rave of theirs and
begone--the sooner the better, for yon place has a haunted look."

"Not till we have searched out their bones, which must be beneath the
tower yonder, whereon we saw them last," replied the Abbot, adding in
a low voice, "Remember, Brother, the Lady Cicely had jewels of great
price, which, if they were wrapped in leather, the fire may have spared,
and these are among our heritage. At Shefton they cannot be found;
therefore they must be here, and the seeking of them is no task for
common folk. That is why I hurried hither so fast. Do you understand?"

The monk nodded his head. Having dismounted, they gave their horses to
the serving-men and began to make an examination of the ruin, the Abbot
leaning on his inferior's arm, for he was in great pain from the blow
in the back that Jeffrey had administered with his sea-boot, and the
bruises which he had received in falling to the boat.

First they passed under the gatehouse, which still stood, only to find
that the courtyard beyond was so choked with smouldering rubbish that
they could make no entry--for it will be remembered that the house had
fallen outwards. Here, however, lying by the carcass of a horse, they
found the body of one of the men whom Christopher had killed in his last
stand, and caused it to be borne out. Then, followed by their people,
leaving the dead man in the gateway, they walked round the ruin, keeping
on the inner side of the moat, till they came to the little pleasaunce
garden at its back.

"Look," said the monk in a frightened voice, pointing to some scorched
bushes that had been a bower.

The Abbot did so, but for a while could see nothing because of the
wreaths of steam. Presently a puff of wind blew these aside, and there,
standing hand in hand, he beheld the figures of two women. His men
beheld them also, and called aloud that these were the ghosts of Cicely
and Emlyn. As they spoke the figures, still hand in hand, began to walk
towards them, and they saw that they were Cicely and Emlyn indeed, but
in the flesh, quite unharmed.

For a moment there was deep silence; then the Abbot asked--

"Whence come you, Mistress Cicely?"

"Out of the fire," she answered in a small, cold voice.

"Out of the fire! How did you live through the fire?"

"God sent His angel to save us," she answered, again in that small
voice.

"A miracle," muttered the monk; "a true miracle!"

"Or mayhap Emlyn Stower's witchcraft," exclaimed one of t