er drink, returned to the sick-bed,
she stared at her amazed and muttered something about witchcraft, she
who had been sure that she would die, as in those days so many women did
who fell into hands like hers. Indeed, she was bitterly disappointed,
knowing that this death was desired by her employer, who now after all
might let the Ford Inn to another. Moreover, the child was no waster,
but one who was set for life. Well, that at least she could mend, and if
it were done quickly the shock might kill the mother. Yet the thing
was not so easy as it looked, for there were many loving eyes upon that
babe.

When she wished to take it to her bed at night Emlyn forbade her
fiercely, and on being appealed to, the Prioress, who knew the
creature's drunken habits and had heard rumours of the fate of the Smith
infant and others, gave orders that it was not to be. So, since the
mother was too weak to have it with her, the boy was laid in a little
cot at her side. And always day and night one or more of the sweet-faced
nuns stood at the head of that cot watching as might a guardian angel.
Also it took only Nature's food since from the first Cicely would nurse
it, so that she could not mix any drug with its milk that would cause it
to sleep itself away.

So the days went on, bringing black wrath, despair almost, to the heart
of Mother Megges, till at length there came the chance she sought. One
fine evening, when the nuns were gathered at vespers, but as it happened
not in the chapel, because since the tale of the hauntings they shunned
the place after high noon, Cicely, whose strength was returning to her,
asked Emlyn to change her garments and remake her bed. Meanwhile, the
babe was given to Sister Bridget, who doted on it, with instructions to
take it to walk in the garden for a time, since the rain had passed off
and the afternoon was now very soft and pleasant. So she went, and there
presently was met by the Flounder, who was supposed to be asleep, but
had followed her, a person of whom the half-witted Bridget was much
afraid.

"What are you doing with my babe, old fool?" she screeched at her,
thrusting her fat face to within an inch of the nun's. "You'll let it
fall and I shall be blamed. Give me the angel or I will twist your nose
for you. Give it me, I say, and get you gone."

In her fear and flurry old Bridget obeyed and departed at a run. Then,
recovering herself a little, or drawn by some instinct, she returned,
hid h