At first nothing happened.  Afterwards she had a vague sense of being answered; although she could not see or hear him, she felt his presence.  Then one afternoon, looking from an upper dormer window, she saw a scuffle going on outside the gateway, and heard angry voices.  Thomas Bolle was trying to force his way in at the door, whence he was repelled by the Abbot’s men who always watched there.

In the evening she gathered the truth from the nuns, who did not know that she was listening to what they said.  It seemed that Thomas, whom they spoke of as a madman or as drunk, had tried to break into the Nunnery.  When he was asked what he wanted, he answered that he did not know, but he must speak with Emlyn Stower.  At this tidings she smiled to herself, for now she knew that he had heard her, and that in this way or in that he would obey her summons and come.

Two days later Thomas came—­thus.

The September evening was fading into night, and Emlyn, leaving Cicely resting on her bed, which now she often did for a while before the supper-hour, had gone into the garden to enjoy the pleasant air.  There she walked until she wearied of its sameness, then entered the old chapel by a side door and sat herself down to think in the chancel, not far from a life-sized statue of the Virgin, in painted oak, which stood here because of its peculiarities, for the back half of it seemed to be built into the masonry.  Also the eye-sockets were empty, which suggested to the observant Emlyn either that they had once held jewels or that this was no likeness of the holy Mother, but rather one of the blind St. Lucy.

While Emlyn mused there quite alone—­for at this hour none entered the place, nor would until the next morning—­she thought that she heard strange noises, as of some one stirring, which came from the neighbourhood of the statue.  Now many would have been scared and departed; but not so Emlyn, who only sat still and listened.  Presently, without moving her head, she looked also.  As it happened, the light of the setting sun, pouring through the west window, fell almost full upon the figure, and by it she saw, or thought she saw, that the eye-sockets were no longer empty; there were eyes in them which moved and flashed.

Now for a moment even Emlyn was frightened.  Then she reasoned with herself, reflecting that a priest or one of the nuns was watching her from behind the statue, which they might do for as long as they pleased.  Or perhaps this was a miracle, such as she had heard so much of but never seen.  Well, why should she fear spies or miracles?  She would sit where she was and see what happened.  Nor had she long to wait, for presently a voice, a hoarse, manly voice, whispered—­

“Emlyn!  Emlyn Stower!”

“Yes,” she answered, also in a whisper.  “Who speaks?”

“Who do you think?” asked the voice, with a chuckle.  “A devil, perhaps.”

“Well, if it be a friendly devil I don’t know that I mind, who need company in this lone place.  So appear, man or devil,” answered Emlyn stoutly.  But in secret she crossed herself beneath her cape, for in those days folk believed in the appearance of devils for no good purposes.