"What does it matter?
Fare you well till we meet at the fire, my Lord Abbot." On the Sunday--that is, the day before the burning--the Abbot came again.
"Three days ago," he said, addressing them both, "I offered you a chance of life upon certain conditions, but, obstinate witches that you are, you refused to listen.

Now I offer you the last boon in my power--not life, indeed; it is too late for that--but a merciful death.

If you will give me what I seek, the executioner shall dispatch you both before the fire bites--never mind how.

If not--well, as I have told you, there has been much rain, and they say the faggots are somewhat green." Cicely paled a little--who would not, even in those cruel days ?--then asked-- "And what is it that you seek, or that we can give?
A confession of our guilt, to cover up your crime in the eyes of the world?
If so, you shall never have it, though we burn by inches." "Yes, I seek that, but for your own sakes, not for mine, since those who confess and repent may receive absolution.

Also I seek more--the rich jewels which you have in hiding, that they may be used for the purposes of the Church." Then it was that Cicely showed the courage of her blood.
"Never, never!" she cried, turning on him with eyes ablaze.