“Woman, you trifle with us. What said the Thing?” “It spoke of the slaughter of Sir John Foterell by King’s Grave Mount and of those who wrought it,” and she looked at him steadily until his eyes fell before hers. “What else?” “It told me that my husband is not dead. Neither did you bury him as you put about, but shipped him hence to Spain, whence it prophesied he will return again to be revenged upon you. It told me that he was captured by the infidel Moors, and with him Jeffrey Stokes, my father’s servant, and the priest Martin, your secretary. Then it looked up and vanished, or seemed to vanish, though perhaps it is among us now.” “Aye,” answered the Abbot, “Satan, with whom you hold converse, is always among us. Cicely Foterell and Emlyn Stower, you are foul witches, self-confessed. The world has borne your sorceries too long, and you shall answer for them before God and man, as I, the Lord Abbot of Blossholme, have right and authority to make you do. Seize these witches and let them be kept fast in their chamber till I constitute the Court Ecclesiastic for their trial.” So they took hold of Cicely and Emlyn and led them to the Nunnery. As they crossed the garden they were met by Mother Matilda and the nuns, who, for a second time within a month, ran out to see what was the tumult in the chapel. “What is it now, Cicely?” asked the Prioress. “Now we are witches, Mother,” she answered, with a sad smile. “Aye,” broke in Emlyn, “and the charge is that the ghost of the murdered Sir John Foterell was seen speaking to us.” “Why, why?” exclaimed the Prioress. “If the spirit of a woman’s father appears to her is she therefore to be declared a witch? Then is poor Sister Bridget a witch also, for this same spirit brought the child to her?” “Aye,” said the Abbot, “I had forgotten her. She is another of the crew, let her be seized and shut up also. Greatly do I hope, when it comes to the hour of trial, that there may not be found to be more of them,” and he glanced at the poor nuns with menace in his eye. So Cicely and Emlyn were shut within their room and strictly guarded by monks, but otherwise not ill-treated. Indeed, save for their confinement, there was little change in their condition. The child was allowed to be with Cicely, the nuns were allowed to visit her. Only over both of them hung the shadow of great trouble. They were aware, and it seemed to them purposely suffered to be aware, that they were about to be tried for their lives upon monstrous and obscene charges; namely, that they had consorted with a dim and awful creature called the Enemy of Mankind, whom, it was supposed, human beings had power to call to their counsel and assistance. To them who knew well that this being was Thomas Bolle, the thing seemed absurd. Yet it could not be denied that the said Thomas at Emlyn’s instigation had worked much evil on the monks of Blossholme, paying them, or rather their Abbot, back in his own coin.