e. 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