackals, including Dr.
+Legh, of which no account would be asked. He told me it was not
+enough, for after the jackals had their pickings nothing would be left
+for him but the bones; I, who asked so much, must offer more, and he
+made as though to dismiss me. At the door I turned and said I had a
+wonderful pink pearl that he, who loved jewels, might like to see--a
+pink pearl worth many abbeys. He said, 'Show it;' and, oh! he gloated
+over it like a maid over her first love-letter. 'If there were two of
+these, now!' he whispered.
+
+"'Two, my Lord!' I answered; 'there's no fellow to that pearl in the
+whole world,' though it is true that as I said the words, the setting
+of its twin, that was pinned to my inner shirt, pricked me sorely, as
+if in anger. Then I took it up again, and for the second time began to
+bow myself out.
+
+"'Jacob,' he said, 'you are an old friend, and I'll stretch my duty
+for you. Leave the pearl--his Grace needs that �1000 so sorely that I
+must keep it against my will,' and he put out his hand to take it,
+only to find that I had covered it with my own.
+
+"'First the writing, then its price, my Lord. Here is a memorandum of
+it set out fair, to save you trouble, if it pleases you to sign.'
+
+"He read it through, then, taking a pen, scored out the clause as
+regards acquittal of the witchcraft, which, he said, must be looked
+into by the King in person or by his officers, but all the rest he
+signed, undertaking to hand over the proper deeds under the great seal
+and royal hand upon payment of �1000. Being able to do no better, I
+said that would serve, and left him your pearl, he promising, on his
+part, to move his Majesty to receive you, which I doubt not he will do
+quickly for the sake of the �1000. Have I done well?"
+
+"Indeed, yes," exclaimed Cicely. "Who else could have done half so
+well----?"
+
+As the words left her lips there came a loud knocking at the door of
+the house, and Jacob ran down to open it. Presently he returned with a
+messenger in a splendid coat, who bowed to Cicely and asked if she
+were the Lady Harflete. On her replying that such was her name, he
+said that he bore to her the command of his Grace the King to attend
+upon him at three o'clock of that afternoon at his Palace of
+Whitehall, together with Emlyn Stower and Thomas Bolle, there to make
+answer to his Majesty concerning a certain charge of witchcraft that
+had been laid against her and them, which summons she would neglect at
+her peril.
+
+"Sir, I will be there," answered Cicely; "but tell me, do I come as a
+prisoner?"
+
+"Nay," replied the herald, "since Master Jacob Smith, in whom his
+Grace has trust, has consented to be answerable for you."
+
+"And for the �1000," muttered Jacob, as, with many salutations, he
+showed the royal messenger to the door, not neglecting to thrust a
+gold piece into his hand that he waved behind him in farewell.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+THE DEVIL AT COURT
+
+It was half-past two of the clock when Cicely, who carried her boy in
+her arms, accompanied by Emlyn, Thomas Bolle and Jacob Smith, found
+herself in the great courtyard of the Palace of Whitehall. The place
+was full of people waiting there upon one business or another, through
+whom messengers and armed men thrust their way continually, crying,
+"Way! In the King's name, way!" So great was the press, indeed, that
+for some time even Jacob could command no attention, till at length he
+caught sight of the herald who had visited his house in the morning,
+and beckoned to him.
+
+"I was looking for you, Master Smith, and for the Lady Harflete," the
+man said, bowing to her. "You have an appointment with his Grace, have
+you not? but God knows if it can be kept. The ante-chambers are full
+of folk bringing news about the rebellion in the north, and of great
+lords and councillors who wait for commands or money, most of them for
+money. In short the King has given order that all appointments are
+cancelled; he can see no one to-day. The Lord Cromwell told me so
+himself."
+
+Jacob took a golden angel from his pouch and began to play with it
+between his fingers.
+
+"I understand, noble herald," he said. "Still, do you think that you
+could find me a messenger to the Lord Cromwell? If so, this
+trifle----"
+
+"I'll try, Master Smith," he answered, stretching out his hand for the
+piece of money. "But what is the message?"
+
+"Oh, say that Pink Pearl would learn from his Lordship where he can
+lay hands upon �1000 without interest."
+
+"A strange message, to which I will hazard an answer--nowhere," said
+the herald, "yet I'll find some one to deliver it. Step within this
+archway and wait out of the rain. Fear not, I will be back presently."
+
+They did as he bid them, gladly enough, for it had begun to drizzle
+and Cicely was afraid lest her boy, with whom London did not agree too
+well, should take cold. Here, then, they stood amusing themselves in
+watching the motley throng that came and went. Bolle, to whom the
+scene was strange, gaped at them with his mouth open; Emlyn took note
+of every one with her quick eyes, while old Jacob Smith whispered
+tales concerning individuals as they passed, most of which were little
+to their credit.
+
+As for Cicely, soon her thoughts were far away. She knew that she was
+at a crisis of her fortune; that if things went well with her this day
+she might look to be avenged upon her enemies, and to spend the rest
+of her life in wealth and honour. But it was not of such matters that
+she dreamed, whose heart was set on Christopher, without whom naught
+availed. Where was he, she wondered. If Jacob's tale were true, after
+passing many dangers, but a little while ago he lived and had his
+health. Yet in those times death came quickly, leaping like the
+lightning from unexpected clouds or even out of a clear sky, and who
+could say? Besides, he believed her gone, and that being so would be
+careless of himself, or perchance, worst thought of all, would take
+some other wife, as was but right and natural. Oh! then indeed----
+
+At this moment a sound of altercation woke her to the world again, and
+she looked up to see that Thomas Bolle was bringing trouble on them. A
+coarse fat lout with a fiery and a knotted nose, being somewhat in
+liquor, had amused himself by making mock of his country looks and red
+hair, and asking whether they used him for a scarecrow in his native
+fields.
+
+Thomas bore it for a while, only answering with another question:
+whether he, the fat fellow, hired out his nose to London housewives to
+light their fires. The man, feeling that the laugh was against him,
+and noticing the child in Cicely's arms pointed it out to his friends,
+inquiring whether they did not think it was exactly like its dad. Then
+Thomas's rage burnt up, although the jest was silly and aimless
+enough.
+
+"You low, London gutter-hound!" he exclaimed; "I'll learn you to
+insult the Lady Harflete with your ribald japes," and stretching out
+his big fist he seized his enemy's purple nose in a grip of iron and
+began to twist it till the sot roared with pain. Thereon guards ran up
+and would have arrested Bolle for breaking the peace in the King's
+palace. Indeed, arrested he must have been, notwithstanding all Jacob
+Smith could do to save him, had not at that moment a man appeared at
+whose coming the crowd that had gathered, separated, bowing; a man of
+middle age with a quick, clever face, who wore rich clothes and a fur-
+trimmed velvet cap and gown.
+
+Cicely knew him at once for Cromwell, the greatest man in England
+after the King, and marked him well, knowing that he held her fate and
+that of her child in the hollow of his hand. She noted the thin-lipped
+mouth, small as a woman's, the sharp nose, the little brownish eyes
+set close together and surrounded by wrinkled skin that gave them a
+cunning look, and noting was afraid. Before her stood a man who,
+though at present he seemed to be her friend, if he chanced to become
+her enemy, as once he had been bribed to be her father's, would show
+her no more pity than the spider shows a fly.
+
+Indeed she was right, for many were the flies that had been snared and
+sucked in the web of Cromwell, who, in his full tide of power and
+pomp, forgot the fate of his master, Wolsey, in his day a greater
+spider still.
+
+"What passes here?" Cromwell said in a sharp voice. "Men, is this the
+place to brawl beneath his Grace's very windows? Ah! Master Smith, is
+it you? Explain."
+
+"My Lord," answered Jacob, bowing, "this is Lady Harflete's servant
+and he is not to blame. That fat knave insulted her and, being quick-
+tempered, her man, Bolle, wrang his nose."
+
+"I see that he wrang it. Look, he is wringing it still. Friend Bolle,
+leave go, or presently you will have in your hand that which is of no
+value to you. Guard, take this beer-tub and hold his head beneath the
+pump for five minutes by the clock to wash him, and if he comes back
+again set him in the stocks. Nay, no words, fellow, you are well
+served. Master Smith, follow me with your party."
+
+Again the crowd parted as they walked after Cromwell to a side door
+that was near at hand, to find themselves alone with him in a small
+chamber. Here he stopped and, turning, surveyed them all narrowly,
+especially Cicely.
+
+"I suppose, Master Smith," he said, pointing to Bolle, who was wiping
+his hands clean with the rushes from the floor, "this is the man that
+you told me played the devil yonder at Blossholme. Well, he can play
+the fool also. In another minute there would have been a tumult and
+you would have lost your chance of seeing his Grace, for months
+perhaps, since he has determined to ride from London to-morrow morning
+northwards, though it is true he may change his mind ere then. This
+rebellion troubles him much, and were it not for the loan you promise,
+when loans are needed, small hope would you have had of audience. Now
+come quickly and be careful that you do not cross the King's temper,
+for it is tetchy to-day. Indeed, had it not been for the Queen, who is
+with him and minded to see this Lady Harflete, that they would have
+burnt as a witch, you must have waited till a more convenient season
+which may never come. Stay, what is in that great sack you carry,
+Bolle?"
+
+"The devil's livery, may it please your Lordship."
+
+"The devil's livery, many wear that in London. Still, bring the gear,
+it may make his Grace laugh, and if so I'll give you a gold piece, who
+have had enough of oaths and scoldings, aye," he added, with a sour
+grin, "and of blows too. Now follow me into the Presence, and speak
+only when you are spoken to, nor dare to answer if he rates you."
+
+They went from the room down a passage and through another door, where
+the guards on duty looked suspiciously at Bolle and his sack, but at a
+word from Cromwell let them through into a large room in which a fire
+burned upon the hearth. At the end of this room stood a huge, proud-
+looking man with a flat and cruel face, broad as an ox's skull, as
+Thomas Bolle said afterwards, who was dressed in some rich, sombre
+stuff and wore a velvet cap upon his head. He held a parchment in his
+hand, and before him on the other side of an oak table sat an officer
+of state in a black robe, who wrote upon another parchment, whereof
+there were many scattered about on the table and the floor.
+
+"Knave," shouted the King, for they guessed that it was he, "you have
+cast up these figures wrong. Oh, that it should be my lot to be served
+by none but fools!"
+
+"Pardon, your Grace," said the secretary in a trembling voice, "thrice
+have I checked them."
+
+"Would you gainsay me, you lying lawyer," bellowed the King again. "I
+tell you they must be wrong, since otherwise the sum is short by �1100
+of that which I was promised. Where are the �1100? You must have
+stolen them, thief."
+
+"I steal, oh, your Grace, I steal!"
+
+"Aye, why not, since your betters do. Only you are clumsy, you lack
+skill. Ask my Lord Cromwell there to give you lessons. He learned
+under the best of masters, and is a merchant by trade to boot. Oh, get
+you gone and take your scribblings with you."
+
+The poor officer hastened to avail himself of this invitation.
+Hurriedly collecting his parchments he bowed himself from the presence
+of his irate Sovereign. At the door, about twelve feet away, however,
+he turned.
+
+"My gracious Liege," he began, "the casting of the count is right.
+Upon my honour as a Christian soul I can look your Majesty in the face
+with truth in my eye----"
+
+Now on the table there was a massive inkstand made from the horn of a
+ram mounted with silver feet. This Henry seized and hurled with all
+his strength. The aim was good, for the heavy horn struck the wretched
+scribe upon the nose so that the ink squirted all over his face, and
+felled him to the floor.
+
+"Now there is more in your eye than truth," shouted the King. "Be off,
+ere the stool follows the inkpot."
+
+Two ladies who stood by the fire talking together and taking no heed,
+for to such rude scenes they seemed to be accustomed, looked up and
+laughed a little, then went on talking, while Cromwell smiled and
+shrugged his shoulders. Then in the midst of the silence which
+followed Thomas Bolle, who had been watching open-mouthed, ejaculated
+in his great voice--
+
+"A bull's eye! A noble bull! Myself cannot throw straighter."
+
+"Silence, fool," hissed Emlyn.
+
+"Who spoke?" asked the king, looking towards them sharply.
+
+"Please, my Liege, it was I, Thomas Bolle."
+
+"Thomas Bolle! Can you sling a stone, Thomas Bolle, whoever you may
+be?"
+
+"Aye, Sire, but not better than you, I think. That was a gallant
+shot."
+
+"Thomas Bolle, you are right. Seeing the hurry and the unhandiness of
+the missile, it was excellent. Let the knave stand up again and I'll
+bet you a gold noble to a brass nail that you'll not do as well within
+an inch. Why, the fellow's gone! Will you try on my Lord Cromwell?
+Nay, this is no time for fooling. What's your business, Thomas Bolle,
+and who are those women with you?"
+
+Now Cromwell stepped forward, and with cringing gestures began to
+explain something to the King in a low voice. Meanwhile, the two
+ladies became suddenly interested in Cicely, and one of them, a pale
+but pretty woman, splendidly dressed, stepped forward to her, saying--
+
+"Are you the Lady Harflete of whom we have heard, she who was to have
+been burnt as a witch? Yes? And is that your child? Oh! what a
+beautiful child. A boy, I'll swear. Come to me, sweet, and in after
+years you can tell that a queen has nursed you," and she stretched out
+her arms.
+
+As good fortune would have it the child was awake, and attracted by
+the Queen's pleasant voice, or perhaps by the necklace of bright gems
+that she wore, he held out his little hands towards her and went quite
+contentedly to her breast. Jane Seymour, for it was she, began to
+fondle him with delight, then, followed by her lady, ran to the King,
+saying--
+
+"See, Harry, see what a beautiful boy, and how he loves me. God send
+us such a son as this!"
