All he had to fear, all that stood between him, or rather the Church, and a very rich inheritance was the girl in the Nunnery and an unborn child, and--yes, Emlyn Stower.

Well, he was sure that the child would not live, and probably the mother would not live.

As for Emlyn, as she deserved, she would be burned for a witch, ere long too, now that he had time to see to it, and, if she survived her sickness, although he grieved for her, Cicely, her accomplice, should justly accompany her to the stake.

Meanwhile, as Mother Matilda's message told him, this matter of the child was urgent.
The Abbot called a monk who was waiting on him and bade him send word to a woman known as Goody Megges, bidding her come at once.

Within ten minutes she entered, having, as she explained, been warned to be close at hand.
This Goody Megges, who had some local repute as a "wise woman," was a person of about fifty years of age, remarkable for her enormous size, a flat face with small oblong eyes and a little, twisted mouth, which had caused her to be nicknamed "the Flounder." She greeted the Abbot with much reverence, curtseying till he thought she would fall backwards, and having received his fatherly blessing, sank into a chair, that seemed to vanish beneath her bulk.
"You will wonder why I summon you here, friend, since this is no place for the services of those of your trade," began the Abbot, with a smile.
"Oh, no, my Lord," answered the woman; "I've heard it is to wait upon Sir Christopher Harflete's wife in her trouble." "I wish that I could call her by the honoured name of wife," said the Abbot, with a sigh.