The sullen, heavy-jawed Prior, from some distant county, on his left, clad in a simple black gown with a girdle about his waist.

And on the right Clement Maldon, Abbot of Blossholme and enemy of her house, suave, olive-faced, foreign-looking, his black, uneasy eyes observing all, his keen ears catching every word and murmur as he whispered something to the Bishop that caused him to smile grimly.

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.