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Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la m^thode. 1 2 3 4 5 6 MICROCOPY RESOLUTION TEST CHART (ANSI and ISO TjST CHART No. 2) 1.0 I.I 1.25 2.8 m m Hill 1 1 5 6 lllll -J-^ 1^ IIIIIM ■ 4.0 1.4 2.5 |Z2 2£ 1.8 ^ /IPPLIEn IM/IGE Inc =^ 1653 Eost Main Street r^ Rochester, New York 14609 USA ^= (716) 48" - 0300 - Phone ^= (716) 288 - 5989 - Fax ^ \ ' THE LADY Ot' PllOVRNCIL r" A 1 AttXHl J A THE LADY OF PEOVElSrCE- OB, HUMBLED AXD HEALED. A TALE OP THE FmST PEENCn EETOLUMON. JBcr I -^. li- O. E3. u« KGYPT, PMDE AND HX3 WtlSOirEIlS " TORONTO: C^YISli^ljiSIL,I, ^ SON". 1873. T4tp St. Johnland Stereotype Foundry, SOTTOLK OOUNTT, N. T. J:ii PPvEFACE. N writing the following pages, A. L, O. E. ha3 kept in view tlio story of Naaman the leper, as being a striking tj-po illustrative of an ' important Scriptural doctrine. The story of rl?^'"!!" ^^''' ^^'^''^ '^^ opportunity of exem- plifying the honorable place which may and ought to be that of a servant who is faithful both to an earthly and a heavenly Master. Iho connection between employer and em- ployed IS too often regarded by both as a mere matter of bargain,-so much work on the one hand, to be given in return for so much wages on the other. The Author would be thanklul should hor little ))ook load some masters and servants to feel that this connee^ tion like every other social tic, may be cn-. nobled and strengthened by that faith which o7 GoT '''' '''^•- '" '^'' ^'^^^^^^'"^^^ i^-pj^^ A. L. 0. E. (5) 4 I CO]^TEjV^TS. t DAWN ET NOVEMBER *'**J n. THE COTTAGli INMATES.'. '...'* „? m. THE STEP-MOTHEn's VISIT. . ' Xj IV- A WINTKX WAY * AO V. ONE WOItD '^ VI. THE BXJTTERFLY. t^ Vn. THE OITER '^^ vm. A SACKnncE '^'^ IX. DEPAKTUEE , . . ,' | ^ X. LANDINO. . ° * ^^'^ i-jo XI. THE REIGN OV TERROR ,^, Xn. msT NIGHT IN FRANCE... izl Xni. TRAVELLING ' XIV. IN PARIS " * * ^^^ XV. THE COMTESSE .'.' V^^ XVI. 1,1FE OR DEATH. ........ ^ J XVII. BORROW AND SIN.. . . ^^^ XVTH. THE CHATEAU,... '..^^ J^^ XIX. A IJ3TTER ' ' ' " " "^f XX. TEMPTATION.......... "" ^^^ XXI. RICH AND POOR. . ^^^ XXH. HIGH AND I/3W. ...'.*"..'[* ' ^^^ xxni. CONFESSION. "- = -> ->4v 255 'vii) ^,'l{[ CONTENTS. 2G6 XS.-V. TASSIKG OK ^77 iX •. THE ERRAND ' ^ ggG XXVI. VEAITD AND VEAE ^^^ XX\'n. DAKINO THE WORST " ' ' ^^^ XXVni. THE RED RIBBON "^ ^^2 XXIX. A. VERDICT " 330 XSX. A DISCOVERY ■"" g^g XXXI. FLIGHT 353 XXXII. THE servants' HAEL ^^^ ZXXm. VEELINO AFTER TRUTH ^^^ XXXIV. MISTRESS AND MAID " ' ' • ^g. XXXV. A CHASE gg2 XXXVI. THE RECESS ^^g XXXVn. A FRIEND IN NEED • ' * ' • ^^^ XXXYin. WELCOME ^-j^q XXXIX. PREPARATIONS ^ ^^g Xli. THE FTJGITrS^S ^^ XLI. THE TRIAIi ^gg XUI. THE CONDEMNED ^^^ XUn. THE GtllLLOTINE ^^^ XLt7. CONCLUSION 266 277 286 303 315 322 330 345 . 358 . 368 . 370 . 385 . 392 . 403 . 413 .. 419 , . 428 .. 444 .. 453 .. 462 .. 471 THE LADY OF PROVENCE. :>i^o^- CHAPTER I. DAWN IN NOVEMBER. T is in the year 1792 that mj story oiDens, a time during Avhich occurred some of tlie Avorst horrors of tlio French Eovohi- tion. For more than three years had Chris- tendom been breathlessly watching the progress of the fearful social convulsion, as those v'ho gaze on the eruption of a volcano, beholding the fiery lava stream sweep over palace and church ; the flames rising higher and higher, destruction spreading wider and wider, till the sky over all Europe seemed to be reddened by the blood-red glare ! In England, which was divided by but a narrow channel from the scene of such a convulsion, intense was the interest which ifc (9) 10 DAWN IN NOVEiri;r:i;. cxc'itod. Slio :ippo:\red to 1)0 Rcarooly hc- yoiid vciidi of Iho liory hIiowcv, which but for CioiVs l)lo,ssiiig on a pioas kin-' and i\ loval i)0<)pl<.', might bavG crnshod licv tlirono nnd buried in ushcs the wreck of lior consti- tution. Tho storming of the BuKtib, tho massncrc of llio Swiss Guiircls, tho insulta hoiipcd upon Tiouis XYI. and his hapU^^ss Queen, at this time prisoners in the Temple, with the more recent butcheries at Bicetre iind La Force, were the common topic of (?onversation. The names of Eobcspierro, Couthon, St. Just, liercc Danton, blood- thirsty Marat, were familiar as household words on the lips of the smith at his fori>-e, the farmer at the fair, the imblican behind his -Ijar. The press did not spread news during llio last century with the rapidity with which it does so in the present— there was no telegraph to Hash tidings from shore to shore— but the arrival of the stage-coach with tho post-bag was eagerly awaited at county town or wayside-inn ; and the scanty intelligence which its guard might bring down from London was soon widely spread through the neighborhood ; tho account of DAWN IN XOVEMEER. 11 •oly hc- licli but ;• ami i\ L" tlu'ono !• c'oiisti- tilo, tlio insaUa liaplcss Tcinj^le, Bicctro topic of :spierro, bloocl- msoliold is forge, L behind ail news rapidity t — there )m shore ue-coach raited afc le scanty hfc bring y spread icount of the .state of Paris losing notljiii- of its honors in its circulation from mouth to mouth. _ In the Tillage of W , in Surrey, the nitercst felt in French politics .vas increased by tlic en-cumstance of a country-house in its yicuiity being for some time the abode ot the 3oui)g daughter of one of the prin- cipal actors in the terrible drama of the Fvouch Ilevolution. Louis Philippe, Duke or Urleans, cousin, and yet enemy, of the iin- prisoned Louis the Sixteenth, had in 1791 son t his daugliter Adelaide to England, under the care of the celebrated Madame do Gen- hs, as the delicate health of the royal of,] -^^s said to require the bracing 4 aud chalybeate springs of our island. Orleans (or Egahte, as he now called himself, in order to win fayor from the Jacobin mob) thi^ mcau lously taken. Ifc is matter of Instory that his having suffered his younc. caught.^, to reside in England was one o7 he heads of accusation brouglit against him by the enemies who succeeded in ar^^nn,. Pli^hmg his destruction. But, unconscious 12 DAWN IN NOVEMBER. that by her sojourn ia Britain slio was add- ing to tlio perils of her lather, t]io gontio Adehiido found our country a Jjavon of safety from the liorrors rn-in- in her own distracted land ;* and she may often in lier aftcr-hfo have looked back witli regret to peaceful days passed in old England. In happy ignorance of what the futnro might bring either of weal or of woo, Adelaide, in her Surrey retreat, littlo dreamed that she was to hve to see a father on the scaffold, or ft brother on the throne. Strong as may be our interest in stirring forsign events, yet, after all, how small a place they occupy in the mind, compared with the petty cares and trials, the hopes and fears, which make up the round of each individual's every-day life ! It was certain- ly not of France and its social changes, nor even of the sorrow of its much-pitied queen, that Faith Stanby was thinking as she sat straining her eyes in the dim twilight of a November morning, that she might weave a delicate basket of the osiers that lay across her knee. • "Life and Times of Louis Tliilippi." j: DAWN IN NOVEMBER. 18 Jiero w,is indeed too little ligl.t to Imvo raiib 0(1 l.er to go ou with lier wo,k, had not tlie rapidly moving fingers ]cno«-n tlioir >vaj so Holl, that the aid of .si^ht was ia a comparatively small degree required. Faith had been np for some hour., and had ...rnt her rushligl,t do«u to the socket, .and tliou, having no second ouo with whieh to foplaco it. had had to wait for some min„t„* >n almost total darkness till the first -rav gleam should enable her to procee.l with her basket-making employment. She sat verv close to the window-much too close for comfort for the little casement at that o.arly hour let m more of cold air than of ILdit Ihe cottage room in which Faith worked was a very small one; it held little beyond l.«r pallet-bed, and the three-legged Z> npon which she was seated. The unplas- teredce,h«g sloped down on either si.le and ^s so low that it was only near the middl» of the eha,«ber that a person of moderate heigh eould have stood upright. But bough the size and appearance of the room oomfor. er squalor to be seen. As light in- 14 DAWN IN NO\;.iMCKB. W 1 ;t „-,vn 111 \iow bo;iv(ls cftriietless butBpollessly clean, and wr.lb nvUos« ^^ l.ite- of nu.t Looks, una . frumca 1'"^'"™ °^ Naa.„:.u at the Joidan, ^vlncU ^va9 hung over tlu. b.a. The pretty patchvovl: cover on that bed, the three il<nvev-,)ots on 1 ho sill Ulled with delicate plants ^vhicU l-aitli in- tenacd to nm-ao through the winter, !;avo to the tiny room tlK.t home-liUe appearance, the charm of which may re.t on the dw>^l- io. of the peasant as well as on that ot the „ "er. Faith thought that no view m the world could be prettier than that to bo seen fro>u her little window. There was no . much ot sky, indced-for that was almost nnito shut out by the thickly thatched cave under which swallows had twittered during „>a„y a summer-but fair was tln^ prospec over 8«en meadows and softly wooded dopes! with a higher range of hills looking bluG in ilio distance. The white mist of the November morning ^vas now resting on the J^^^^^^^^;^', f^^'f^ like H shroud upon meadow and hill. Ana there ^vas somethin,^ on the mmd of tlio ;:^ DAWN 1^ NOVKMDEU. 15 bnskot-niukor ^vliich prcvcntea Jui- fmih cft.ing id tliafc m.,ijr.nt for any of (ho bemi- tics of Natiiro. Bw.Uy was that miiu\ M-orkiijg Avhilo ciaikness compc ]l(.a for u bliof Hp:iCO lllO ihur^iVH to bo idlo, aucl \d.oii they a-ain rcsumctl their work. Faitli, in lier life's journey, hixd come at the n'm of eiglitcen to a point which all in a Christian land may expect at somo time or other to reach, the point where a decision must bo wade wiiidi shall inlliience the whole future HS regards this world-and probahlv also as regards the world to come. lihv: rd Marston, the young farmer whoso dwoljii rr rose on the wooded hill, had on the previ- ous evt-ning spoken a few words to Faith which Iiad sent a thrill of delight throu-h her heart. There had been no time for h"r to reply to t'>om then, for her step-mother who hud been with Faith when IMarston met her, had but turned aside for a minuto to greet a neighbor when those few low words were whispered ; but Faith knew now that It only rested with herself whether she should or should not be mistress of Wood- land Farm, and the wife- of its owner, iho '■*^<^ it 16 DAWN IN NOVEMBEIU finest, bravest yeoman in all tlie county. To tlie peasant girl it appeared that the happiest lot on earth was summetl up in this description. She had rather that Wood- land Farm should bo hers, than Windsor Castle itself, and all the broad lands around it: Woodland Farm was to her fancy an earthly Eden ; and even had it been a spot less favored by Nature, Faith would have pre- ferred sharing a hovel with Edward Marston to dwelling in a palace with any other hus- band than him. " How could he think of me ?" was the young maiden's first tliought after quitting Marston, so unworthy did she feel herself to be his chosen bride ; but that thought was almost instantly followed by another,— " Daro I think of him ?" If the first ques- tion flushed her cheeks, the second sent the blood back again to Faith's heart, and left her face pale with conflicting emotions. Faith had been unable to sleep that night, and had risen long before the first gleam of dawn. Thoughts of Marston and his words had come between her and her rest, had -.^„^- 1--J. i.^«- «»»^i 1./-WVI ■•->•».»» ir/ivi Faith DAWN IN NOVEMBER. 17 county, lliat the [ up in tWood- ^''indsor 5 around mcy an 11 a spot lavo pre- Marston her hus- was the quitting lerself to aglit was lother, — rst ques- sent the , and left amotions, lat night, gleam o£ lis words rest, had 3. Faith was in an agony of indecision, and now sat at her biisket-makiiig trembling and sliiver- ing, less from the outer cold liian from the chill at her heart. And why Avas there any indecision ; why was the maiden's heart not full of joy ut tho assurance that all she could desire of earthly happiness now lay within her reach ? In Bunyaii's Allegory wo read of a By- path Meadow, which seems to run idongsido the strait narrow path of duty ; a veidant flowery meadow, very tempting to tho soul, and diverging from tho right way, as it appears, so little, that pilgrims easily per- suade themselves that there is little risk or sin in venturing upon it. Faith now stood close to such By-path Meadow, gazing on its verdure with a wistful, longing eye. There was, as it were, but a stile to divide her from it. What was that barrier which so easily might bo crossed ; that barrier, over which thousands of girls constantly cross, without hesitation, without fear, without a thought of the miseries and perils to whioh the flowery meadow may lead ? That barrier Vvas one brief sentence from Scripture— the 2 18 DAWN IN NOVEMBEx;. four words, only in the Lord— which divides holy marriage, such as the Saviour hallows with His presence, from the marriage to which the heavenly Master cannot be invited. • Faith Imew— and bitter to her was the knowledge— that generous, noble, and brave as Marston might be, he was deeply tainted with the infidel views so widely spread, not only through France, but also through Eng- land at the time of which I am writiug. She knew that he spoke lightly on themes which she felt to be sacred ; that he was careleBS even as regards the outer forms of religior. : and that whatever attractive qualities tho young farmer might possess, he lived with- out God in the world. Faith could not close her eyes to this fact, willingly as she (would have done so, gladly as she would have persuaded herself that Edward was leally more religious than he appeared, and that one whose moral conduct was so blame- less, whoso spirit was so generous, could not but be led in time to reverence the God of the Bible. There is an argument which readily occurs '!-h:.-:-^- DAWN IN NOVEMBER. 19 to any woman ia tho position of Faith ■H-hich came with power to her mind " If i marry tho man whom I love," thought she will not the tie between us enable me to' draw him upwards? Will not his love for memo , no him also to love what he sees that ills wife holds most precious ?" This chain of reasoning convinces most women that the course through By-path Meadow is not only pleasant, but tho right one;, they rely on theirinfluonceforgood, their powerover the Wt of a husband. Faith was fain to in- dulge these hopes, and would liave indulged tliem, but for that barrier in the way, the inspired command which she dared not for- yoM ,o,k unbelievers. Should she begin wedded hfe by an act of wilful disobedience. could she expect a blessing on her efforts to ma soul? Might she not rather be her- self drawn away by the influence of a hus- band ? ,vould not her duty to him sometimes clah with her duty to God? and dare she swerMng steps m an upward mtl, ,vl,;el. h-r own act would have beset with difficulties 20 DAWN IN KOVEJnSKl!. and obstructions? Faith foima l.orse E m- Btinctively making excuse* f«i; M^^'^^;'"'; « error., trjing to believe that f^\f ,^ can't bo ^vronK^vl.ose life is nr tlio right as if any life could bo right that is spent m forgetfulness o£ Him who bestowed it. Ihe poor girl canght herself in wishing to dis- cover that Edward had some fair reason tor bis doubts, and started to find how ear hly affection could make her regard as a pardon- able error of judgment in one man, that which would have appeared to her as a Biievons sin in another. " I should mal;e an idol of Edward-I am now making an idol of him!" thought Faith as the brimming tears so filled lor eyes that she could not see the osiers which she was weaving. " I could scarcely thmk a saymg wrong if Edward said it ; or if I could not help feeling that his words were wrong, the briM.t smile on his lips would make me for- Ket"ail the sin. But must I therefore give him up?" Faith thought of the young ruler who was called to '-o^'fi" 1"«,,S;!J to follow the Lord. ."'«« said poor Faith to pO: isscssions ivould liave been easy DAWN IX NOVEMBER. 21 linrselE in- Marston'fl 31' all "he , right," as s spent in a it. The iug to clis- reason for ow earthly 3 a pardon- man, that ) her as a A-ard — ^I am Light Faith, ?A' eyes that ich she was nk a saying I could not wrong, the take mo for- .ercforo give tho young II his great i-d. •' That oor Faith to herself, Avith a choking sonsatioii in her throat ; " I could give up a good deal for religion— at least I hope that I could ; had I a house full of silver and gold, I believe that I would give it up for conscience' sake without so much as a sigh; but T Iward— my Edward— oh! how could I part with him !" and here grief would have fiue course, the eyes overflowed, and Faith sobbed in the bitterness of her spirit, tliouqh very softly, lest her step-mother in the lillle fmnfc room should waken and hear her And had Faith no human being with whom to take counsel in this imp°ortant crisis of her life ; had she no father to whom to turn for advice, no friend to whom she could pour out her heart? Whilst the maiden is weeping alone in her tiny cham- ber, a brief account of her family will place in a clearer light the difficulties of her position. l5o CHAPTEIl II. THE COTTAGE IN1IATE0. ^AITII -was tlie only cliild of Joshua SLanby, or/ as Jig was nsnallj called by hm fellow- laborers, Geutlom an Jos. TJiough tliis title was given in mockery, and by no means as a mark of respect, it ratlicr pleased than offended the man wlio bore it. Jos never forgot, nor let those connected with him forget, that Lis father had been lawyer, and that lie had lived in Gold Sq golden through the 1 ' ire. In the mind of poor J that OS all en was about memory's haze. How the son of square, as ho saw it awycr had come to bo but a labor and an ill-paid laborer too ei* problem to Jos. He had been to 'tvas an unsolved (22) =-;chool m THE COTTAGE INSTATES. 23 Ills bojhoocl— iiaj, to tlio very scLool in which the fiimous Samuel Johnson had beon trained for fiituro usefulness and fame Why the one boy had become a woncTcr of k^.arnin- ^vliilo tlio other never willinrrly opened a book, was another ricklle to make out. Tiio defective education of Jos was not from want of Hogging, for it was a stand- ing joke wUh his master that ]io should make extra charge for extra birdies ex- pended upon young Stauby ; but no amount of teachmg or whipping could ever make much of poor Jos. It was not so much that the boy wanted brains, as that he wanted application and resolute will to master the work before him. His teacher compared him to _ blotting-paper, which takes every impi-ession easily, but retains nothin' dis inctly ; with Jos everything turned into a blot. He was not fit to make his way in he world by brain work; Jos tried it, and ^uh3d completely. His father having died and led h,m penniless, the poor young man had no choice but to earn his bread by land-labor, and iu this his success had no"t been great. Jos had never kept any place ■\h\ ''^ ■i : m m {: i ir't , ■ I -I 24 THE COTTAGE INMi^TES. thiv ieks at a time— lio ^vas ever for tlivcG Avceu» ..u « v.^- chan-iiK^ wasters or cliangmg ^^olk, mo tTSways a se.a.ble to Jos, ^orM to-month kind of existence. He M odd jobs if they eame in his - -y -'''': ^'Z^;, ^ I. . 1,^/1 rto now drove a lainiLi a lawn no.v cut -l'«^^S-;^°^ j„^ ^^jj pigs to •-;^-'Tjl',t cT.o of U.0 lawn would \rn«; done well. ±nu ^«'*o'^ , t • , runclippol. .1.0 hedge would ^""-^J " the clip )U', oue of tho pigs would be lost taiL "Fewcavcdtoe^ployGon -a :: ti::^:! i:!:^™ «^o shb and ind„..y ^ L erst wllVs and afterwards tlioso o£ their Wter c, mid scarcely have managed to J:;tnt'£or the little cottage in wlach he "iftst not he supposed that Jos looked u^n Ws poverty as arising in any way from Ssofhisoi. s-i'-i^^-v::"; tered the brain of Gentleman Jo- J^ brain had an inveterate haU of tiacin effects to any cause but the r.ght one. Jos Sha,vnluonthathis misfortunes ^vere • r .>10a v'iv connected ^^u" in some mexphuabie va} cu-ii. V3 THE COTTAGE INMATES. 25 was ever sYork ; lifo .