For a while they hesitated, apparently still meditating attack, but in the end rode away and were seen no more.
Bolle wished to follow and fall on them with such men as he had, but the cautious Jacob Smith forbade it, fearing lest he should tumble into some ambush and be killed or captured with his people, leaving the place defenceless.
So the afternoon went by, and ere evening closed in they had so much strength that there was no more cause for fear of an attack from the Abbey, whose garrison they learned amounted to not over fifty men and a few monks, for most of these had fled.
That night Cicely with Emlyn and old Jacob were seated in the long upper room where her father, Sir John Foterell, had once surprised Christopher paying his court to her, when Bolle entered, followed by a man with a hang-dog look who was wrapped in a sheepskin coat which seemed to become him very ill.
"Who is this, friend ?" asked Jacob.
"An old companion of mine, your worship, a monk of Blossholme who is weary of Grace and its pilgrimages, and seeks the King's comfort and pardon, which I have made bold to promise to him." "Good," said Jacob, "I'll enter his name, and if he remains faithful your promise shall be kept.

But why do you bring him here ?" "Because he bears tidings." Now something in Bolle's voice caused Cicely, who was brooding apart, to look up sharply and say-- "Speak, and be swift." "My Lady," began the man in a slow voice, "I, who am named Basil in religion, have fled the Abbey because, although a monk, I am true to the King, and moreover have suffered much from the Abbot, who has just returned raging, having met with some reverse out Lincoln way, I know not what.

My news is that your lord, Sir Christopher Harflete, and his servant Jeffrey Stokes are prisoners in the Abbey dungeons, whither they were brought last night by a company of the rebels who had captured them and afterwards rode on." "Prisoners!" exclaimed Cicely.

"Then he is not dead or wounded?
At least he is whole and safe ?" "Aye, my Lady, whole and safe as a mouse in the paws of a cat before it is eaten." The blood left Cicely's cheeks.

In her mind's eye she saw Abbot Maldon turned into a great cat with a monk's head and patting Christopher with his claws.
"My fault, my fault!" she said in a heavy voice.