On the morrow this faith of Cicely’s was put to a sharp test. The Abbot came and spoke with Emlyn apart. This was the burden of his song—
“Give me those jewels and all may yet be well with you and your mistress, vile witches though you are. If not, you burn.”
As before she denied all knowledge of them.
“Find me the jewels or you burn,” he answered. “Would you pay your lives for a few miserable gems?”
Now Emlyn weakened, not for her own sake, and said she would speak with her mistress.
He bade her do so.
“I thought that those jewels were burned, Emlyn, do you then know where they are?” asked Cicely.
“Aye, I have said nothing of it to you, but I know. Speak the word and I give them up to save you.”
Cicely thought a while and kissed her child, which she held in her arms, then laughed aloud and answered—
“Not so. That Abbot shall never be richer for any gem of mine. I have told you in what I trust, and it is not jewels. Whether I burn or whether I am saved, he shall not have them.”