+
+The King glanced at the child, then answered--
+
+"Aye, he would do well enow. Well, it rests with you, Jane. Nurse him,
+nurse him, perhaps the sex is catching. I and all England would see
+you brought to bed of that sickness, Sweet. What said you, Cromwell?"
+
+The great minister went on with his explanations, till the King,
+wearying of him, called out--
+
+"Come here, Master Smith."
+
+Jacob advanced, bowing, and stood still.
+
+"Now, Master Smith, the Lord Cromwell tells me that if I sign these
+papers, you, on behalf of the Lady Harflete, will loan me �1000
+without interest, which as it chances I need. Where, then, is this
+�1000?--for I will have no promises, not even from you, who are known
+to keep them, Master Smith."
+
+Jacob thrust his hand beneath his robe, and from various inner pockets
+drew out bags of gold, which he set in a row upon the table.
+
+"Here they are, your Grace," he said quietly. "If you should wish for
+them they can be weighed and counted."
+
+"God's truth! I think I had better keep them, lest some accident
+should happen to you on the way home, Master Smith. You might fall
+into the Thames and sink."
+
+"Your Grace is right, the parchments will be lighter to carry, even,"
+he added meaningly, "with your Highness's name added."
+
+"I can't sign," said the King doubtfully, "all the ink is spilt."
+
+Jacob produced a small ink-horn, which like most merchants of the day
+he carried hung to his girdle, drew out the stopper and with a bow set
+it on the table.
+
+"In truth you are a good man of business, Master Smith, too good for a
+mere king. Such readiness makes me pause. Perhaps we had better meet
+again at a more leisured season."
+
+Jacob bowed once more, and stretching out his hand slowly lifted the
+first of the bags of gold as though to replace it in his pocket.
+
+"Cromwell, come hither," said the King, whereon Jacob, as though in
+forgetfulness, laid the bag back upon the table.
+
+"Repeat the heads of this matter, Cromwell."
+
+"My Liege, the Lady Harflete seeks justice on the Spaniard Maldon,
+Abbot of Blossholme, who is said to have murdered her father, Sir John
+Foterell, and her husband, Sir Christopher Harflete, though rumour has
+it that the latter escaped his clutches and is now in Spain. Item: the
+said Abbot has seized the lands which this Dame Cicely should have
+inherited from her father, and demands their restitution."
+
+"By God's wounds! justice she shall have and for nothing if we can
+give it her," answered the King, letting his heavy fist fall upon the
+table. "No need to waste time in setting out her wrongs. Why, 'tis the
+same Spanish knave Maldon who stirs up all this hell's broth in the
+north. Well, he shall boil in his own pot, for against him our score
+is long. What more?"
+
+"A declaration, Sire, of the validity of the marriage between
+Christopher Harflete and Cicely Foterell, which without doubt is good
+and lawful although the Abbot disputes it for his own ends; and an
+indemnity for the deaths of certain men who fell when the said Abbot
+attacked and burnt the house of the said Christopher Harflete."
+
+"It should have been granted the more readily if Maldon had fallen
+also, but let that pass. What more?"
+
+"The promise, your Grace, of the lands of the Abbey of Blossholme and
+of the Priory of Blossholme in consideration of the loan of �1000
+advanced to your Grace by the agent of Cicely Harflete, Jacob Smith."
+
+"A large demand, my Lord. Have these lands been valued?"
+
+"Aye, Sire, by your Commissioner, who reports it doubtful if with all
+their tenements and timber they would fetch �1000 in gold."
+
+"Our Commissioner? A fig for his valuing, doubtless he has been
+bribed. Still, if we repay the money we can hold the land, and since
+this Dame Harflete and her husband have suffered sorely at the hands
+of Maldon and his armed ruffians, why, let it pass also. Now, is that
+all? I weary of so much talk."
+
+"But one thing more, your Grace," put in Cromwell hastily, for Henry
+was already rising from his chair. "Dame Cicely Harflete, her servant,
+Emlyn Stower, and a certain crazed old nun were condemned of sorcery
+by a Court Ecclesiastic whereof the Abbot Maldon was a member, the
+said Abbot alleging that they had bewitched him and his goods."
+
+"Then he was pleader and judge in one?"
+
+"That is so, your Grace. Already without the royal warrant they were
+bound to the stake for burning, the said Maldon having usurped the
+prerogative of the Crown, when your Commissioner, Legh, arrived and
+loosed them, but not without fighting, for certain men were killed and
+wounded. Now they humbly crave your Majesty's royal pardon for their
+share in this man-slaying, if any, as also does Thomas Bolle yonder,
+who seems to have done the slaying----"
+
+"Well can I believe it," muttered the King.
+
+"And a declaration of the invalidity of their trial and condemning,
+and of their innocence of the foul charge laid against them."
+
+"Innocence!" exclaimed Henry, growing impatient and fixing on the last
+point. "How do we know they were innocent, though it is true that if
+Dame Harflete is a witch she is the prettiest that ever we have heard
+of or seen. You ask too much, after your fashion, Cromwell."
+
+"I crave your Grace's patience for one short minute. There is a man
+here who can prove that they were innocent; yonder red-haired Bolle."
+
+"What? He who praised our shooting? Well, Bolle, since you are so good
+a sportsman, we will listen to you. Prove and be brief."
+
+"Now all is finished," murmured Emlyn to Cicely, "for assuredly fool
+Thomas will land us in the mire."
+
+"Your Grace," said Bolle in his big voice, "I obey in four words--I
+was the devil."
+
+"The devil you were, Thomas Bolle. Now, your meaning?"
+
+"Your Grace, Blossholme was haunted, I haunted it."
+
+"How could you do otherwise if you lived there?"
+
+"I'll show your Grace," and without more ado, to the horror of Cicely,
+Thomas tumbled from his sack all his hellish garb and set to work to
+clothe himself. In a minute, for he was practised at the game, the
+hideous mask was on his head, and with it the horns and skin of the
+widow's billy-goat; the tail and painted hides were tied about him,
+and in his hand he waved the eel spear, short-handled now. Thus
+arrayed he capered before the astonished King and Queen, shaking the
+tail that had a wire in it and clattering his hoofs upon the floor.
+
+"Oh, good devil! Most excellent devil!" exclaimed his Majesty,
+clapping his hands. "If I had met thee I'd have run like a hare. Stay,
+Jane, peep you through yonder door and tell me who are gathered
+there."
+
+The Queen obeyed and, returned, said--
+
+"There be a bishop and a priest, I cannot see which, for it grows
+dark, with chaplains and sundry of the lords of Council waiting
+audience."
+
+"Good. Then we'll try the devil on these devil-tamers. Friend Satan,
+go you to that door, slip through it softly and rush upon them
+roaring, driving them through this chamber so that we may see which of
+them will be bold enough to try to lay you. Dost understand,
+Beelzebub?"
+
+Thomas nodded his horns and departed silently as a cat.
+
+"Now open the door and stand on one side," said the King.
+
+Cromwell obeyed, nor had they long to wait. Presently from the hall
+beyond there rose a most fearful clamour. Then through the door shot
+the bishop panting, after him came lords, chaplains, and secretaries,
+and last of all the priest, who, being very fat and hampered by his
+gown, could not run so fast, although at his back Satan leapt and
+bellowed. No heed did they take of the King's Majesty or of aught
+else, whose only thought was flight as they tore down the chamber to
+the farther door.
+
+"Oh, noble, noble!" hallooed the King, who was shaking with laughter.
+"Give him your fork, devil, give him your fork," and having the royal
+command Bolle obeyed with zeal.
+
+In thirty seconds it was all over; the rout had come and gone, only
+Thomas in his hideous attire stood bowing before the King, who
+exclaimed--
+
+"I thank thee, Thomas Bolle, thou hast made me laugh as I have not
+laughed for years. Little wonder that thy mistress was condemned for
+witchcraft. Now," he added, changing his tone, "off with that mummery,
+and, Cromwell, go, catch one of those fools and tell them the truth
+ere tales fly round the palace. Jane, cease from merriment, there is a
+time for all things. Come hither, Lady Harflete, I would speak with
+you."
+
+Cicely approached and curtseyed, leaving her boy in the Queen's arms,
+where he had gone to sleep, for she did not seem minded to part with
+him.
+
+"You are asking much of us," he said suddenly, searching her with a
+shrewd glance, "relying, doubtless, on your wrongs, which are deep, or
+your face, which is sweet, or both. Well, these things move Kings
+mayhap more than others, also I knew old Sir John, your father, a
+loyal man and a brave, he fought well at Flodden; and young Harflete,
+your husband, if he still lives, had a good name like his forebears.
+Moreover your enemy, Maldon, is ours, a treacherous foreign snake such
+as England hates, for he would set her beneath the heel of Spain.
+
+"Now, Dame Harflete, doubtless when you go hence you will bear away
+strange stories of King Harry and his doings. You will say he plays
+the fool, pelting his servants with inkpots when he is wrath, as God
+knows he has often cause to be, and scaring his bishops with sham
+Satans, as after all why should he not since it is a dull world?
+You'll say, too, that he takes his teaching from his ministers, and
+signs what these lay before him with small search as to the truth or
+falsity. Well, that's the lot of monarchs who have but one man's brain
+and one man's time; who needs must trust their slaves until these
+become their masters, and there is naught left," here his face grew
+fierce, "save to kill them, and find more and worse. New servants, new
+wives," and he glanced at Jane, who was not listening, "new friends,
+false, false, all three of them, new foes, and at the last old Death
+to round it off. Such has been the lot of kings from David down, and
+such I think it shall always be."
+
+He paused a while, brooding heavily, then looked up and went on, "I
+know not why I should speak thus to a chit like you, except it be,
+that young though you are, you also have known trouble and the feel of
+a sick heart. Well, well, I have heard more of you and your affairs
+than you might think, and I forget nothing--that's my gift. Dame
+Harflete, you are richer than you have been advised to say, and I
+repeat you ask much of me. Justice is your due from your Sovereign,
+and you shall have it; but these wide Abbey lands, this Priory of
+Blossholme, whose nuns have befriended you and whom you desire to
+save, this embracing pardon for others who had shed blood, this
+cancelling outside of the form of law of a sentence passed by a Court
+duly constituted, if unjust, all in return for a loan of a pitiful
+�1000? You huckster well, Lady Harflete, one would think that your
+father had been a chapman, not rough John Foterell, you who can drive
+so shrewd a bargain with your King's necessities."
+
+"Sire, Sire," broke in Cicely in confusion, "I have no more, my lands
+are wasted by Abbot Maldon, my husband's hall is burnt by his
+soldiers, my first year's rents, if ever I should receive them, are
+promised----"
+
+"To whom?"
+
+She hesitated.
+
+"To whom?" he thundered. "Answer, Madam."
+
+"To your Royal Commissioner, Dr. Legh."
+
+"Ah! I thought as much, though when he spoke of you he did not tell
+it, the snuffling rogue."
+
+"The jewels that came to me from my mother are in pawn for that �1000,
+and I have no more."
+
+"A palpable lie, Dame Harflete, for if so, how have you paid Cromwell?
+He did not bring you here for nothing."
+
+"Oh, my Liege, my Liege," said Cicely, sinking to her knees, "ask not
+a helpless woman to betray those who have befriended her in her most
+sore and honest need. I said I have nothing, unless those gems are
+worth more than I know."
+
+"And I believe you, Dame Harflete. We have plucked you bare between
+us, have we not? Still, perchance, you will be no loser in the end.
+Now, Master Smith, there, does not work for love alone."
+
+"Sire," said Jacob, "that is true, I copy my masters. I have this
+lady's jewels in pledge, and I hope to make a profit on them. Still,
+Sire, there is among them a pink pearl of great beauty that it might
+please the Queen to wear. Here it is," and he laid it upon the table.
+
+"Oh, what a lovely thing," said Jane; "never have I seen its like."
+
+"Then study it well, Wife, for you look your last upon it. When we
+cannot pay our soldiers to keep our crown upon our head, and preserve
+the liberties of England against the Spaniard and the Pope of Rome, it
+is no time to give you gems that I have not bought. Take that gaud and
+sell it, Master Smith, for whatever it will fetch among the Jews, and
+add the price to the �1000, lessened by one tenth for your trouble.
+Now, Dame Harflete, you have bought the favour of your King, for
+whoever else may, I'll not lie. Ah! here comes Cromwell. My Lord, you
+have been long."
+
+"Your Grace, yonder priest is in a fit from fright, and thinks himself
+in hell. I had to tarry with him till the doctor came."
+
+"Doubtless he'll get better now that you are gone. Poor man, if a sham
+devil frights him so, what will he do at last? Now, Cromwell, I have
+made examination of this business and I will sign your papers, all of
+them. Dame Harflete here tells me how hard you have worked for her,
+all for nothing, Cromwell, and that pleases me, who at times have
+wondered how you grew so rich, as your learner, Wolsey, did before
+you. /He/ took bribes, Cromwell!"
+
+"My Liege," he answered in a low voice, "this case was cruel, it moved
+my pity----"
+
+"As it has ours, leaving us the richer by �1000 and the price of a
+pearl. There, five, are they all signed? Take them, Master Smith, as
+the Lady Harflete is your client, and study them to-night. If aught be
+wrong or omitted, you have our royal word that we will set it
+straight. This is our command--note it, Cromwell--that all things be
+done quickly as occasion shall arise to give effect to these precepts,
+pardons and patents which you, Cromwell, shall countersign ere they
+leave this room. Also, that no further fee, secret or declared, shall
+be taken from the Lady Harflete, whom henceforth, in token of our
+special favour, we create and name the Lady of Blossholme, from her
+husband or her child, as to any of these matters, and that
+Commissioner Legh, on receipt thereof, shall pay into our treasury any
+sum or sums that Dame Harflete may have promised to him. Write it
+down, my Lord Cromwell, and see that our words are carried out, lest
+it be the worse for you."
