His men beheld them also, and called aloud that these were the ghosts of Cicely and Emlyn.

As they spoke the figures, still hand in hand, began to walk towards them, and they saw that they were Cicely and Emlyn indeed, but in the flesh, quite unharmed.
For a moment there was deep silence; then the Abbot asked-- "Whence come you, Mistress Cicely ?" "Out of the fire," she answered in a small, cold voice.
"Out of the fire! How did you live through the fire ?" "God sent His angel to save us," she answered, again in that small voice.
"A miracle," muttered the monk; "a true miracle!" "Or mayhap Emlyn Stower's witchcraft," exclaimed one of the men behind; and Maldon started at his words.
"Lead me to my husband, my Lord Abbot, lest, thinking me dead, his heart should break," said Cicely.
Now again there was silence so deep that they could hear the patter of every drop of falling rain.

Twice the Abbot strove to speak, but could not, but at the third effort his words came.
"The man you call your husband, but who was not your husband, but your ravisher, was slain in the fray last night, Cicely Foterell." She stood quite quiet for a while, as though considering his words, then said, in the same unnatural voice-- "You lie, my Lord Abbot.

You were ever a liar, like your father the devil, for the angel told me so in the midst of the fire.

Also he told me that, though I seemed to see him fall, Christopher is alive upon the earth--yes, and other things, many other things;" and she passed her hand before her eyes and held it there, as though to shut out the sight of her enemy's face.
Now the Abbot trembled in his terror, he who knew that he lied, though at that time none else there knew it.