the tall figure of the Prioress, carrying a candle
that made a star of light upon the shadows. As she stood there holding
it up and looking about her, something came into Emlyn's mind. Perhaps
she would help, she who loved Cicely. Did she not look like a figure of
hope, with her sweet face and her taper in the gloom? Emlyn advanced to
meet her, her finger on her lips.

"She sleeps; wake her not," she said. "Have you come to tell us that we
burn to-morrow?"

"Nay, Emlyn; the Old Bishop has commanded that it shall not be for a
week. He would have time to get across England first. Indeed, had it not
been for the beating of him in the dark and the twisting of the neck of
Brother Ambrose, I believe that he would not have suffered it at all,
for fear of trouble afterwards. But now he is full of rage, and swears
that he was set upon by evil spirits in the hall, and that those who
loosed them shall not live. Emlyn, _who_ killed Father Ambrose? Was it
men or----?"

"Men, I think, Mother. The devil does not twist necks except in monkish
dreams. Is it wonderful that my lady--the greatest lady of all these
parts and the most foully treated--should have friends left to her? Why,
if they were not curs, ere now her people would have pulled that Abbey
stone from stone and cut the throat of every man within its walls."

"Emlyn," said the Prioress again, "in the name of Jesus and on your
soul, tell me true, is there witchcraft in all this business? And if
not, what is its meaning?"

"As much witchcraft as dwells in your gentle heart; no more. A man did
these things; I'll not give you his name, lest it should be wrung from
you. A man wore Foterell's armour, and came here by a secret hole to
take counsel with us in the chapel. A man burnt the Abbey dormers and
the stacks, and harried the beasts with a goatskin on his head, and
dragged the skull of drunken Andrew from his grave. Doubtless it was his
hand also that twisted Ambrose's neck because he struck me."

The two women looked each other in the eyes.

"Ah!" said the Prioress. "I think I can guess now; but, Emlyn, you
choose rough tools. Well, fear not; your secret is safe with me." She
paused a moment; then went on, "Oh! I am glad, who feared lest the
Fiend's finger was in it all, as, in truth, they believe. Now I see my
path clear, and will follow it to the death. Yes, yes; I will save you
all or die."

"What path, Mother?"

"Emlyn, you have heard no tidings for these many m