+
+The Vicar-General hastened to obey, for there was something in the
+King's eye that frightened him. Meanwhile the Queen, after she had
+seen the coveted pearl disappear into Jacob's pocket, thrust back the
+child into Cicely's arms, and without any word of adieu or reverence
+to the King, followed by her lady, departed from the room, slamming
+the door behind her.
+
+"Her Grace is cross because that gem--your gem, Lady Harflete--was
+refused to her," said Henry, then added in an angry growl, "'Fore God!
+does she dare to play off her tempers upon me, and so soon, when I am
+troubled about big matters? Oho! Jane Seymour is the Queen to-day, and
+she'd let the world know it. Well, what makes a queen? A king's fancy
+and a crown of gold, which the hand that set it on can take off again,
+head and all, if it stick too tight. And then where's your queen? Pest
+upon women and the whims that make us seek their company! Dame
+Harflete, you'd not treat your lord so, would you? You have never been
+to Court, I think, or I should have known your eyes again. Well,
+perhaps it is well for you, and that's why you are gentle and loving."
+
+"If I am gentle, Sire, it is trouble that has gentled me, who have
+suffered so much, and know not even now whether after one week of
+marriage I am wife or widow."
+
+"Widow? Should that be so, come to me and I will find you another and
+a nobler spouse. With your face and possessions it will not be
+difficult. Nay, do not weep, for your sake I trust that this lucky man
+may live to comfort you and serve his King. At least he'll be no
+Spaniard's tool and Pope's plotter."
+
+"Well will he serve your Grace if God gives him the chance, as my
+murdered father did."
+
+"We know it, Lady. Cromwell, will you never have finished with those
+writings? The Council waits us, and so does supper, and a word or two
+with her Grace ere bedtime. You, Thomas Bolle, you are no fool and can
+hold a sword; tell me, shall I go up north to fight the rebels, or
+bide here and let others do it?"
+
+"Bide here, your Grace," answered Thomas promptly. "'Twixt Wash and
+Humber is a wild land in winter and arrows fly about there like ducks
+at night, none knowing whence they come. Also your Grace is over-heavy
+for a horse on forest roads and moorland, and if aught should chance,
+why, they'd laugh in Spain and Rome, or nearer, and who would rule
+England with a girl child on its throne?" and he stared hard at
+Cromwell's back.
+
+"Truth at last, and out of the lips of a red-haired bumpkin," muttered
+the King, also staring at the unconscious Cromwell, who was engaged on
+his writing and either feigned deafness or did not hear. "Thomas
+Bolle, I said that you were no fool, although some may have thought
+you so, is there aught you would have in payment for your counsel--
+save money, for that we have none?"
+
+"Aye, Sire, freedom from my oath as a lay-brother of the Abbey of
+Blossholme, and leave to marry."
+
+"To marry whom?"
+
+"Her, Sire," and he pointed to Emlyn.
+
+"What! The other handsome witch? See you not that she has a temper?
+Nay, woman, be silent, it is written in your face. Well, take your
+freedom and her with it, but, Thomas Bolle, why did you not ask
+otherwise when the chance came your way? I thought better of you. Like
+the rest of us, you are but a fool after all. Farewell to you, Fool
+Thomas, and to you also, my fair Lady of Blossholme."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+THE VOICE IN THE FOREST
+
+The four were back safe in their lodging in Cheapside, whither, after
+the deeds had been sealed, three soldiers escorted them by command.
+
+"Have we done well, have we done well?" asked Jacob, rubbing his
+hands.
+
+"It would seem so, Master Smith," replied Cicely, "thanks to you; that
+is, if all the King said is really in those writings."
+
+"It is there sure enough," said Jacob; "for know, that with the aid of
+a lawyer and three scriveners, I drafted them myself in the Lord
+Cromwell's office this morning, and oh, I drew them wide. Hard, hard
+we worked with no time for dinner, and that was why I was ten minutes
+late by the clock, for which Emlyn here chided me so sharply. Still,
+I'll read them through again, and if aught is left out we will have it
+righted, though these are the same parchments, for I set a secret mark
+upon them."
+
+"Nay, nay," said Cicely, "leave well alone. His Grace's mood may
+change, or the Queen--that matter of the pearl."
+
+"Ah, the pearl, it grieved me to part with that beautiful pearl. But
+there was no way out, it must be sold and the money handed over, our
+honour is on it. Had I refused, who knows? Yes, we may thank God, for
+if the most of your jewels are gone, the wide Abbey lands have come
+and other things. Nothing is forgot. Bolle is unfrocked and may wed;
+Cousin Stower has got a husband----"
+
+Then Emlyn, who until now had been strangely silent, burst out in
+wrath----
+
+"Am I, then, a beast that I should be given to this man like a heriot
+at yonder King's bidding?" she exclaimed, pointing with her finger at
+Bolle, who stood in the corner. "Who gave you the right, Thomas, to
+demand me in marriage?"
+
+"Well, since you ask me, Emlyn, it was you yourself; once, many years
+ago, down in the mead by the water, and more lately in the chapel of
+Blossholme Priory before I began to play the devil."
+
+"Play the devil! Aye, you have played the devil with me. There in the
+King's presence I must stand for an hour or more while all talked and
+never let a word slip between my lips, and at last hear myself called
+by his Grace a woman of temper and you a fool for wishing to marry me.
+Oh, if ever we do marry, I'll prove his words."
+
+"Then perhaps, Emlyn, we who have got on a long while apart, had best
+stay so," answered Thomas calmly. "Yet, why you should fret because
+you must keep your tongue in its case for an hour, or because I asked
+leave to marry you in all honour, I do not know. I have worked my best
+for you and your mistress at some hazard, and things have not gone so
+ill, seeing that now we are quit of blame and in a fair way to peace
+and comfort. If you are not content, why then, the King was right, and
+I'm a fool, and so good-bye, I'll trouble you no more in fair weather
+or in foul. I have leave to marry, and there are other women in the
+world should I need one."
+
+"Tread on their tails and even worms will turn," soliloquized Jacob,
+while Emlyn burst into tears.
+
+Cicely ran to console her, and Bolle made as though he would leave the
+room.
+
+Just then there came a great knocking on the street door, and the
+sound of a voice crying--
+
+"In the King's name! In the King's name, open!"
+
+"That's Commissioner Legh," said Thomas. "I learned the cry from him,
+and it is a good one at a pinch, as some of you may remember."
+
+Emlyn dried her tears with her sleeve; Cicely sat down and Jacob
+shovelled the parchments into his big pockets. Then in burst the
+Commissioner, to whom some one had opened.
+
+"What's this I hear?" he cried, addressing Cicely, his face as red as
+a turkey cock's. "That you have been working behind my back; that you
+have told falsehoods of me to his Grace, who called me knave and
+thief; that I am commanded to pay my fees into the Treasury? Oh,
+ungrateful wench, would to God that I had let you burn ere you
+disgraced me thus."
+
+"If you bring so much heat into my poor house, learned Doctor, surely
+all of us will soon burn," said Jacob suavely. "The Lady Harflete said
+nothing that his Highness did not force her to say, as I know who was
+present, and among so many pickings cannot you spare a single dole?
+Come, come, drink a cup of wine and be calm."
+
+But Dr. Legh, who had already drunk several cups of wine, would not be
+calm. He reviled first one of them and then the other, but especially
+Emlyn, whom he conceived to be the cause of all his woes, till at
+length he called her by a very ill name. Then came forward Thomas
+Bolle, who all this while had been standing in the corner, and took
+him by the neck.
+
+"In the King's name!" he said, "nay, complain not, 'tis your own cry
+and I have warrant for it," and he knocked Legh's head against the
+door-post. "In the King's name, get out of this," and he gave him such
+a kick as never Royal Commissioner had felt before, shooting him down
+the passage. "For the third time in the King's name!" and he hurled
+him out in a heap into the courtyard. "Begone, and know if ever I see
+your pudding face again, in the King's name, I'll break your neck!"
+
+Thus did Visitor Legh depart out of the life of Cicely, though in due
+course she paid him her first year's rent, nor ever asked who took the
+benefit.
+
+"Thomas," said Emlyn, when he returned smiling at the memory of that
+farewell kick, "the King was right, I am quick-tempered at times, no
+ill thing for it has helped me more than once. Forget, and so will I,"
+and she gave him her hand, which he kissed, then went to see about the
+supper.
+
+While they ate, which they did heartily who needed food, there came
+another knock.
+
+"Go, Thomas," said Jacob, "and say we see none to-night."
+
+So Thomas went and they heard talk. Then he re-entered followed by a
+cloaked man, saying--
+
+"Here is a visitor whom I dare not deny," whereon they all rose,
+thinking in their folly that it was the King himself, and not one
+almost as mighty in England for a while--the Lord Cromwell.
+
+"Pardon me," said Cromwell, bowing in his courteous manner, "and if
+you will, let me be seated with you, and give me a bite and a sup, for
+I need them, who have been hard-worked to-day."
+
+So he sat down among them, and ate and drank, talking pleasantly of
+many things, and telling them that the King had changed his mind at
+the Council, as he thought, because of the words of Thomas Bolle,
+which he believed had stuck there, and would not go north to fight the
+rebels after all, but would send the Duke of Norfolk and other lords.
+Then when he had done he pushed away his cup and platter, looked at
+his hosts and said--
+
+"Now to business. My Lady Harflete, fortune has been your friend this
+day, for all you asked has been granted to you, which, as his Grace's
+temper has been of late, is a wondrous thing. Moreover, I thank you
+that you did not answer a certain question as to myself which I learn
+he put to you urgently."
+
+"My Lord," said Cicely, "you have befriended me. Still, had he pressed
+me further, God knows. Commissioner Legh did not thank me to-night,"
+and she told him of the visit they had just received, and of its
+ending.
+
+"A rough man and a greedy, who doubtless henceforth will be your
+enemy," replied Cromwell. "Still you were not to blame, for who can
+reason with a bull in his own yard? Well, while I have power I'll not
+forget your faithfulness, though in truth, my Lady of Blossholme, I
+sit upon a slippery height, and beneath waits a gulf that has
+swallowed some as great, and greater. Therefore I will not deny it, I
+lay by while I may, not knowing who will gather."
+
+He brooded a while, then went on, with a sigh--
+
+"The times are uncertain; thus, you who have the promise of wealth may
+yet die a beggar. The lands of Blossholme Abbey, on which you hold a
+bond that will never be redeemed, are not yet in the King's hands to
+give. A black storm is bursting in the north and, I say this in
+secret, the fury of it may sweep Henry from the throne. If it should
+be so, away with you to any land where you are not known, for then
+after this day's work here a rope will be your only heritage. More,
+this Queen, unlike Anne who is gone, is a friend to the party of the
+Church, and though she affects to care little for such things, is
+bitter about that pearl, and therefore against you, its owner. Have
+you no jewel left that you could spare which I might take to her? As
+for the pearl itself, which Master Smith here swore to me was not to
+be found in the whole world when he showed me its fellow, it must be
+sold as the King commanded," and he looked at Jacob somewhat sourly.
+
+Now Cicely spoke with Jacob, who went away and returned presently with
+a brooch in which was set a large white diamond surrounded by five
+small rubies.
+
+"Take her this with my duty, my Lord," said Cicely.
+
+"I will, I will. Oh! fear not, it shall reach her for my own sake as
+well as yours. You are a wise giver, Lady Harflete, who know when and
+where to cast your bread upon the waters. And now I have a gift for
+you that perchance will please you more than gems. Your husband,
+Christopher Harflete, accompanied by a servant, has landed in the
+north safe and well."
+
+"Oh, my Lord," she cried, "then where is he now?"
+
+"Alas! the rest of the tale is not so pleasing, for as he journeyed,
+from Hull I think, he was taken prisoner by the rebels, who have him
+fast at Lincoln, wishing to make him, whose name is of account, one of
+their company. But he being a wise and loyal man, contrived to send a
+letter to the King's captain in those parts, which has reached me this
+night. Here it is, do you know the writing?"
+
+"Aye, aye," gasped Cicely, staring at the scrawl that was ill writ and
+worse spelt, for Christopher was no scholar.
+
+"Then I'll read it to you, and afterwards certify a copy to multiply
+the evidence."
+
+
+ "To the Captain of the King's Forces outside Lincoln.
+
+ "This to give notice to you, his Grace, and his ministers and all
+  others, that we, Christopher Harflete, Knight, and Jeffrey Stokes,
+  his servant, when journeying from the seaport whither we had come
+  from Spain, were taken by rebels in arms against the King and
+  brought here to Lincoln. These men would win me to their party
+  because the name of Harflete is still strong and known. So violent
+  were they that we have taken some kind of oath. Yet this writing
+  advises you that so I only did to save my life, having no heart
+  that way who am a loyal man and understand little of their
+  quarrel. Life, in sooth, is of small value to me who have lost
+  wife, lands and all. Yet ere I die I would be avenged upon the
+  murderous Abbot of Blossholme, and therefore I seek to keep my
+  breath in me and to escape.
+
+ "I learn that the said Abbot is afoot with a great following within
+  fifty miles of here. Pray God he does not get his claws in me
+  again, but if so, say to the King, that Harflete died faithful.
+
+"Christopher Harflete.
+"Jeffrey Stokes, � his mark."
+
+
+"My Lord," said Cicely, "what shall I do, my Lord?"
+
+"There is naught to be done, save trust in God and hope for the best.
+Doubtless he will escape, and at least his Grace shall see this letter
+to-morrow morning and send orders to help him if may be. Copy it,
+Master Smith."
+
+Jacob took the letter and began to write swiftly, while Cromwell
+thought.
+
+"Listen," he said presently. "Round Blossholme there are no rebels,
+all of that colour have drawn off north. Now Foterell and Harflete are
+good names yonder, cannot you journey thither and raise a company?"
