That night, about one in the morning, the foul fiend drew very near toBlossholme, and he came in the shape of fire. Suddenly the nuns werearoused from their beds by the sound of bells tolling wildly. Running tothe window-places, they saw great sheets of flame leaping from the Abbeyroofs. They threw open the casements and stared out terrified. SisterBridget was sent even to wake the deaf gardener and his wife, who livedin the gateway, and command them to go forth and learn what passed, andthe meaning of the shouts they heard, for they feared that Blossholmewas attacked by some army.
A long while went by, and Bridget returned with a confused tale, which,as it had been gathered by an imbecile from a deaf gardener, was noteasy to understand. Meanwhile the shoutings went on and the fire at theAbbey burnt ever more fiercely, so that the nuns thought that their lasthour had come, and knelt down to pray at the casement.
Just then Cicely and Emlyn appeared among them, and stared at the greatfire.
Suddenly Cicely turned round, and, fixing her large blue eyes on Emlyn,said, in the hearing of them all--
"The Abbey burns. Why, Nurse, they told me that you said it would be so,yonder amid the ashes of Cranwell Towers. Surely you are foresighted."
"Fire calls for fire," answered Emlyn grimly, and the nuns around lookedat her with doubtful eyes.
It was a very fierce fire, which appeared to have begun in thedormitories, whence, even at that distance, they saw half-clad monksescaping through the windows, some by means of bed-coverings tiedtogether and some by jumping, notwithstanding the height. Presentlythe roof of the building fell in, sending up showers of glowing embers,which lit upon the thatch of the farm byres and sheds, and upon thericks built and building in the stackyard, so that all these caughtalso, and before dawn were utterly consumed.
One by one the watchers in the Nunnery wearied of the lamentable sight,and muttering prayers, departed terrified to their beds. But Emlynsat on at the open casement till the rim of the splendid September sunshowed above the hills. There she sat, her head resting on her hand, herstrong face set like that of a statue. Only her dark eyes, in which theflames were reflected, seemed to smile hardly.
"Thomas is a great tool," she muttered to herself at length, "and thefirst cut has bitten to the bone. Well, there shall be worse to come.You will live to beg Emlyn's mercy yet, Clement Maldonado."
The Lady of Blossholme Page 15