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Updated: April 30, 2025
So thankfully enough they came unmolested to walled and wooded Shefton, which Cicely had last seen when she fled thence to Cranwell on the day of her marriage, oh, years and years ago, or so it seemed to her tormented heart. It was a strange and a sad home-coming, she thought, as they rode over the drawbridge and through the sodden and weed-smothered pleasaunce to the familiar door.
"But," urged Cicely, "then my lord and Jeffrey Stokes will starve also," whereon they went away sadly, saying there was no choice, seeing that they were but two men and the lives of many lay at stake. The siege began, just such a siege as Cicely had suffered at Cranwell Towers. The first day the garrison of the Abbey scoffed at them from the walls.
"Seek her sweet soul in heaven, if you may come there, Abbot." Then, with scared faces, they lifted up Christopher and the other dead and wounded and carried them away, leaving Cranwell Towers to burn itself to ashes, for so fierce was the heat that none could bide there longer. Two hours had gone by.
She knew not, who had naught but faith to lean on, that faith which in the past had served her well. Meanwhile, she was sure that if Christopher lived he would make his way to Cranwell or to Blossholme, and, whatever the risk, thither she would go also as fast as horses could carry her. Hurry as they would, midday was an hour gone ere they rode out of Cheapside.
Do you remember the angel who spoke with me in the fire and told me my husband was not dead?" "A lying spirit, then; no angel." "I am not so sure," and again she passed her hand across her eyes, as she had done in that dreadful dawn at Cranwell. "Well, I prayed to God to help me, and last night that angel came again and spoke in my sleep.
A groom came to lead away the horses, touching his bonnet, and staring at them curiously; and, leaning on her lover's shoulder, Cicely passed through the arched doorway of Cranwell Towers into the hall, where a great fire burned. Before this fire, warming his thin hands, stood Father Necton, engaged in eager conversation with Emlyn Stower.
"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.
Then the two men appeared, calling out as they came "The Abbot and all his folk are after us. Back to Cranwell, ere you be taken!" Christopher thought for a moment, then, remembering that with but four men and cumbered by two women it was not possible to cut his way through so great a force, and admonished by that sound of advancing hoofs, he gave a sudden order.
I say that I like it not." "A very dangerous man," muttered the Abbot, as he watched Martin go. "He also must bide a while in Spain; a long while. I'll see to it!" Just before the wild dawn broke on the morrow of the burning of the Towers, a corpse, roughly shrouded, was borne from the village into the churchyard of Cranwell, where a shallow grave had been dug for its last home.
"Not now, daughter, but you were very ill," answered the Prioress in her sweet, low voice. "Now we think that God has healed you." "How long have I been here?" she asked. The Mother began to reckon, counting her beads, one for every day for in such places time slips by but long before she had finished Emlyn replied quickly "Cranwell Towers was burned three weeks yesternight."
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