•om-liancl- (lid odd V mowed a , a farmer's at Jos did [a^Yn would 3 marred in lid be lost Gentleman vlit iudiffer- iiding diffi- industry of oso of their managed to ill wliicli be t Jos looked ny way from ca never en- 11 Jos. That it of tracing Tht one. Jos fortunes were mnected with **t the revolutionary idciis so prevalent in his time. It was to them that ho attributed his own descent in the social scale, his moving down tlie ladder instead of mounthig up it. Jos could certainly not make clear to others, nor even to himself, what Voltaire's writings or Robespierre's deeds had to do with his being a laborer instead of a lawyer ; but ho fancied that if ho was poor, it was because, revolution being the order of the day, no real gentleman could have a chance of hold- ing his own. And though his hands were hardened, his nails blackened and broken with out-of-door work, poor Jos imagined himself a gentleman still, at least on Sun- days : then, instead of fustian jacket or linen smock, Jos ^.ould put on his long- skirted coat with ruffles at the sleeves and ruffles in front, such as was worn in the earlier part of the reign of George III. The coat was old, and the ruffles older, having in them more of Faith's neat darning than of the original lace, but Jos always felt himself a gentleman Avhen he wore "^'^ em, and walked forth from his low-thaioUed cottage, his powdered head surmounted by !f 20 THE COTTAGE INMATES. a thrcG-corncrcd liafc, "with ca pig-tail haug- iug clown belniitl it. Yes, if tlicro was scarcely bread oiiongli in tlio cottage to satisfy the linugcr of its inmates, there must always bo, in a broken cup kept for the purpose, a little flour on Sunday morning for the hair of Gentleman Jos, and a bit of rushliglit end to servo as pomatum. On Sundays, if on no otlier day of Iho week, Stanby thought much and spoke much of old days in Golden Square, and talked familiarly of the great Doctor as "Sam Johnson," as if the two men, ^vliose lives were such contrasts, had been fellow-schol- ars and equals still. Jos went to church about two Sundays out of three, less because ho deemed it right to attend public worship, than tc rhow that his priuciples led him to uphold church and king, as it behoved a gentleman to do. On such occasions Jos, in his long-skirted coat and rufHes, three-cornered hat on his head, and cane in his hand, fell; half ashamed of his homely wife, and of the daughter who never pretended or wished to be a lady, who was only " a good, quiet girl," as her m^other am was THE OOTrAQE INMATES. 27 tad boon before l.or. Truo, but for this Bood q„..t girl, t|,c life of Gentleman Jos ould 1 ave been ar more wretcbod tbau it va . It was l^aUb who kept Id, cottage a Picture of neatness; it was Faith wbo men" dec and washed his linen, and who listened uti i,at.ont attention to all bis stories of P.^tgrande,u- in Golden Square. It was 1 »U s talent or making tho most beauti- 1 of osier baskets that enabled her parent to have necessaries even when bo was out ol work, a state of afluirs whieb was of yovy ZZZ^"T""'""'- ^''" Gentleman Jos did not think verj bighl;^, of I.'aitb. Ho was H careless father, though not an unkind one. Ui- girl was useful enough to ber father; so «^oio bis too s.-bis l,ammer-bis spad _ tool to Gentleman Jos, compared to the old aeernffles which be bad first worn in Of his mle tliG second airs. Stanbj, little cl cnption is required : she was ^'either better i2or worse than the average of the Class to whieh she belonged. Deborah ^^■^liDjs thoughts were more set upon what { ■: > ! ::! 4 t . .! 28 THE COTTAQE INMATES. fiho should out, (liink, and wear, how coals could bo purchased or rent bo paid, than on anything beyond tho narrow world which fiho lived in. Mrs. Stanby was not a good manager, but then Faith could niako one shilling go as far as two ; Deborah had little notion of cither making or mending, but Faith's needle was always ready. Jos's wife was often sickly and complaining; Faith never had a headache, or if she had, fiho said nothing about it. Neighbors would Bum up Mrs. Stanby's character in tho words, " There's not much harm in Debo- rah," a phrase which usually implies " thero is also not much good." Faith, as may bo gathered from what has already been said, did not at all resemble her father. Sho had none of his vulgar ambition to mimic the follies and fashions of a class to which ho no longer belonged. Faith looked — what she was — a modest peasant girl, with that quiet manner which has a dignity of its own, a dignity consistent with meekness. No one would speak an impertinent word to Faith Stanby, no one could speak light words of her. Tho THE COITAOE I.NMATE3. 29 nppoaraneo of (l.o ,„,u,lo„ w,,s ,u,t shik. ng. Her Imn- smoothly '.raiclod aom.s, a «"«iio.e, tlio hair i.over lookc.l rnfflc.,1 Ihe .row was never knitto.l inlo „ ,Vo . I Prost? ') '"''^ ^"''^"°' "<»■ 'IW tl'o present goldcu netivorfc of SmKlay classes overspread tie land TillP.jn i , "^"fes tlifi /im> ^f * , '""• ■■■"' ^''"'1' liad reached the ngo of twelve, she had had tlio blessin- • of the caro and example of a wise, iutd '2 road the J3,ble. and read it well, b„t to loyo ts ruths and practise its prec pts. p om that mother the child l.Ji „i . , needle-work, and manv I ? '° '"''"■"'^^ "Ml, ana many of thoso useful though homely arts which make a cotlt« comfortable. A few books, relics of GoS Square, or gift volumes that had beWed to er mother, formed a little library for Su';-."^' '"?■". ^™^"-^-'reL:: t.oa a.„.- u,e aays duties were over. Ml! Ij- . l' ' i 1 ! if:: 1 ■1 :■' 1 b-;i^ t ■ ■ " ii 'f I H 1-1 II ¥' 30 THE COTTAGE INMATES. Writing Faith had cliiefly taught herself, for to copy out verses was from childhood a favorite amusement. From the foregoing glimpse of the life led by Faith in her father's cottage, it will be clear that a marriage with a prosperous farmer would have been to her a rise in worldly position, and an escape from daily toil. Many of her neighbors, indeed, would ask the same question which Faith had put to herself, "How could Edward Marston think of her as his future partner for life ?" But the farmer had but shown in his choice the same strong common sense which marked his conduct in worldly aiTairs. Marston is not the only man who has found modesty and gentleness attractive, or who has shown a belief that in the conduct of a daughter we may see what the wife and the mother's will ue. ^JiJigentJ time fo i struck n: nearly U liarity of advance < »8 if rune by any ch ^as annoi ^ess, with Vftfrr »->— © 1 a CHAPTEB irr. THE SIEP-MOTHEB's VISIT. I llie loud rapid stnkb„ of ?h^' 'lock m the titchea belL L^" ,.,. ier start, diT I.Pr » ™'"'® diligently agaia to W J^ff ^^f' '''»<» «et straoknine, butFaiM, l „^"« "'oet ],ad »-%t«.oCt!:S:':trit'''"^^^°'«'' J'»«ty of that clock that' 1^. ^"f " P'''=°- "dvanceof the proper «ml ''"f /''^"J'^ « ?« "running a iL:y,*r;»«''7-ied on •iy any chance point J "!,^ '"»'* "ever .^•^ announced b? it .t • " '"•"" ^<*" <»« '«««. with all its .ffe'^t at^- ^'^'^^"'- ^' clock, and would let ^o (31) f|.' ■'i\ ' ■i 1 1 ( ■J i "t 32 THE STEP-MOTIIEIl S VISIT. 0110 regulate or even wind it up but Iiimsclf. It had oiico adorned a mantelpiece in Golden Square ; and in its tawdry appear- ance, loud voice, and general uselessness, the clock formed no unmeet emblem of its owner, Gentleman Jos. Tlie striking of tlio clock had probably awakened Deborah, for Faith could hear lier stej)-mother moving about in the next room ; the cottage was so small, and its partitions so thin, that every sound was lieard through. It was not long before Faith's door was opened, and her step- mother, slipshod, dressed in an old faded print cotton gown, with her hair hanging loose on her shoulders, entered the little apartment. " Well, I say, child, how perishing cold you are here— you be all of a shiver !" was the step-mother's greeting, as she laid her hand on Faith's shoulder. " But how you get on with your work, to be sure ! That there basket— and ain't it a pretty, one! — has grown wondrous fast under your fingers." " I liave been at work a long time this moniiug," said Faith. *''The young lady THE step-mother's VISIT. 83 who lives with the French princess was in a great hurry to have tlie basket : when she ordered it on Saturday, slie wislied to have It home tbe next evening, and was surprised that any one should mmd Avorking on Sun- day." "Ah, them French ben't mucli better than heathen, and have their fiddling and dancing and play-acting on Sundays jnst as much as on week-days," said Deborah. " But I think," she added, drawing a dirty plaid shawl closer around her— "I tliink. tliat you might for once have Immored the French miss's fancy, instead of getting up nt four o'clock in the witter, and wasting candle, when you might have had daylight to work by." ^ ■ J h Faiith Stanby made no reply to this ob- servation. She was dibgently passing an osier-strip in and out to form the lace-like hd of the basket, tliough her chilled and trembling fingers with difficulty managed the delicate work. "What a mist there be," observed De- borah, looking forth from the litfcJe case- ment; '^ Edward Marston's chimnej s ar<« M., I '» I it I'll i 1' it ;-i '^ 1::' fS \\ 34 THE STEP-MOTIIEPv's VISIT. deau blotted out, and all tlie trees about them. ^ Tiicm be his cows a-lowiiig, though, and his cocks a-crowing," she went on, as tJio rural sounds from the neighboring farm- yard came through the still misty air. " Dear heart, what a lot ho keeps ! He's a thriving man, is Marston ; and his wife, when be has one, will live like a ladj. The gossips saj as he bo likely to make up with Matty Doyle; she has plenty of money anyways, but I take it she has a bit of a . temper." Faith worked faster tlian before, and kept her eyes steadily fixed on her work. Could she have commtwided her voice, she would have tried to turn the conversation ; as it was, the poor g^il dared not speak, and Deborah went on with her gossip. "By-the-by, did you know that Marston liad loft Here a basket of eggs jast afore wo met hnn when we were coming from after- noon church ? You ran up to your room at once, so maybe you never noticed what he had put on the table. New-laid eggs every one of them; and at this time o' the year eggs be so scarce. Queen Charlotte don't a m STEv-Mornm-s viszt. Have 'em for hr^otp. t tto"«l. sLo Lv^rai i'^r^"^ ^°"-'°"«- «-oil-. "' ™'«'l Ijei- ejes from Jier sl'ouJd lite to have 1; 7°" ^"'■"•'' ^'"'^ I cried Deborah Stanb; '"^ "' ^'^"^''»»^ ■'" over theSanday at Gul , J'''" '''^^■«' w a peevish tone • " T'™ ' T'' ^'^'^°'''''' ^"'' my flannel is wn ^i ? ''""'' I>*orahshi,„,j,^„.^--»^*o.- cobweb," — oxia-.vi auoiiier if: ;. . fi pi ■} 36 THE step-mother's VISIT. ulUncl hon chafed hov rough red hands. Such a hard hfe is „ot ,vhat Jos had to lud n cV : ''"' " 8->Ueman's sob, and m Golden Square! But, dear heart how uneven thing., iu this world be divS He wo bo a-struggh-ng to get bread enough sdo of the Ml. Mary Cobbs-sho has ae.rwashn>g_3ou never set eyes on such hancferduelsasshehadtoget'uplastw J foi o.n, lace all round, deep as my linger and fine work right over the best part of the lawn ; the plain bit in the middle mi^-ht tove been covered over with a China saucer c"! f ;:r 1 '"°^^ '--^'-rciuefs must h :: cost as much as you would earn in a month get xng „p i„ t,,^ ^y^j^ mont^ nights, and working hungry and cold"* i don t think that we should wish to change places with any French lady now when there is such misery in her land " ob' served Faith. '• ""■ " ^'f^^ yonng ladies be well out of if " remarked Mrs. Stanby. °* "' " But their thoughts must often be there." Ifi. &. saiti back Mara rnesc get tl be in m cle^ iaclj o of the J'oom t libJo s, bo^vJijj^ ^incl fait ftt tJje ( ^epfc as doii't sec Jiandterc cotton or "There ^e a-sIiG{] "Jos s.iy.s <^|jops off J ^^^is ain't ^vomeii's J. Miulame (i where J c, r^lE STEP-jfOTnEit a VISIT. said Fiiith^u , ^^^^t to P,,. f -^ ^^^"^««^v. »_ -•- 'Ills. MKlfl -i ■<-s aro 37 going Tow; far -'iw/j, as 1 iionvrl 7 " > JUT ^ so i'or.sc.|f,vlen sIk, ''''" '^""'«'. told l^e in p^. ^Uieo ijo\v / j'^i to ;^ deav oh] Eurri'^n '! '''"^^^' ^''''ni a crust ^^ *^^« poor, poor nao' r"'^^'' Finnic ^ ^o escape ibr^:::^^/"^^!^^ ^ ^''-- i^o; rounds in I „...-«^ the fnnonsniob, while,; ^incl faitljf, nar.ls oso tor- arul or h '^^^^ ««cJi bitten- to, S(-^e tJiafc it ravo t.ving ••i^ are JiancIkercJiief t] cotio — "«u must ^voo^^ ,. -^ (( '" oi- or Jace, T/i ore be ^,fc dries tJiem b^ letbing besi ilior tho '0 made of som >>« »-«ho.Wi„. Cp! . "S ''^«''I«« fcuvs foil .Jo^ «■'.)'« that tho Jj';';' **' Deborah. "I'OPS off head, by le ' ' °' ■"'■'' ''« <"'"« i*. ■■■°w«"'« hea,I. ,! *° . ''■^<'"'«'' ^en's. If I ^oiilcl keep n)y \vl hciid <^Jt3j be "'•'s tJiat was, my loro I .safe Oil L'' < 'I I. J . a 88 THE STEP-MOTHEU'S VISIT. slionldcrH, and not take tl gii'ls buck iimoi)'^ t] JO poor Frencli Jos 'em, c] lurch ns ji I tl loiii iiiurdcriiirr • f(j]j. ays us Jacobins lian't no J'cl.„..., i.'ul ^voukl as lief play at sUltl 'A;i<'ii anioncr <'s in a •dvn. Eut, Jbr tlio matter of e'vo some here in England as think as hit e o churches as they .lo, and yet bo hoiiest folk for all IJial th(5 Jand." ) * IS ;uod as any in Fa i til bit Jier 1 Deborah had ■p, and said ]jotl iinGf, find Avas looking at the cl agai.j tnriied to the Avindow land Farm. now iiiniieys of Wood- iliudy visible, for the mist >vas boginiiing to clear off under the be of (h o nsmg suti. Jt was tl; ams chitnnoys that Jjad e sight of these .suggested the step- .H.hers last obscrv.-ition. Uvs. Stanbv nail ji. <J11<J^M/^l/-«•. i.1- / . 1 . - •' had a suspicio:i that tJ weahhy farmer might pt)ssib]y bo thinkiijo- of SKles Matty Doyle, that the fresh-htid might mean somethi some one be- eggs to „ , "& '^»<1 she was ready mnv all the weight that she could into I ^vooer at whose house might expect to Jive 'S« eggs left by Mar- lU, in the fancy of the scale in favor of sko and her husband at free quarters. Tl eton on her table h 1(1 Dei and cro\ in h "J Man way ; talk a open saints, at hot 30 lu' 1 i'e a Ji it, if sli I'aitJj fronj h( ^^er han. " Win I^eboraij of the III, J- aju and get coi'id end "J^o,n. jour M'orl: ™^ «m.«or«E,;-« nsrr. "-People S'lV T 7 '«1J^ about rcIigioL ;;•',' ^' ""'"'•"• ''-™ „„ "J^.^" >'<""% tl^u LT': "; ""- '•••'-! and «""ts, a,.,l drive a ],.?.. ^■'""' "^""'"''y "' '«"' «.Ic.,, o, „l ;' ^""-"' ••'■"! look '"> •■' '"cky ff;.l .M I , ^"^'y ^"y'" will f°»; I'or seat witl, o , fi T"; '■'"'' "«» ' iVIiere bp x-r,,-, „ °f tl'c movement" """"" '■" "'« «o.,ud ^^•^■""jvoub T °"""''"w'•• • "i n.s no coals. i \ I u 40 THE STEr-MOTIIEUS VISIT. n i we'll liavo to burn aforo the week is over. We'll luivo ncw-liiid eggs for breakfast for once in a way ; I haven't tasted such a thing these six months. I tljink I'll ask Marston to (Irop in antl take a dish of tea with us in » neighborly way some evening; maybe he'll give us a thought when ho kills his turkey at Christmas!" Debornh went out of the room, and slniffled down the steep little staircase, leaving Faith to her work and her anxious reflections. The girl could not ask counsel from ono whose coarser mind could not even under- stand tho motives which influenced her own. Faitli knew that her scruples of conscience would to her step-mother seeni' childish weakness. There was but One of whc<u the young maid could take counsel in the hour of her greatest perplexity— her most sore temptation. The little upper chamber, under the low thatched cottage roof, became a holy place, as in it knelt a troubled, tempted woman, in lowly communion with an invisible Friend. Faith asked for guid- ance that she might know what was right, and the answer came, as she prayed, in tho '"^gt" THE STEP-MOTIIRR's VISIT. 41 voice of CoiiscioMco, n'arninpj Ihu- from tho 13j-patli Miuulow Mliicli her Ijcart yeumod to to, r,,itli asked foL- strft,ioih Ihnfc she might resist; Jier own. will, stroii-fli to ovor- come 111 tho h.-irdest stnio-glo whie], she cvoi had luiowM, strei.nth to give up earthly happi„ess if that happiness coultl only bo secured by breukhig tho least of her Lord'ji commai)dnieiits. As Faith huelt in prayer, ..th(5 rising snn burst through tho yeil of mist ; his clear bright rays streamed through tho casement, and filled tho small apartmnnt ^vitll glory' There was indeed little of warmth? A^ Faith rose from her knees she treniMod still with a chill in her frame and a chill at her heart ; but tho darkness of doubt was gone- the path of duty lay clear beforp her— rugged, flowerless, it seemed iudood. but heaven's sunlight lay upon it. iffj if ( :] h:l ^ M i:M Ui :il ii CHAPTER rv. 'T was well for tho vill-.^^ ^ • , fat thoro ,vas a necessity for 'or to ,,„„,, j^ y for « la.3^ shfi; '?'""• H-'raith'S "o-uloi; f JJl J:;™, -^,^f i in Ler ocenpation as irksome nn/ '' '''"'•^ fflcnt as hateful anrlT . ""'•>' '"'"'se- broken l.oal r M ''""' 'P''"'« ""d » -•"' ever, sleilS'-:^- *---e passed "-on«t her fingers LtL?"' '"' t.on was one wl.ich co,Ll eel 1 ' "'''''■ ttttenlion to work a,»l vM, '""' ^""^^ °">' "»'' J^aith was obliged to A WINTKY WAY. ^^ accept M.s8UnI '"'■'"''■''• «''» ''''' "<>' Pro/errcl ),e; o«„ col" ]:« "" ^[" ' ^'""' sl'o could iit ..nv , „ '■'"""- '"'• "'"-0 "'« pain of SeL : /'''r'- ""'' '^"i'"-'' 'vorso than ,vea ^ °..''"' «'^'l'-'"»tl'cr« p^S^::^i^'^f 01,0 ^'"- leans, to let her 1, ivo ?, , "^ '"^'""'o - Or- cottager worked h Jl? ■* , ""'8' ""'' "'« >-al^ Stanbv 1 o i;! "';'"' '" "'" »«•>- «rgod I.O.. to Zl :,"""« ^--''J-iy liad Wc paj.,„e„t fo tl b." :: fV*""''';"" "''"- on Monday morl , ' ''^"' ^"•^»«'" obstiuuovofC/" .. '' '.'•"'■"« ••" "'0 • ".?•«"<: -duyiu,.-,, iiatie English. I 1 I . u A WINTRY WAY. woman] avIicii Faitli liacl modestly but firmly persisted in licr refusal. It was need- ful for Fnitli to use more than coaitnoii dili- gence to complete her task and keep lier promise; but before sunset, the most grace- ful and delicate of baskets had received its finishing touch from her fingers. Faith hurriedly jiut on her straw bonnet and sijawl— one of the thinnest of shawls, well darned like her fatlxir's ruffles, and almost as ill suited to keep out the cold. "I will warm myself by walking fast," said tho shivering girl to herself, as she crossed the threshold of her cottage, and faced tho piercing east wind. Faith walked rapidly along tht5 high-road, then turned down tho lane that led to the mansion occupied by Madame do Genlis and her pupils — thelano which skirted the farm of Marston. Tho hedges were almost leafless, but the boughs of the biich were still spangled with gold. Thick l;iy tho coral berries on tho hollies. Faith glanced at the trees, and thought how beautiful they looked with the glow of sunset upon them. In the fields wliicli she passed a number of cows were grazing on the yet A WINTRY WAY. 45 green grass. "How happy anil peaceful they look!" murmured the maiden with a sigh ; " everything belonging to him looks happy and peaceful. And I — I have it yet in my power to be the happiest girl upon earth." There was the distant sound of hoofs on the road behind her. Faith's heart beat fast; for, distant as it was, she felt certain that the horse which, at a brisk trot, must in a few minutes overtake her, was no other than Marston's gray hunter. She did not turn to look round, but rather quickened lier stops. Had the maiden felt any doubt as to who was approaching, it would have been removed by Hero, Marston's shaggy dog, which dashed up and overtook her. Hero was deemed a savage dog, one with which it was dangerous to meddle; but Faith had never been afraid of tlio hound, she had always a smile and a kind word for Hero, and the animal, fierce to others, was ever gentle to her. He now gavo her a short, glad bark of recognition, and bounded around her, leaping up to claim notice and caress from a friend. I ' i -r'N . li !1 ■,'' w \ h 1:11 I'' 'i I 1 • I 46 A "WINTRY WAY. "All! Faith Stanby, well met!" cried a cheerful, manly voice, as Marston rcinca in his poweiful hm-sc. Tiic young man sprang from the saddle, and keeping the icin in one hand, held out the other to Faith with a smile so beaming antl joyous, that it was hard not to -smile in rctuin. Few finer looking men than young Mavston trod upon English soil, and he appeared to great ad- vantage on horseback, being a bold and gracel'ul rider. When Marston appeared in the hunting-field, as ho not nnlVequcntly did, none kept up better with the hounds, more fearlessly took a fence or swam a river, than the master of "Woodlands Farm. Faitli felt that the most trying moment of her life had come. She was accustomed to daily sacrifice of self under her father's roof, where her toil and self-denial made np for the laziness and carelessness of others. Faith had given np her inclinations so often that she was seldom conscious of cft'ort in doing so ; it seemed to be a matter of course that the daughter of Gentleman Jos should rise earlier, v.ork harder, and faro worse A WINTRY WAY. 47 than the other inimntes of his cottage. But Faith now felt that the net of self-Hacri- fioe before her wiis great indeed — so great that it was almost beyond her strength to make it. Vii I i 11 -■•). I jM' V' IJ: CHAPTEK V, ONE \70RD. EALLY, iicplicw, you cannot bo so mad as to throw yourself siway on a x^enniles-; girl, tUo (laujvliter of a spendthvirt ne'er- do-weel, wiio lias no more brains in Ins noddle tlian groats in his purse.