were about to suffer for their sins by fire," replied Maldon.

"A Court Ecclesiastic!" roared Dr. Legh. "Can Courts Ecclesiastic, then,
toast free English folk to death? If you would not stand your trial for
attempted murder, show me your warrant signed by his Grace the King,
or by his Justices of Assize. What! You do not answer. Have you none? I
thought as much. Oho, Clement Maldon, you hang-faced Spanish dog, learn
that eyes have been on you for long, and now it seems that you would
usurp the King's prerogative besides----" and he checked himself, then
went on, "Seize that priest, and keep him fast while I make inquiry of
this business."

Now some of the Commissioner's guard surrounded Maldon, nor did his own
men venture to interfere with them, for they had enough of fighting and
were frightened by this talk about the King's warrant.

Then the Commissioner turned to Cicely, and said--

"You are Sir John Foterell's only child, are you not, who allege
yourself to be wife to Sir Christopher Harflete, or so says yonder
Prioress? Now, what was about to happen to you, and why?"

"Sir," answered Cicely, "I and my waiting-woman and the old sister,
Bridget, were condemned to die by fire at those stakes upon a charge
of sorcery. Although it is true," she added, "that I knew we should not
perish thus."

"How did you know that, Lady? By all tokens your bodies and hot flame
were near enough together," and he glanced towards the stakes and the
scattered faggots.