+
+"Aye, aye, that I can do," broke in Bolle. "In a week I will have a
+hundred men at my back. Give commission and money to my Lady there and
+name me captain and you'll see."
+
+"The commission and the captaincy under the privy signet shall be at
+this house by nine of the clock to-morrow," answered Cromwell. "The
+money you must find, for there is none outside the coffers of Jacob
+Smith. Yet pause, Lady Harflete, there is risk and here you are safe."
+
+"I know the risk," she answered, "but what do I care for risks who
+have taken so many, when my husband is yonder and I may serve him?"
+
+"An excellent spirit, let us trust that it comes from on high,"
+remarked Cromwell; but old Jacob, as he wrote /vera copia/ for his
+Lordship's signature at the foot of the transcript of Christopher's
+letter, shook his head sadly.
+
+In another minute Cromwell had signed without troubling to compare the
+two, and with some gentle words of farewell was gone, having bigger
+matters waiting his attention.
+
+Cicely never saw him again, indeed with the exception of Jacob Smith
+she never saw any of those folk again, including the King, who had
+been concerned in this crisis of her life. Yet, notwithstanding his
+cunning and his extortion, she grieved for Cromwell when some four
+years later the Duke of Suffolk and the Earl of Southampton rudely
+tore the Garter and his other decorations off his person and he was
+haled from the Council to the Tower, and thence after abject
+supplications for mercy, to perish a criminal upon the block. At least
+he had served her well, for he kept all his promises to the letter.
+One of his last acts also was to send her back the pink pearl which he
+had received as a bribe from Jacob Smith, with a message to the effect
+that he was sure it would become her more than it had him, and that he
+hoped it would bring her a better fortune.
+
+
+
+When Cromwell had gone Jacob turned to Cicely and inquired if she were
+leaving his house upon the morrow.
+
+"Have I not said so?" she asked, with impatience. "Knowing what I know
+how could I stay in London? Why do you ask?"
+
+"Because I must balance our account. I think you owe me a matter of
+twenty marks for rent and board. Also it is probable that we shall
+need money for our journey, and this day has left me somewhat bare of
+coin."
+
+"Our journey?" said Cicely. "Do you, then, accompany us, Master
+Smith?"
+
+"With your leave I think so, Lady. Times are bad here, I have no
+shilling left to lend, yet if I do not lend I shall never be forgiven.
+Also I need a holiday, and ere I die would once again see Blossholme,
+where I was born, should we live to reach it. But if we start
+to-morrow I have much to do this night. For instance, your jewels
+which I hold in pawn must be set in a place of safety; also these
+deeds, whereof copies should be made, and that pearl must be left in
+trusty hands for sale. So at what hour do we ride on this mad errand?"
+
+"At eleven of the clock," answered Cicely, "if the King's safe-conduct
+and commission have come by then."
+
+"So be it. Then I bid you good-night. Come with me, worthy Bolle, for
+there'll be no sleep for us. I go to call my clerks and you must go to
+the stable. Lady Harflete and you, Cousin Emlyn, get you to bed."
+
+On the following morning Cicely rose with the dawn, nor was she sorry
+to do so, who had spent but a troubled night. For long sleep would not
+come to her, and when it did at length, she was tossed upon a sea of
+dreams, dreams of the King, who threatened her with his great voice;
+of Cromwell, who took everything she had down to her cloak; of
+Commissioner Legh, who dragged her back to the stake because he had
+lost his bribe.
+
+But most of all she dreamed of Christopher, her beloved husband, who
+was so near and yet as far away as he had ever been, a prisoner in the
+hands of the rebels; her husband who deemed her dead.
+
+From all these phantasies she awoke weeping and oppressed by fears.
+Could it be that when at length the cup of joy was so near her lips
+fate waited to dash it down again? She knew not, who had naught but
+faith to lean on, that faith which in the past had served her well.
+Meanwhile, she was sure that if Christopher lived he would make his
+way to Cranwell or to Blossholme, and, whatever the risk, thither she
+would go also as fast as horses could carry her.
+
+Hurry as they would, midday was an hour gone ere they rode out of
+Cheapside. There was so much to do, and even then things were left
+undone. The four of them travelled humbly clad, giving out that they
+were a party of merchant folk returning to Cambridge after a visit to
+London as to an inheritance in which they were interested, especially
+Cicely, who posed as a widow named Johnson. This was their story,
+which they varied from time to time according to circumstances. In
+some ways their minds were more at ease than when they travelled to
+the great city, for now at least they were clear of the horrid company
+of Commissioner Legh and his people, nor were they haunted by the
+knowledge that they had about them jewels of great price. All these
+jewels were left behind in safe keeping, as were also the writings
+under the King's hand and seal, of which they only took attested
+copies, and with them the commission that Cromwell had duly sent to
+Cicely addressed to her husband and herself, and Bolle's certificate
+of captaincy. These they hid in their boots or the linings of their
+vests, together with such money as was necessary for the costs of
+travel.
+
+Thus riding hard, for their horses were good and fresh, they came
+unmolested to Cambridge on the night of the second day and slept
+there. Beyond Cambridge, they were told, the country was so disturbed
+that it would not be safe for them to journey. But just when they were
+in despair, for even Bolle said that they must not go on, a troop of
+the King's horse arrived on their way to join the Duke of Norfolk
+wherever he might lie in Lincolnshire.
+
+To their captain, one Jeffreys, Jacob showed the King's commission,
+revealing who they were. Seeing that it commanded all his Grace's
+officers and servants to do them service, this Captain Jeffreys said
+that he would give them escort until their roads separated. So next
+day they went on again. The company was not pleasant, for the men, of
+whom there were about a hundred, proved rough fellows, still, having
+been warned that he who insulted or laid a finger on them should be
+hanged, they did them no harm. It was well, indeed, that they had
+their protection, for they found the country through which they passed
+up in arms, and were more than once threatened by mobs of peasants,
+led by priests, who would have attacked them had they dared.
+
+For two days they travelled thus with Captain Jeffreys, coming on the
+evening of the second to Peterborough, where they found lodgings at an
+inn. When they rose the next morning, however, it was to discover that
+Jeffreys and his men had already gone, leaving a message to say that
+he had received urgent orders to push on to Lincoln.
+
+Now once more they told their old tale, declaring that they were
+citizens of Boston, and having learned that the Fens were peaceful,
+perhaps because so few people lived in them, started forward by
+themselves under the guidance of Bolle, who had often journeyed
+through that country, buying or selling cattle for the monks. An ill
+land was it to travel in also in that wet autumn, seeing that in many
+places the floods were out and the tracks were like a quagmire. The
+first night they spent in a marshman's hut, listening to the pouring
+rain and fearing fever and ague, especially for the boy. The next day,
+by good fortune, they reached higher land and slept at a tavern.
+
+Here they were visited by rude men, who, being of the party of
+rebellion, sought to know their business. For a while things were
+dangerous, but Bolle, who could talk their own dialect, showed that
+they were scarcely to be feared who travelled with two women and a
+babe, adding that he was a lay-brother of Blossholme Abbey disguised
+as a serving-man for dread of the King's party. Jacob Smith also
+called for ale and drank with them to the success of the Pilgrimage of
+Grace, as their revolt was named.
+
+In this way they disarmed suspicion with one tale and another.
+Moreover, they heard that as yet the country round Blossholme remained
+undisturbed, although it was said that the Abbot had fortified the
+Abbey and stored it with provisions. He himself was with the leaders
+of the revolt in the neighbourhood of Lincoln, but he had done this
+that he might have a strong place to fall back on.
+
+So in the end the men went away full of strong beer, and that danger
+passed by.
+
+Next morning they started forward early, hoping to reach Blossholme by
+sunset though the days were shortening much. This, however, was not to
+be, for as it chanced they were badly bogged in a quagmire that lay
+about two miles off their inn, and when at length they scrambled out
+had to ride many miles round to escape the swamp. So it happened that
+it was already well on in the afternoon when they came to that stretch
+of forest in which the Abbot had murdered Sir John Foterell. Following
+the woodland road, towards sunset they passed the mere where he had
+fallen. Weary as she was, Cicely looked at the spot and found it
+familiar.
+
+"I know this place," she said. "Where have I seen it? Oh, in the ill
+dream I had on that day I lost my father."
+
+"That is not wonderful," answered Emlyn, who rode beside her carrying
+the child, "seeing that Thomas says it was just here they butchered
+him. Look, yonder lie the bones of Meg, his mare; I know them by her
+black mane."
+
+"Aye, Lady," broke in Bolle, "and there he lies also where he fell;
+they buried him with never a Christian prayer," and he pointed to a
+little careless mound between two willows."
+
+"Jesus, have mercy on his soul!" said Cicely, crossing herself. "Now,
+if I live, I swear that I will move his bones to the chancel of
+Blossholme church and build a fair monument to his memory."
+
+This, as all visitors to the place know, she did, for that monument
+remains to this day, representing the old knight lying in the snow,
+with the arrow in his throat, between the two murderers whom he slew,
+while round the corner of the tomb Jeffrey Stokes gallops away.
+
+While Cicely stared back at this desolate grave, muttering a prayer
+for the departed, Thomas Bolle heard something which caused him to
+prick his ears.
+
+"What is it?" asked Jacob Smith, who saw the change in his face.
+
+"Horses galloping--many horses, master," he answered; "yes, and riders
+on them. Listen."
+
+They did so, and now they also heard the thud of horse's hoofs and the
+shouts of men.
+
+"Quick, quick," said Bolle, "follow me. I know where we may hide," and
+he led them off to a dense thicket of thorn and beech scrub which grew
+about two hundred yards away under a group of oaks at a place where
+four tracks crossed. Owing to the beech leaves, which, when the trees
+are young, as every gardener knows, cling to the twigs through autumn
+and winter, this place was very close, and hid them completely.
+
+Scarcely had they taken up their stand there, when, in the red light
+of the sunset, they saw a strange sight. Along, not that road they had
+followed, but another, which led round the farther side of King's
+Grave Mount, now seen and now hidden by the forest trees, a tall man
+in armour mounted on a grey horse, accompanied by another man in a
+leathern jerkin mounted on a black horse, galloped towards them,
+whilst, at a distance of not more than a hundred yards behind them,
+appeared a motley mob of pursuers.
+
+"Escaped prisoners being run down," muttered Bolle, but Cicely took no
+heed. There was something about the appearance of the rider of the
+grey horse that seemed to draw her heart out of her.
+
+She leaned forward on her beast's neck, staring with all her eyes. Now
+the two men were almost opposite the thicket, and the man in mail
+turned his face to his companion and called cheerily--
+
+"We gain! We'll slip them yet, Jeffrey."
+
+Cicely saw the face.
+
+"Christopher!" she cried; "/Christopher!/"
+
+Another moment and they had swept past, but Christopher--for it was he
+--had caught the sound of that remembered voice. With eyes made quick
+by love and fear she saw him pulling on his rein. She heard him shout
+to Jeffrey, and Jeffrey shout back to him in tones of remonstrance.
+They halted confusedly in the open space beyond. He tried to turn,
+then perceived his pursuers drawing nearer, and, when they were
+already at his heels, with an exclamation, pulled round again to
+gallop away. Too late! Up the slope they sped for another hundred
+yards or so. Now they were surrounded, and now, at the crest of it,
+they fought, for swords flashed in the red light. The pursuers closed
+in on them like hounds on an outrun fox. They went down--they
+vanished.
+
+Cicely strove to gallop after them, for she was crazed, but the others
+held her back.
+
+At length there was silence, and Thomas Bolle, dismounting, crept out
+to look. Ten minutes later he returned.
+
+"All have gone," he said.
+
+"Oh! he is dead!" wailed Cicely. "This fatal place has robbed me of
+father and of husband."
+
+"I think not," answered Bolle. "I see no bloodstains, nor any signs of
+a man being carried. He went living on his horse. Still, would to
+Heaven that women could learn when to keep silent!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+BETWEEN DOOM AND HONOUR
+
+The day was about to break when at last, utterly worn out in body and
+mind, Cicely and her party rode their stumbling horses up to the gates
+of Blossholme Priory.
+
+"Pray God the nuns are still here," said Emlyn, who held the child,
+"for if they have been driven out and my mistress must go farther, I
+think that she will die. Knock hard, Thomas, that old gardener is deaf
+as a wall."
+
+Bolle obeyed with good will, till presently the grille in the door was
+opened and a trembling woman's voice asked who was there.
+
+"That's Mother Matilda," said Emlyn, and slipping from her horse, she
+ran to the bars and began to talk to her through them. Then other nuns
+came, and between them they opened one of the large gates, for the
+gardener either could not or would not be aroused, and passed through
+it into the courtyard where, when it was understood that Cicely had
+really come again, there was a great welcoming. But now she could
+hardly speak, so they made her swallow a bowl of milk and took her to
+her old room, where sleep of some kind overcame her. When she awoke it
+was nine of the clock. Emlyn, looking little the worse, was already up
+and stood talking with Mother Matilda.
+
+"Oh!" cried Cicely, as memory came back to her, "has aught been heard
+of my husband?"
+
+They shook their heads, and the Prioress said--
+
+"First you must eat, Sweet, and then we will tell you all we know,
+which is little."
+
+So she ate who needed food sadly, and while Emlyn helped her to dress
+herself, hearkened to the news. It was of no great account, only
+confirming that which they had learnt from the Fenmen; that the Abbey
+was fortified and guarded by strange soldiers, rebellious men from the
+north or foreigners, and the Abbot supposed to be away.
+
+Bolle, who had been out, reported also that a man he met declared that
+he had heard a troop of horsemen pass through the village in the
+night, but of this no proof was forthcoming, since if they had done so
+the heavy rain that was still falling had washed out all traces of
+them. Moreover, in those times people were always moving to and fro in
+the dark, and none could know if this troop had anything to do with
+the band they had seen in the forest, which might have gone some other
+way.
