ting another arrow to the string of the bow he carried, drew it to
his ear, covering the Abbot.

"Loose, and make an end of him," muttered Emlyn from her shelter behind
the parapet. But Christopher thought a moment, then cried--

"Stay a while, Sir Abbot; I have more to say to you."

He took no heed who was also turning about.

"Stay!" thundered Christopher, "or I will kill that fine nag of yours;"
then, as the Abbot still dragged upon the reins, he let the arrow fly.
The aim was true enough. Right through the arch of the neck it sped,
cutting the cord between the bones, so that the poor beast reared
straight up and fell in a heap, tumbling its rider off into the snow.

"Now, Clement Maldon," cried Christopher, "will you listen, or will you
bide with your horse and servant and hear no more till Judgment Day? If
you do not guess it, learn that I have practised archery from my youth.
Should you doubt, hold up your hand and I'll send a shaft between your
fingers."

The Abbot, who was shaken but unhurt, rose slowly and stood there, the
dead horse on one side and the dead man on the other.

"Speak," he said in a muffled voice.

"My Lord Abbot," went on Christopher, "a minute ago you tried to murder
me, and, had not my mail been good, would have succeeded. Now your life
is in my hand, for, as you have seen, I do not miss. Those servants
of yours are coming to your help. Call to them to halt, or----" and he
lifted the bow.

The Abbot obeyed, and the men, understanding, stayed where they were, at
a distance, but within earshot.

"You have a crucifix upon your breast," continued Christopher. "Take it
in your right hand now and swear an oath."

Again the Abbot obeyed.

"Swear thus," he said, Emlyn, who was crouched beneath the parapet,
prompting him from time to time; "I, Clement Maldon, Abbot of
Blossholme, in the presence of Almighty God in heaven, and of
Christopher Harflete and others upon earth," and he jerked his head
backwards towards the windows of the house, where all therein were
gathered, listening, "make oath upon the symbol of the Rood. I swear
that I abandon all claim of wardship over the body of Cicely Harflete,
born Cicely Foterell, the lawful wife of Christopher Harflete, and
all claim to the lands and goods that she may possess, or that were
possessed by her father, John Foterell, Knight, or by her mother, Dame
Foterell, deceased. I swear that I will raise no suit in any court,
spiritual or tempor