e
of them--it was Cicely--laughed a little at something that the other had
said.

"Good-morning to you, Sister Mary," said Cicely. "Tell me now, has the
Prioress returned?"

"Nay, nay, we know not where she is; no word has come from her. Well, at
least she will be spared a dreadful sight. Have you any message for her
ear? If so, give it swiftly ere the guard call me."

"I thank you," said Cicely; "but I think that I shall be the bearer of
my own messages."

"What? Do you, then, mean that our Mother is dead? Must we suffer woe
upon woe? Oh! who could have told you these sorrowful tidings?"

"No, sister, I think that she is alive and that I, yet living, shall
talk with her again."

Sister Mary looked bewildered, for how, she wondered, could close
prisoners know these things? Staring round to see that she was not
observed, she thrust two little packets into Cicely's hand.

"Wear these at the last, both of you," she whispered. "Whatever they say
we believe you innocent, and for your sake we have done a great crime.
Yes, we have opened the reliquary and taken from it our most precious
treasure, a fragment of the cord that bound St. Catherine to the wheel,
and divided it into three, one strand for each of you. Perhaps, if you
are really guiltless, it will work a miracle. Perhaps the fire will not
burn or the rain will extinguish it, or the Abbot may relent."

"That last would be the greatest miracle of all," broke in Emlyn, with
grim humour. "Still we thank you from our hearts and will wear the
relics if they do not take them from us. Hark! they are calling you.
Farewell, and all blessings be on your gentle heads."

Again the loud voices of the guards called, and Sister Mary turned and
fled, wondering if these women were not witches, how it came about that
they could be so brave, so different from poor Bridget, who wailed and
moaned in her cell below.

Cicely and Emlyn ate their food with good appetite, knowing that they
would need support that day, and when it was done sat themselves again
by the window-place, through which they could see hundreds of people,
mounted and on foot, passing up the slope that led to the green in front
of the Abbey, though this green they could not see because of a belt of
trees.

"Listen," said Emlyn presently. "It is hard to say, but it may be that
your vision of the night was but a merciful dream, and, if so, within a
few hours we shall be dead. Now I have the secret of the hiding