bout 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,