ely copied out fair and sealed, and presently it was
given to the Abbot's messenger, who placed it in his pouch and rode off
as fast as the snow would let him.

They watched him go from a window.

"Now," said Christopher, turning to his wife, "I think, dear, we shall
do well to ride also as soon as may be. Yonder Abbot is sharp-set, and I
doubt whether letters will satisfy his appetite."

"I think so also," said Emlyn. "Make ready and eat, both of you. I go to
see that the horses are saddled."

An hour later everything was prepared. Three horses stood before the
door, and with them an escort of four mounted men, who were all having
arms and beasts to ride that Christopher could gather at such short
notice, though others of his tenants and servants had already assembled
at the Towers in answer to his summons, to the number of twelve, indeed.
Without the snow was falling fast, and although she tried to look brave
and happy, Cicely shivered a little as she saw it through the open door.

"We go on a strange honeymoon, my sweet," said Christopher uneasily.

"What matter, so long as we go together?" she answered in a gay voice
that yet seemed to ring untrue, "although," she added, with a little
choke of the throat, "I would that we could have stayed here until I had
found and buried my father. It haunts me to think of him lying somewhere
in the snows like a perished ox."

"It is his murderers that I wish to bury," exclaimed Christopher; "and,
by God's name, I swear I'll do it ere all is done. Think not, dear, that
I forget your griefs because I do not speak much of them, but bridals
and buryings are strange company. So while we may, let us take what
joy we can, since the ill that goes before ofttimes follows after also.
Come, let us mount and away to London to find friends and justice."

Then, having spoken a few words to his house-people, he lifted Cicely to
her horse, and they rode out into the softly-falling snow, thinking that
they had seen their last of the Towers for many a day. But this was not
to be. For as they passed along the Blossholme highway, purposing to
leave the Abbey on their left, when they were about three miles from
Cranwell, suddenly a tall fellow, who wore a great sheepskin coat with
a monk's hood to it and carried a thick staff in his hand, burst through
the fence and stood in front of them.

"Who are you?" asked Christopher, laying his hand upon his sword.

"You'd know me well enough if my h