^ Jos may have been born, as lie says, in Golden Square; but he'll end in a workhouse at last." Such had been the almost angry expostu- lation of Mrs. Agatha Marston, Edward's maiden aunt, as her nephew, booted and spurred for a ride, told her before he mounted that he intended to bring home a wife at Christmas, and that such wife hould be liUlc Faith Stunby. ONE WORD. 49 Tlie young farmer listened to the old ladj s outburst with a good-humoured smilo. Tapping ]jis high boot with tho whip which Iio held in his baud, "I marry the girl, and not her father," said ho. Mrs. Agatha Marston, who had for years ruled as mistress at Woodlands Farm, was little likely to regard a successor with favor. "Such a man as you might look a good deai higher than Faith," observed the old lady with a sneer. "I know no harm of the child ; but is there no girl with beauty or money iii the country, that you should make up with the daughter of Gentleman Jos?" Marston gave a short, merry hiugii. « As for beauty," said he, " that is a matter of taste. One sheaf of good wheat pleases my oye more than whole acres of poppies ; and as for money," ho added, drawing himself up a little proudly, " a fellow who owns as many bioad acres as I do, and has as much cattle grazing upon them, need not choose a gu'l for the weight of her money-bags. If he cnu keep a hunter, he can surely ktx)p a wife also," "- -L'" •• am iULJuatun had mounted ■r and 60 ONE wor.D. riciaen ivx^y m liigli good-linmor ^vitli liiai- sclf. Ho lia.l ii comfortable peisuMsioii Uiat ill gratil'viiig Mb own fancy ho ^vas doing a generous, aisiiitercstca thing, and to toaso his nia'ulen auut gave ralbeL- an atldccl zest to his ^vooillg. It seemed to Edward that his coniHo of tiao h)vo was lik^^ly to nm almost too smoothly. Ho had, indoeil, never had a ^vol•d of eiicouragomont from Faith ; but she was a shy Uttlo CL'eaini-e, and he had never, till that ' Sunday aftenioon, let her know how much ho cared for her. Notliing was furtlur from the cxpectatious of Marston, than that any difficulty iu regard to a marriagt;, to her so very advantageous, should aiiso on the part of Faith Stauhy. Edward was hummiug a morry tunc to himself in 1' - gayety of his hi^art, when ho caught sig. of Stanby's daughter hastening along the lane down which he was ridnig. In her plain print dress and straw honnet, Faitli scarcely looked a suitable match for the wealthv farmer mounted on his gray hunter, for which, but the week bel'ore, he had refused an offer of seventy guineas. Perhaps such a thought occurred to Mar«- ONE woi:d. CI ton's OAvn mind .is he reined in liis liorso on oveitiikiijg Faith Stanby. He ceitaiuly did iioi guess tlio cause of Ijer paleness, nor of the nervous agitation of her ni:niucr, Avhcu, after dismounting, ho went up to lier and took her by tlio hand, as related in the pre- ceding eliapter. "You have tliouglifc over what I said to you yesterday evening?" ho asked gayJy. "I liave— I have," murmured Faith, not daring to look up from tlie groand, or meet tlie gliince of the merry d.irk eyes that glanced down so kintlly upon her. "And when shall the knot be ti(!d?" asked Marston, who still held the hand which Faith had not courage to draw away. "It cannot be," faltered the maiden, with an eiiort Avhich made ever}' lil)ru in her frame to quiver. " Cannot be ! — what do you mc:i]i ?" ex- claimed Marston, in his sur[)rise dropping the hand of the trcmblin'^ oii]. Failh felt that she must speak out frankly, fully: she must do so in jiistieo to — arsLon, Kue lirast do so lest her own reso- i U' \ f*! 62 ONE "WOIID. 1 lutioii sljouia give way imacr a Iciigiliened strain. "Ob! Mr. Marston, you aro so kind, so generous! Tho only return which I can make is to bo open and sincere Avith you now. I must not, daro not, consent to be tho wife of one who disbelieves truths which are more to nio Ihrva my life!" Faith clasped her hands as she spoke, far too full of her subject to notice that the movement which she made caused her little basket to drop at the feet of her suitor. "So that is how tho ground lies!" said Marston, half amused, half provoked by her words. "I don't think. Faith, that it will bo very hard to reason you out of this fancy. If a man were a drunkard or a tyrant, one would understand a girl's refusing to have him as her husband ; but as long as he offers her a happy homo, what matters it to her whether he choose to read Hobbes and Paine, or a volume of sermons?" " How can a liome be happy whero hus- band and wife cannot talk together, cannot feel together, on one subject — tho most im- pprtaiit of all ?" said Faith. ::.:£;::: ^ ' .- r sr: 'J g'i ' ^''*'»**w= ' ° ***' ONE wont*. 53 " I can't for my life see ^vliy it slionUln't," roplicd the youug iarincr, " wlion Imsband and wife have every other subject niulcr the snn to choose from. I don't hinder your beheviug as nnich as you like, so that you don't mind my believing as Utile as I like; there's a fair 'bargain, isn't it?' As Faith returned no answer, the young man went on, while his hunter pawed the ground with im- patience, and Hero went bounding round in ciicles. " You look at what yon call serioua matters from a woman's point of view, I from a man's ; this is all natural enough. You are fenced in by a hedge of old notions and scruples; you can neither sec through it nor over it, and are contented to trudge along quietly where your grandmothers trudged before." There was pride in the farmer's tone as ho added, "I liko a bolder, freer course, and mounted on my good horse Reason, I clear the hedge at a leap !" " And if there should at the other side be danger— if there should be sin?"— faltered Faith. "Remember France, miserable France! Did not all the horrors there ue- 15 , ' i ^'' i) ! i: \ ! f 54 ONE WORD. gin by Iicr people noglcctiiig religion and forgetting their Goil ?" "Leave politics to statesmen, ami preach- ing to parsons !" cried Marston, with growing impatience. "I como to ask you a plain question, with which religion has nothing, or ought to have notJiing, to do. Are you ready, Faith Stanby, to take me for better for worse?" HoAv much may hang on a single word— a word which it takes not one moment to utter, but on tho utterance of which the happiness of a soul tlirough time and all eternity may, humanly speaking, depend! To say that little word " No," may require an effort of courage as great as to j^ut the match to a train of gunpowder, the explosion of which must shatter all that has been prized upon earth. Faith often wondered afterwards how she had been enabled to say that short word which decided her fate. She did say it, however ; and it nuist have been in a way to leave no doubt that sho meant it, for Marston turned suddenly and angrily away, muttering something about "fanatics ami fools,*' and unconsciously ONE WORD. 65 M crushing Faith's basket under the one booted foot, ho raised the other to the stirrup, swung himself into tho saddle, and in another minute tho clatter of his hunter's hoofs was heard, as at a wild pace ho dashed down the hme. " All is over ; I have done it !" murmured Faith ; " Edward is gone for ever, and with him all the joy of my life." She mechani- cally stooped and picked up the little basket all crushed and shattered, with tho mire- marks on it left 1)3* tho heel of the heavy boot. Faith looked at it sadly, and thought, "There is something else crushed besides the basket. He left mo in anger ; but per- haps that is well : I could better bear his anger than his sorrow. I am glad that the Borrow is only with me." Faith had made the sacrifice wliich was to her as the plucking out the right eye, and she thought that tli^ suffering which it caused her was the greatest which she could ever have known. But in tliis the maiden was mistaken. Better, far better, the sharp Dannr than ^^lie li*f<>-lon"" Dnin If. wnnhl Iin,Vft bv'eu worse to have shared an earthly home * MN I: li! .», I,"' ■<: 56 ONE WORD. with Olio ^vith whom a fond wifo dared hardly Iiavo Jiopcd to have shared a home iu heaven. Faitli was saved Iho constant grief of hearing profane Avords from the hps of a liusband— words for which slie knew that a dread account must bo given. 8ho was spared tho sorrow of going, Sunday after Sunday, a solitary woman, to a ploco of worship, where she must listen to tho doom pronounced on impenitent proud un- believers, with a sickening dread that her husband might bo incurring that doom. Faith was never to know the keen anguish of seeing children of her own learning Ivom a father's example to neglect or despiso what their mother revered. She had escaped the misery of those whoso who havo turned sorrowfully away as tho young ruler turned, when required to take up tho cross and follow his Master. No ; Faith had made a wiso decision even ;is regarded earthly peace, when on her knees sho had resolved at all cost to obey tho Bible command, and marry only in the Lord. L J i i CHAPTER VI. THE BUTTER FLiT. N .'i pretty little apfirtmcnt in q country mansion, fnrnislietl with elegance and taste, sat two young French ladies, each about the ago of fifteen— Adelaide of Orleans, and her companion Ninon La'FJro. A stranger possessed of little power of discrimination would have had no difficulty in at once sin- gling out the royal ghl, from tlie natural dignity of Adelaide's mien, which was increased by the pensive sadness already stamped on her youthful face. But Ninon was the more richly and fashionably dressed of the two. Of the color of her hair nothing naed bo said, for both the girls wore theirs (57) I \ u ■ I ■|! 58 TflE LUTTEKFLY. powclercd, tlio locks bruslicd b.ox3k from the lace, and a large wJnto ciul resti.io on oitlior side of the neck. Oa their heals, each of the young ladies w ore a round Avliite c according to tijo custom of th ip, only tlnifc of N period, but bright cli f, 111 on was trimmed with a 3 crrj-colored ribbon. The oiH ixce, wijich Juight otlieruisc liave ' bee. pretty, Mas marred by tlie ronge on lier cheeks ; Adehxide, with far better^aste, had eft hers to their natural j.aleuess. Ade- iaido sat close to the lire, witlj her Jittl e em- broided shppers resting upon the fender, for she suffered from the caid of au Eughsh November; Ninon often quitted her seat, to nit restlessly about th rusti room, lier silk dress uig as she moved hither and thither oa eugth, liko her higli -heeled shoes, till at 1 a butterfly settling, si ^o. «bo ciouclied down on the hearth-rug in front of tlie hre and stretched out to the blaze her small hands which sparkled with a numbcir of rings. "I thought that she would fail iZ, that petite Angtahcr cried Ninoa, in a tone of vexation. Fro year in England, both the olrl n having !v>si-dt3d more tlian a Kpoke its THE BUTTERFLY. 59 languago wifcli fluency imd correctness ; but Niuou's accent tis well us appearance iinist always have inarked her as having come from the sonthcrn side of the Channel. "Tliou"- must have a little patience," said Adelaide of Orleans. " Palience ! have I not shown it to-day ?" cried the Butterfly. - Have I not for hours watched Ehza packing my boxes and put- ting np my bijoux till I'm well-nigh tired to death, and endured this horrible English climate till I'm nearly frozen, like my poor little monkey! Here, peilt Coqidu" (little rogue], cried Ninon, beckoning with a spangled f:m, which she carried certainly njore for ornament than for use, to a mon- key th.it was perched on the back of a tapeslry-covered chair; "ho shall come and warm himself by the fire— he shall !' At the call of liis mistress the animal swung Iiimself down fiom his perch, and leapt nimbly into her lap. Ninon patted * It is unnecessary to mention to thoso conversant \vith FvQUfih, that "thoo" and "thou" are used in addressing both inferiors and those with whom the spcakora ure familiar. 'f ': i; . '^ 1 1 ;' '. i 1 ,5 f- r ' . f lli' ■■"■ ; -■ |||;i ^^^^^B j ; ' \ lii' ^ i .■■'i ' ' ■ i i , . 1 i 'i^ M m ill M CO THE BUTTERFLY. and stroked her long-tailed pet, "vvhicli was dressed in the extraviiganco of tlio fashion which had prevailed in the French court, and whose grinning muzzle and small beady eyes looked all the more ugly from being seen above a lace ruff. "Ah! I forgot, Coquin ; thou must try on thy new head-dress," said Ninon ; and open- ing a small embroidered reticule which hung by her side, she drcAV out a red cap made to fit the head of the monkey. " There ; just look at him, Adele; is n(.)t ho charming! Tho honet rouge "^ is all the rage now ; ho must wear the cap of liberty to secure him a good reception in Paris," Adelaide scarcely glanced at the monkey, nor did she join in Ninon's laugh at seeing it wear the republican symbol. "And dost thou know," continued Ninon, " that I'm going to change Coquin s name? • — it's the fjishion to change names now ; — I'm going to call him Jacobin:\ That will bo sure to win him favor with his majesty of France, Monsieur the Mob !" Ninon agaiu * The red cap worn as an emblom of rovolutiou. 10 Jacobins wero furious revolutioniBts. t THE BUTTEPvFLY. 61 lauglied gajly, but the Orleans princess sigliecl. " I wish tliat tliou wonldst not jesfc on these matters, Ninon," said she. " I must JGst, I must laugh, or I should die of ennui !" exclaimed Ninon, tciising the monkey with her fan, as she ran on with her light conversation. "If I were to bo guillotined to-morrow, I must be amused to-day! I thnik that it is this horrible climate that makes thee so triple [sad]. For me, I take everything with gaiele de cceur [gayety of heart], or I should be in dreadfully low spirits now !" Ninon shrug- ged her little shoulders and raised her eyebrows to express her sense of the trials of her position. "Has not that petite Anglaise forgotten her promise, and never brought tlio charming basket on which I had set my heart? Has net tliat faithless femme-de-cliamhre [lady's-maid] Ehza deserted me at the last moment, re- fusing to go with me to la heUe France, because of the troubles there, forsooth!— as if 'A/emme-de-chamhrchiii\ anything to do with the National Convention or Jacobin ' i;F^ .^:1 fi ■! iM J jl:r' t ! •I !■ it si.i: w'H ifi- ■ I 'SI , j II .! , I 62 THE BUTTERFLY. Clnbs, or any ono think it, worth Avhilo to cut off her head ? Thou there is the dread- ful voyage before me, wifcli that l^orrible mal-du-mcr [soa-sickiicss], of vhich I nearly died when I crossed the Cliaunel last year ! And what is before mo at the end of the journey ? Ah !"— Ninon repeated lier affect- ed movement of eyebrows and shonldurs— <( ch I'm not even to stop in Paris — de arming Paris! I'm to li iir Jivc a prisoners life in Provence, at Chateau Labelle, with Madaine la Comtcsse, ma helle-samr [tlie countess, my sisfcer-in-lawj ; aiidif that does not break my poor litlle heart, it will bo be- cause liearts are not like china plates, and can't be easily broken." *'I though t that Chateau Labelle was a delightful residence, and the comtcsse a most charming lady," observed Adelaide of Orleans. " Ah ! the chateau Avas delightful enough in old times when my poor brother was alive, and there was plenty of company in the house," replied Ninon La Fere. " It'was a pretty sight to see the horsemen with the dogs set out for the cliaso of tha 6-7/?y/,;v MMMM THE BUTl-Erj-LY. G3 [wild boar], twenty or tijirty gentlcmon at a time, with plumes in their hats and gilt spurs at their heels, clattering out of the court-ya/d, while the mony' horn rang through the woods! And it was pleasa,n*t enough to be at the grand feasts at the chateau; such feasts! The comtesse did not forget the tenants,— tijero was always ail ox roasted whole for tliem at New Year, and the fountain plajed wine instead of water. But the most charming of all," continued Ninon, kindling into enthusiasm at the recollection,—" the most charming of all was the dance in the evening, and Iho Httlo theati-e— ah !" she exclaimed, inter- rupting herself with a gesture of despair, "I am desole'^ to think of the honible clian'-os that I shall find in Cljatcau Labelle !" "I suppose that the comtesse has lived in great retirement since lier poor husband 'A'as killed in Paris by those dreadful miis^ cMhttes" observed her companion; "it is natural that she should do so." " Quite natural that Gabrielle should fret for a while ; I did so myself," reph'ed Ni- non; "for three whole days— while the n U i M W' I! i i! 64 THE BUTTEliFLY. mourning wai? being maclG up— I was deso- Zee— con) d nofc eat, could not sleep, could not dance!" tlio young lady looked dcMvn pathetically at her fan, us though couiiding her sorrows to th(; shephcvd and shepherd- ess in pink silk and spangios that wcie pic- tured upr/ti it. " Bat one canDot be always pi^uig !" Bhe added, raising her xace wiih a Liiule. " Lite is so short, especially in these teiTlblt limes ; so if short, let it be gay !" " I id the comtesse love her hiu-band very mneii?" inquired Adelaide of Orleans. "More than grandcs dames [grert ladies] generally love their husbands," replied Ninon lightly. "Ah! Coquin— Jacobin, I mean — leave my gold chain alone ; thou art always in mischief!" the girl smartly tapped her troublesome pet with her fan, and went on with the conversation, which the monkey had interrnpted. " Of course, the marriage Vfasttne affaire arrangee [an arranged thing], — Henri and Gabriello had scarcely ever Been and never spoken to each other before it. (How differently these matters are settled in England!) Gabrielle had the money and the lands, my brother had iuflu- THE butterfly; % 1 65 enco at. conrfc, so nothing conlil suit bettof i tban a match be twcun tliem. Aticl really i poor Henri was 1 -^.-r • charmed "witli L his 1 1 wife," contiiiuod Ninon, as if a French nobleman's being .so was rather a canso for surprise ; "they were as happj together as if tliej had been peasants in a chaumicrc [cottage], who had never seen or heard of the gy ancle moiide [great world]. Gabrielle, as thou dost know, was quite a star at court; she cueated a sensation at the Tuilerics." But even then she, strangely enough, spent a good deal of time in Piovence, and could leave Paris without a sigh to bury herself, with her husband, for months at a time, amidst the gardens and forests." "But her life was, by thy account, no dull one at Chateau Labelle." " Not then — but now — ah !" exclaimed Ninon with an affected shudder. " To judge by the letters which I receive now and then from my belle-sceiir, Chateau Labelle must be worse than ever was the Bastile.t No com- * The palace of the king and queen, t The great state prison, which was destroyed ia 1789 by the Jacobin mob. 5 ' . \ ■ ■k \h ;! iii 66 THE BUTTERFLY. pany, no dancing, no amusement— notljing to pass away the wearisome liours ' I be- lieve that I shall find the very rose-beds turned into rows of cypresses, and that the peacocks have lost every eye on their feathers ! Ah, my poor little Jacobin !"~ Ninon was fondling her hairy favorite- "what wilt thou and I do from morning till night in that grand, dreary old place! "if I dance, I must take the chairs for partners ; if I smg, there will be no one to listen ; I shall forget at last how to talk ; I shall forget this English tongue, after all the pains I've taken to master its dreadful ihs ande/w/ Ah, i\ifii mechanic [naughty] Eliza, if she had not thrown up her place, just at the last, I could at least have conversed with her." Ninon appeared to take the loss of her English maid almost as much to heart as the murder of her brother. ^ "I wish that I were going to Provence instead of to Paris," said Adelaide sadly ; "I shrink from entering a city which has been the scene of so many horrors. I dread what the future may bring." "Still thou wilt sec somethhg of life id IJL THE BUTTERFLY. 67 the Palais- Royal*~l beg pardon, the Palais Eftalite [Equality]," cried Ninon,— *' some- thing to excite— to amuse ! Tliou wilt have to play the agreeable to Messieurs Danton and Marat, and perhaps dance the Car- magnolef with Robespierre himself." Ninon laughed, but Adelaide shuddered. Young as she was, she felt bitterly the position of her father, who had given up the title which was his birthright, to take a name which implied that he made himself one with those who would level royalty and rank with the dust. Egalite was as one stroking a tiger whose fangs are already stained with blood, and whose next act may be to tear him to pieces; the shouts and applause of the mob for which the Duke of Orleans had renounced the fealty due to his cousin and king, were soon to be changed to yells of hate. The ladder on which Egalite sought to rise to power was slippery with blood, and his fall from it would be terrible. The shadow of approaching trials lay on the spirit of his young daughter. • The palace of the Orleans fiimily. t A dance peculiar to the Republicans. •f ^ I ( rim ^11 111 t ■ 'il i ; 1 I 'I 68 THE BUTTEliFLY. "I Hiuui fjuver endure meeting llioso chicis oi Lhollevolution," saitl Adeluiile ; "I coiikl not— no, 1 could nf)t Jet my Land touch that of llobespieire!"— she made an iuvohmtarj niovem: ' . if pushing som'c- thing from lier in disgust. " A[y lieart is m-ung for tlio king, the honest, good -hearted lang, and the unliappy, deeplj-wronged queen! I know that Mario Antoinette never liked papa, but she was always gra- cious to nie." "Ah! what a beautiful creature sho was ; I saw her onco at the opca-a, only once," cried Ninon; "but I shall never, never forget the queen. So fair she looked, so queenly, with diamonds ghtlering on her swan-like neck and sparkling in her hair. Every movement of hers was grace; and her smile, it was .simply bewitching ! Every one seemed ready t kiss tiio very ground upon V vich Lwe tror I cm Id not sleep the night afterwards for thinking of that most charmin- ; f queens. I remc aber saying that I would gladly give up ten years of my lile to be Marie Ant Inette-but for one hour!" iff THE BUTTERFLY. 