“You have it, Bolle; in the King’s name you have it,” replied Legh, who was more flattered by the titles and attributes poured upon him by the cunning Thomas than a closer consideration might have warranted.  “For all that you have done, or left undone, I, the Commissioner of his Grace, declare that you shall go scot free and that no action criminal or civil shall lie against you, and this my secretary shall give to you in writing.  Now, good fellow, rise, but steal Satan’s plumes no more lest you should feel his claws and beak, for he is an ill fowl to mock.  Bring hither that Spaniard Maldon.  I have somewhat to say to him.”

Now they looked this way and that, but no Abbot could they see.  The guards swore that they had never taken eye off him, even when they all ran before the devil, yet certainly he was gone.

“The knave has given us the slip,” bellowed the Commissioner, who was purple with rage.  “Search for him!  Seize him, for which my command shall be your warrant.  Draw the wood.  I’ll to the Abbey, where perchance the fox has gone to earth.  Five golden crowns to the man who nets the slimy traitor.”

Now every one, burning with zeal to show their loyalty and to win the crowns, scattered on the search, so that presently the three “witches,” Thomas Bolle, Mother Matilda, and the nuns, were left standing almost alone and staring at each other and the dead and wounded men who lay about.

“Let us to the Priory,” said Mother Matilda, “for by the sun I judge that it is time for evening prayer, and there seem to be none to hinder us.”

Thomas went to her horse, which grazed close at hand, and led it up.

“Nay, good friend,” she exclaimed, with energy, “while I live no more of that evil beast for me.  Henceforth I’ll walk till I am carried.  Keep it, Thomas, as a gift; it is bought and paid for.  Sister, your arm.”

“Have I done well, Emlyn?” Bolle asked, as he tightened the girths.

“I don’t know,” she answered, looking at him sideways.  “You played the cur at first, leaving us to burn for your sins, but afterwards, well, you found the wits you say you never lost.  Also your manners mended, and yonder captain knave learned that you can handle an axe, so we’ll say no more about it, lad, for doubtless that Abbot and his spies were sore task-masters and broke your spirit with their penances and talk of hell to come.  Here, lift my lady on to this horse, for she is spent, and let me lean upon your shoulder, Thomas.  It’s weary work standing at a stake.”

Cicely’s recollections of the remainder of that day were always shadowy and tangled.  She remembered a prayer of thanksgiving in which she took small part with her lips, she whose heart was one great thanksgiving.  She remembered the good sister who had given them the relics of St. Catherine assuring her, as she received them back with care, that these and these alone had worked the miracle and saved their lives.  She remembered eating food and straining her boy to her breast, and then she remembered no more till she woke to see the morning sun streaming into that same room whence on the previous day they had been led out to suffer the most horrible of deaths.