flete from its dungeons. Emlyn also, like her
mistress, had been bound to the stake as a witch, and saved from burning
by this same Thomas, who with her had been concerned in many remarkable
events whereof the countryside was full of tales, true or false. Now at
last after all these adventures they came together to be wed, and who
was there for ten miles round that would not see it done?

The monks being gone Father Roger Necton, the old vicar of Cranwell, he
who had united Christopher and his wife Cicely in strange circumstances,
and for that deed been obliged to fly for his life when the last Abbot
of Blossholme burned Cranwell Towers, came to tie the knot before his
great congregation. Notwithstanding that they were both of middle
age, Emlyn in her grand gown and the brawny, red-haired Thomas in his
yeoman's garb of green, such as he had worn when he wooed her many years
before he put on the monk's russet robe, made a fine and handsome pair
at the altar. Or so folk thought, though some friend of the monks,
remembering Bolle's devil's livery and Emlyn's repute as a sorceress,
cried out from the shadow that Satan was marrying a witch, and for his
pains got his head broken by Jeffrey Stokes.

So the white-haired and gentle Father Necton, having first read the
King's order releasing Thomas from his vows, tied them fast according to
the ancient rites and blessed them both. At length it was finished, and
the pair walked from the old church to the Manor Farm, where they were
to dwell, followed, as was the custom, by a company of their friends
and well-wishers. As they went they passed through a little stretch of
woodland by the stream, where on this spring day the wild daffodils and
lilies of the valley were abloom making sweet the air. Here Emlyn paused
a moment and said to her husband, Captain Bolle--

"Do you remember this place?"

"Aye, Wife," he answered, "it was here that we plighted our troth in
youth, and looked up to see Maldon passing us just beyond that same oak,
and felt the shadow of him strike cold to our hearts. You spoke of it
yonder in the Priory chapel when I came up by the secret way, and its
memory made me mad."

"Yes, Thomas, I spoke of it," answered Emlyn in a rich and gentle
voice, a new voice to him. "Well, now let its memory make you happy, as,
notwithstanding all my faults, I will if I can," and swiftly she bent
towards him and kissed him, adding, "Come on, Husband, they press behind
us and I