69 ■i^- n "And now tlio poorest peasant in France would not change places with its nnliappy queen, a prisoner in the Temple," said Egahto's daughter. "All her beauty, her rank, her grace, have not been able to save her from insult, danger, misery !" Tears of pity rose in the young princess's eyes as she spoke. " Thou must not dwell on things so trisier cried Ninon,who disliked ; y thing approach- ing to sadness. " Were wo to cry ourselves blind, it would not help the poor queen ; so why should we make our eyes red, and spoil our beauty for nothing ! Come, shall I sing thee a little chanson to my lute? Ah, I for- i^t, tlio lute is packed up, labelled and coj ^ed : I saw Eliza putting the wrapper r and tl'o case. That mechanic ElizM, to aesert ' Ums ! Tf she had only l^ft time for Madame ^ Gealis to find awoiXiQvfomiie- de chamhre Amjlaisc to fill her place, I should not have minded her going." "It would be ImpoB ■' lo to find one now as we start for the sea-port to-morrow," saici Adelaide of Orleans. " Ahj I have it !" exclaimed Ninon, with a i< • V 70 THE BU'ITEIIFLY. itllo cry of cliildisli delight and clapping of liands, as if she had made, an inipoitanf. dis- coveij. " La pcllle Amjlam. ! the gid who makes thoso littlo bijoux of huskots! I have tulvcn such a funcy to thcm-and to her, with the manuoisso quiet aud gculiUf, and the eyes so gentle and tlioughtfnl ! Ah pa va blcH~i]uii will do -that uill do''' continned Ninon, again clapping her hamk i-aith 8tanl)y, slio shall go with mo to 1 rovence, to the horrible dreary chateau ; she shall tdk English to me andVoad to mo J^iJglish romans, and feed and take care of my dicmnant Jacobin, and show me liow to make those beautiful baskets. Adelo, I will rival Messieui.,' thy brothers. They ^low so well how to use their hands. Have j;. not seen the charming press and table witJi drawers made by le Dacde Chatres and his brother !^=- If the royal children of iuance learn trades, (the king himself is a clever locksmith,) why not a demoiselle [young lady] of Provence ? In these times oi change, when the world is turned upside down, and butchers and fish-women lord ifc * " Lifo and Times of Lnuia phn; » ■n THE BUTTERFLY. 71 over Ics aristocrats [nobility], it is just as well tliJit Avo should all liiivo a trado to fall back on in case of nccossity. I may have to Avantlcr about with my Into and my monkey, and dauco and sing for the diversion of othci's instead of my own, and sell my pretty littlo baskets, whilo Monsieur le Due de C/iatrcs^' is carniug his bread by teaching Vhisfoire ct la geograp/iic [history and geogi'a- phy] in some foreign laud." Niuon sprang up from her crouching position on the hearth-rug, as if impatient to begin directly lier conrse of education in basket-mjikii]g. "I will go at once," she cried, "and tell Madame do Genlis that I have found an- other femmc-de-chamhre, and that I have decided on takiug ma petite Anrjlaise with mo to Chateau Labelle !" "Hadst thou not better wait to know what la petite Amjlaisc herself says to the question?" observed Adehiide of Orleans. "It is possible that Faith Stanby may decline leaving her home and her country." " Decline leaving some wretched c7/az<»?/c/e [cottage], to dwell in the most charming * AfterwufclB King Louis Piiilippe. :; (■ mm .; ? ] i'i' , i. ^- • ::| \'\ \ 1. \ ' '■ : , , ! I i- ,'- V"':"tj ;M i Ij t; 1 72 THE BUTTEIIFLY. cliateau [castle] mlahellc France ! impossible P' exclaimed Ninon, forgetful apparently of the very different description of the place which she had given two minutes before. '' Besides, if la petite Anglaise did object to going with mo (she miglit so perhaps jnst at first), I should soon win her over with a few smiles, and the promise of plenty of loiiis dor. Money and sugared words are baits which she will never resist." " Faith did resist both on Saturday, when thou didst press her so hard to make the basket on Sunday," observed the Orleans princess. ''La folk! [silly thing!] — as if there could be jiiiy possible harm in pleasing a demoiselle, and earning a whole crown instead of a half one !" exclaimed Ninon La Fere. "And yet the mhhante, tijough she will not work upon Sundays, thinks nothing, doubt- less, of eating flcjsh upon Fridays, and probably never said an Ave to the Madonna in h<'r life. Ah, these Anglais, they liave no religion at all !" " I do not agree with £hee, Ninon," said Adelaide, jier fingers uneonseiouisly toy THE BUTTEEFLT. 73 With a httle golden crueiSx, ,vl.icli sLo woro, suspendea by a ribbon round her neck; "th» Enghsh c o not go to high mass, nor pj to the blessed Virgin, nor have a. nLh outward show as we have-or as we used o. ave m France, before these terrible d^ws- but I have often thought that there is mora depth, more life in their devotion. See Zl influence that religion has over the actil example. There was poverty shown in her *ess (I counted three neat patches „pou .pon P K laj), and yet, with all your coax- mg and bribery, you could no moi^ ncrsurdo her to do what she thought contr,.', to her rehgion, than you could have moved Z towers ot Mire Dame." '°^ca tlio "Ah, the whole nation are obslinale, from then- farmer c a l<ing down to a pJasan^ .1 rJ :„^f '^""'^f .N"'°". ^I'm-i.-g hcrshoul- ^eis, and speaking ,n a tone of contempt Her own course of action was as diffoTenl from that of the girl whom she d,., '^ ' flutter oiabutterilv is fr om I' I I M » f ^■•:}m kk W '^H jH^ ' i i t [ I 1 ill 74 THE BUTTEIIFLY. the strcaii^lit, rapid fliglit of a siroiig-winged bird. Ninon had no principle ol' any kind to guide her: hi L'l'e, her solo object v/na pleasure ; and she was unable even to un- derstand how any one could Jive in the world and yetljo not of tlio world, or how it could bo possible to fmd any happiness in doing the will of an unseea Creator. " Perhaps," observed Adelaide, *' thou mayest find Faith as firm in declining to follow thee to France as she was in remsing to work upon Sunday." "vl/ct chcre, why shouldest tliou always imagine difficulties!" cried Ninon gayly. ** I think that tliou hast breathed the fog of this England till thou hast imbibed some of its gloom. Thou dose sit, and think, and sigh — I laugh and dance ! where is the use of thinldng and sighing? our crying our eyes out will not bring back the gay court- life ii) Paris, nor the grand processions on saints' days, nor— Ah, Coquinf—Jiwohiul what hast thou done !" exclaimed Nijiou, suddenly interrupted by the sonud of a crash, as the monive}-, in one of his gambols, threw down a china figure from a THE BUTTERFLY. 75 stand wliicli lie had chosen io make his perch*. "The cliarmiiig St. Agnes flung down on the carpet— her gilt crown broken off. All, quelle dommage ! qiidlc dommarjc f" [what a pity !j cried Ninon, raising the fallen image with an air of exaggerated distress, and kissing and pressing it to hor bosom, as if it had been an injured cliild. " Meahant Jacobin, petit monstre ! I will punish thee, I will have thee beaten ! thou hast no rever- ence for the holy images !" Ninon, as she spoke, angrily tiircateiied with her fan the monkey tliat, as if exulting in the mischief which he had done, grinned and jabbered from the pedestal on which the figure had Btood ; then, suddenly changing her manner and to]ie, the volatile girl burst out into a loud ringing laugh : "But thou art a clever fellow, thou art 1 it is but in thy new char- acter that thou art acting! thou knowest that to vrear the honct rouge gives a right to knock down hnages and knock off crowns ! thou wilt have Jacobin manners as m'cU as Jacobin name! Ah, won't they adore thee in Paris!" Ninon might have prattled r. ' - ■'' ff UUlt 1 L 1! ■; r . '■A ' i 1 J 76 THE BUTTEKFLT. more nonsense in her flippant, affected way, Lad not her attention been diverted from the b.-oken ornament and the mischievous pet by the entrance of a footman in gorgeous livery, to announce that a girl was waitin^, outside, wlio said that she had been ordered to bring something for Mademoiselle Ninon. "Ah, ma petite Angtaise at last !" exclaim- ed Ninon La Fere; "show her up here directly; I have been dying to see her." ^ ^ .'^iM*^'^ ' t CHAPTER Vn. THE OFFER. I HERE could scr.iiielj have been a greater contrast L. fcween two girls than thai, presented by Ninon and Faith, as the latter, pale and sail, in her plain and modest attire, dropped her courtesy before the gayly- dressed, powdered, perfumed, and rouged young lady of France. The November sun had just sunk, and in that chill misty evening more light came from the fireplace than from between the crimson satin curtains which draperied the windows; but there was sufficient to show deep traces either of sorrow or of su^ ring on the countenance of Faith Stanby. '' Paiwre file r [poor irl! tli Ought '^' 1 '^ i- : t % i/^1' H ^^\ 78 THE OFFER. gentle Atlelaide ; " I foar that she has tasted little food since we saw her on Saturday. How pallid her face, how hollow her eyes ; they look as though they had been weeping ! Her shawl is so thin, the wind must blow through her! That >7^e will scarcely re- fuse to go to any place where there is abundance of fuel and food." " I am sorry, mademoiselle, very sorry," began Faith, looking down on the soiled and crushed basket which she held in her hand. " I tried to keep my promise ; I was at work before four o'clock this mornin"; but"— "Never mind the basket; thou shalt make plenty more, and teach me how to make them, they are si gentlUesr cried Ninon La Fere ; and without giving Faith time to reply, the young lady rattled on : "thou shalt go with me back to France to-morrow— over the sea to la belle France • tliou shalt be my femme-de-chamhre, in the place of that mechante Eliza. I like thy face ; and thou shalt have other dress ; and thou shait comb and take care of my cher Jacobin " — HHH it ■/' I:vt !*ii TIIE OFFER. 79 As if the animal had heard the sound of his own name, ho darted from the stand of which ho had taken possession, and from which lie had been maliciously grinning at Faith from the moment of her enterin^^ the apartment. Perhaps the difference in her dress and appearance from that of the usual occupants of that room had roused his natural fierceness, for Jacobin sprang hke a wild cat at the English gir], clung to her arm, and bit her through her thin shawl Faith was startled and frightened ; slie had never seen a monkey before, and the con- trast between the brute's fantastical dress and savage wildness made him appear to her more hideoas "Take him off her, she is alarmed— I fear hurt," cried the Orlear.s princess to Ninon, who was almost in couvulsions with laughing at her favorite's vign.,^ns attack on the stranger. Ninon La Fere, still laughing, struck the mmikey sharply with h ,r fan, and with little difficulty made him let go his hold, and retreat whining behind a sofa. -Never ^ind," she said to Faith ; - he is the most 1 I: J ' A Ij 80 THE OFFER. cliarming littlo creature when ho knows thee— so wise— so clever ! thou wilt be so fond of Jacobin when thou art witli me in France." "But, lady, I have no wish to go to France," replied Faith, who felt that nothing on earth should induce her to do so. The account of horrors in Paris and Versailles had roused a feeling of strong indignation tln-onghout Britain— a feehng shared alike by the gentle and the bold : that feeling was like the stirring of wind before the coming of the tempest. The black clouds were overspreading the sky, and were soon to burst m the thunders of war. On every side preparations were being made for the impending conflict ; recruiting parties were abroad, and the chances of success in the coming straggle with France was the theme of talk in cottage as well as in hall. To cross the Channel at this period would be almost like going into an enemy's country with the probability of never being able to leave it again. Faith would almost as soon have ascended Mount Vesuvius during an eruption ; the roaring fires and Jiot lava of THE OFFER. 81 lie volcano wero le. ■lomblo to her a;„d than tho flanaca of tl.o French Eevo]„t!^„ ' "No m.h to go! but thou must an<] sinit go! ' e.c aimed Ninon, who was too muo J'er ^ull at least from one belongin,. to a r :, .^ "■" "°' g™"g to stay in Paris I resule in a chateau tho most Ianna7^ ment of hantls and eyes was iulondod to mpress on the imagination of Faith the happiness o bo enjoyed by residing in I place winch the young lady herseS li^ Jiely tecribed as being worse than ttl Very modestly, but very decidedly. Faith again declined tho offer made hei- She had no intention, she said, of going iZ home She had never been taught a kdy's- Tadly! ' " ''°"''' ^''^""^ «'««> tl.I'e'i^^tri*— = *"" '''™^ ^''^" *^->' -.^e. cri.u 1, men, not easily daunted by 6 '■i t 11 '■i (! fl <rT <i i\ '1 82 TH13 OFFEH. a refusnl. " SliG is lien acco^npUc- slio sliall sLow tljoo how to frisonncr — All, I forget, thou knowcst not tho lungungc ! — to friz and to i)owJer." Ninon witli animated movements of her hands acted >vh;it slio describcil. "Thou shalfc work— I am sure tliou dost v;ork beautifully— thou v;ilt soon learn to co])y ks mmJc.s to pci-fcction !" " Indeed, hidy, I tliaiik you for tlie offer ; but I must dechne it," said Faith, takmpj a baekward step towards tlie door, v.iLh a strong wish to escape from the room ; but the lively French girl was by no means disposed to lot her retreat. "Thou shalt h.-vo money — not paper raoney, not Icsas.sifjnats,""' continued Ninon, .vitli an arch glance at Egalite's dangliter. "Two hundred /rcmcs t — three hundred — four hundred," she continued, raising her terms as she read steady refusal in tho countenance of Faitli. "Thou shalt have money Avitli thy own king's head upon it — • Paper moncj', largely circulated in France, of wliicli there will be found fuller mention in a nolo farther on in thi;? volume. t A franc ia tenpcuce. ^^ ^' -JKT-.:;;":-',' g | jy.^ry^. -^- Tli^ ^FI'ER. i3 ten yellow golden guineas in thy hand tliia very tlnj— if tlion wilt but crosa Iho soa witli me on AV( tlncsday." "Pardon me, lady, but no money would mako mo leave England now," lopliccl Faith ; and she added, but not alo-ul, " ^^oi for ten guineas a thousand limes I ould I chango my country for one in wl there is no order, no peace, and wlu^ro ,o only religion known is the idolatrous worship of Rome." ^ For I,. J til was not only infected by IhoKo national prejudices which at tliat timo very strongly prevailed thronghout Britain, but her Protestant princii)lcs made her shrink from throwing herself amongst stranoers professing the Romish religion, if they professed any religion whatever. T]i(« quick eye of Faith had noticed a colored imago of the Virgin Mary wliicli occupied a iiicho in the room, the golden crucifix which was hung round ilio neck of Aacl;ud(>, th^ rosaiy which lay on the taMo, beside an open volume of the legeni'' , of saints. At theiiature of the contents of the book Faith could- only guess from the strange picUno ff' ' t i; I n 1 j ► ( A ; J i. JH 1 \ 3 M^M « li!iJ < >, MICROCOPY RESOLUTION TEST CHART (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) 1.0 I.I 1.25 Hi ■ 56 1^ IS. •i u 1.4 1 2.8 3.2 3.6 U.O 2.5 2.2 2.0 1.6 J APPLIED IM/IGE Inc 1653 East Main Street Rochester, New York 14609 (716) 482 - 0300 - Phone (716) 288 - 5989 - Fax USA 84 THE OFFER. :| and illuminations which caught her eye ; but this, as well as the things before men- tioned, were in her mind connected with a corrupt Church, whoso votaries had, espe- ciallj' ill Fi-ancc, slain thousands by fire and sword, and diiven the brave and true into exile for no crime but that of desiring to worship their Maker in spirit and in tmth. No temptation or pleasure could have in- duced the English maiden to give up the religious freedom which she enjoyed in a Protestant hind. The emphasis which Faith in her reply had laid on the words *' no money J' showed even Ninon that all attempt to persuade her would be vain, and the playful coaxing of the young lady was instantly changed to the expression of anger and disappointment. With the petulance of a spoilt child to whom a coveted toy is refused, Ninon stamped on the carpet, and, in a voice shrill with passion, launched at Faith a volley of epithets in French, the exact meaning of which might not be understood by the English maid, but which were easily enough rccuHxiiiscd to bu tuims of abuse. Faitli her eye ; 3fore men- itecl with a had, espe- 3y fire and I true into Gsiring to cl in truth. I have in- ve up the eyed in a her reply r," showed persuade .1 coaxing hanged to )oiutment. child to 3d, Ninon oice shrill I volley of leaning of :1 by the ily enough se. Faiili THE OFFER. 83 was lete—folle — ingrate ; though it would have been difiicult to have proved against tlie poor girl the charge of ingratitude to- wards one who never even ofl(?rcd to pay her for the many hours of toil bestowed on making the unfortunate basket. In vain Adelaide of Orleans expostulated against her companion's outburst of temper ; Ninon would not listen to her friend. The mon- key, seeing and sharing tlie excitement of his mistress, added the noise of his bark to that of her petulant abuse, and appeared to be preparing to dart again at the stranger. Faith did not consider it necessary to stand to be insulted by a passionate girl, or worried by her monkey; so, with modest, dignity, she drew her thin shawl more closely around her, dropped a courtesy to Mademoiselle of Orleans, and then retired from the room. Faith could hear the shrill tones of Ninon's voice until the outer door of the outer hall was closed behind lier, and she found herself again in the open air. " To serve such a mistress \TOuld be to sell myself into slavery indeed!" thought Faitli. '-Plow thanliful I am that it is not r If;. I ' k : 1 ^ '1 ■ ' Jritiai i li- i !■ ■'li X.-*al^Sss».-a 86 THE OFTFER. my lot to bo licr maid ; I pity tlie person who is so. I thought when I entered that house that I -was as unhappy as I could be, but I see now that I was ungi-ateful for many rich blessings. Dare I murmur whilst I have a home in dear England, though that home be so humble ! If I am poor, I am free !" Notwithstanding tlie sharp pain in her arm from the bito of tlic monkey, the visit to Ninon had had rather a bracing effect on the spirits of Faith. She walked with a firmer stop and head less depressed tliaii Bhe hiul done after her trying interview with Edward Marston. To say "No" to him hud been bitter indeed ; perhaps a Uttle lurking pride in the heart of Faith made her feel rather pleased than otlierwiso that she had had to repeat that difficult word to the fine French lady. ■ As in the dim misty twilight Faith rapidly ret-. 1 her steps along the lane which skirted tl-M property of Marston, and intuitivelv strained her eyes to catch a glimpse of liis dwelling through the thick white fog, she realized how much tl *o' inwwgaffii.Jiii Bi iiMiM ' i i i. !..'■!• THE OFFER. 87 lier esfcremo avei^ioii to quitting her coun- try. "When Fiiiih .had parted from Edward an hour before, she had beHeved that she had entirely given up all hope of becoming his wife ; but hope is hard to kill, especially in young hearts. "Why might not Marston's views change— why might he not become in time as pious as he was already generous and brave ? Faith's fervent prayers for the man whom she loved might bo answered ; the only barrier between Maryton und her- self might be throwai down; sho might yet bo the happiest of women. Weary and well-nigh exhausted as slio was, such thoughts inspired Faith with new vigor, and beguiled the way until sho camcT in Bight of the glimmering light in the window of her home. ,1 (■ U\ ^f i -i^ i r !;•!( ■'M ! : i \tm lilt ■1} ii ^t CHAPTER yni. A SACRIFICE. jH, my husband — my poor dear Jos ! Alack, that I should live to see this day !" Such "vvere the words, sobbed forth by Deborah Stanby, which first met the ears of Faith as she lifted the latch, and crossed the threshold. " My father ! — what has happened to him?" cr>ed Faith in alarm. " And he — such a gentleman as he is, and always was — to be marched off with a herd of low fellows as know no more than the beasts they've been a-driving, or the kettles they been a- tinkering," sobbed Deborah, rocking herself backwards and forwards in her chair and v/ringing her hands. (88) A SACRIFICE. 89 "Oh, toll me ^vllat lias happened!" cried Faith, turinufr anxiously towards Tim Ma- son, the carrier, who -was slandino- by the fireplace with liis hands in his pockets. Ho had been the bearer of a letter, wliich lay open on the table. " Well, it's nothing to nialvo tlio missus take on so, as if Jos were killed and buried already. It's not every soldier as is knocked over in the bloodiest fight, and we han't come to fighting yet," said the carrier. " Soldier !