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The Lady of Blossholme by H. Rider (Henry Rider) Haggard
page 225 of 339 (66%)

"Sir, I knew it because of a vision that God sent to me in my sleep last
night."

"Aye, she swore that at the stake," exclaimed a voice, "and we thought
her mad."

"Now can you deny that she is a witch?" broke in Maldon. "If she were
not one of Satan's own, how could she see visions and prophecy her own
deliverance?"

"If visions and prophecies are proof of witchcraft, then, Priest, all
Holy Writ is but a seething pot of sorcery," answered Legh. "Then the
Blessed Virgin and St. Elizabeth were witches, and Paul and John should
have been burnt as wizards. Continue, Lady, leaving out your dreams
until a more convenient time."

"Sir," went on Cicely, "we have worked no sorcery, and my crime is that
I will not name my child a bastard and sign away my lands and goods to
yonder Abbot, the murderer of my father and perhaps of my husband. Oh!
listen, listen, you and all folk here, and briefly as I may I will tell
my tale. Have I your leave to speak?"

The Commissioner nodded, and she set out her story from the beginning,
so sweetly, so simply and with such truth and earnestness, that the
concourse of people packed close about her, hung upon her every word,
and even Dr. Legh's coarse face softened as he heard. For the half of an
hour or more she spoke, telling of her father's death, of her flight and
marriage, of the burning of Cranwell Towers, and her widowing, if such
it were; of her imprisonment in the Priory and the Abbot's dealings with
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