Here, yesterday, I was married in the face of God and man in the church of Cranwell, as you may learn from the paper sent herewith.

It is not, therefore, needful that you should seek a husband for me, since my dear lord, Sir Christopher Harflete, and I are one till death do part us.

Nor do I admit that now, or at any time, you had or have right of wardship over my person or the lands and goods which I hold and inherit.

"Your humble servant, "Cicely Harflete." This letter Cicely copied out fair and sealed, and presently it was given to the Abbot's messenger, who placed it in his pouch and rode off as fast as the snow would let him.
They watched him go from a window.
"Now," said Christopher, turning to his wife, "I think, dear, we shall do well to ride also as soon as may be.

Yonder Abbot is sharp-set, and I doubt whether letters will satisfy his appetite." "I think so also," said Emlyn.