ran off to do his bidding.

Then it was that Emlyn's wit came to their aid, for when Bolle shook his
red head and gasped out that he feared they were lost, since how could
they fight against arrows, she answered--

"If so, why stand here to be spitted, fool? Come, let us cut our way
through ere the shafts begin to fly, and take refuge among the trees or
in the Nunnery."

"Women's counsel is good sometimes," said Bolle. "Form up, Foterells,
and march."

"Nay," broke in Cicely, "loose Bridget first, lest they should burn her
after all; I'll not stir else."

So Bridget was hacked free, and together with the wounded men, of whom
there were several, dragged and supported thence. Then began a running
fight, but one in which they still held their own. Yet they would have
been overwhelmed at last, for the women and the wounded hampered them,
had not help come. For as they hewed their path towards the belt of
trees with the Abbot's fierce fellows, some of whom were French or
Spanish, hanging on their flanks, suddenly, in the gap where the roadway
ran, appeared a horse galloping and on it a woman, who clung to its mane
with both hands, and after her many armed men.

"Look, Emlyn, look!" exclaimed Cicely. "Who is that?" for she could not
believe her eyes.

"Who but Mother Matilda," answered Emlyn; "and by the saints, she is a