+
+When Cicely was ready they went downstairs, and in Mother Matilda's
+private room found Jacob Smith and Thomas Bolle awaiting them.
+
+"Lady Harflete," said Jacob, with the air of a man who has no time to
+lose, "things stand thus. As yet none know that you are here, for we
+have the gardener and his wife under ward. But as soon as they learn
+it at the Abbey there will be risk of an attack, and this place is not
+defensible. Now at your hall of Shefton it is otherwise, for there it
+seems is a deep moat with a drawbridge and the rest. To Shefton,
+therefore, you must go at once, unobserved if may be. Indeed, Thomas
+has been there already, and spoken to certain of your tenants whom he
+can trust, who are now hard at work preparing and victualling the
+place, and passing on the word to others. By nightfall he hopes to
+have thirty strong men to defend it, and within three days a hundred,
+when your commission and his captaincy are made known. Come, then, for
+there is no time to tarry and the horses are saddled."
+
+So Cicely kissed Mother Matilda, who blessed and thanked her for all
+she had done, or tried to do on behalf of the sisterhood, and within
+five minutes once more they were on the backs of their weary beasts
+and riding through the rain to Shefton, which happily was but three
+miles away. Keeping under the lee of the woods they left the Priory
+unobserved, for in that wet few were stirring, and the sentinels at
+the Abbey, if there were any, had taken shelter in the guard-house. So
+thankfully enough they came unmolested to walled and wooded Shefton,
+which Cicely had last seen when she fled thence to Cranwell on the day
+of her marriage, oh, years and years ago, or so it seemed to her
+tormented heart.
+
+It was a strange and a sad home-coming, she thought, as they rode over
+the drawbridge and through the sodden and weed-smothered pleasaunce to
+the familiar door. Yet it might have been worse, for the tenants whom
+Bolle had warned had not been idle. For two hours past and more a
+dozen willing women had swept and cleaned; the fires had been lit, and
+there was plenteous food of a sort in the kitchen and the store-room.
+
+Moreover, in all the big hall were gathered about a score of her
+people, who welcomed her by raising their bonnets and even tried to
+cheer. To these at once Jacob read the King's commission, showing them
+the signet and the seal, and that other commission which named Thomas
+Bolle a captain with wide powers, the sight and hearing of which
+writings seemed to put a great heart into them who so long had lacked
+a leader and the support of authority. One and all they swore to stand
+by the King and their lady, Cicely Harflete, and her lord, Sir
+Christopher, or if he were dead, his child. Then about half of them
+took horse and rode off, this way and that, to gather men in the
+King's name, while the rest stayed to guard the Hall and work at its
+defences.
+
+By sunset men were riding up from all sides, some of them driving
+carts loaded with provisions, arms and fodder, or sheep and beasts
+that could be killed for sustenance, while as they came Jacob enrolled
+their names upon a paper and by virtue of his commission Thomas Bolle
+swore them in. Indeed that night they had forty men quartered there,
+and the promise of many more.
+
+By now, however, the secret was out, for the story had gone round and
+the smoke from the Shefton chimneys told its own tale. First a single
+spy appeared on the opposite rise, watching. Then he galloped away, to
+return an hour later with ten armed and mounted men, one of whom
+carried a banner on which were embroidered the emblems of the
+Pilgrimage of Grace. These men rode to within a hundred paces of
+Shefton Hall, apparently with the object of attacking it, then seeing
+that the drawbridge was up and that archers with bent bows stood on
+either side, halted and sent forward one of their number with a white
+flag to parley.
+
+"Who holds Shefton," shouted this man, "and for what cause?"
+
+"The Lady Harflete, its owner, and Captain Thomas Bolle, for the cause
+of the King," called old Jacob Smith back to him.
+
+"By what warrant?" asked the man. "The Abbot of Blossholme is lord of
+Shefton, and Thomas Bolle is but a lay-brother of his monastery."
+
+"By warrant of the King's Grace," said Jacob, and then and there at
+the top of his voice he read to him the Royal Commission, which when
+the envoy had heard, he went back to consult with his companions. For
+a while they hesitated, apparently still meditating attack, but in the
+end rode away and were seen no more.
+
+Bolle wished to follow and fall on them with such men as he had, but
+the cautious Jacob Smith forbade it, fearing lest he should tumble
+into some ambush and be killed or captured with his people, leaving
+the place defenceless.
+
+So the afternoon went by, and ere evening closed in they had so much
+strength that there was no more cause for fear of an attack from the
+Abbey, whose garrison they learned amounted to not over fifty men and
+a few monks, for most of these had fled.
+
+That night Cicely with Emlyn and old Jacob were seated in the long
+upper room where her father, Sir John Foterell, had once surprised
+Christopher paying his court to her, when Bolle entered, followed by a
+man with a hang-dog look who was wrapped in a sheepskin coat which
+seemed to become him very ill.
+
+"Who is this, friend?" asked Jacob.
+
+"An old companion of mine, your worship, a monk of Blossholme who is
+weary of Grace and its pilgrimages, and seeks the King's comfort and
+pardon, which I have made bold to promise to him."
+
+"Good," said Jacob, "I'll enter his name, and if he remains faithful
+your promise shall be kept. But why do you bring him here?"
+
+"Because he bears tidings."
+
+Now something in Bolle's voice caused Cicely, who was brooding apart,
+to look up sharply and say--
+
+"Speak, and be swift."
+
+"My Lady," began the man in a slow voice, "I, who am named Basil in
+religion, have fled the Abbey because, although a monk, I am true to
+the King, and moreover have suffered much from the Abbot, who has just
+returned raging, having met with some reverse out Lincoln way, I know
+not what. My news is that your lord, Sir Christopher Harflete, and his
+servant Jeffrey Stokes are prisoners in the Abbey dungeons, whither
+they were brought last night by a company of the rebels who had
+captured them and afterwards rode on."
+
+"Prisoners!" exclaimed Cicely. "Then he is not dead or wounded? At
+least he is whole and safe?"
+
+"Aye, my Lady, whole and safe as a mouse in the paws of a cat before
+it is eaten."
+
+The blood left Cicely's cheeks. In her mind's eye she saw Abbot Maldon
+turned into a great cat with a monk's head and patting Christopher
+with his claws.
+
+"My fault, my fault!" she said in a heavy voice. "Oh, if I had not
+called him he would have escaped. Would that I had been stricken
+dumb!"
+
+"I don't think so," answered Brother Basil. "There were others
+watching for him ahead who, when he was taken, went away and that is
+how you came to get through so neatly. At least there he lies, and if
+you would save him, you had best gather what strength you can and
+strike at once."
+
+"Does he know that I live?" asked Cicely.
+
+"How can I tell, Lady? The Abbey dungeons are no good place for news.
+Yet the monk who took him his food this morning said that Sir
+Christopher told him that he had been undone by some ghost which
+called to him with the voice of his dead wife as he rode near King's
+Grave Mount."
+
+Now when Cicely heard this she rose and left the room accompanied by
+Emlyn, for she could bear no more.
+
+But Jacob Smith and Bolle remained questioning the man closely upon
+many matters, and, having learned all he could tell them, sent him
+away under guard and sat there till midnight consulting and making up
+their plans with the farmers and yeomen whom they called to them from
+time to time.
+
+Next morning early they sought out Cicely and told her that to them it
+seemed wise that the Abbey should be attacked without delay.
+
+"But my husband lies there," she answered in distress, "and then they
+will kill him."
+
+"So I fear they may if we do not attack," replied Jacob. "Moreover,
+Lady, to tell the truth, there are other things to be thought of. For
+instance, the King's cause and honour, which we are bound to forward,
+and the lives and goods of all those who through us have declared
+themselves for him. If we lie idle Abbot Maldon will send messengers
+to the north and within a few days bring down thousands upon us,
+against whom we cannot hope to stand. Indeed, it is probable that he
+has already sent. But if they hear that the Abbey has fallen the
+rebels will scarcely come for revenge alone. Lastly, if we sit with
+folded hands, our own people may grow cold with doubts and fears and
+melt away, who now are hot as fire."
+
+"If it must be, so let it be. In God's hands I leave his life," said
+Cicely in a heavy voice.
+
+
+
+That day the King's men, under the captaincy of Bolle, advanced and
+invested the Abbey, setting their camp in Blossholme village. Cicely,
+who would not be left behind, came with them and once more took up her
+quarters in the Priory, which on a formal summons opened its gates to
+her, its only guard, the deaf gardener, surrendering at discretion. He
+was set to work as a camp servant, and never in his life did he labour
+so hard before, since Emlyn, who owed him many a grudge, saw to it
+that he did not lack for tasks that were mean and heavy.
+
+Now that day Thomas and others spied out the Abbey and returned
+shaking their heads, for without cannon--and as yet they had none--the
+great building of hewn stone seemed almost impregnable. At but one
+spot indeed was attack possible, from the back where once stood the
+dormers and farm steadings which Emlyn had egged on Thomas to burn.
+These had been built up to the inner edge of the moat, making, as it
+were, part of the Abbey wall, but the fierce fire had so cracked and
+crumbled their masonry that several rods of it had fallen forward into
+the water.
+
+For purposes of defence the gap this formed was now closed by a double
+palisade of stout stakes, filled in with faggots, the charred beams of
+the old buildings and other rubbish. Yet to carry this palisade,
+protected as it was by the broad and deep moat and commanded from the
+windows and the corner tower, was more than they dared try, since if
+it could be done at all it would certainly cost them very many lives.
+One thing they had learned, however, from the monk Basil and others,
+that in the Abbey there was but small store of food to feed so many:
+three days' supply, said Basil, and none put it at over four.
+
+That evening, then, they held another council, at which it was
+determined to starve the place out and only attempt an onslaught if
+their spies reported to them that the rebels were marching to its
+relief.
+
+"But," urged Cicely, "then my lord and Jeffrey Stokes will starve
+also," whereon they went away sadly, saying there was no choice,
+seeing that they were but two men and the lives of many lay at stake.
+
+The siege began, just such a siege as Cicely had suffered at Cranwell
+Towers. The first day the garrison of the Abbey scoffed at them from
+the walls. The second day they scoffed no longer, noting that the
+force of the besiegers increased, which it did hourly. The third day
+suddenly they let down the drawbridge and poured out on to it as
+though for a sortie, but when they perceived the scores of Bolle's men
+waiting bow in hand and arrow on string, changed their minds and drew
+the bridge up again.
+
+"They grow hungry and desperate," said the shrewd Jacob. "Soon we
+shall have some message from them."
+
+He was right, since just before sunset a postern gate was opened and a
+man, holding a white flag above his head, was seen swimming across the
+moat. He scrambled out on the farther side, shook himself like a dog,
+and advanced slowly to where Bolle and the women stood upon the Abbey
+green out of arrow-shot from the walls. Indeed, Cicely, who was weak
+with dread and wretchedness, leaned against the oaken stake that had
+never been removed, to which once she was tied to be burned for
+witchcraft.
+
+"Who is that man?" said Emlyn to her.
+
+Cicely scanned the gaunt, bearded figure who walked haltingly like one
+that is sick.
+
+"I know not--yes, yes, he puts me in mind of Jeffrey Stokes!"
+
+"Jeffrey it is and no other," said Emlyn, nodding her head. "Now what
+news does he bear, I wonder?"
+
+Cicely made no reply, only clung to her stake and waited, with just
+such a heart as once she had waited there while the Abbey cook blew up
+his brands to fire her faggots. Jeffrey was opposite to her now; his
+sunken eyes fell upon her, and at the sight his bearded chin dropped,
+making his face look even more long and hollow than it had before.
+
+"Ah!" he said, speaking to himself, "many wars and journeyings, months
+in an infidel galley, three days with not enough food to feed a rat
+and a bath in November water! Well, such things, to say nothing of a
+worse, turn men's brains. Yet to think that I should live to see a
+daylight ghost in homely Blossholme, who never met with one before."
+
+Still staring he shook the water from his beard, then added, "Lay-
+brother or Captain Thomas Bolle, whichever you may be now-a-days, if
+you're not a ghost also, give me a quart of strong ale and a loaf of
+bread, for I'm empty as a gutted herring, and floating heavenward, so
+to speak, who would stick upon this scurvy earth."
+
+"Jeffrey, Jeffrey," broke in Cicely, "what news of your master? Emlyn,
+tell him that we still live. He does not understand."
+
+"Oh, you still live, do you?" he added slowly. "So the fire could not
+burn you after all, or Emlyn either. Well, then, there's hope for
+every one, and perhaps hunger and Abbot Maldon's knives cannot kill
+Christopher Harflete."
+
+"He lives, then, and is well?"
+
+"He lives and is as well as a man may be after a three days' fast in a
+black dungeon that is somewhat damp. Here's a writing on the matter
+for the captain of this company," and, taking a letter from the folds
+of the white flag in which it had been fastened, he handed it to
+Bolle, who, as he could not read, passed it on to Jacob Smith. Just
+then a lad brought the ale for which Jeffrey had asked, and with it a
+platter of cold meat and bread, on which he fell like a famished
+hound, drinking in great gulps and devouring the food almost without
+chewing it.
+
+"By the saints, you are starved, Jeffrey," said a yeoman who stood by.
+"Come with me and shift those wet clothes of yours, or you will take
+harm," and he led him off, still eating, to a tent that stood near by.
+
+Meanwhile, Jacob, having studied the letter with bent and anxious
+brows, read it aloud. It ran thus--
+
+
+ "To the Captain of the King's men, from Clement, Abbot of
+  Blossholme.
