Then a fight began.  The horses of the enemy shrank back from the trembling bridge, so their riders, dismounting, rushed forward, to be met by Christopher and his three remaining men, who in that narrow place were as good as a hundred.  Wild, random blows were struck in the darkness, and, as it chanced, two of the Abbot’s people fell, whereon a deep voice cried—­

“Come back and wait for light.”

When they had gone, dragging off their wounded with them, Christopher and his servants again strove to wind up the bridge, only to find that it would not stir.

“Some traitor has fouled the chains,” he said in the quiet voice of despair.  “Cicely and Emlyn, get you into the house.  I, and any who will bide with me, stay here to see this business out.  When I am down, yield yourself.  Afterwards I think that the King will give you justice, if you can come to him.”

“I’ll not go,” she wailed; “I’ll die with you.”

“Nay, you shall go,” he said, stamping his foot, and, as he spoke, an arrow hissed between them.  “Emlyn, drag her hence ere she is shot.  Swift, I say, swift, or God’s curse and mine rest on you.  Unclasp your arms, wife; how can I fight while you hang about my neck?  What!  Must I strike you?  Then, there and there!”

She loosed her grasp, and, groaning, fell back upon the breast of Emlyn, who half led, half carried her across the courtyard, where their scared horses galloped loose.

“Whither go we?” sobbed Cicely.

“To the central tower,” answered Emlyn; “it seems safest there.”

To this tower, whence the place took its name, they groped their way.  Unlike the rest of the house, which for the most part was of wood, it was built of stone, being part of an older fabric dating from the Norman days.  Slowly they stumbled up the steps till at length they reached the roof, for some instinct prompted them to find a spot whence they could see, should the stars break out.  Here, on this lofty perch, they crouched them down and waited the end, whatever it might be—­waited in silence.

A while passed—­they never knew how long—­till at length a sudden flame shot up above the roof of the kitchens at the rear, which the wind caught and blew on to the timbers of the main building, so that presently this began to blaze also.  The house had been fired, by whom was never known, though it was said that the traitor, Jonathan Dicksey, had returned and done it, either for a bribe or that his own sin might be forgotten in this great catastrophe.

“The house burns,” said Emlyn in her quiet voice.  “Now, if you would save your life, follow me.  Beneath this tower is a vault where no flame can touch us.”

But Cicely would not stir, for by the fierce and ever-growing light she could see what passed beneath, and, as it chanced, the wind blew the smoke away from them.  There, beyond the drawbridge, were gathered the Abbey guards, and there in the gateway stood Christopher and his three men with drawn swords, while in the courtyard the horses galloped madly, screaming in their fear.  A soldier looked up and saw the two women standing on the top of the tower, then called out something to the Abbot, who sat on horseback near to him.  He looked and saw also.