It was as though suddenly he had been haled before the Judgment-seat where all secrets must be bared.
"Some evil spirit has entered into you," he said huskily.
She dropped her hand, pointing at him.
"Nay, nay; I never knew but one evil spirit, and he stands before me." "Cicely," he went on, "cease your blaspheming.

Alas! that I must tell it you.

Sir Christopher Harflete is dead and buried in yonder churchyard." "What! So soon, and all uncoffined, he who was a noble knight?
Then you buried him living, and, living, in a day to come he shall rise up against you.

Hear my words, all.

Christopher Harflete shall rise up living and give testimony against this devil in a monk's robe, and afterwards--afterwards--" and she laughed shrilly, then suddenly fell down and lay still.
Now Emlyn, the dark and handsome, as became her Spanish, or perhaps gypsy blood, who all this while had stood silent, her arms folded upon her high bosom, leaned down and looked at her.