THE BLOSSHOLME WITCHINGS
On the afternoon of that day the Abbot came again to visit the Nunnery, and sent for Cicely and Emlyn. They found him alone in the guest-hall, walking up and down its length with a troubled face.
“Cicely Foterell,” he said, without any form of greeting, “when last we met you refused to sign the deed which I brought with me. Well, it matters nothing, for that purchaser has gone back upon his bargain.”
“Saying that he liked not the title?” suggested Cicely.
“Aye; though who taught you of titles and the ins and outs of law? But what need to ask——?” and he glowered at Emlyn. “Well, let it pass, for now I have a paper with me that you must sign. Read it if you will. It is harmless—only an instruction to the tenants of the lands your father held to pay their rents to me this Michaelmas, as warden of that property.”
“Do they refuse, then, seeing that you hold it all, my Lord Abbot?”
“Aye, some one has been at work among them, and the stubborn churls will not without instruction under your hand and seal. The farms your father worked himself I have reaped, but last night every grain of corn and every fleece of wool were burned in the fire.”
“Then I pray you keep account of them, my Lord, that you may pay me their value when we come to settle our score, seeing that I never gave you leave to shear my sheep and harvest my corn.”
“You are pleased to be saucy, girl,” he replied, biting his lip. “I have no time to bandy words—sign, and do you witness, Emlyn Stower.”
Cicely took the document, glanced at it, then slowly tore it into four pieces and threw it to the floor.