— surely my father has not en- listed!" cried Faith. " 'Listed— that's just what Gentleman Jos has done. He'd had, maybo, a drop too much at Guildford; and the recruiting parties, tliey be going about the country — drum and fife, cockades and all. At the soberest times, Gentleman Jos bo easily caught with a fly, if you make it of gay- colored feathers ; so he thought as how he'd go and help to thrash them French, and make mincemeat o' them, for the way they've treated their king." "Jos was always for church and king!" I 'k'.i: if i^ ■f ' iil' :f'|'| ' ;< lit if w i. 90 A SACRITICE. cried Debonili, proudly ; " ho'd stand to the last for tlio one or tlio other." " So ho thought in the evening," said the carrier, with a broad grin ; " but it seems he changed his mind in the morning, and would rather that "Will Pitt should send any one else to thrash them Jacobine lot." Deborah fired up at what sounded rather like an imputation on the courage of Gentle- man Jos. " It ain't that he wont fight like a British lion !" she cried, speaking with rapid utter- ance and in an excited manner ; " but he don't forget that he's a father and a husband, and a gent'man ; and he ain't a young man, nor a strong man ; and it ain't a-litting he be set to drill and goose-step, and a-lying out o' nights, and a-marching all day — and he'd the rheumatics all last winter, and a cough in the spring ! Oh," she exclaimed, bursting into tears, " if my poor Jos once goes 'cross the waters, he'll never come back again — never 1" Faith looked anxiously at the letter which was lying on the table. Her step- mother pushed it towards her. It v,'as in M 1,1! tl .; I % A SACRIFICE. 91 the well-known handwriting, straggling and uneven, of Gentleman Jos, with many words underlined, and some doubly so, to give tliem additional force. TJie letter ran as follows : •'I)EA« Wri^ AXD FAiTn.-! Lave had niany troubles ^ hfo but the ^oBST of aU has como to mo now. tZ token the kmg's shiUing; and the — regiment, in which I have enlisted, is li].ely to be the nnsr sent on forei^ service if the war breaks out, as it is ..re to do ^^T^^% «™ never Hkely to have to exchange Bhots wiOi the enemy ; for. though the blockhead of a surgeon says that I'm so^cnd in lung and limb, I knovl^ a^dyou know-whatI.„^ered last winter. A gcnti^ cmm>ermay I can't stand life in barracks ; and as fo soldering m the field, a week of that woild Knx roe. and leave you a helpless widow and orpMn on the chan^ of a cold world that has always treated me so offl^ rr iy '" "*y P'^°«- ^ J^i^er's son has offered to do so ^f I pay him ten guineas down on the naU. Don t leave a stone unturned to make up the sum • Tim Mason, who takes this letter, can hrlnrr u Tme i^ morrou,: ho starts for Guildford at six L^ ^ wt ttat you make up the money and send it. Tm a ^^rlZ if you can't raise ten guineas before the momLg "J. s.'- Faith tiiraed very white as she read and i < ■ i , < ! 92 A SAcmncE. re-read the letter. Ifc was not only the grief for her father's trouble that made the contents strike on her heart like tlio keen 'cold edge of a knife. She laid down the paper with a trembling hand, and faintly murmured, " Ten guineas." " Ay, ten guineas ; and I should like to know where or how we're to get 'em !" ex- claimed Deborah, passionately striking the table with her fist ; " guineas don't grow upon hedges like blackberries, nor lie in ditches. There's rent due for this cottage, and not a shovelful of coals remaining hi the shed! I've naught but rags on my back ; and if I pawned this table, and the bed from under mo, I could not make up one guinea. Yon clock would not fetch half-a-crown, for all that it came from Golden Square," added Deborah bitterly, reminded of the family heirloom by its just Uien striking — of course the wrong hour. " Well, missus, I can't bide here longer, but I'll call in to-morrow morning — 'taint out o' my way — and maybe you'll have a letter for poor Jos, and a pair or two of warni socivs, if to can t c ipc up money A SACUIFICE. to send Iiim," said Tim Mason tlio 93 carrier. as he quitted the cottage. money— I must and « Bi.t I must will," exclaimed Deborah Stanby, starting up from her chair. " Faith, child, can't you help me to think? yoa M'a.s al'ays a good un for thinking ; poor Jos says as ye take after your grandfather the lawyor. Now when I want advice, you're as mum as a fish ! J toll you what, I'll put on my bonnet and run over to Woodlands Farm ; Edward Marston, he's a generous fellow, and rich enough to do the kind thing. I'll warrant you" he'll lend me ten guineas, and liot look sharp after the payment either." ^ " Oh no !— go to any one rather than to him !" cried Faith, her pale face flushing crimson. She had far too much dolicacv of feeling to endure the idea of >i petition for money being made, and a debt (never likely to be paid) to be incurred to the man whose hand she had just rejected. " There's no one else I can thVk of," said tho perplexed Deborah; "unless," she added, brightening at the thought— " unless you ask tljc fine French lady who has taken ftii I'! "1% If 94 A SACRIFICE. such a fancy to your Laskots ; si ; slio IS np to tho cars in gokl, sIio'Jl liover miss ten have diKpIoased licr, I have matlo 1 guineas URgry," said Failli 'Ai ip-y? — Low? by your nonsensical iJg upon Sunday ?" asked whim of not worki tlio stop-mother, Faith shook her head, hut was silent. . Deborah's curiosity was aroubc-d. " Hovr then have you offended lier?" she inquired in a tone of impatience. "By refusij]g to go to Franco as her maid." " "\niat ! tho grand lady asked you, did she?— and you refused, witliout ever con- sulting your father or me !" exclaimed Deb- or ah. " There was no time, tho ladles start for the seaport to-morrow ; besides "—Deborah gave Faith no time to finish lier sentence. " She offered you good Avages, no doubt ?" Faith's " Yes " was scarcely audible. "And if you choso to go" after all, d'ye thmk she'd advance ye ten guineas ?" The room seemed to swim around Faith. A BACIilFlCIi 95 and sho lount on tlio tublo to steady herself QS sho gave tlio affirmative reply (( rpi , l J ' you not go ia so generous so nionslrously rich!" cried Deborah Then why on earth should you not with the young lady,— who and i clutcl mv* it Oii'Aovly at the hope before h You've often and often thou jdit of entering Borvico.' ;'Iu Euglancl-iu Englan.l !" cnod Faiih. In England -fuldleckclee!" exclaimed DeW.h;..,ervico 13 service, „11 over the vorl.l! I warrant 30.. that the lady who tas such ace on her handkerchiefs has lots of good hings in her larder; and if vou've a full d.sh to eat from, and a soft bed" to Ho on, and capital wages hesides,_,„v ,ia- tience! what does it matter whether y„„'re ChaS,.."^ ^'""'» '^^'" '^^ the iriash cried'S!:""''°''-^"^'''°^<=^''°^^'- r»h ^.'v' "'"''^ ^'"'"' °°"S«'«o," said Deho- Jiealtly g,rl hko vou. Your father is liirj rj. r"^^^ ''«:«>«" -the arm,, t won't bide there— J, OS never could bide at ^{ i ii ' II « 96 A SACIIIFICE. f ;• anything for three weeks together ; he'll be a-cleserting — and get shot — nnd all along of you!" cried the step-mother passionately, looldng at Faith with as much indignation as if the poor girl had been the guilty cause of her father's enhsting as well as of his ex- pected desertion. Deborah spoke very fast, as she always did when in a . te of excite- ment. "Motlier, give me breathing time, I can't decide in a moment ; I'm very, very wretch- ed," faltered Faith. "Of course you are; selfish folk who care for none but themselves are al'aya wretched," said Mi's. Stauby to her whose whole life had been a course of patient in- dustry and daily self-deniuL "I wonder that a girl like yon, who sets up for a saint, should forgot diat the Biijle tells you to honor your parents and provide for your own !" The reproof was scarcely a jnst one, yet it went home to the conscience of Faith. The apostle's declaration that he that pro- videth not for his own is Avorse than an infidel, recurred with force to the mind of lie'll be lloDg of oiiiitelj, gnation ,y cause ; his ex- 217 fast, excite- , I cau'fc wretcL- Ik who arajs .' whoso ient ill- wonder a sain!;, you to )r your ne, yet Faith, lat pro- thau an iuiiicl of A SACKIFICE. 97 ihe the troubled maia™. Faith knew tha could not bear to live in iaxury and leave a parent to ..„t, .she could not ,vear expend" finery whzle a parent was poorly clad W hat many yo„„g £,J,, ^^^' cottage ho^es could say as much as this^ but she d,d shrink back from making ,„ch a sacrifice as that which was required from Md at a tmie when Faith's power of endu.^ «^ce had already been teslcd so so^S^. that It was no marvel if her cour 3 ^ave way. With an irresistible craving o'' bo a one ,a for five minute.,, Faith °ra„ ou the kilchen up the stairs into her own httle room, where she throw herself down on her pallet bed in a passionate Inyo weeping. '^o^^'j oi It may be thought that the maiden's dis- tress was disproportionate to its cause td that ate all there was nothinginar„Cy ne who had already shown herself ca^b « ";' {•.,^"' f^„^^"S'>«'' gi'l felt that if sha ^nv= cossed the Channel she was going f .■{, ■ 4i f li r\'^ '.a ■ If \\\ : \ : I If ii li 98 A SACRIFICE. into almost liopeless exile. How was slie, alone — unprotected — poor, and ignorant of the French langaago, to find her ^vay back from Provence, which, at that period, when there were neither steamers nor railways, appeared to be more inaccessible than New Zealand would be to ns now ? By consent- ing to accompany Mademoiselle La Fere, Faith would be giving herself \\\), tied as it ■were hand and foot, to a foreigner, of whose command of temper and kindness of heart the late interview had given Stanby's daughter a very low impression indeed. The impending war between England and France would of course render more diflicult all intercourse between the two nations ; Faith miglit not be able even to hear of those whom she loved, and would bo almost as completely cut off from all earthly ties to which her heart clung, as if she were already laid in the grave. Faith loved her father, if she could not honor him, and many a bond of affection linked her to friends of her childhood. Dear to her were the familiar sights and sounds of her home : the warble ol tiio robin that she fed with her crumbs. ,vas slie, orant of 'ay back )d, wlien .'ailways, mil New conseut- ja Fere, cd as it ^f whose of heart Sfcanby's mdeed. ■ind and difficult nations ; hear of almost [y ties to ! ah'eady father, if a bond ; of her familiar .9 warblo crumbs, A ^A ' -FICE. 99 he twitter of the su.Ulows under the eaves he whistle of the plough-boy, the chhne of «.e c nu-eh-bell which culled her to prayer But dearest of all to Faith was the se i^i hope that would be wrenched away by er till 'y^"^^7. y^ ''''-'' ^^-1 'EcWd ^laiston. He would be certain to take her KT '" ''"""^ ^^ ^" -~e that uould soon cease to care for her. Faith pictured to herself the look of indio-„ant surprise -perhaps of contempt- on Te handsome countenance of the En^d h jeoman, when he should hear that the^H ^^.om he had chosen for his bride had cfn Hent d to go as fcmme-de-chamhre to a land d sl;"T I "' '"'"^^'^^ ^"^'^^^'^^ -^ 1 a th Stanby, and it wrung from her the bmer exclamation, "Anything bat tlisl 0"! anything but tljj's!" ^ Then followed another silent slruRRlo • the wresthng prayer which precedes and pr<^ares for that martyrdom if the ^.iS "^"" *"^ ^^°''!'l "'•»<">•» nothing, which wins U: Ij i''Kn ,'•' f , j um i T' MM Mi • t I ■ . M 100 A BACLIFICE. Ill I no praise from man, but which is the highest achievement of Christian courage. We count the numbers who fight and fall upon Bome great field of battle — those who have been conscious that great events depended upon their prowess, and that the fame of their deeds would spread through all the civihzed world ; but who notes how many soldiers on duty in obscure outposts suffer and endure hardness even unto death! There is One who sees and knows; and perhaps at the great Day of reckoning some unnoticed or despised child of poverty, some servant girl who in life's desert through grace bvorcame the world, the flesh, and the devil, may receive a brighter crown than will be awarded to some whom nations have recognized as great saints. Faith did not sacrifice herself from her love for her father, for her filial affection had to be balanced against an affection more weighty: besides, to leave England was to leave her parent also, probably for ever, without even an opportunity of bidding him farewell. Faith's sacrifice was made to Ojig whom not seeiug she had loved j it was A SACRIFICE. 101 for His sake that she was preparing to leave father and friends and countrj, and to givo up all that she dearly prized upon earth. The poor girl had not many niinntes left to her, even for prayer; slie heard the voice of her step-mother calling to her from the bottom of the stairs, and obeyed tlie call directly. There was no excitement in Faith's manner; it was very quiet and subdued as she said, on re-entering the little kitchen, to which Mrs. Stanby had returned, "Mother, it IS dark ; will you come with me to the mansion ? I am going to ask the French lady if she is still willing to take me as her servant, and will give mo, as she promised ten guineas, which we will send to-morrow to my father." "I knew that you would change your mind; I knew that you would think better of the matter !" cried Deborah in triumph. " There's nothing that a girl fancies like change ; in France you'll bo liappy as a queen !" lift! i ■ 'i i:ttt i-l 5;' ■ I i ■ [ \ • I i 5 h CHAPTER IX. DEPARTURE. HEBE was little wind to swell the canvas of the sailing-vessel which, on the second day after Faith's interview with Ninon, started from an English port to cross the Channel for Calais. The leaden-colored waves that slowly heaved under a leaden-colored sky, but here and there curdled and broke into thin crests of foam. There was no sunshine upon the waters, no patch of blue in the sky. There was a j^loom over the face of Nature, on that November day, which was in har- mony with the sensations of Faith, as, with a half-broken heart, she watched the white cliflfs of England receding in the distance, and bitterly reflected that she was likely never to beliold them again. (102) DEPAniUHE. "I'm glad that Madame do Genlis has gonedcnvnintothoeabi„;lonlyhopet: shell stay there till ,vo laud," said Niuon gayly to Adelaide of OrleauB/as theylod together on the deck. •- 1 am never quite at my ease with the gouvcnu^nte besidel one ,s always afraid of these tembly clever women, lest they should put one into i book bi of perfect.on-an AdHc or Theodore* like 30U and your pretty-behaved brother foMieur le Dm de Chatres." added tie 'SZf"' ^"^ ^ --y «'-o" of £: "The air is too chilly for me; 1 shall follow madame," said Adelaide; "'besSes t would scarcely be commcil-Mt [p operl' vo remain upon deck without her." ^ ^ able I iTu T"^-^--^""' *° ^' """fort- aoie, I should die in the cabin • I couhl Dot breathe; it is stifliu- detestall 7" 1 Ninnn « 1? -1.1 ■. , " uetestaue ! cried JNwon. I-aith, she called to her maid in liBWdfir' ^°*f°'' ''''^^ '» Madame de Gen- iis 8 well-known work, "Ad61e rf tk»^i "" ';'^°- tb. chief characters ar^ .It p^ '°'T' '"""° I-»i. Philippe and Adela^; tt W^^T '"""'■ If 'i i: >SII I • I I 104 DErARTURE. an imperious tone of the ermine cloak, and command, " fetch me the Cashmere shawl for my feet, and the rug and the cushion, and the box of cakes and hon-hons ; I will settle myself here at my ease." "But madame" expostulated Ade- laide. Ninon cut short the sentence by a laugh. "Never mind Madame de Genlis; I'm pupil of hers no longer. Now that I'm clear of England, I am my own mistress at last. Jacobin ! where is Jacobin ? Faith, bring me my monkey directly." Ninon certainly understood how to make herself comfortable even on the deck of a vessel in the gloomy month of November. Wrapped up in her ermine mantle, like a squirrel in its fur, she could defy the sea-fog or chill of the air. She never noticed, nor would have cared had she noticed, that her young maid was trembling with cold. Per- haps it never entered the mind of the gay young mistress that her servant was made of flesh and blood like herself, and could suffer from weariness or pain. Faith was not allowed a moment's rest : now she was ■• '1 DEPARTURE. 106 despatched on messages to the two ladies who were down in tlie cabin; now kept kneeling on deck for an hour to chafe her mistress's feet. The monkey, wluch, not- withstanding his finery, felt the cold, and would gladly have slunk down the gangway into the warmth of the cabin, had to be chased and captured, not without leaving fresh marks of his teeth on the hand of the maid. The patience of Faith was much tried during the first hours of that voyage. Etiquette prevented Mademoiselle La F^ro from entering into conversation with two French gentlemen who were on board, and who, wrapped in their cloaks, walked up and down the deck to keep themselves warm ; but if Ninon did not talk to them, the frivolous girl talked for them, speaking loudly and rapidly in French to the English girl, who did not understand a word of the language, and then laughing affectedly at Faith's perplexed and inquiring looks. At last, even Ninon grew weary of this childish folly, and, addressing Faith in English, she = ^o j,^ ^^^ izClviUij leccii me tne lirst I I w liic VJtH ..J l!^.i v-n n 106 DEPARTURE. volumo of ' Evelina,' and my parasol (tlio Oriental one of the pattern which Count Lallj brought from India). There's no su'i, but thou shalt hold the parasol behind rnj' head, to prevent tlio tiresome breeze from blowing the powder out of my hair." " That poor maid loads the life of a dog," observed one of the French gentlemen to the other ; " she looks ready to drop with fatigue. I wonder how long she is to bo kept standing there, holding that toy be- tween her young lady and the breeze ?" There sat Ninon La Fere in her costlv wraps, laughing to herself over her novel; only glancing up now and then to see if she were attracting admiration, or to bestow a caress on her monkey. Close to her stood Faith Stanb}^ leaning against the bulwark to support her weary frame, with her tear- dimmed eyes turned in the direction of the fast-receding shore of her native land. It is not worth while inquiring what were the thoughts of Ninon when she paused in her reading ; she had few thoughts unconnected with self; but had any one had the power of glancing into the mind of her silent at- DUPARniRE. 107 tendant, something like the followiur. would have been read :— " "How shall I bo able to endure the life >vhich IS before me-I, a free-born English- woman, a slave to the caprices of an insolent foreigner, between whom and myself tliero IS a wider gulf than tiiat which divides Trance from my own dearly-loved country f I have indeed bartered my freedom for gold ' I must obey my young mistress-I have no choice ; but the loving service, the wiUin- obedience, which no money can buy, I will never, never give to Mademoiselle La Fere fohe treats mo as if I had no more feelin^^ than a stone. My service shall be as that of the mill-stone, which does its work be- cause It cannot resist the power whicli moves it, but does it heavily, lifelessly, and stops the moment that the power is with- drawn. Mademoiselle shall have little cause to congratulate herself that she succeeded m luring me away from my home. "But is it not pride that is speakinrr in my heart?" thus Faith pursued her reflec- tions. " Is there not within mo a lurking spirit of raalice-even of revenge ? Happi- { I . t.i til i' ^ :; \m ■f. 'lU f7;n H i 'i ! 15 BTURB. nesg I have given up in this life— joy can never again bo mine ; but while I cherish evil feelings such p^*^ those, can I know that peace which may remain even when happiness is lost? Is it sufficient to make one great sacrifice of the will ? Must not the Christian *die daily' — every wpking hour bringing the opportunity of doing something, or givmg something, for the sake of the blessed Redeemer ? " I am a servant ; there is nothing degrad- ing in the calling : the Most High took upon Himself the form of a servant ; He came to minister to others; He stooped to wash poor fishermen's feet 1 There are words in the Bible which apostles wrote expressly for servants, to encourage them, and to instruct them how to perform their special duties." Faith's memory was well stored with verses from Scripture, and she had no difficulty in recalling those which now seemed to be expressly addressed to herself : Servants^ be obedient to them that are your masters, .... i a singleness of your heart, as unto Chris!. Not with eye-service, as menpleasers ; but o,s ih" •' "r- vants of Christ J doing the tvill of Oodj rom lite DEPAUTURE. 