be more of them," and
he glanced at the poor nuns with menace in his eye.

So Cicely and Emlyn were shut within their room and strictly guarded
by monks, but otherwise not ill-treated. Indeed, save for their
confinement, there was little change in their condition. The child was
allowed to be with Cicely, the nuns were allowed to visit her.

Only over both of them hung the shadow of great trouble. They were
aware, and it seemed to them purposely suffered to be aware, that
they were about to be tried for their lives upon monstrous and obscene
charges; namely, that they had consorted with a dim and awful creature
called the Enemy of Mankind, whom, it was supposed, human beings had
power to call to their counsel and assistance. To them who knew well
that this being was Thomas Bolle, the thing seemed absurd. Yet it could
not be denied that the said Thomas at Emlyn's instigation had worked
much evil on the monks of Blossholme, paying them, or rather their
Abbot, back in his own coin.

Yet what was to be done? To tell the facts would be to condemn Thomas
to some fearful fate which even then they would be called upon to share,
although possibly they might be cleared of the charge of witchcraft.

Emlyn set the matter before Cicely, urging neither one side nor the
other, and waited her judgment. It was swift and decisive.

"This is a coil that we cannot untangle," said Cicely. "Let us betray
no one, but put our trust in God. I am sure," she added, "that God will
help us as He did when Mother Megges would have murdered my boy. I shall
not attempt to defend myself by wronging others. I leave everything to
Him."

"Strange things have happened to many who trusted in God; to that the
whole evil world bears witness," said Emlyn doubtfully.

"May be," answered Cicely in her quiet fashion, "perhaps because they
did not trust enough or rightly. At least there lies my path and I will
walk in it--to the fire if need be."

"There is some seed of greatness in you; to what will it grow, I
wonder?" replied Emlyn, with a shrug of her shoulders.

On the morrow this faith of Cicely's was put to a sharp test. The Abbot
came and spoke with Emlyn apart. This was the burden of his song--

"Give me those jewels and all may yet be well with you and your
mistress, vile witches though you are. If not, you burn."

As before she denied all knowledge of them.

"Find me the jewels or you burn," he answered. "Would you pay your lives
for a few mi