It is our lands he loves, and the famous jewels--Emlyn has them with her." By now they were across the moat and at the steps of the house, so, without answering, Christopher lifted her tenderly from the saddle, pressing her to his breast as he did so, for that seemed his best answer.

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.

As the pair advanced this talk ceased, evidently because it was of them.
"Mistress Cicely," said the kindly-faced old man, speaking in a nervous fashion, "I fear that you visit us in sad case," and he paused, not knowing what to add.
"Yes, indeed," she answered, "if all I hear is true.

They say that my father is killed by cruel men--I know not for certain why or by whom--and that the Abbot of Blossholme comes to claim me as his ward and immure me in Blossholme Priory, whither I would not go.