+
+ "By what warrant I know not you besiege us here, threatening this
+  Abbey and its Religious with fire and sword. I am told that Cicely
+  Foterell is your leader. Say, then, to that escaped witch that I
+  hold the man she calls her husband, and who is the father of her
+  base-born child, a prisoner. Unless this night she disperses her
+  troop and sends me a writing signed and witnessed, promising
+  indemnity on behalf of the King for me and those with me for all
+  that we may have done against him and his laws, or privately
+  against her, and freedom to go where we will without pursuit or
+  hindrance or loss of land or chattels, know that to-morrow at the
+  dawn we put to death Christopher Harflete, Knight, in punishment
+  of the murders and other crimes that he has committed against us,
+  and in proof thereof his body shall be hung from the Abbey tower.
+  If otherwise we will leave him unharmed here where you shall find
+  him after we have gone. For the rest, ask his servant, Jeffrey
+  Stokes, whom we send to you with this letter.
+
+"Clement, Abbot."
+
+
+Jacob finished reading and a silence fell upon all who listened.
+
+"Let us go to some private place and consider this matter," said
+Emlyn.
+
+"Nay," broke in Cicely, "it is I, who in my lord's absence, hold the
+King's commission and I will be heard. Thomas Bolle, first send a man
+under flag to the Abbot, saying, that if aught of harm befalls Sir
+Christopher Harflete I'll put every living soul within the Abbey walls
+to death by sword or rope, and stand answerable for it to the King.
+Set it in writing, Master Smith, and send with it copy of the King's
+commission for my warrant. At once, let it be done at once."
+
+So they went to a cottage near by, which Bolle used as a guard-house,
+where this stern message was written down, copied out fair, signed by
+Cicely and by Bolle, as captain, with Jacob Smith for witness. This
+paper, together with a copy of the King's commissions, Cicely with her
+own hand gave to a bold and trusty man, charged to ask an answer, who
+departed, carrying the white flag and wearing a steel shirt beneath
+his doublet, for fear of treachery.
+
+When he had gone they sent for Jeffrey, who arrived clad in dry
+garments and still eating, for his hunger was that of a wolf.
+
+"Tell us all," said Cicely.
+
+"It will be a long story if I begin at the beginning, Lady. When your
+worshipful father, Sir John, and I rode away from Shefton on the day
+of his murder----"
+
+"Nay, nay," interrupted Cicely, "that may stand, we have no time. My
+lord and you escaped from Lincoln, did you not, and, as we saw, were
+taken in the forest?"
+
+"Aye, Lady. Some tricksy spirit called out with your voice and he
+heard and pulled rein, and so they came on to us and overwhelmed us,
+though without hurt as it chanced. Then they brought us to the Abbey
+and thrust us into that accursed dungeon, where, save for a little
+bread and water, we have starved for three days in the dark. That is
+all the tale."
+
+"How, then, did you come out, Jeffrey?"
+
+"Thus, my Lady. Something over an hour ago a monk and three guards
+unlocked the dungeon door. While we blinked at his lantern, like owls
+in the sunlight, the monk said that the Abbot purposed to send me to
+the camp of the King's party to offer Christopher Harflete's life
+against the lives of all of them. He told him, Harflete, also, that he
+had brought ink and paper and that if he wished to save himself he
+would do well to write a letter praying that this offer might be
+accepted, since otherwise he would certainly die at dawn."
+
+"And what said my husband?" asked Cicely, leaning forward.
+
+"What said he? Why, he laughed in their faces and told them that first
+he would cut off his hand. On this they haled me out of the dungeon
+roughly enough, for I would have stayed there with him to the end. But
+as the door closed he shouted after me, 'Tell the King's officers to
+burn this rats' nest and take no heed of Christopher Harflete, who
+desires to die!'"
+
+"Why does he desire to die?" asked Cicely again.
+
+"Because he thinks his wife dead, Mistress, as I did, and believes
+that in the forest he heard her voice calling him to join her."
+
+"Oh God! oh God!" moaned Cicely; "I shall be his death."
+
+"Not so," answered Jeffrey. "Do you know so little of Christopher
+Harflete that you think he would sell the King's cause to gain his own
+life? Why, if you yourself came and pleaded with him he would thrust
+you away, saying, 'Get thee behind me, Satan!'"
+
+"I believe it, and I am proud," muttered Cicely. "If need be, let
+Harflete die, we'll keep his honour and our own lest he should live to
+curse us. Go on."
+
+"Well, they led me to the Abbot, who gave me that letter which you
+have, and bade me take it and tell the case to whoever commanded here.
+Then he lifted up his hand and, laying it on the crucifix about his
+neck, swore that this was no idle threat, but that unless his terms
+were taken, Harflete should hang from the tower top at to-morrow's
+dawn, adding, though I knew not what he meant, 'I think you'll find
+one yonder who will listen to that reasoning.' Now he was dismissing
+me when a soldier said--
+
+"'Is it wise to free this Stokes? You forget, my Lord Abbot, that he
+is alleged to have witnessed a certain slaying yonder in the forest
+and will bear evidence.' 'Aye,' answered Maldon, 'I had forgotten who
+in this press remembered only that no other man would be believed.
+Still, perhaps it would be best to choose a different messenger and to
+silence this fellow at once. Write down that Jeffrey Stokes, a
+prisoner, strove to escape and was killed by the guards in self-
+defence. Take him hence and let me hear no more.'
+
+"Now my blood went cold, although I strove to look as careless as a
+man may on an empty stomach after three days in the dark, and cursed
+him prettily in Spanish to his face. Then, as they were haling me off,
+Brother Martin--do you remember him? he was our companion in some
+troubles over-seas--stepped forward out of the shadow and said, 'Of
+what use is it, Abbot, to stain your soul with so foul a murder? Since
+John Foterell died the King has many things to lay to your account,
+and any one of them will hang you. Should you fall into his hands,
+he'll not hark back to Foterell's death, if, indeed, you were to blame
+in that matter.'
+
+"'You speak roughly, Brother,' answered the Abbot; 'and acts of war
+are not murder, though perchance afterwards you might say they were,
+to save your own skin, or others might. Well, if so, there's wisdom in
+your words. Touch not the man. Give him the letter and thrust him into
+the moat to swim it. His lies can make no odds in the count against
+us.'
+
+"Well, they did so, and I came here, as you saw, to find you living,
+and now I understand why Maldon thought that Harflete's life is worth
+so much," and, having done his tale, once more Jeffrey began to eat.
+
+Cicely looked at him, they all looked at him--this gaunt, fierce man
+who, after many other sorrows and strivings, had spent three days in a
+black dungeon with the rats, fed upon water and a few fingers of black
+bread. Yes; with the crawling rats and another man so dear to one of
+them, who still sat in that horrid hole, waiting to be hung like a
+felon at the dawn. The silence, with only Jeffrey's munching to break
+it, grew painful, so that all were glad when the door opened and the
+messenger whom they had sent to the Abbey appeared. He was breathless,
+having run fast, and somewhat disturbed, perhaps because two arrows
+were sticking in his back, or rather in his jerkin, for the mail
+beneath had stopped them.
+
+"Speak," said old Jacob Smith; "what is your answer?"
+
+"Look behind me, master, and you will find it," replied the man. "They
+set a ladder across the moat and a board on that, over which a priest
+tripped to take my writing. I waited a while, till presently I heard a
+voice hail me from the gateway tower, and, looking up, saw Abbot
+Maldon standing there, with a face like that of a black devil.
+
+"'Hark you, knave,' he said to me, 'get you gone to the witch, Cicely
+Foterell, and to the recreant monk, Bolle, whom I curse and
+excommunicate from the fellowship of Holy Church, and tell them to
+watch for the first light of dawn, for by it, somewhat high up,
+they'll see Christopher Harflete hanging black against the morning
+sky!'
+
+"On hearing this I lost my caution, and hallooed back--
+
+"'If so, ere to-morrow's nightfall you shall keep him company, every
+one of you, black against the evening sky, except those who go to be
+quartered at Tower Hill and Tyburn.' Then I ran and they shot at me,
+hitting once or twice, but, though old, the mail was good, and here am
+I, unhurt except for bruises."
+
+
+
+A while later Cicely, Jacob Smith, Thomas Bolle, Jeffrey Stokes, and
+Emlyn Stower sat together taking counsel--very earnest counsel, for
+the case was desperate. Plan after plan was brought forward and set
+aside for this reason or for that, till at length they stared at each
+other emptily.
+
+"Emlyn," exclaimed Cicely at last, "in past days you were wont to be
+full of comfortable words; have you never a one in this extreme?" for
+all the while Emlyn had sat silent.
+
+"Thomas," said Emlyn, looking up, "do you remember when we were
+children where we used to catch the big carp in the Abbey moat?"
+
+"Aye, woman," he answered; "but what time is this for fishing stories
+of many years ago? As I was saying, of that tunnel underground there
+is no hope. Beyond the grove it is utterly caved in and blocked--I've
+tried it. If we had a week, perhaps----"
+
+"Let her be," broke in Jacob; "she has something to tell us."
+
+"And do you remember," went on Emlyn, "that you told me that there the
+carp were so big and fat because just at this place 'neath the
+drawbridge the Abbey sewer--the big Abbey sewer down which all foul
+things are poured--empties itself into the moat, and that therefore I
+would eat none of those fish, even in Lent?"
+
+"Aye, I remember. What of it?"
+
+"Thomas, did I hear you say that the powder you sent for had come?"
+
+"Yes, an hour ago; six kegs, by the carrier's van, of a hundredweight
+each. Not so much as we hoped for, but something, though, as the
+cannon has not come--for the King's folk had none--it is of no use."
+
+"A dark night, a ladder with a plank on it, a brick arched drain, two
+hundredweight, or better still, four of powder set beneath the gate, a
+slow-match and a brave man to fire it--taken together with God's
+blessing, these things might do much," mused Emlyn, as though to
+herself.
+
+Now at length they took her point.
+
+"They'd be listening like a cat for a mouse," said Bolle.
+
+"I think the wind rises," she answered; "I hear it in the trees. I
+think presently it will blow a gale. Also, lanterns might be shown at
+the back where the breach is, and men might shout there, as though
+preparing to attack. That would draw them off. Meanwhile Jeffrey
+Stokes and I would try our luck with the ladder and the kegs of
+powder--he to roll and I to fire when the time came, for being, as you
+have heard, a witch, I understand how to humour brimstone."
+
+
+
+Ten minutes later, and their plans were fixed. Two hours later, and,
+in the midst of a raving gale, hidden by the pitchy darkness and the
+towering screen of the lifted drawbridge, Emlyn and the strong Jeffrey
+rolled the kegs of powder over planks laid across the moat, into the
+mouth of the big drain and twenty feet down it, till they lay under
+the gateway towers! Then, lying there in the stinking filth, they drew
+the spigots out of holes that they had made in them, and in their
+place set the slow-matches. Jeffrey struck a flint, blew the tinder to
+a glow, and handed it to Emlyn.
+
+"Now get you gone," she said; "I follow. At this job one is better
+than two."
+
+A minute later she joined him on the farther bank of the moat. "Run!"
+she said. "Run for your life; there's death behind!"
+
+He obeyed, but Emlyn turned and screamed, till, hearing her through
+the gale, all the guard hurried up the towers, flashing lanterns, to
+see what passed.
+
+"STORM! STORM!" she cried. "UP WITH THE LADDERS! FOR THE KIND AND
+HARFLETE! STORM! STORM!"
+
+Then she too turned and fled.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+OUT OF THE SHADOWS
+
+Through the black night sudden and red there shot a sheet of fire
+illumining all things as lightning does. Above the roaring of the gale
+there echoed a dull and heavy noise like to that of muffled thunder.
+Then after a moment's pause and silence the sky rained stones, and
+with them the limbs of men.
+
+"The gateway's gone," shouted a great voice, it was that of Bolle.
+"Out with the ladders!"
+
+Men who were waiting ran up with them and thrust them, four in all,
+athwart the moat. By the planks that were lashed along their staves
+they scrambled across and over the piles of shattered masonry into the
+courtyard beyond where none waited them, for all who watched here were
+dead or maimed.
+
+"Light the lanterns," shouted Bolle again, "for it will be dark in
+yonder," and a man who followed with a torch obeyed him.
+
+Then they rushed across the courtyard to the door of the refectory,
+which stood open. Here in the wide, high-roofed hall they met the mass
+of Maldon's people pouring back from the faggoted breach, where they
+had been gathered, expecting attack, some of them also bearing
+lanterns. For a moment the two parties stood staring at each other;
+then followed a wild and savage scene. With shouts and oaths and
+battle-cries they fought furiously. The massive, oaken tables were
+overthrown, by the red flicker of the pole-borne lanterns men grappled
+and fell and slew each other upon the floor. A priest struck down a
+yeoman with a brazen crucifix, and next moment himself was brained
+with its broken shaft.
+
+"For God and Grace!" shouted some; "For the King and Harflete!"
+answered others.
+
+"Keep line! Keep line!" roared Bolle, "and sweep them out."
+
+The lanterns were dashed down and extinguished till but one remained,
+a red and wavering star. Hoarse voices shouted for light, for none
+knew friend from foe. It came; some one had fired the tapestries and
+the blaze ran up them to the roof. Then fearing lest they should be
+roasted, the Abbot's folk gave way and fled to the farther door,
+followed by their foes. Here it was that most of them fell, for they
+jammed in the doorway and were cut down there are on the stair beyond.
+
+While Bolle still plied his axe fiercely, some one caught his arm and
+screamed into his ear--
+
+"Let be! Let be! The wretch is sped."
+
+In his red wrath he turned to strike the speaker, and saw by the flare
+that it was Cicely.
+
+"What do you here?" he cried. "Get gone."
+
+"Fool," she answered in a low, fierce voice, "I seek my husband. Show
+me the path ere it be too late, you know it alone. Come, Jeffrey
+Stokes, a lantern, a lantern!"