109 heart (Epii. vi. 5-7). Not aaswcrhn, a<,am not purloining, hut showing all gou,! 'jiJclitu ' that they ma.y adorn the doctrine of God our Saviour in all things (Titns ii. 9. 10). - Adom- ing tho dnctiino !" repeated Faitli to lu'iself - "t]ien T am called, even as a seivant to' «liow what a CJiiistian woman sliould'be As the servant of Clirist must I work, doin^' His will from my heart. TJio Muster s oyo IS upon mo, and whatever I do, if done niito Him, will bo the free service of love '" Fiith looked on tho white sea-birds, .skimniin<r lightly over tho waves ; and tho 3():i,nin" sigh was breathed, Oh that I had wings like a dove! for then tvould Ifly away, ami he ai rest. But with tho sigh came the ansuorin<^ word of consohitlou— There remalnelh a rest to the people of God. " Yes, beyond tho grave there is rest ; yes, beyond tijoso clouds there is rest! B.it now for tho voyu-c on the restless sca-now for the girding "„p of the spirit to endnro hardness as a faithful soldier and servant. Oh, for grace to cnublo mo to suffer without shrinking, obey without murmuring, and return injustice " and un- i <i if 'l ^1 I 18 110 DEPARTURE. kindness a\ Itli that cliarity wliicU enclureth all things!" Then Enith sought in her memory for an instance from Scripture history of one tried, like herself; anil that of the little maid carried captive into Syria to be the slave of Naaman's wife, readily occurred to her minil. . " That girl's trials may have been, proba- bly were, far more bitter than mine," reflected the servant of Ninon, as the vessel slowly bowed and rose over the heaving waves. *•' She was carried off by a foreign, a heathen enemy — perhaps borne away from a blaz- ing home, perhiips over a threshold stained with the blood of a father who htid fallen in its defence! That little maid was a slave amongst idolators — a slave to those who despised Israel, nnd who knew not Israel's God. Oh yes ! her cross must have been 3^et heavier than mine 1 And did it seem likely that in the midst of strangers, enemies, Ueatlieii, that little maid would be able to keep alive the spark of true religion which she had brought away in her heart ? What grace was required to keep that 1. I DEPAETUKE. Ill nnquenclicci, wlion there was notliinq- eaitlily to guard it! But it seem;a that such grace was given. We knoAv that the slave remem- bered the prophet from whose lips, perhaps she may have learned to fear and love the trod of her fathers. And what a character for truthfulness must the maid have won amongst the Syrians, when her bare word -the word of a slavc-gh-1-had power to make her master undertake a journov into the very land which his sword had rava-ed ' Naaman hoped for a miracle on tho n"iero word of his servant ! Ah ! Iior fcoblo spark must not only have been kept n\h-o, but have strengthened and brightened (ill it be- came a light to shine before mon~a li-lit whicli served to guide her heatlien master to health of body and peace of mind. Surely it was the Lord's tender care for servants " thonglit Faith, - that made Him give that little maid a place— an honorable place— in His own holy Word. We might have heard of Naaman's journey, as we do of the; Queen of Sheba's, without being told of t!in first cause of Lis being led to undertake it th r^-.,.- v^rcac iviaster would not lot tin but poor r1 It : . i:l i til 112 DEPARTURE. young slave be forgotten. She had but one talent ; but slie did not bury it : slio was made a blessing even to the enemies who had deprived her of freedom. And yet that maiden lived before the world had had the cxamj^lc of Him who when He was reviled, reviled not again ; the command Avas not then written that servants should do faithful service, not only to masters good and gentle, but also to ihefroiuard ; nor had the assur- ance been given that the patience of an ill- treated servant is acceptable ivith God (1 Petor ii. 18-20). That is indeed an en- couraging word, acceptable loWi God ! Surely He who blessed the slave-girl in Syria will also bless mo ; He who cared for her in her bondage will care for mo in my land of exile. The Lord can keep mo from falling in my painful and slippery path, and make me, amongst strangers and Eomanists, faith- ful to the pure religion in which I was brought up, by my own dear mother." !l| who >«^ ■ *8 , God CHAPTER X. LANDING. HOUGHTS sncli as tlio foregoing had a strengthening and cheering effect on the spirits of Faith. She dared not let her mind dwell upon what might have been had she chosen a different lot ; she dared not reflect on the happiness which she might have enjoyed had she been less obedient to the dictates of conscience. Faith tried to fix her atten- tion, not on past joys, but on present duties, knomng that the most trivial become hon- orable if fulfilled in a Clnistian spirit, from the motive of Cliristian love. " I must even try to make friends with Jacobin," said Faith to herself; "why should any creature be hateful in my eyes?" S (U3) ikf !^ i\ m • H ■■m I 'i^ w i * lU L;\NDING. Slie had been reminded of the monlvcy by seeing its red cap peeping from tinder the ermine folds of Ninon's mantle, to which the animal had probably crept for the sake of its warmth. Bnt Jacobin had another object ill view besides that of obtaining shelter. The black bead-like eyes of the favorite were longingly surveying the pretty box of Jion-hons, which lay open on the bench on which Ninon Avas half sitting, half re- clining. Cautiously, a brown hairy paw- was extended towards it ; then with a sudden snatch tlie monkey possessed himself of the prize, and sprang up on the bulwarks to enjoy the contents of the box. The movement made Ninon glance up from her book ; without waiting to give her attendant time to attempt to recover the box, she angrily struck the monkey with the bound volume which she held in her hand. Ninon had frequently beaten her favorite, had been quite as fond of teasing him as of caressing, and it was no new thing to Jacobin to be knocked over by a passionate blow ; but the monkey's falls had hitherto been on soft carpet or velvety . .^- liANDINQ. 115 lawn, -now the poor creatnro was tlirown bac was over the side of the vessel into the cold lieaving wjitors below. "My monkey ! my Jacobin !" cried Ninon starting up f.om her seat when she saw the ettect of her thoughtless blow ; "fly, Faith % to the captain; order him to stop the vessel this instant, and put out a boat to save my drowning darling." Faith hastened to the captain, while iNmon stood wringing her hands, watching the struggles of the poor monkey, and utter- mg loud exclamations of despair, which of course, drew towards her side of the vessel such of the passengers as chanced to be on deck at the time. ;' Stop the vessel, indeed, to pick up a hairy^ brute," muttered the weather-beaten captaiu, ,vith a profane exclamation, when Failh delivered her young lady's message ; Id not take in a bit of canvas to humor the fancy of any French miss under the Ninon showed at first petulant anger, as 8he always did when her will was crossed ; but the rod-faced sea-captain, in his rou'^h ! A I ir 1 11 IIG LANDING. pea-jacliet, was a very diffcrout person to deal with from the courteous acquaintance or obsequious dependants with whom Ninon had usually been brought into contact, and she dared not provoke him to anger. As soon as the demoiselle saw that Jacobin's case was hopeless, she philosophically made up her mind to his loss. " I can soon have another monliey from Marseilles," observed Ninon, as she leaned over the bulwarks, looking on the waves with which the wretched creature was bat- tling in vain eflbrts to regain tlio vessel. The young lady even appeared to find Bome amusement in watching those efforts. "Ah, he swims hvsxYely, paiivre Jacobin; but ho has not wings as the ship has, he will never overtake it. See — he goes down — no, there is his head ; but he has lost Tuis cap of liberty, his honet rouge; it is floating away on the waters ! He lias cast off his old principles, he will die a gentleman of the ancien regime r Ninon laughed ac her own heartless jest, while her favorite sank under the waves. '' That fair lady would have cared as lilile LANT'TXa. 117 .had it been licr maid who had fallen over- board instead of her moiikoj," observed one of the French gentlemen to liis compan- ion, as the J walked to the fuither side of the deck. " Perhaps a little less," was tlio reply. The voyage ended withont further inci- dent ; the vessel, soon after dusk, safely reached her destination, which was the port of Calais. It was by lamplight that Faith first saw a city of France ; not the brilliant lamplight of gas, the invention of more modern days, but the yellow light thrown by oil-lamps suspended in the centre of tho streets. In tho time of the First Revolution, this mode of suspending lamps so often suggested to the Jacobins an easy way of murdering their victims by hanging, that A la lanlerne ! [ To the lamp ! ] became a proverbial cry. Ninon's weary maid could give little thought to tho associations which would otherwise have filled her mind on first setting foot on the shore of Franco at the place where her own countrymen had for long borne sway. Her attention was dis- I I ' \i ll m ^ BA \ ■■Hi ■ "," "' 1 '^ ^ y ' i : 1 ! ;: ^^^*! \ u i' J . : ]^ 118 LANDING. tractctl fiom historical recollections by tlio bustlo of laiitliug, and the ilifficiilty of con- veying safely on shore, after dark, some twenty small articles •which Ninon had entrusted to her care, witli a threat that should one bo missing, the servant should never be forgiven. Faith had ;o think of fan and reticule, scent-bottle and powder- puff, instead of Edward III. and Eustace St. Pierre, of whose deeds she had read in an odd volume of Froissart which I. .id been brought ffom Golden Square. She could not, however, avoid noticing in the faces of the small crowd that had gathered at tho port to see the passengers disembark, some- thing that raised in her breast a vague sensation of fear. Tho courteous maimer natural to Frenchmen even of tiie poorer classes, was changed to a republican rough- ness which was with some only assumed, but with others only too faithfully expressed hatred entertained towards everything con- nected with the ancien iw/ime [old order of things]. The French ladies were somewhat jostled on their way up the quay, and mur- murs of '' cmigrecs arldocratcs !'^ from men LANDING. 119 1 by tlio of con- ic, some ail had 3 at that t should ])ink of powdor- Eastace read in .1(1 been 3 could faces of . at tho V, some'- I vague manner poorer L rougli- ^sumed, pressed i]g con- irder of mewliat id mur- )tn men crce whose daik features looked storji and fi m the lamplight, made Madame do GeiiliH hurry the movements of lier pupils. They had not gone m.'iny steps when i] )t by ley were luuu uy a servant m mourj bearing a torch, and accompaniell by a womnnwho bad evidently conio to meet the ladies on l]icir first landing at Cal;iis. "Ah, Diane!" exclaimed Ninon L;i Fere to the woman as soon as she cauglrc sight of her face, "so ma hdle-scenr has scut thee to meet me! Just see that that stupid Anglaisn docs not drop any of my things." It was not mere cnriosily that made Faith glance at tho person whom Ninon had thus addressed. Faith had already heard the name of Diane often enough to know that she was the waiting-maid of Madame la Comtesse La Fere, and would be her own instructress, and might be her tyrant also. On Diane rather than on Ninon "herself the future comfort or misery of tho young Enghsh stranger might depend. H-.r firsi glance at tho French lady's-maid did not reassure Faith. Diane was a woman of about tlurtv vears of inm- sj^o mi<>ht bo i ■1 '■ n 'I ' ■■■tin if; :i '^ u ii Pi- o^ D' ^•k 120 L.VNDINa. called gootl-looking, lier face expressed in- telligence, and her manner quick decision. Her complexion was dark but clear; a very frequent smilo had left wrinkle lines at the corncr.s of her mouth, tlio only wrinkles to bo seen, but that smilo itself was not pleasing. It merely lengthened tho thin, tightly- closed lips; it h:id nothing to do with tlie eyes which, black, bright, uid cunning, stiangel}' reminded Faith of those pf Jacobin tlie monkey. Diano returned Faith's glance with one of keen curiosity, a gaze which seemed to pierce through and through. " Anglaisc, hcreliquer mutic^rod tho wait- ing-maid of la comtesse. Faith was as yet ignorant of tho French language, but of those two words it was easy to guess tho meaning ; and had it not been so, the tone in which tliev were uttered would have ft/ rendered that meaning inteUigiblc. Faith, as she followed Diane to the hotel in which apartments had been secured for the night, intuitively felt that in the comtesse's/e?7iwe- de-cliamhve A\q would have an enemy rather than a friend. CHAPTER XL THE REIQN OF'TEKROR. jES, I find from Diano that ma hdk-samr Gabiiello is in Paris juvjiiting mo," said Ninon to Adelaide of Orleans, ^vhcn tlio two young ladies wore left alono together in the room which they were to occupy for the night. "Madame la Comfesse is wonderfully aflfecticnr.to indeed ; I certainly did not give her credit for such tender caro of a i^etile etourdie like me ! I should not have thought that anything would have induced Gabrielle to quit her retreat in her beloved Provence, and come up to naughty Paris !" Ninon gave her little affected laugh and shrug of the shoulders. a2l) 122 'J'lIE IIKION OF Ti'.nnoR. "Pcrl)a]>s la comtesse had 8oino otlior motive for her visit," sng^'josted Adi;kuilc\ "Perhaps sho had," said Niuoii Avith a sarcastic smile ; " a pilgviin."go to sonio holy flhriuc, if j\fcssienr.s Ics Jar.ohui.s liavo left Biich things as shrines standing in Paris. They've made short Avork of the luclvloss priests; just think of eighty of them being murdered at the prison de VAhbaye, and two hundred at Carmel, praying in th<^ church !" -^ " Ah ! what horrors !" exclaimed Adelaide of Orleans. "Shocking, was it not!" said Ninon; "but hero comes Faith with the chocolate and sfmdwiches at last," sho continued in exactly the same tone of voice. " I'm quite glad to have something to warm me, for I'm half-frozen ; and the sea-air gives one appe- tite. Here, Faith, set down the tray, and come and chafe my foet. These French fwjois don't warm like the coal-fiies in Eng- land." " I wonder at the comtesse visiting Paris • Thiers' "Revolution Fmnfaisn," otlier lido. Avitli a 10 holy vo loft Paris. ncklosH I bein^ IC, .111(1 in tlM^ ilelaido Ninon ; locokite lined in m quite for I'm {ippc- ny, and French in Eng- g Paris ■ I. c ■,*/■. I ■'; ON THE WAY TO PARIS. I'.ICC i-'3 THE KEIGN OP TERliOR. 123 -•/ > ■■■■.• • . & ifi^y'^ \l: V -•3 at sncli Li time," .said AdclciiJe ; " I tremble iDYself to retiiru there." "Ah, I forget! I have a letter from Ga- briello that will explain all," cried Ninon, drawing a sealed paper from the reticule which lay on her knee. " When Diane placed tlie note in my hand, there was not light sufficient to read by, and then the crowd, and then the bustle, and the lidget of Madame do Genlis to get us safe through the mob, put everything else out of my head." iN'inon broke the black seal and opened the letter. It was of course written in French ; and therefore when Ninon read it aloud was unintelligible to Faith, but the re- marks with which Ninon interrupted her own reading were in English ; in which the two young ladies frequently conversed to- gether, it being now almost as familiar to them as their own. The comtesso's letter was as follows : " * T/iou lullthc surprised, dear Jslnon, to hear of my being in Paris ; but I could not rest until I had at least attempted something to alleviate the sufferings of my deeply ivrongcd guecn: 'i ^ Jt I : r ! ■ : i 1 1 1, I If ;■ 1 \ t ^ 1 i ■ i L 121 Tllii; llEIGN or TEKIIOII. " I told thee so !" cried Ninon ; " Gabriello never came to Paris for ni j sake." " ' The mollter of Danton had once received much Jundncssfrom mine; this encouraged mein the hope that the Jacobin leader uvidd at least permit me to share the imprisonment of the royal family in the Temple.' " Ninon dropi^cd the letter on her knee. " Gabi'icUe is insane, perfectly insane !" she exclaimed. ''I've heard of many persons trying to got out of prison, but never before of any one tiying to get in !" " Do .<^o on with the letter," said Adelaide. Ninon first dropped a lump of sugar into ber cup of chocolate and then proceeded with liei' reading : " ' I stooped to ash for an intervicio with Danton ; I endured to cross the threshold and enter the presence of that man of blood, to ask a favor of him from whom my soid revolted!' " Gabriello stooped to put her head into a lion's mouth, the wonder is that she was ever allowed to draw it out again !" laughed Ninon, as she paused to sip the sweet choco- late, before finishing the comtesse's letter. * Li vain I entreated for permission to attend on THR IVniGN OF TlvUKOi:. 125 " she the queen ; " Cajid's wife hv; Icn.iied to loait on herself,"' was the brutal rej^l'/. I jmnjedfor leave to send to the Temple at lead some fho comforts for the royal captives. " Th^ citizens supply all that the Capds need;' said D anion ; "and they are not likely to ica.d that long T The democrat closed the inierview abruptly by the warning that I myself ov an aristocrat, stood on dangerous ground, and had better quit Paris at once ; unless I ivishcd to share the fate of Louise de Lambelkr" "Ah the uiiliappy Frincesse de LamhdUr intemiptcd Adokide; "I cannot think of her murder without a shudder !" " Of course it shocked thee, thou wort her near relative, thou hadst seen her so often," observed Ninon, who had put down the un- finished letter in order to dhect her attention to the phato of refreslimenis. '"Wassho really as pretty as is reported?" " I thouglit her so,— she was so elegant, liad such an air of ton,'* replied Adelaide of Orleans ; " la jorincesse led the fashions moro than did Marie Antoinette lierself. I will show thee at the Pahiis-Pioyal the poor princess's likeness which was taken for my ]^'l '\\ ' r ■ ■ l>i r I u It ' t:. 126 THE KEIGN OP TERROR. mother. She looks in it so aristocrafe, the immense mass of fair hair drawn np from the head, and surmounted by the gayest of chapeaiix [hats], cocked on one side, and trimmed all round with a wreath of rod roses; — ah! that poor head— thivt poor head !" Adelaide covered her eyes with her hand, as if to shut out some horrible sight. " The queen fainted when it was carried past her vnndow fixed on a pole, with the long fair hair floating around it," said Ninon La Fere. "Diane has been telling me all about the poor princess's death, for Diane's cousin was present at the mock trial at the prison of La Force. But wilt not thou take thy 2^cfit souper, Adele ?" Adelaide would not so much as look at the plate -vvliich her companion had pushed towards her. "Tell mo all about the terrible scene," she said, trcmbUng as she spoke. Ninon repeated the fearful tale as calmly as she might have described the plot of some play which she had seen acted on the stage. " The princess was brought, as you know, THE EEIGN OF TERROK. 127 before that terrible tribunal at La Force. She looked pale and nervous, Diane says, but had not lost her self-possession. The Jacobin savages demanded her name. 'Louise of Savoy, Princesse de Lambelle,* she replied. 'WJjat part did you play at court? Did you know of the plots going on there?'— 'I knew of no plots,' said the princess.— ' Swear to hate the king and queen and royalty.'—' I cannot swear that,' answered the poor lady; 'it is not in my heart.' — 'Set niadame free!' cried the judge. They set her free indeed," continued Ninon, " but it was by the murderers' daggers."* Adelaide of Orleans burst into tears. Faith Stanby had in England heard some- thing of these frightful scenes enacted in Paris, for they were the talk of all Europe ; but they now rose before her imagination in more fearful distinctness as she listened to the account of them on the first night which siie passed on French soil, and heard that account from French lips. The fair girls who, wrapped in their luxurious robes de * Thiera' "Revolution Frangaisc." Also "Kues do Paris." n ' s .-■■' I . ■ 1 E 128 TiiF. m-iGN OF teiuior: chamhre, now talked of tlio death of Loaiso do Lambelle, miglit liavo in the unseen future a fate as fearful as hers. The gay, flippant Ninon, wlioso dainty littlo feet tlio English maid wag now chafing, was .not more shielded by rank and wealth from murder- er's blow than had been the fair princess* the leader of fashion, the envied favorite of a queen. What a fearful comment did the French Revolution present on the words of the prophet : All flesh is grass, and the gooclli- ness thereof as the floicer of the field ! And yet Ninon La Fere could smile and sip her chocolate with as much relish as if the scythe of Death were not levelling around her the fair flowers which had shone so gayly in the sunshine of a luxurious court. As for the thought of the great Hereafter, of the solemn tribunal to -which murderers and their victims would be summoned alike, such thought never rested, even for a moment, on the frivolous mind of Ninon La Fere. " Thou hast so much sensibihty, a heart so tender," she observed to her companion, with her characteristic little movement of eyebrows and shoulders; "but there is no rilE KEIGN OF TERROR. 