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, w