+
+Jeffrey appeared, sword in one hand and lantern in the other, and with
+him Emlyn, who also held a sword which she had plucked from a fallen
+man, Emlyn still foul with the filth of the sewer and the mud of the
+moat.
+
+"I may not leave," muttered Thomas Bolle. "I seek Maldon."
+
+"On to the dungeons," shrieked Emlyn, "or I will stab you. I heard
+them give word to kill Harflete."
+
+Then he snatched the light from Jeffrey's hand, and crying "Follow
+me," rushed along a passage till they came to an open door and beyond
+it to stairs. They descended the stairs and passed other passages
+which ran underground, till a sudden turn to the right brought them to
+a little walled-in place with a vaulted roof. Two torches flared in
+iron holders in the masonry, and by the light of them they saw a
+strange and fearful sight.
+
+At the end of the open place a heavy, nail-studded door stood wide,
+revealing a cell, or rather a little cave beyond--those who are
+curious can see it to this day. Fastened by a chain to the wall of
+this dungeon was a man, who held in his hand a three-legged stool and
+tugged at his chain like a maddened beast. In front of him, holding
+the doorway, stood a tall, lank priest, his robe tucked up into his
+girdle. He was wounded, for blood poured from his shaven crown and he
+plied a great sword with both hands, striking savagely at four men who
+tried to cut him down. As Bolle and his party appeared, one of these
+men fell beneath the priest's blows, and another took his place,
+shouting--
+
+"Out of the way, traitor. We would kill Harflete, not you."
+
+"We die or live together, murderers," answered the priest in a thick,
+gasping voice.
+
+At this moment one of them, it was he who had spoken, heard the sound
+of the rescuers' footsteps and glanced back. In an instant he turned
+and was running past them like a hare. As he went the light from the
+lantern fell upon his face, and Emlyn knew it for that of the Abbot.
+She struck at him with the sword she held, but the steel glanced from
+his mail. He also struck, but at the lantern, dashing it to the
+ground.
+
+"Seize him," screamed Emlyn. "Seize Maldon, Jeffrey," and at the words
+Stokes bounded away, only to return presently, having lost him in the
+dark passages. Then with a roar Bolle leaped upon the two remaining
+men-at-arms as they faced about, and very soon between his axe and the
+sword of the priest behind, they sank to the ground and died still
+fighting, who knew they had no hope of quarter.
+
+It was over and done and dreadful silence fell upon the place, the
+silence of the dead broken only by the heavy breathing of those who
+remained alive. There the wounded monk leaned against the door-post,
+his red sword drooping to the floor. There Harflete, the stool still
+lifted, rested his weight against the chain and peered forward in
+amazement, swaying as though from weakness. And lastly there lay the
+three slain men, one of whom still moved a little.
+
+Cicely crept forward; over the dead she went and past the priest till
+she stood face to face with the prisoner.
+
+"Come nearer and I will dash out your brains," he said in a hoarse
+voice, for such light as there was came from behind her whom he
+thought to be but another of the murderers.
+
+Then at length she found her voice.
+
+"Christopher!" she cried, "Christopher!"
+
+He hearkened, and the stool fell from his hand.
+
+"The Voice again," he muttered. "Well, 'tis time. Tarry a while, Wife,
+I come, I come!" and he fell back against the wall shutting his eyes.
+
+She leapt to him, and throwing her arms about him kissed his lips, his
+poor, bloodless lips. The shut eyes opened.
+
+"Death might be worse," he said, "but so I knew that we would meet."
+
+Now Emlyn, seeing some change in his face, snatched one of the torches
+from its iron and ran forward, holding it so that the light fell full
+on Cicely.
+
+"Oh, Christopher," she cried, "I am no ghost, but your living wife."
+
+He heard, he stared, he stared again, then lifted his thin hand and
+stroked her hair.
+
+"Oh God," he exclaimed, "the dead live!" and down he fell in a heap at
+her feet.
+
+They thrust Cicely aside, Cicely who stood there shivering, she who
+thought he had gone again and this time for ever. With difficulty they
+broke the chain whereby he had been held like a kennelled hound, and
+bore him, still senseless, up the long passages, Bolle going ahead as
+guard and Jeffrey Stokes following after. Behind them came Emlyn
+supporting the wounded monk Martin, for it was he and no other who had
+saved the life of Christopher.
+
+As they went up towards the stairs they heard a roaring noise.
+
+"Fire!" said Cicely, who knew that sound well, and next instant the
+light of it burst upon them and its smoke wrapped them round. The
+Abbey was ablaze, and its wide hall in front looked like the mouth of
+hell.
+
+"Did I not prophesy that it would be so--yonder at Cranwell burning?"
+asked Emlyn, with a fierce laugh.
+
+"Follow me!" shouted Bolle. "Be swift now ere the roof falls and traps
+us."
+
+On they went desperately, leaving the hall on their left, and well for
+them was it that Thomas knew the way. One little chamber through which
+they passed had already caught, for flakes of fire fell among them
+from above and here the smoke was very thick. They were through it,
+who even a minute later could never have walked that path and lived.
+They were through it and out into the open air by the cloister door,
+which those who fled before them had left wide. They reached the moat
+just where the breach had been mended with faggots, and mounting on
+them Bolle shouted till one of his own men heard him and dropped the
+bow that he had raised to shoot him as a rebel. Then planks and
+ladders were brought, and at last they escaped from danger and the
+intolerable heat.
+
+
+
+Thus it was that Cicely who lost her love in fire, in fire found him
+once again.
+
+For Christopher was not dead as at first they feared. They carried him
+to the Priory, and there Emlyn, having felt his heart and found that
+it still beat, though faintly, sent Mother Matilda to fetch some of
+that Portugal wine of hers which Commissioner Legh had praised.
+Spoonful by spoonful she poured it down his throat, till at length he
+opened his eyes, though only to shut them again in natural sleep, for
+the wine had taken a hold of his starved body and weakened brain. For
+hour after hour Cicely sat by him, only rising from time to time to
+watch the burning of the great Abbey church, as once she had watched
+that of its dormers and farm-steading.
+
+About three in the morning the lead ceased to pour down in a silvery
+molten shower, its roofs fell in, and by dawn it was nothing but a
+fire-blackened shell much as it remains to-day. Just before daybreak
+Emlyn came to her, saying--
+
+"There is one who would speak with you."
+
+"I cannot see him," she answered, "I bide by my husband."
+
+"Yet you should," said Emlyn, "since but for him you would now have no
+husband. The monk Martin, who held off the murderers, is dying and
+desires to bid you farewell."
+
+Then Cicely went to find the man still conscious, but fading away with
+the flow of his own blood, which could not be stayed by any skill they
+had.
+
+"I have come to thank you," she murmured, who knew not what else to
+say.
+
+"Thank me not," he answered faintly, pausing often between his words,
+"who did but strive to repay part of a great debt. Last winter I
+shared in awful sin, in obedience, not to my heart, but to my vows. I
+who was set to watch the body of your husband found that he lived, and
+by my help he was borne away upon a ship. That ship was taken by the
+Infidels, and afterwards he and I and Jeffrey served together upon
+their galleys. There I fell sick, and your husband nursed me back to
+life. It was I who brought you the deeds and wrote the letter which I
+gave to Emlyn Stower. My vows still held me fast, and I did no more.
+This night I broke their bonds, for when I heard the order given that
+he should be slain I ran down before the murderers and fought my best,
+forgetting that I was a priest, till at length you came. Let this
+atone my crimes against my Country, my King and you that I died for my
+friend at last, as I am glad to do who find this world--too
+difficult."
+
+"I will tell him if he lives," sobbed Cicely.
+
+He opened his eyes, which had shut, and answered--
+
+"Oh, he'll live, he'll live. You have had many troubles, but, save for
+the creep of age and death, they are over. I can see and know."
+
+Again he shut his eyes and the watchers thought that all was done,
+till of a sudden once more he opened them and added in broken tones--
+
+"The Abbot--show him mercy--if you can. He is wicked and cruel, but I
+have been his confessor and know his heart. He strove for a good end--
+by an evil road. Queen Catherine was the King's lawful wife. To seize
+the monasteries is shameless theft. Also his blood is not English; he
+sees otherwise, and serves the Pope as I do, and Spain, as I do not.
+As I have helped you, help him. Judge not, that ye be not judged.
+Promise!" and he raised himself a little on the bed and looked at her
+earnestly.
+
+"I promise," answered Cicely, and as she spoke Martin smiled. Then his
+face turned quite grey, all the light went out of his eyes and a
+moment later Emlyn threw a linen cloth over his head. It was finished.
+
+Cicely returned to Christopher to find him sitting up in bed drinking
+a bowl of broth.
+
+"Oh, my husband, my husband," she said, casting her arms about him.
+Then she took her son and laid him upon his father's breast.
+
+
+Three days had gone by and Christopher and Cicely were walking in the
+shrubbery of Shefton Hall. By now, although still weak, he was almost
+recovered, whose only sickness had been grief and famine, for which
+joy and plenty are wonderful medicines. It was evening, a pleasant and
+beautiful early winter evening just fading into night. Seated on a
+bench he had been telling her his adventures, and they were a moving
+tale worthy, as Cicely wrote afterwards in a letter to old Jacob Smith
+that is still extant in her fine, quaint handwriting, to be recorded
+in a book, though this it would seem was never done.
+
+He told her of the great fight on the ship /Great Yarmouth/, when they
+were taken by the two Turkish pirates, and of how bravely Father
+Martin bore himself. Afterwards when they came to the galleys, by good
+fortune Martin, Jeffrey and he served on the same bench. Then Martin
+fell sick of some Southern fever, and being in port at Tunis at the
+time, where they could get fruit, they nursed him back to life and
+strength. Four months later the Emperor Charles attacked Tunis, and
+when it fell, through God's mercy, they were rescued with the other
+Christian slaves, after which Martin returned to England taking old
+Sir John's writings to be delivered to his next heir, for they all
+believed Cicely to be dead.
+
+But Christopher and Jeffrey, having nothing to seek at home, stayed to
+fight with the Spaniards against the Turks, who had oppressed them so
+sorely. When that war was over they made their way back to England,
+not knowing where else to go and having a score to settle against the
+Spanish Abbot of Blossholme, and--well, she knew the rest.
+
+Aye, answered Cicely, she knew it and never would forget it, but it
+was chill for him sitting on that bench, he must come in. Christopher
+laughed at her, and answered--
+
+"Sweetheart, if you could have seen the bench on which it was my lot
+to sit yonder off the coast of Africa, but new recovered from the
+wound which I had of Maldon's men at Cranwell Towers, you would not be
+anxious for me here. There for six long months chained to Jeffrey and
+to Father Martin, for it pleased those heathen devils to keep the
+three of us together, perhaps that they might watch us better, through
+the hot days that scorched us, and the chill, wet nights, we laboured
+at our oars, while infidel overseers ran up and down the boards and
+thrashed us with their whips of hide. Yes," he added slowly, "they
+thrashed us as though we were oxen in a yoke. You have seen the scars
+upon my back."
+
+"Oh, God! to think of it," she murmured; "you, a noble Englishman,
+beaten by those savage wretches like a brute? How did you bear it,
+Christopher?"
+
+"I know not, Wife. I think that had it not been for that angel in
+man's form, the priest Martin--peace be to his noble soul--that angel
+who thrice at least has saved my life, I should have dashed out my
+brains against the thwarts, or starved myself to death, or provoked
+the Moors to kill me; I, who, thinking you dead, had no hope to live
+for. But Martin taught me otherwise; he preached patience and
+submission, saying that I did not suffer for nothing--of his own
+miseries he never spoke--and that he was sure that fearful as was my
+lot, all things worked together for good to me."
+
+"And therefore it was that you lived on, Husband? Oh! I'll build a
+shrine to that saint Martin."
+
+"Not altogether, dear. I'll tell you true; I lived for vengeance--
+vengeance on Clement Maldon, the man, or the devil, who wrought me all
+this ill, and, being yet young, made me old with grief and pain," and
+he pointed to his scarred forehead and the hair above, that was now
+grizzled with white, "and vengeance, too, upon those worshippers of
+Mohammed, my masters. Yes; though Martin reproved me when I made
+confession to him, I think it was for that I lived, and the saints
+know," he added grimly, "afterwards at the sack, and elsewhere, I took
+it on the Turks. Oh! you should have seen the last meeting of Jeffrey
+and myself with the captain of that galley and his officers who had so
+often beaten us. No, I am glad you did not see it, for it was fierce
+and bloody; even the hard-hearted Spaniards stared."
+
+He paused, and perhaps to change the current of his mind--for during
+all his after-life, when Christopher brooded on these things he grew
+gloomy for hours, and even days--Cicely said hurriedly--
+
+"I wonder what has chanced to our enemy, the Abbot. The search has
+been close, the roads are watched, and we know that he had none with
+him, for all his foreign soldiers are slain or taken. I think he must
+be dead in the fire, Christopher."
+
+He shook his head.
+
+"A devil does not die in fire. He is away somewhere, to plot fresh
+murders--perhaps our own and our boy's. Oh!" he added savagely, "till
+my hands are about his throat and my dagger is in his heart there's no
+peace for me, who have a score to pay and you both to guard."
+
+Cicely knew not what to answer; indeed, when this mood was on him it
+was hard to reason with Christopher, who had suffered so fearfully,
+and, like herself, been saved but by a miracle or the mandate of
+Heaven.
+
+Of a sudden a hush fell upon the place. The blackbirds ceased their
+winter chatter in the laurels; it grew so still that they heard a dead
+leaf drop to the ground. The night was at hand. One last red ray from
+the set sun struck across the frosty sky and was reflected to the
+earth. In the light of that ray Christopher's trained eyes caught the
+gleam of something white that moved in the shadow of the beech tree
+where they sat. Like a tiger he sprang at it, and the next moment
+haled out a man.
