er 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."

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