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Bolle is unfrocked and may wed; Cousin Stower has got a husband " Then Emlyn, who until now had been strangely silent, burst out in wrath "Am I, then, a beast that I should be given to this man like a heriot at yonder King's bidding?" she exclaimed, pointing with her finger at Bolle, who stood in the corner. "Who gave you the right, Thomas, to demand me in marriage?"
Bolle, to whom the scene was strange, gaped at them with his mouth open; Emlyn took note of every one with her quick eyes, while old Jacob Smith whispered tales concerning individuals as they passed, most of which were little to their credit. As for Cicely, soon her thoughts were far away.
Moreover, she guessed that it might be in vain. Once outside those walls, they knew too much to be allowed to live. And yet within those walls Cicely's child would not be allowed to live the child that was heir to all. What, then, could loose them and make them safe? Terror, perhaps such terror as that through which the Israelites escaped from bondage. Now Thomas Bolle!
"Well, now let its memory make you happy, as, notwithstanding all my faults, I will if I can," and swiftly she bent towards him and kissed him, adding, "Come on, Husband, they press behind us and I hope that we have done with perils and plottings." "Amen," answered Bolle, and as he spoke certain strange men who wore the King's colours and carried a long ladder went by them at a distance.
Two ladies who stood by the fire talking together and taking no heed, for to such rude scenes they seemed to be accustomed, looked up and laughed a little, then went on talking, while Cromwell smiled and shrugged his shoulders. Then in the midst of the silence which followed Thomas Bolle, who had been watching open-mouthed, ejaculated in his great voice "A bull's eye! A noble bull!
God in heaven! to think that once you were Thomas Bolle," and she made as though to go away. He stretched out his great arm and caught her by the robe, exclaiming "What would you have me do, Emlyn? I can't bear your scorn. Take it off me or I go kill myself." "That's what you had best do. You'll find the devil a better master than a foreign abbot. Farewell for ever." "Nay, nay; what's your will?
It was done, and he and the bearers departed, beating their way against the rough, raw wind, and leaving Thomas Bolle to fill in the grave, which, so long as they were in sight, or rather hearing, he did with much vigour.
"Did I not prophesy that it would be so yonder at Cranwell burning?" asked Emlyn, with a fierce laugh. "Follow me!" shouted Bolle. "Be swift now ere the roof falls and traps us." On they went desperately, leaving the hall on their left, and well for them was it that Thomas knew the way.
Lastly, placed already in the roped space and guarded by a soldier, poor old Bridget, the half-witted, who was gabbling words to which no one paid any heed. The path was clear now, and they were ordered to walk on. Half-way up the hall something red attracted Cicely's attention, and, glancing round, she saw that it was the beard of Thomas Bolle. Their eyes met, and his were full of fear.
"You'd know me well enough if my hood were back," he answered in a deep voice; "but if you want my name, it's Thomas Bolle, cattle-reeve to the Abbey yonder." "Your voice proves you," said Christopher, laughing. "And now what is your business, lay-brother Bolle?"
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