Her own eyes, poor woman, were red with tears, for, like all in the Priory, she loved Cicely, whom as a child she had nursed on her knee, and with the other sisters had spent a sleepless night in prayer for her, for Emlyn, and for Bridget, who was to be burned with them.

She had expected to find the victims prostrate and perhaps senseless with fear, but behold! there they sat together in the window-place, dressed in their best garments and talking quietly.

Indeed, as she entered one of them--it was Cicely--laughed a little at something that the other had said.
"Good-morning to you, Sister Mary," said Cicely.

"Tell me now, has the Prioress returned ?" "Nay, nay, we know not where she is; no word has come from her.

Well, at least she will be spared a dreadful sight.