“This gift from Heaven to the Lady Harflete.  Bid her fear nothing, for one devil I have garnered and the others are ripe for reaping.”

Bridget took the child and sank down on to the ground, and at that moment the nuns, alarmed by the awful yells, rushed through the side door, headed by Mother Matilda.  They too saw the figure, and knew the Foterell cognizance upon its helm and shield.  But it waited not to speak to them, only passed behind some trees and vanished.

Their first care was for the infant, which they thought the man was stealing; then, after they were sure that it had taken no real hurt, they questioned old Bridget, but could get nothing from her, for all she did was to gibber and point first to the barrow and next to the chancel window.  At length Mother Matilda understood and, climbing on to the barrow, looked through the window as Bridget had done.  She looked, she saw, and fell back fainting.

An hour had gone by.  The child, unhurt save for a little bruising of its tender mouth, was asleep upon its mother’s breast.  Bridget, having recovered, at length had told all her tale to every one of them save Cicely, who as yet knew nothing, for she and Emlyn did not hear the screams, their rooms being on the other side of the building.  The Abbot had been sent for, and, accompanied by monks, arrived in the midst of a thunder-storm and pouring rain.  He, too, had heard the tale, heard it with a pale face while his monks crossed themselves.  At length he asked of the woman Megges.  They replied that living or dead she was, as they supposed, still in the chapel, which none of them had dared to enter.

“Come, let us see,” said the Abbot, and they went there to find the door locked as Bridget had said.

Smiths were sent for and broke it in while all stood in the pouring rain and watched.  It was open at last, and they entered with torches and tapers, for now the darkness was dense, the Abbot leading them.  They came to the chancel, where something lay upon the floor, and held down the torches to look.  Then they saw that which caused them all to turn and fly, calling on the saints to protect them.  In her life Mother Megges had not been lovely, but in the death that had overtaken her——!

It was morning.  The Lord Abbot and his monks were assembled in the guest-chamber, and opposite to them were the Lady Prioress and her nuns, and with them Emlyn.

“Witchcraft!” shouted the Abbot, smiting his fist upon the table, “black witchcraft!  Satan himself and his foulest demons walk the countryside and have their home in this Nunnery.  Last night they manifested themselves——­”

“By saving a babe from a cruel death and bringing a hateful murderess to doom,” broke in Emlyn.

“Silence, Sorceress,” shouted the Abbot.  “Get thee behind me, Satan.  I know you and your familiars,” and he glared at the Prioress.