Once, indeed, Blossholme Priory, which was older than the Abbey, had been rich and famous.  Its foundress in the time of the first Edward, a certain Lady Matilda, one of the Plantagenets, who retired from the world after her husband had been killed in the Crusade, being childless, endowed it with all her lands.  Other noble ladies who accompanied her there, or sought its refuge in after days, had done likewise, so that it grew in power and in wealth, till at its most prosperous time over twenty nuns told their beads within its walls.  Then the proud Abbey rose upon the opposing hill, and obtained some royal charter that the Pope confirmed, under which the Priory of Blossholme was affiliated to the Abbey of Blossholme, and the Abbot of Blossholme became the spiritual lord of its religious.  From that day forward its fortunes began to decline, since under this pretext and that the abbots filched away its lands to swell their own estates.

So it came about that at the date of our history the total revenue of this Nunnery was but L130 a year of the money of the day, and even of this sum the Abbot took tithe and toll.  Now in all the great house, that once had been so full, there dwelt but six nuns, one of whom was, in fact, a servant, while an aged monk from the Abbey celebrated Mass in the fair chapel where lay the bones of so many who had gone before.  Also on certain feasts the Abbot himself attended, confessed the nuns, and granted them absolution and his holy blessing.  On these days, too, he would examine their accounts, and if there were money in hand take a share of it to serve his necessities, for which reason the Prioress looked forward to his coming with little joy.

It was to this ancient home of peace that the distraught Cicely and her servant Emlyn were conveyed upon the morrow of the great burning.  Indeed, Cicely knew it well enough already, since as a child during three years or more she had gone there daily to be taught by the Prioress Matilda, for every head of the Priory took this name in turn to the honour of their foundress and in accordance with the provisions of her will.  Happy years they were, as these old nuns loved her in her youth and innocence, and she, too, loved them every one.  Now, by the workings of fate, she was borne back to the same quiet room where she had played and studied—­a new-made wife, a new-made widow.

But of all this poor Cicely knew nothing till three weeks or more had gone by, when at length her wandering brain cleared and she opened her eyes to the world again.  At the moment she was alone, and lay looking about her.  The place was familiar.  She recognized the deep windows, the faded tapestries of Abraham cutting Isaac’s throat with a butcher’s knife, and Jonah being shot into the very gateway of a castle where his family awaited him, from the mouth of a gigantic carp with goggle eyes, for the simple artist had found his whale’s model in a stewpond.  Well she remembered those delightful pictures, and how often she had wondered whether Isaac could escape bleeding to death, or Jonah’s wife, with the outspread arms, withstand the sudden shock of her husband’s unexpected arrival out of the interior of the whale.  There also was the splendid fireplace of wrought stone, and above it, cunningly carved in gilded oak, gleamed many coats-of-arms without crests, for they were those of sundry noble prioresses.