t dawn, bidding
them bring provision with them, and what bows and arms they have. Set
a watch also, and after the Father and the messenger have gone, command
that the drawbridge be triced."

"What do you fear?" he asked, waking from his dream.

"I fear the Abbot of Blossholme and his hired ruffians, who reck little
of the laws, as the soul of dead Sir John knows now, or can use them
as a cover to evil deeds. He'll not let such a prize slip between his
fingers if he can help it, and the times are turbulent."

"Alas! alas! it is true," said Father Roger, "and that Abbot is a
relentless man who sticks at nothing, having much wealth and many
friends both here and beyond the seas. Yet surely he would never
dare----"

"That we shall learn," interrupted Emlyn. "Meanwhile, Sir Christopher,
rouse yourself and give the orders."

So Christopher summoned his men and spoke words to them at which they
looked very grave, but being true-hearted fellows who loved him, said
they would do his bidding.

A while later, having written out a copy of the marriage lines and
witnessed it, Father Roger departed with the messenger. The drawbridge
was hoisted above the moat, the doors were barred, and a man set to
watch in the gateway tower, while Christopher, forgetful of all else,
even of the danger in which they were, sought the company of her who
waited for him.

CHAPTER IV

THE ABBOT'S OATH

On the following morning, shortly after it was light, Christopher was
called from his chamber by Emlyn, who gave him a letter.

"Whence came this?" he asked, turning it over suspiciously.

"A messenger has brought it from Blossholme Abbey," she answered.

"Wife Cicely," he called through the door, "come hither if you will."

Presently she appeared, looking quaint and lovely in her long fur cloak,
and, having embraced her foster-mother, asked what was the matter.

"This, my darling," he answered, handing her the paper. "I never loved
book-learnings over-much, and this morn I seem to hate them; read, you
who are more scholarly."

"I mistrust me of that great seal; it bodes us no good, Chris," she
replied doubtfully, and paling a little.

"The message within is no medlar to soften by keeping," said Emlyn.
"Give it me. I was schooled in a nunnery, and can read their scrawls."

So, nothing loth, Cicely handed her the paper, which she took in her
strong fingers, broke the seal, snapped the silk, unfolded, and read. It
ran thus--

"T