129 ufio in tears — ifc is iDofcter to langli tluin to cry. Shall I liiii.sh tlio letter of ma hcUe- soRur T' and again Ninon took np Gabriclle's epistle. "Where Avas I at? Ah! hcio— 'the fafc of Louise do LamMlc' AVhat a clear, fine hand Gabriclle writes ! * Findinr/ that J cannot serve mjj ^mhappi/ queen hj endangering my oicn Chaicxm in Paris to travel hach tvith thee to Provence. life, I have resolved on returning to Laljdle, and I only await thy arrival "Now, that is provoking — intolerable!" exclaimed Ninon, flmging the letter down on the table. " Why should I be carried off to dull, dreary Provence the vcrv moment that I arrive in Paris ? I had set my heart on staying for a fortnight, or at least ten days, •with thee, chcre amie, at the Palais-Roval. I must have a little gayety, a little amusement and excitement, before I go to bo buried alive in Provence." "Hast thou finished the comtesse's letter?" asked Adelaide of Orleans. " No ; there are three lines more— only three," and Ninon resumed her reading aloud. " ' Though thy brother entrusted thee, 9 n i i\ mw i-]^ ,h 9 f 1 1 130 THE IJEIGN OP TERROR. A mo/?, to the care of the fjouvenimte of the Buho of Orleans, his widow cannot suffer thee to he for one hour under the roof of CUken Egallte.'' AdelaitlG iittorca a faint cxclanialioii as of pain, smldonl V rose from hev scat, and turned towards the firo, with her back towards iSiuon La Fere. " Oh, thou iieodst not mind wliat Gabriello writes," said Knon, nolicin- Ijcr com- panion's cmotiov., but partly mistakiniv its cause ; "she meant no .larm by leaviu'v^out the titles of thy father ; tiiou dost know that he prides liiniself on the name of Citizen and chose that of Egalite to please his Jacobin friends." Adehiide restlessly stirred the fire. She keenly felt the reproach against her father conveyed in the comtesso's note, which she liiul most assuredly never been intiinded to liear. "I wanted so much to see and hvo in the Palais-Royal," continued Ninon, in a com- plaining, petulant tone. '' Gabrielle never considers the feelings of olliers ! Tiiere was something so charming in the idea of bein- THE REIGN OF " :rU0R. 131 111 the very p.'ilaco where Cardinal R'iclioHou lived in sucli state a liundrod or two joars bac'c, and Avlicro ho npciit throe hmidre<l thousand crowns on the rcpresentutirm of Ins own tragedy, in the presence of Queen Anno of Au.st ia. How I wish that I could have seen it !" Ninon warmed into animo- tion as she went on. "There was never siicli a place for ftrandeur and show as the Palais-lloyal in the days of the wicked Regent Orleans-pardon ine, Adele, I forgot that I spoke of thy ancestoi-. Whether he was wicked or good matters not to me— he was fit least a magnificent prince ; the splendor and luxury of his court must have been as v>'om\evhi\ as those of the Grand Monarque* himself!" "I have heard much of it, perhaps too much," said Adelaide sadly, as she resumed her seat at the table. Young as siie was, she was in some degree already aware that tJie luxury, extravagance, and vice of such men as the Regent Orleans had prepared the war for the horrors of the French Revolution." " Thy father also has done much for tho * Louis XIV. , r 1 > -1 ; r'i, ' ' i y\ .ill li . I i ;;»j I if 132 THE UEIGN OF TERROR. Palai.s-Koy.'il," cliattoi-cd ou M.-iaomoisolle La Fere. "I long to seo his charming thoatro, ami tlio inarveUoas gikba i iaircaso, iukI all tho si)loiiaia ilocjoralioiis wliich ho adclGcl to Ills ancestors' abodo. B:it I can- not help fancying that tho phico must Jiave looked more paUice-liko before Monsieur le Duo built all those shops (beaiitifal shops, no doubt!) round his garden, and cut do'.vii tho cardinal's fine old trees that jewellers might display their charming hijouxio tempt Parisian ladies."-^- "My father had doubtless good reasons for so dohig," said Mademoiselle d'Orleans; " though, for my own pjirt, I should have preferred not having the world's Vanity Fair brought quite so close to my dwelling." " Of course ho had reasons, and excellent reasons," laughed Ninon La Fere. " Shops, brilliant fashionable shops, arc trees that bear apples of gold to their owner. ' And why should tho friend of the people, why should Citizen Egalite, shut hims.df up in aristocratic seclusion ? Was not the garden of tho Palais-Royal to be the very birth- * "Eues do Purls," that THE llEIGN OF TEUllOn. 133 placo (if tli(3 Frcucli R,;voIution ? Was it not on a bench under ono of it.-.- trees that Camillo Dcsmoulins liarangiio;! tlie mob on tho 12th of July, just b<3foro the destruotion of tho Bastilo?" "I Avilncsscd that scene from ono of our pahacc-wiudows," said Adelaide of Or- leans. " Didst thou !" cried Ninon La Fere ; " I would give tlio world to have seen it. Wert thou near enougli to hoar tho Jacobin ask tho mob what color they wouUl choose to be the sig:;-mark of Rcvohition ?" "No; I could hoar nothing but tho sound of Desmonlin's voije raised high when there was a lull from tho noise made by tho shouts of tho people. Oh, what a tumnlb of voices there was ; I can compare it to no- thing but tho roar of tlio sea. I had been practising on my spinnet, and therefore had not heard what was going on in the garden, till Madame do Genlis ran in, and called me to look out of the window. It Avas to mo an amusing sight ; I enjoyed the excitement then— I remember it now with horror; but who could have guessed to what that popular t f ! 1 ! 1 ' i i t 1 ' (■ 1 ■ ^v I '^ i ' '■•ill ' -i ; ,►■< I 134 THE KEIGN OF TERROR. outbreak would lead ! I could see lUo fignro of Desnioulius wliero lie stood on tlio chair or bencli, under tljo brandies of a troo ; ho was gesticnhitliig with bolli his arms, and stamping. I think that ho drew out a pistol. Some one from tho crowd Landed him a ribbon, a green ribbon. I saw tho Jacobin fasten it into his hat; and oh, what a deaf- ening shout arose when ho sprang down amongst tjjo people! Tho mob "pressed round tho orator as if to stifle him with their caresses ; they embraced him as if they would have torn him to pieces in their frenzy of mad admirji-tion." "And liow didst thou feel?" asked Ninon, who in the amusement of listening to Ade- laide's descrijition forgot for the moment her own disappointment. "Oil, wo had been taught-Madamo de Genlis had taught us— to think it a fine and noble thing to rise against tyranny and overtlirow abuses," said the ilauglitev of Orleans, " She spoko to us of liberty, equality, fraternity; wo were pleased to wear the green ribbon, and when tho 4 ! THE fiEIQN OF TKliUOR. 135 ac figure ho chair troo ; ho •nis, and a i)i.stol. him a Jacobin b a (Icaf- g clown p'ressoil im with 1 if thoj' r frenzj i Ninon, to Atle- momcnt amo de inc and II J and litov of liberty, sod to en tho emblematical color Avas changed, wo all had cockades of tho tricolor." " All rod would havo been nioro suitable," fluggestod Ninon. " Madamo do Genlis actually took ns in one of my fatlier's carriages " to see the destruction of tho Bastile," continued Ade- laide. *' But then, 1 own, I was frightened. When I looked at tho savage, excited mob, and heard their cries of fury, I could not help thinking that it was as if the wild beasts in some menagerie had suddenly been turned loose to tear and devoui all before them. But alas! even then I -ukl httle guess that the Revolutionists ..ould not rest till throne, church, all had been trampled under '" r fuot!" There Avas a moment's XDau^e, and then Adelaide added with a sigh, "It is well for thee, Nmon, that thou art not to remain in Paris." "I don't see that — I don't see that at all 1" cried Mademoiselle La Fere, recalled to tho remembrance of her grievance. "Aristocrats are murdered hi the provinces as well as in Paris, — I can couiii four — • "Litb and Times of Louis Pliilippo." m m ! :i "i I 1 I ) I l* 136 THE REIGN OP TEIinOR. five gentlemen who used to bo at Chateau Labelle Avho have como to a violent end ; and double the number have emigrated to Switzerland or Enghind to avoid it. Then Gabrielle is so absurd; if the Jacobins chose to have her up before one of their tribunals, she'd answer them just as did the Priucesse Lamballe. I don't believe that she'd put on a tricolor cockade if her life depended upon it. See," continued the young lady, drawing a bow of red, blue, and white ribbon out of her reticule, " I'm' prudent enough to have one at hand. I meant this for Jacobin— poor Jacobin— but I may be glad to wear it myself." *•■ Perhaps in driving through Paris," said Adelaide. "Not in Paris only," cried Ninon. "1 tell thee that I should bo much safer at the Palais- Royal than in the chateau of an arisiocrate; thy father, the duke, is so popular; thou Imowest that he is the idol of the people." ^^ " Ho was so once," said Adelaide sadly ; " I fear that he is so no longer." f I ^^ J', 4 XJ i' CHAPTER XII. FIRST NIGHT IN FRANCE. I HE conversation "vvliicli she Lad heard while chafing her young hicly's feet, left a vagne impress- ion of terror upon the mind of Faith Stanby. Into what a fearful country she had come, where priests were slain in crowds by their altars, and fair ladies murdered in cold blood without remorse or pity! x\nd this was called liberty! All these crimes were committed in the holy name of Freedom ! With intense, regretful love Faith thought of the dear land which she had left— perhaps forever. And yet the English girl would not, had she had the power to do so, have recalled hor saerifiee of self. It was better, she (137) li :' , i :' , -r i f . k 4 ;;:,.■ I: 138 FIRST NIGHT IN FRANCE.' thought, that the struggle, the suffering, the danger which might await lier should fall to the lot of the young, than to that of the parent who had been brought up in easo and luxury, ^vith prospects so fair and hopes 60 bright, and who had met with already so much of misfortune and disappointment in life. Faith would not allow herself to think that her father had sunk so low in the social scale by any fault of his own. Especially now that she was parted from him, none but tender, loving recollections should clin<^ round the image of a parent in the heart of his child. "After all," thought the young English maid, " it matters little what hap- pens to me. Life lost all its brightness and value to Faith when she lieard the clatter of the horse's hoofs which bore away EdAvard Marston." The one point touched upon in the con- versation between Adelaide and her compan- ion to which Faith reverted with something like pleasure, was what related to her whose letter had been read by Ninon— Gabrielle Comtesse La Fere. * "That lady must have a spirit loyal. I'ing, the id fall to fc of tho in easo id Lopes ■eady so mcnt in to think social pecially n, none Id cling ]eart of young it hap- ^htuess rd the B awaj e con- mpan- oihing whose )rielle, loja], HBST NIGHT IN FRANCE. 139 generous, and brave," thought Faith Stanby. "I should like to see her. Perhaps I may love to serve her. The comtesse must, at least, be very different indeed from her sister. Perhaps I have been wrong in sup- posing that most French ladies are like Mademoiselle Ninon, or Madame de Genii s, who looks so clever, but so bold. There may bo many amongst them gentle, self- denying, and good. The comtesse, who was ready to bear imprisonment and risk her life for her queen, must, at least, have sometl^ ' ; noble in her character, something to be ioyud and admired." When Faith was dismissed from attend- ance upon her young mistress, she found her way, with some difficulty from her ignorance of the French language, to the chamber at the top of the large, lofty hotel, which room she found that she was to share with Diane, Greatly would Faith have appreciated the luxury of being alone, if but for a quarter of an hour; but this comfort was not to be hers on her first arrival in France. She found Diane already in the room. The shy reserved English girl felt that wherever she H ■ y \\ I .<} *'i 1^ ' -: . - I i ■'I t; ■Ih 1 urn : m i'i 140 FIBST NIQHT IN FRANCE. turned whatever sl»e did, the beady Waeb eyes oithe/cmmc-dc^!.a„ibreviere watchin-v her Jiovemonts, and that the looks which they cast upon lier were looks of miu..led curiosity, scorn, and dislike. ° "I must for once say my prayers in bed, «nd give up my evening reading of the Scriptures " thought Faith, as sh^ opened the bundle-the small bundle -.vhich held all her ravelling luggage. "I cannot read my Bible, I cannot kneel down to pray, with Ha Frenchwonian watching mo a^il the while. And yet. to read and to worship openly, is that not the way i„ which I should confess my Lord before men ? Shall 1 be ashamed of my religion? Shall a ■ Protestant English girl leave a Eomanist to conclude either that she has no religion at all. or one which she dare not a,w? Cold and cowardly heart, to shrink from so plain a duty ! Daniel prayed openly three tmes a day, at the risk of being thrown to tto hons. Oh, for faith like his to over- come ^the fear of man that biingeth a It was a verv m-poh «ff/».'- t^-- P.ui i .»^..,.- FIRST NIGHT IN FRANCE. 141 open her Bible and read a few verses. She could hardly bend her agitated mind to take in their meaning. It was a greater effort, after she liad closed the book, to kneel down by the side of her low Trench bed, and in the presence of a stranger, and a Eomanist, offer her silent prayer. But with the effort came the reward. Never had Faith been able to plead with more fervor, never had she more sweetly realized that her pleadings were heard. Every one whom she loved was remembered in her supplications, and half the pain of separa- tion was gone. Faith felt no longer alone, even in a strange land. She was one of the Lord's great famil}^ knit together in bonds of love ; and she herself was resting at the feet of a heavenly Father. / tvUl he toith thee, was the promise which came to her memory with almost the force of an audible answer to prayer; and Faith arose from her knees with the response in her heart, J win fear no evil, for Thou art loiih me. Diane was standing with arms akimbo, and her thin lips drawn into a mocking smile, as she watched the heretique at her devotions. f' 1 ^ t 1 t; '' ■ ^ is n i. 1 •-I ■ f l-j ^Jii ». » V, !• \'-- iii' ':, \ H 14^ HEST NIGHT IN PRANCE. She said nothing, hmvever, to Faith, know- lug that she woalcl not be understood if she did so. Diane took up a rosary of her own, and as she passed the beads through her fingers, she rapidly muttered her Ave, and Paternoster, looking at Faitli all the time as though to say, "I too have my forms of devotion." Faith could hardly imagine that her companion was pravin- nor could she exactly tell what the strin- of gay beads could have to do with religLi. Why should prayers bo counted? Were there not here the "vain repetitions" against which the disciples were warned 9 Diane concluded her devotions, such as tliey were, by making the sign of the cross ; and satisfied that she had shown a good example to a ^-uighted heretic, went to her rest. It was natural that the scenes through which Faith Stanby had passed, and those of which she had heard, should mingle themselves that night in her dreams. She fancied herself again on the deck of a ves- sel, and leaving the white cliffs of Em^land _-i-„i.. i,^,. Xj^x^ iiiscead of the slowly FIRST NIGHT IN FRANCE. 143 heaving waves over wliicli she had passed in her voyage across the Channel, Mild, fnrious billows were tossing around. The deck was crowded with fierce Republicans, who, with excited gestures, thronged around the English stranger. Faith dreamed that the foremost made a demand to her much like that which had been made to the unhappy Louise de Lamballe, save that it was loyalty, not to an earthly, but to a heavenly King which the English girl was called upon to renounce. " I cannot deny Him — it is not in my heart!" exclaimed Faith, in her dream ; and she was in- stantly seized upoii by merciless hands, and thrown over the bulwarks into the tempes- tuous waters below. But at this crisis all the terrors of the dream vanished away. There was no drowning, no struggling with death. Faith seemed, in her dream, to be changed into one of the white sea-birds which she had seen skimming lightly over the waves. She had w^ings, she was free, she was safe, she was flying back to old England ; and the sense of joyful hope and i I: ' ■ t 'i ; !rr il'-Nh'! ^ i[ tiiii m I ■. i ft 144 FIRST NIGHT IN FRANCE. confitlenco v/liicli Faith felt in her dream remained with her when, refreshed by the night's rest, she awoke in the morning to find herself in the h\nd of her exile. CHAPTER XIII. i.-:i TBAVELLINO. RAVELLING was, in the lasfe. century, very different from what it is now. A single clay will, at present, suffice for the journey from London to Paris; but in 1792 three might be required for that portion of it^ which extends from Calais to the capital of France. The Duke of Orleans had sent, for the conveyance of his daughter and her com- panions to Paris, one of his own carriages. Tlie stately vehicle was drawn by six black, horses, with flowing manes and tails; ani- mals something resembling those now used for hearses. But there was nothing Jiearse- like in the conveyance itself. A conch like 10 145 I m _- 14G TRAVELUNa. I ! th;it in vlilcli ilio Frciicli latllcs wcto to travel hi never now scon, except, porhups, in Bomo civic show or gi-iuul procession. It wna very capacious, and, to our ideas, un- V'ioJdy, swaying I'rom side to side jis tlie six liorses drag,^n(l it along. Tiio np[)('r portion of the carriage was considerably wider tlian tlio lower, and ilio \n1io1o was adorned with a good deal of carving and gilding. Thero Mils ample and luxurious accommodation Avitliin the vebiclo for the ladies ; and on tlie back and front scats outside, liaH'-a-dozen servants were able to find places, thouf^li raitened for room. Undei' more favorable circumstances Faith would greatly have enjoyed t!ie novelty and amusement of her journey Ihrongh a country wlierc?, to her, ev(>rytliing was new. Even as it was, it Was not without a feeling of pleasure that tlio young girl mounted to her h)fty outside place, courteously helped np by one of the Dnke of Orleans' vtdets, who was to occupy the seat at her side. Pondiehon — such was the valet's name — was in himself a character; at least such he appeared to the English couutiy maiden. TRAVELLING. 147 To talk fast and incessantly scomod to liini to be a necossity ; and ho accompaiiiod his Bpeccli Mitli HO nmcli action of lioad, eve- brows, bands, such cxpressivo and ]iv(;])r gesticulalicm, that if liis convcrsidion Mas not qiiito as iiitelligiblo to Faitli as it would have been bad sbo known bis hing:i;i,c^o, it wasperhiips to her as amusinp^. Pondichou made Faith comprehend, partly by Iris excessive politeness, partly by most express- ive frowns, shrugs, ;ind pantomimic gestures, whenever they approached a tree of liberty, or a Avaysido cabaret bearing a Jacobin sign, that he was no Republican, but of tho ancicu re'jimc, as became the valet of a princo of the blood. Pondichon, however, seemed to consider discretion as the better pa,rt of valor; f(n-, nothwithstanding his loyalist principles, he always pointcul. ostcntatinusly to the tricolor cockade which he wore in his hat, and sometimes even waved that hat, as if in triumph, whenever he passed through a village. On such occasions the valet, in tho midst of his rattling conversali;>ii, v.ould burst out into the Marseillaise ITyiiin, con- clud ! ' : I '1' in-i- bva"I3ah!" of disoust when h o M 148 TRAVELLINQ. was out of hearing of those -Nvhom the (Servant in gorgeous livery contemptuously termcil sans-culottes. Faith was at first pleased by Pondichon's poHtciicss, and diverted by his lively man- ners; but she soon felt that the manners were too free, and that tlie pohteness was very different indeed from the respect with which every man should t eat a young maiden, however lowly may be her position in life. The English girl had that true modesty which does not arise from pride, but from that purity of mind which belongs to the new nature imparted by Him who is purity itself. Faith would readily have knelt down to wash the feet of a beggar, but she would not have stooped to listen to light flattery from the lips of a prince. By womanly instinct she soon became aware that it was better that she did not under- stand the speeches made by Egalite's valet, and that it was not for a Christian maiden to encourage familiarity from one who had, like Pondichon, been brought up in the midst of moral corruption. Here was a new difficulty for the shy girl thrown TUAVELLINQ. 