+
+"Look," he said, twisting the head of his captive so that the glow
+fell on it. "Look; I have the snake. Ah! Wife, you saw nothing, but I
+saw him, and here he is at last--at last!"
+
+"The Abbot!" gasped Cicely.
+
+The Abbot it was indeed, but oh! how changed. His plump, olive-
+coloured countenance had shrunk to that of a skeleton still covered by
+yellow skin, in which the dark eyes rolled bloodshot and unnaturally
+large. His tonsure and jaws showed a growth of stubbly grey hair, his
+frame had become weak and small, his soft and delicate hands resembled
+those of a woman dead of some wasting disease, and, like his garments,
+were clogged with dirt. The mail shirt he wore hung loose upon him;
+one of his shoes was gone, and the toes peeped through his stockinged
+foot. He was but a living misery.
+
+"Deliver your arms," growled Christopher, shaking him as a terrier
+shakes a rat, "or you die. Do you yield? Answer!"
+
+"How can he," broke in Cicely, "when you have him by the throat?"
+
+Christopher loosed his grip of the man's windpipe, and instead seized
+his wrists, whereon the Abbot drew a great breath, for he was almost
+choked, and fell to his knees, in weakness, not in supplication.
+
+"I came to you for mercy," he said presently, "but, having overheard
+your talk, know that I can hope for none. Indeed, why should I, who
+showed none, and whose great cause seems dead, that cause for which I
+fought and lived? Let me die with it. I ask no more. Still, you are a
+gentleman, and therefore I beg a favour of you. Do not hand me over to
+be drawn, hanged and quartered by your brute-king. Kill me now. You
+can say that I attacked you, and that you did it in self-defence. I
+have no arms, but you may set a dagger in my hand."
+
+Christopher looked down at the poor creature huddled at his feet and
+laughed.
+
+"Who would believe me?" he asked; "though, indeed, who would question,
+seeing that your life is forfeit to me or any who can take it? Yet
+that is a matter of which the King's Justices shall judge."
+
+Maldon shivered. "Drawn, hanged and quartered," he repeated beneath
+his breath. "Drawn, hanged and quartered as a traitor to one I never
+served!"
+
+"Why not?" asked Christopher. "You have played a cruel game, and
+lost."
+
+He made no answer; indeed, it was Cicely who spoke, saying--
+
+"How came you in such a case? We thought you fled."
+
+"Lady," he answered, "I've starved for three days and nights in a hole
+in the ground like an earthed-up fox; a culvert in your garden hid me.
+At last I crept out to see the light and die, and heard you talking,
+and thought that I would ask for mercy, since mortal extremity has no
+honour."
+
+"Mercy!" said Cicely. "Of your treasons I say nothing, for you are not
+English, and serve your own king, who years ago sent you here to plot
+against England. But look on this man, my husband. Did he not starve
+for three days and nights in your strong dungeon ere you came thither
+to massacre him? Did you not strive to burn him in his Hall, and ship
+him wounded across the seas to doom? Did you not send your assassin to
+kill my babe, who stood between you and the wealth you needed for your
+plots, and bind me, the mother, to the stake--a food for fire? Did you
+not shoot down my father in the wood, fearing lest he should prove you
+traitor, and after rob me of my heritage? Did you not compel your
+monks to work evil and bring some of them to their deaths? Oh! have
+done! Worm dressed up as God's priest, how can you writhe there and
+ask for mercy?"
+
+"I said I /came/ to seek for mercy because the agony of sleepless
+hunger drove me, who /now/ seek only death. Insult not the fallen,
+Cicely Foterell, but take the vengeance that is your due, and kill,"
+replied the Abbot, looking up at her with his hollow eyes, adding,
+with a laugh that sounded like a groan, "Come, Sir Christopher; you
+have got a sword, and it is time you went to supper. The air is cold;
+your wife--if such she be--said it but now."
+
+"Cicely," said Christopher, "go to the Hall and summon Jeffrey Stokes.
+Emlyn will know where to find him."
+
+"Emlyn!" groaned the Abbot. "Give me not over to Emlyn. She'd torture
+me."
+
+"Nay," said Christopher, "this is not Blossholme Abbey; though what
+may chance in London I know not. Go now, Wife."
+
+But Cicely did not stir; she only stared at the wretched creature at
+her feet.
+
+"I bid you go," repeated Christopher.
+
+"And I'll not obey," she answered. "Do you remember what I promised
+Martin ere he died?"
+
+"Martin dead! Is Martin, who saved your husband, dead?" exclaimed the
+Abbot, lifting his face and letting it fall again. "Happy Martin, to
+be dead."
+
+"I was not there, and I am not bound by your promises, Cicely."
+
+"But I am, and you and I are one. I vowed mercy to this man if he
+should fall into our power, and mercy he shall have."
+
+"Then you spare him to destroy us. The wheels go round quick in
+England, Wife."
+
+"So be it. What I vowed, I vowed. With God be the rest. He has watched
+us well heretofore, and I think," she added, with one of her bursts of
+triumphant faith, "will do so to the end. Abbot Maldon, sinful, fallen
+Abbot Maldon, you are as you were made, and Martin, the saint, said
+that there is good in your heart, though you have shown none of it to
+me or mine. Now, look you; yonder is a wooden summer-house, thatched
+and warm. Get you there, and I'll send you food and wine and new
+clothing by one who will not talk; also a pass to Lincoln. By
+to-morrow's dawn you will be refreshed, and then you will find a good
+horse tied to yonder tree, and so away to sanctuary at Lincoln, and,
+if aught of ill befalls you afterwards, know it is not our doing, but
+that of some other enemy, or of God, with Whom I pray you make your
+peace. May He forgive you, as I do, Who knows all hearts, which I do
+not. Now, farewell. Nay, say nothing. There is nothing to be said.
+Come, Christopher, for this once you obey me, not I you."
+
+So they went, and the wretched man raised himself upon his hands and
+looked after them, but what passed in his heart at that moment none
+will ever learn.
+
+
+
+Some months had gone by and Blossholme, with all the country round,
+was once more at peace. The tide of trouble had rolled away northward,
+whence came rumours of renewed rebellion. Abbot Maldon had been seen
+no more, and for a while it was believed that although he never took
+sanctuary at Lincoln, he had done a wiser thing and fled to Spain.
+Then Emlyn, who heard everything, got news that this was not so, but
+that he was foremost among those who stirred up sedition and war along
+the Scottish border.
+
+"I can well believe it," said Cicely. "The sow must to its wallowing
+in the mire. Nature made him a plotter, and he will follow his heart
+to the end."
+
+"Ere long he may find it hard to follow his head," answered Emlyn
+grimly. "Oh, to think that you had that wolf caged and turned him
+loose again to prey on England and on us!"
+
+"I did but show mercy to the fallen, Nurse."
+
+"Mercy? I call it madness. Why, when Jeffrey and Thomas heard of it I
+thought they would burst with rage, especially Jeffrey, who loved your
+father well and loved not the infidel galleys," answered the fierce
+Emlyn.
+
+"Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord," murmured Cicely in
+a gentle voice.
+
+"The Lord also said that whoso sheddeth man's blood by man shall his
+blood be shed. Why, I've heard this Maldon quote it to your husband at
+Cranwell Towers."
+
+"So will it be, Emlyn, if so it is to be, only let others shed that
+cruel blood. I would not have it on my hands or on those of any of my
+house, for after all he is an ordained priest of my own faith.
+Moreover, I had promised. Still, talk not of the matter lest it should
+bring trouble on us all, who had no right to loose him. Also these are
+ill thoughts for your wedding day. Go, deck yourself in those fine
+clothes which Jacob Smith has sent from London, since the clergyman
+will be at Blossholme church by four, and I think that Thomas has
+waited long enough for you."
+
+Emlyn smiled a little, and shrugged her broad shoulders, muttering
+something that would have angered Thomas if he could have heard it, as
+Cicely went off to join Christopher, who called to her from another
+room.
+
+She found him adding up figures on paper, a very different Christopher
+to the broken man they had rescued from the dungeon, though still much
+aged by the terrors of the past year and just now looking rueful.
+
+"See, Sweet," he said, "we should give a marriage portion to Emlyn,
+who has earned it if ever woman did, but where it is to come from I
+know not. Those Abbey lands Jacob Smith bought from the King are not
+yours yet, nor Henry's either, though doubtless he will have them
+soon. Neither have any rents been paid to you from your own estates,
+and when they come they are promised up in London, while the Abbot's
+razor has shaved my own poor parsimony bare as a churchyard skull.
+Also Mother Matilda and her nuns must be kept till we can endow them
+with their lands again. One day we, or our boy yonder, may be rich,
+but till it comes there are hard times for all of us."
+
+"Not so hard as some we have known, Husband," she answered, laughing,
+"for at least we are free and have food to eat, and for the rest we
+will borrow from Jacob Smith on the jewels that remain over. Indeed, I
+have written to him and he will not refuse."
+
+"Aye, but how about Thomas and Emlyn?"
+
+"They must do as their betters do. Though there is little stock on it,
+Thomas has the Manor Farm at low rent, which he may pay when he can,
+while Jacob put a present in the pocket of Emlyn's wedding dress.
+What's more, I think he will make her his heir, and if so she will be
+rich indeed, so rich that I shall have to curtsey to her. Now, go make
+ready for this marriage, and as you have no fine doublet, bid Jeffrey
+put on your mail, for you look best in that, or so at least I think,
+who to my mind look best in anything you chance to wear."
+
+Then while he demurred, saying that there was now no need to bear arms
+in Blossholme, also that Jeffrey was away settling himself as landlord
+of the Ford Inn, the same that the Abbot had once promised to Flounder
+Megges, she kissed him, and seizing her boy, who lay crowing in the
+sunlight, danced with him from the room. For oh, Cicely's heart was
+merry.
+
+
+
+There were many folk at the marriage of Emlyn Stower and Thomas Bolle,
+for of late Blossholme had been but a sorry place, and this wedding
+came to it like the breath of spring to the woods and meads around, a
+hint of happiness after the miseries of winter. The story of the pair
+had got about also. How they had been pledged in youth and separated
+by scheming men for their own purposes. How Emlyn had been married off
+against her will to an aged partner whom she hated, and Thomas, who
+was set down as a fool, forced to serve the monastery as a lay-
+brother, a strong hind skilled in the management of cattle and such
+matters, but half crazy, as indeed it had suited him to feign himself
+to be.
+
+People knew the end of the thing also; that Emlyn had cursed the
+Abbot, and that her curse had been fulfilled. That Thomas Bolle had
+shaken off his superstitious fears and risen up against him and at
+last been given the commission of the King, and, as his Grace's
+officer, shown himself no fool but a man of mettle who had taken the
+Abbey by storm and rescued Sir Christopher Harflete from its dungeons.
+Emlyn also, like her mistress, had been bound to the stake as a witch,
+and saved from burning by this same Thomas, who with her had been
+concerned in many remarkable events whereof the countryside was full
+of tales, true or false. Now at last after all these adventures they
+came together to be wed, and who was there for ten miles round that
+would not see it done?
+
+The monks being gone Father Roger Necton, the old vicar of Cranwell,
+he who had united Christopher and his wife Cicely in strange
+circumstances, and for that deed been obliged to fly for his life when
+the last Abbot of Blossholme burned Cranwell Towers, came to tie the
+knot before his great congregation. Notwithstanding that they were
+both of middle age, Emlyn in her grand gown and the brawny, red-haired
+Thomas in his yeoman's garb of green, such as he had worn when he
+wooed her many years before he put on the monk's russet robe, made a
+fine and handsome pair at the altar. Or so folk thought, though some
+friend of the monks, remembering Bolle's devil's livery and Emlyn's
+repute as a sorceress, cried out from the shadow that Satan was
+marrying a witch, and for his pains got his head broken by Jeffrey
+Stokes.
+
+So the white-haired and gentle Father Necton, having first read the
+King's order releasing Thomas from his vows, tied them fast according
+to the ancient rites and blessed them both. At length it was finished,
+and the pair walked from the old church to the Manor Farm, where they
+were to dwell, followed, as was the custom, by a company of their
+friends and well-wishers. As they went they passed through a little
+stretch of woodland by the stream, where on this spring day the wild
+daffodils and lilies of the valley were abloom making sweet the air.
+Here Emlyn paused a moment and said to her husband, Captain Bolle--
+
+"Do you remember this place?"
+
+"Aye, Wife," he answered, "it was here that we plighted our troth in
+youth, and looked up to see Maldon passing us just beyond that same
+oak, and felt the shadow of him strike cold to our hearts. You spoke
+of it yonder in the Priory chapel when I came up by the secret way,
+and its memory made me mad."
+
+"Yes, Thomas, I spoke of it," answered Emlyn in a rich and gentle
+voice, a new voice to him. "Well, now let its memory make you happy,
+as, notwithstanding all my faults, I will if I can," and swiftly she
+bent towards him and kissed him, adding, "Come on, Husband, they press
+behind us and I hope that we have done with perils and plottings."
+
+"Amen," answered Bolle, and as he spoke certain strange men who wore
+the King's colours and carried a long ladder went by them at a
+distance. Wondering what was their business at Blossholme, the pair
+passed through the last of the woodland and reached the rise whence
+they could see the gaunt skeleton of the burnt-out Abbey that appeared
+within fifty paces of them. At this they paused to look, and presently
+were joined there by Christopher and Cicely, Mother Matilda and her
+good nuns, Jeffrey Stokes, and others. The place seemed grim and
+desolate in the evening light, and all of them stood staring at it
+filled with their separate thoughts.
+
+"What is that?" said Cicely, with a start, pointing to a round black
+object new set over the ruin of the gateway tower.
+
+Just then a red ray from the sunset struck upon the thing.
+
+It was the severed head of Clement Maldon the Spaniard.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg Etext The Lady Of Blossholme, by H. Rider Haggard
+
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