take, but ere they
laid hands on her she took off her wool-lined cloak and threw it to the
yeoman who had struck down the fellow with his own stick, saying--

"Friend, wrap my boy in this and guard him till I ask him from you
again."

"Aye, Lady," answered the great man, bending his knee; "I have served
the grandsire and the sire, and so I'll serve the son," and throwing
aside the stick he drew a sword and set himself in front of the oak boll
where the infant lay. Nor did any venture to meddle with him, for they
saw other men of a like sort ranging themselves about him.

Now slowly enough the smith began to rivet the chain round Cicely.

"Man," she said to him, "I have seen you shoe many of my father's nags.
Who could have thought that you would live to use your honest skill upon
his daughter!"

On hearing these words the fellow burst into tears, cast down his tools
and fled away, cursing the Abbot. His apprentice would have followed,
but him they caught and forced to complete the task. Then Emlyn was
chained up also, so that at length all was ready for the last terrible
act of the drama.

Now the head executioner--he was the Abbey cook--placed some pine
splinters to light in a brazier that stood near by, and while waiting
for the word of command, remarked audibly to his mate that there was a
good wind and that the witches would burn briskly.

The spectators were ordered back out of earshot, and went at last, some
of them muttering sullenly to each other. For here the company could
not be picked as it had been at the trial, and the Abbot noted anxiously
that among them the victims had many friends. It was time the deed was
done ere their smouldering love and pity flowed out into bloody tumult,
he thought to himself. So, advancing quickly, he stood in front of Emlyn
and asked her in a low voice if she still refused to give up the secret
of the jewels, seeing that there was yet time for him to command that
they should die mercifully and not by the fire.

"Let the mistress judge, not the maid," answered Emlyn in a steady
voice.

He turned and repeated the question to Cicely, who replied--

"Have I not told you--never. Get you behind me, O evil man, and go,
repent your sins ere it be too late."

The Abbot stared at her, feeling that such constancy and courage were
almost superhuman. He had an acute, imaginative mind which could fancy
himself in like case and what his state would be. Though he was in such
haste