ate, 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, kneel