rayer of the helpless. Mother Matilda, England is not the land it was
when as a girl they buried you in these mouldy walls. Where does God say
that you have the right to hold free women like felons in a jail? Tell
me."

"I cannot," moaned Mother Matilda, wringing her thin hands. "The right
is very hard to find, this place is strictly guarded, and whatever I may
think, I must do what I am bid, lest my soul should suffer."

"Your soul! You cloistered women think always of your miserable souls,
but of those of other folk, aye, and of their bodies too, nothing. Then
you'll not help me?"

"I cannot, I cannot, who am myself in bonds," she replied again.

"So be it, Mother; then I'll help myself, and when I do, God help _you_
all," and with a contemptuous shrug of her broad shoulders she walked
away, leaving the poor old Prioress almost in tears.

Emlyn's threats were bold as her own heart, but how could she execute
even a tenth of them? The right was on their side, indeed, but, as
many a captive has found in those and other days, right is no Joshua's
trumpet to cause high walls to fall. Moreover, Cicely would not aid her.
Now that her husband was dead she took interest in one thing only--his
child who was to be.

For the rest she seemed to care nothing. Since she had no friends with
whom she could communicate, and her wealth, as she understood, had been
taken from her, what better place, she asked, could there be for that
child to see the light than in this quiet Nunnery? When it was born and
she was well again she would consider other matters. Meanwhile she was
languid, and why was Emlyn always prating to her of freedom? If she were
free, what should she do and whither should she go? The nuns were very
kind to her; they loved her as she did them.

So she talked on, and Emlyn, listening, did not dare to tell her the
truth: that here she feared for the life of her child, dreading lest
that news might bring about the death of both of them. So she let her
be, and fell back on her own wits.

First she thought of escape, only to abandon the idea, for her mistress
was in no state to face its perils. Moreover, whither should they go?
Then rescue came into her mind, but, alas! who would rescue them? The
great men in London, perhaps, as a matter of policy, but great men are
hard to come at, even for the free. If she were free she might find
means to make them listen, but she was not, nor could she leave her lady
at such a tim