m
death. Now nothing would serve her but that she must see Thomas herself,
as she said, to thank him, though truly, as Emlyn knew well, to draw
from his own lips every detail and circumstance that she could gather
concerning Christopher.

For a while Emlyn held out against her, for she knew the dangers of such
a meeting; but in the end, being able to refuse her lady nothing, she
gave way.

At length at the appointed hour of sunset Emlyn and Cicely stood in
the chapel, whither the latter told the nuns she wished to go to return
thanks for her deliverance from many dangers. They knelt before the
altar, and while they made pretence to pray there heard knocks, which
were the signal of the presence of Thomas Bolle. Emlyn answered them
with other knocks, which told that all was safe, whereon the wooden
image turned and Thomas appeared, dressed as before in Sir John
Foterell's armour. So like did he seem to her dead father in this
familiar mail that for a moment Cicely thought it must be he, and her
knees trembled until he knelt before her, kissing her hand, asking after
her health and that of the infant and whether she were satisfied with
his service.

"Indeed and indeed yes," she answered; "and oh, friend! all that I have
henceforth is yours should I ever have anything again, who am but a
prisoned beggar. Meanwhile, my blessing and that of Heaven rest upon
you, you gallant man."

"Thank me not, Lady," answered the honest Thomas. "To speak truth it was
Emlyn whom I served, for though monks parted us we have been friends for
many a year. As for the matter of the child and that spawn of hell, the
Flounder, be grateful to God, not to me, for it was by mere chance that
I came here that evening, which I had not intended to do. I was going
about my business with the cattle when something seemed to tell me to
arm and come. It was as though a hand pushed me, and the rest you know,
and so I think by now does Mother Megges," he added grimly.

"Yes, yes, Thomas; and in truth I do thank God, Whose finger I see in
all this business, as I thank you, His instrument. But there are
other things whereof Emlyn has spoken to me. She said--ah! she said my
husband, whom I thought slain and buried, in truth was only wounded and
not buried, but shipped over-sea. Tell me that story, friend, omitting
nothing, but swiftly for our time is short. I thirst to hear it from
your own lips."

So in his slow, wandering way he told her, word by word, al