“Aye, Lady,” answered the great man, bending his knee; “I have served the grandsire and the sire, and so I’ll serve the son,” and throwing aside the stick he drew a sword and set himself in front of the oak boll where the infant lay. Nor did any venture to meddle with him, for they saw other men of a like sort ranging themselves about him. Now slowly enough the smith began to rivet the chain round Cicely. “Man,” she said to him, “I have seen you shoe many of my father’s nags. Who could have thought that you would live to use your honest skill upon his daughter!” On hearing these words the fellow burst into tears, cast down his tools and fled away, cursing the Abbot. His apprentice would have followed, but him they caught and forced to complete the task. Then Emlyn was chained up also, so that at length all was ready for the last terrible act of the drama. Now the head executioner--he was the Abbey cook--placed some pine splinters to light in a brazier that stood near by, and while waiting for the word of command, remarked audibly to his mate that there was a good wind and that the witches would burn briskly. The spectators were ordered back out of earshot, and went at last, some of them muttering sullenly to each other. For here the company could not be picked as it had been at the trial, and the Abbot noted anxiously that among them the victims had many friends. It was time the deed was done ere their smouldering love and pity flowed out into bloody tumult, he thought to himself. So, advancing quickly, he stood in front of Emlyn and asked her in a low voice if she still refused to give up the secret of the jewels, seeing that there was yet time for him to command that they should die mercifully and not by the fire. “Let the mistress judge, not the maid,” answered Emlyn in a steady voice. He turned and repeated the question to Cicely, who replied-- “Have I not told you--never. Get you behind me, O evil man, and go, repent your sins ere it be too late.” The Abbot stared at her, feeling that such constancy and courage were almost superhuman. He had an acute, imaginative mind which could fancy himself in like case and what his state would be. Though he was in such haste a great curiosity entered into him to know whence she drew her strength, which even then he tried to satisfy. “Are you mad or drugged, Cicely Foterell?” he asked. “Do you not know how fire will feel when it eats up that delicate flesh of yours?” “I do not know and I shall never know,” she answered quietly. “Do you mean that you will die before it touches you, building on some promise of your master, Satan?” “Yes, I shall die before the fire touches me; but not here and now, and I build upon a promise from the Master of us all in heaven.” He laughed, a shrill, nervous laugh, and called out loud to the people around-- “This witch says that she will not burn, for Heaven has promised it to her. Do you not, Witch?”