and Jeffrey Stokes following after. Behind them came Emlyn
supporting the wounded monk Martin, for it was he and no other who had
saved the life of Christopher.

As they went up towards the stairs they heard a roaring noise.

"Fire!" said Cicely, who knew that sound well, and next instant the
light of it burst upon them and its smoke wrapped them round. The Abbey
was ablaze, and its wide hall in front looked like the mouth of hell.

"Did I not prophesy that it would be so--yonder at Cranwell burning?"
asked Emlyn, with a fierce laugh.

"Follow me!" shouted Bolle. "Be swift now ere the roof falls and traps
us."

On they went desperately, leaving the hall on their left, and well for
them was it that Thomas knew the way. One little chamber through which
they passed had already caught, for flakes of fire fell among them from
above and here the smoke was very thick. They were through it, who even
a minute later could never have walked that path and lived. They were
through it and out into the open air by the cloister door, which those
who fled before them had left wide. They reached the moat just where the
breach had been mended with faggots, and mounting on them Bolle shouted
till one of his own men heard him and dropped the bow that he had raised
to shoot him as a rebel. Then planks and ladders were brought, and at
last they escaped from danger and the intolerable heat.

Thus it was that Cicely who lost her love in fire, in fire found him
once again.

For Christopher was not dead as at first they feared. They carried him
to the Priory, and there Emlyn, having felt his heart and found that it
still beat, though faintly, sent Mother Matilda to fetch some of that
Portugal wine of hers which Commissioner Legh had praised. Spoonful by
spoonful she poured it down his throat, till at length he opened his
eyes, though only to shut them again in natural sleep, for the wine had
taken a hold of his starved body and weakened brain. For hour after hour
Cicely sat by him, only rising from time to time to watch the burning of
the great Abbey church, as once she had watched that of its dormers and
farm-steading.

About three in the morning the lead ceased to pour down in a silvery
molten shower, its roofs fell in, and by dawn it was nothing but a
fire-blackened shell much as it remains to-day. Just before daybreak
Emlyn came to her, saying--

"There is one who would speak with you."

"I cannot see him," she answered, "I b