149 H amongst straugors. Slio was f(;:\vfnl of giving ofFouco, Jiiul was naturally iinwilling to appeal* utterly dilFoient from every one near her ; yet slio must never forego tlio sobriety and modesty of demeanor wliich become a handmaid of tho Ijord. Faith Stanby grow at last so ^fTicond'ortablf, that Bho would have pr.'l'crred tho unfriendl}', sarcastic Diane as I er 'ravoi:ing companion, to the fantastic, llattc'nify Fiencliman. She became more grave anu reserved, and with- out the slightest breach of Cv)artesj, ht tho valet perceive that familiarity from him was unwelcome. Tho vanity of Poudichon was wounded ; ho did not care long to obtrude his attentions upon one who did not relish the levity and worse than idle jesting in which ho loved to indulge. Tho French- man turned from tho shy, quiet stranger, to converse with those who would hmgh as gayly as himself, and care as little what they laughed at. Pondichon made his com- panions merry with tho remark, that it was a pity that those British islanders (the sneer, of oours(> was at Faith) chose to I ^!' i^ r \ i» . mm ni M I i'l I i 160 TliAVELLINa. cariT their cold, dulling fog with them wherever tlicy happened to go. Tl.ero ,vas a noonday's halt on tho way, to bait the horses and enable the travellers to pai^take of refreshment, at a hotel in a town through which their route lay. When the time approached for again starting on tue journey towards Paris, Faith, who had t us time to mount unaided to her seat on the carnage, found a little crowd assembled around the conveyance. A somewhat noisy crowd It was; those who composed it had been dancmg around a tree of liberty erected iu the courtyard, and their singinf. of t,he Marsoilh-vise had sounded ominousl^ m the ears of Faith while she liad been in the hotel. The arrival of a royal carriage had n,at«rally excited observation and cu?i- osity in the place. The ducal coronet and arms had, indeed, been carefully painted out from the panels, and an emblazoned ^. E., with a cap of liberty, appeared in then- stead; but en tlie buttons of the servants' hveries, and on tho gilt ornaments of the horse^i' harness, still tho h.-.tod coro- net .ippearod. E-alito' liimself l,a 1 I.ecome ^^^■^K'ims:-^:. -mmam^mxm TRAVELLINQ. 151 as has already been mentioneil, an object of suspicion in Franco ; and the information, which was speedily circulated, that in thLs carriage travelled his daughter, lately arrived .from England, raised an ill feeling amongst the Jacobins in the crowd. Robes pierre, tho Democrat leader, as was well known, hated England above all other countries,'^ for her loyalty and her free- dom, and he by no means stood alon in his hatred. Poor Faith, whose fair face, blue eyes, and English dress marked her at once as having come from tlio northern side of tho Ciiannel, found herself the object of most unwelcome observation from the Re- publican throng. "Anglaisc! Anglaisz! d has Ics Anglais T [down with the English ! ] passed from mouth to mouth, as, with a little difficulty. Faith mounted to lier lofty and exposed seat. The murmur was like tho distant muttering of the thunder, when storm-clouds are gathering over tho sky. Faith grew more and more alarmed, and became very impatient for the ladies to * Von Sybol's "Froncli llovolution." :< % Mi.*^ tf-'ffi I i ' ' ,' M U2 TRAVELLING. como out of tho hotel, that the carriage might be (hivcn from the place. She tried, however, to suppress all appearance of fear, and to look culmlj' down from her high seat on the tlireatening faces below. "I am an Englisliwoinan," thought Faith, " und must not disgrace the name by playing tlio part of a coward. Bat oh ! why, why docs ma- dame delay ?" Soon— though it seemed a long time to Faith— Madame de Genlis appeared with her charges at the entrance to the hotel. They saw at a glance how matters stood, and became aware that on the eve of a war with England, it had been an act of impru- dence to trjivcl with an English maid sitting, exposed to the view of all, on tho outside of Egalite's carriage. " See, see tho crowd ! oh ! hear them !" exclaimed Ninon, shrinking back in terror, and grasping the arm of Madame de Ge lis! " They are staring up at Faith Stanhy ; they are crying 'A has les Anglais .'' Had wo not bettr- tell the girl to get down at once, then drive off as fast as we can, and leave her behind ?" TRAVELLING. 153 i» Aclelaicle uttered an indignant exclamation at the cowardly suggestion. " What ! leave her, a strangerj unprotected amongst these rough people I" cried the generouH daughter of Orleans. Madame de Genlis, with a keen rapid glance, surveyed the threatening faces of the crowd. " It will not como to bloodshed here," she observed in English : " but danger may increase as we draw nearer to Paris. The girl must travel inside the car- riage, and show her white face as httlo as may be." And in a tone purposely impera- tive and harsh, Madame de Genlis ordered Faith to descend irom her seat, and help to place her j'oung lady's parcels in the carriage. Faith was glad enough to come down from her perch, which was becoming to her every moment more like a place in the pillory. Perhaps her modest bat firm bearing had roused some generous feeling towards the poor young stranger in the minds of the people, who had not, like those in Paris, been brutalized by scenes of bloodshed. If BO, such generous feeling was unconsciously la i'f) i .' i\' ;i , i 1 ..k. ' ' 'I - I ■ JiiH ifi - ' iH ; ■ 1 :|M '« Ml 154 TRAVELLING. mcrenscd by Poudichon, who, in L:,, /f.^ad ot slKiimg the iinpopulaiitj of arx y^).7/.jz,e, with marked nidc-uess gave Failh no ussisfc- auco wliatever in getting dov.n uiUi her bundle. Politeness is so natiu.vl to French- men that the valet's Avant of courtesy provoked animadversion on Iho part of the crowd. " There's the kind of poli.h got in courts for je! groulcd a smitli, who, witii face begrimed, had come from l>is ibroe to have a look at EgaHte's carriage. "Yon lackey m hverj don't know hou- to treat a woman. Here, mademoiselle !"-and a strong hard hand was stretched out to help the maiden down Iroin her seat. Paitli thanked the Frenchman for his rough conrtesp-she had picked up enongli of his language to be able to do so-and wiih a great sense of relief took her place inside the carringe, opposite to her youn- lady, well shrouded by a q.iantity o1 ■ cushions, bandboxes, and shauls froi:i fho \iew of any one outside. "How wonderfnlly a gracious Providence has cared f.>r me!" thoaivht Faith c.->" as the i , t TRAVELLING. ft ft large lumbering vcliiclo rattled out of the Btoue-paved yuvtl. " Kindness was put into the hoait even of one ^vllonl I dreaded, and the very circumstance Aviiieli just now- caused mo anxiety and fear, is tlie nionnsof my enjojing comforts ^vliieli wonld not otherwise have been mine. 80 thinly clad as I am, I must greatly have suffureci from cold, had I travelled the Avholo way to Paris on the outside of the carriage. And I am so glad to be separated from Pondiclion and his lively companions." It was indeed a luxury to Faith to bo able to remain as quiet and unnoLieed in her corner of the carriage as if she had been a portion of the luggage, exeo])t when her services chanced to be required by the rest- less, fanciful Ninon. Faith had, however, to pay for the advantage of travellii)g inside the carriage, in the increased dislike manifested towards her by Diane. The jealousy of ilu) femmc' de-chamhre was aroused by what she chose to regard as a matter of favor, thong! 1 she knew it to be but a matter of prju.lence. IJ That a mero sou hreifc. unc Aut liaise, um hcrfi- 156 TBAVELLma. tiqtie slioiild be admitted to Bit viihiii tlie carriage v.itli the ladies, while tile coufiden- tiai maid of Madame la Comletise jiad to travel oul.sivle in Novembei*, was an insult not to be toleralcl/ Diane dared not express her rosentnieiifc to Madam<3 do Gen- lis, of whom sl'o stood in t-onie awe, Init sho made its innocent object feci its cfiecls at every place where the travellers halted. F'ddi'a had nnch need of patience and meek- sv^Bs under the petty persecntion which she had to endure from a malicious woman. The young sei-vant found it impossible to please Dianii ; whatever Faith did Wi,is found fault with ; every land of service that was difficult or dis;igreeable was allotted to her ; she was scarcely allowed time to take sufficient food at meals, or sufficient sleep at night to keep her from physical exhaus- tion. The spirit of the English girl rose against tyranny more intolerable than that 10 which she was subjected by the selfish caprice of licr mistress. Many a time had the poor nuiid to repeat to herself, Let patience have Us perfect work, to strengthen herself for endurance, and to wrestle down ', ' ,i; . CI .-,j1;?SU,*S(K^ t W' m- i TBAVELUNG. 157 k iihiii tlie f'/onficlen- e iio.d to i?-ii insult ivglI not I Jo Geri- >, but sha 'ffecls at 3 iialted. ad meek • i'liicli she woman, ssible to ri\B found that was :1 to her ; to take )nt sleep I exhaus- ?iil rose htin that le selfish iiiiU) had self, Lft ron^then lie down the anger which rose in her heart against cruelty and injustice. If it bo difficult for the Christian to keep his ligl.it shining when the fierce blasts of temptation blow around it, perhaps it is as difficult to let it burn brightly under the drip, drip of daily provocations, especially those which come fi'om the temper and tongue of a woman. But the grace which feeds the holy flame in the one trial also avails in the other ; and Faith was enabled to work with a dihgenco and endure with a sweetness of temper which won for her the secret, uuavowed respect even of her bitter persecutor. 'I ' 'f.' 8l'*'i |y ti u CHAPTER XIV. IN PARIS. T Avas on tlic Satnrdciy evening of tliat, to Faith, eventful week, (hat the six jaded horses drew the cumbrous travelling-carriage up to one of the barrier gates of Pan's. A slight drizzling rain was falling ; the air felt damp and chill ; even Paris, gay, beautiful Paris, seemed to have a pall of sadness over it. Madame de Genlis had, been unusually gi'ave and silent during the day— not one lively ho.i-mct had escaped her ; Adelaide had by no means unmixed pleasure in returning to tlie palace of her fathers. Ni- non was fretful, from weariness and the disappoinlment of hei hopes of remaining (158) mi IN PARIS. 159 for some timo to enjoy tlie amusements of Paris. It was by iio means a cheerful party tliat occupied the inside of the luxurious vehicle ; even tlio maid had her own heart-sorrows and seciet re-lets. At the barrier the travellers found await- ing their arrival a plain but haudsomo carriage, with a footman in mourning livery. He went up to the window of Egalite's caiTiage, and respectfully presented a letter to Matlame de Genlis, and a small j(}\vel-case to Adelaide of Orleans. Tlje elder lady broke the black seal of the letter, and aftef perusing its contents, handed the paper to Ninon. "Here, then, my child, wo must part Madame la Comtesse has sent her carriage to convey thee to her lodgings in the Hue des A ." Ninon had previously known of this arrangement, which had been jncntioned in a postscript to the letter which she had re- ceived at Calais; and yet slie gave way to a burst of petulant vexaticm. S!io was dksoUe cm descfijjoir on having to quit her atnie diere ; whv could not the comtesso ^1^ t.^ % 'J'M 160 IN PARIS. havu lelb tliom for at least a few days togcthci" ? — such were the young lady's laments. Adcluiclo jiiobably took lior com- panion's embraces nnd passionate expres- sions of fric.;.it>iiip ioi' as inucli as tliey were worth. Madamo do Gcnlis was anxious to reach the Pahus-Iloyal before nightfall, and in rather an nncorcnionions manner hurried the movements of Ninon. In a few minutes the necessary arrangements wero made, luggage and wraps wero transferred by tho servants from one carriage to tho other; and Ninon, f.<-companied by Faith and Piano, were soon beiug rapidly driven through tho streets of Paris towards a quiet and retired quarti i" of the great capital >i France. Ninon, during the drive, conversed a good deal with Dian'- ; wliixo Faith yafc in silence, i ^rtho-ightsv ry full ' f the past. Amongst the few books which Gentleman Jos 'ad pr-pse-ved from the library of his father was a broken-backi-d copy of a translation of tho "Sieclo de Louis XIV.' F-dth had perused eo'^nrly every • olume on wdiicli she could lay n^' and amoi jsfc others thia \ IN TAIUS. 161 account of the reign of tlio Grand Bhnorrjue AU tlio woiid's magiiificciico and glory 8001110(1 to Faith to bo spread out before her whou .she road of the mighty Louis, surrounded by his briUiant court, his famous generals, liis sparlding Avils, llio beautiful, the gay, tho gifted. What mortal liad over been placed on so high a pinnacle as Louis XIV., lio who had b a ahnost worsiiipped by his court, as though he hael been more than a man I Faith thonglit much of the magnificent monarch as she was driven through the ( ipital of his cxteusivo domin- ions, through beautiful Paris, which she had often in her childhood desired to see, picturing it to Inu-self as a city of fairy palaces, gay ^vitli pcrpetuid music and mii' where SjiavkUn^ fomitains and gUtter- ing rt,. »|v- '-eflt jted perpoiiial simshino. " Ah ! c )idd the great king," thought FaitJi, " at one of his magiiiticent feasts have seen, Ukc ]](lsliaz7;ir of old, a handwr* " - on tlie wall, would not tho words traced have been Vanity of vanitief, alt is vanity ? How httle did Louis XIV. in his prido think how his descendant and successor " — 11 lUk'A I »l i;. A 162 IN PARIS. " Look, Faith !" cried Ninon La Fore, suil- (lenb interrupting tlio current of the English maiaen's reflections, " yonder is the Tcniplo ; thou soesfc where the light is gleaming in yon "window. Thoio's where the king and queen are shut up ; how trklcs they must be ! Diane tells me that the queen has to unravel bits of carpet with her dainty little hands to get worsted to knit socks with, just to pas; the wearisome hours. I dare say she often lets down her stitches." Then turning again to Diane, Ninon went on with her conversa- tion in French. Faith was very rapidly acquiring the language, so that she partially understood what was said, assisted by the pantomimic gestures with which Ninon usually accompanied her speech. " So Marie Antoinette has not even a femme-de-cJiamhrc in attendance, she who was waited upon by duchesses, Avith so much of grandeur and etiquette. C*cd terrihle ! I wonder how she can manage her toilette, how she can powder her hair !" " "Ah, mademoiselle, the hair has lo need of powder," observed Diane ; " since the royal family were arrested in Iheiu flight at IN PARia. 1G3 ro, sml- Euglisli ?emplo ; uing ill iig and luat bo! unravel ands to to pass G often 3 again nversa- rapidly artially by the Ninon even a rlio was uich of ble! I toilette, lO need ice the ight at Viircnnes, Her Majesty's beautiful hair haH all turned white !" " (Test icn'ible /" again exehiinied Ninon, though her .sympathy was not of the kind which reaches below the surface. "And then to be shut out from the sjjcdade, the opera, all her (1' versions, all her pleasures ; it is enough to break her heart. But her life can scarcely bo duller in Paris than mine will be in Provence," continued Ninon, with a petulant shrug. " I suppose, Diane, that there are now no guests at Chateau Labelle '?" "Guests, mademoiselle !" cried Diane ; " all the noblesse who used to eomo to the chateau for the hunting (except the emigres) have either been murdered on their estates, or have perished by the guillotine hero in Paris." Cest terrible — affrcvx .'" cried Ninon, with more vehemence than before. " Then I shall have nothing whatever to amuse me, no variety~*except, of course, the Fcle-Dieu at Aix."* * A_ lioniCHiist festiyal wliicli usetl to Idg Gliscrveii, with many quftint coremouies, in that old town. ! ' . ■A h' f.l 1 ■■ if f. i :;i ■■ m i. :-■ l ■■ 164 IN PARIS. " Does not niaclemoisclle know that the Jacobins liavo abolished the Fele-Dleu? They have no religion — none !" said Diane. "Abolished the Fetc-Dku T repeated Ninon La Fere, in dismay. "Are there, then, no processions Avith banners, no holy images carried aloft, no giils crowned with wreaths strewing flowers, and civic officers marching in their robes, with priests in tlieir sj^lendid garments, and boys swinging cen- sers, and masquers and all — the prettiest, gayest sight to be seen out of Paris !" "Ah, mademoiselle, all tlicse charming things are never thought of now," said Diane. " Cimrclies are closed and left to the rats ; priests have to fly for their lives ; persons can't even bo married lilfo good Catholics now. Has not mademoiselle heard how the mob has sacked monasteries, and whipped the holy nuns,* and how sisters of mercy have been plunged shrieking into the river Rhone, and then been dragged out half- dead?" " I wish I were back in England !" ejacu- lated Ninon. " And what has become of my * Von S^bei. IN PARIS. 165 that the Ic-Dleu? I Diane, repeated •0 tboro, no holy led with officers i in their ing cen- >retfciest, I" [i arming II Diane, lie rats; persons latholics how the ivhipped i mercy ie river •ut half- * ejacu- 10 of my heUe-sceur's confessor, Pero la Porte ? Is there no priest now at Chateau Labello?" " No, mademoiselle, not one," said Diane. " Since the poor pere was almost murdered when passing down the grand avenue, madame will not suffer a priest to come. Madame says that she will have no innocent blood shed on her threshold. Madame la Comtesse sometimes goes to mass,*" con- tinued Diane, lowering her voice, and glancing suspiciously towards Faith ; " but not often — and suddenly — privately. Few know whither madame is going or for what object she goes. Madame la Comtesse feels much the loss of a resident father con- fessor." "I'm sure that I don't!" exclaimed Ninon gayly ; " we are v/eil rid of Pore la Porte ; I liked his proachii'gs little and his penances less. I would much rather have confessed to the merry little abbe at Aix, who was so fond of coming to the fetes at the chateau. How his eyes would twinkle at the sight of a pate de fole gras, or a glass of my poor brother's vin de Bordeaux! Well," con- jlI TXT? T- -ri '_ - " T 1 i-V-i- -.: : I i ' .1 I 166 IN PARIS. church feasts are abolished, the fasts are done away with also ; that is but fair." " I think that with inadame every day is now a fast day," said Diane. "Her spirits are low— she punishes herself; madame lives the life of a saint, yet she thinks her- self such a sinner !" " I hope that Gabriolle will not expect me to liv0 the life of a saint," began Ninon, when a sudden movement of Diane's hand and head made her pause in the midst of her sentence. "Mademoiselle, look there— just passing that lamp " — " "Who is it ? I see no one but a vulgar- looking man with thick, coarse features—a roiurier," no doubt," said Ninon. " It is Dantou himself," murmured Diane, in accents of awe. Ninon bent forward and looked again from the Avindow with eager curiosity to catch another glimpse of a man who played so leiT'ble a part in tbe tragedy of the French Eevolution. Faith never lost the image impressed on her memory of that • Term of contfimpt for ono of the lower eli^ss. !/■ IN PABIS. 167 face, with its massive jaw, deeply creased brow, and month so expressive of stern de- cision. But Ninon merely drew back her head from the carriage window, with the frivolous observation, " Tlie 2iarvenu! [up- start] he has not even learned how to tie his neckclotii !" " He has hempen neckcloths for his ene- mies, mademoiselle, and ties them tightly enonglj," said Diane. The sister of the murdered Comte La Fere could laugh at the femmc'dc-chamhre's jest ! ¥ m 'li ' I I 5 'I CHAPTER XV. THE COMTEfcJSE. JH, Ninon, to what a land have you returned!" Such was the greeting of Gabrielle, when she met her young sister-in- law in the hall of the dwelling in which the comtesso occupied apartments during her sojourn in Paris. Faith had concluded from all that she had heard of the Lady of Provence that she must bo very imlike Ninon, of a character far more lofty and noble. Had the young servant furmed no such impression, her first glance at Gabrielle La Fore must have conveyed it at once to her niiml. Faith's silent reflection on seeing t]io comtesse was this : " I havH never before looked upon one (1G8) /'• THE COMTESSE. 169 so beautiful, so graceful. There is a mis- tress whom I shall take pleasure in serv- ing." Gabriello's form was rather above middle height; and had the peculiar dignity and gi-ace which belonged, perhaps in their greatest perfection, to the hi^Ii-ooi .1 ladies of France. The comtesse \ n'.- d^f ,sed in deep mourning, and wore no ornament of any description, save a jet rosary and cross, ? and a miniature of her husband, set iii • brilliants, clasping the kerchief which partl|f shrouded her beautiful neck. That licrcliief and ilm small round cap which surmounted the lady's hair were of simple snow-white muslin. No powder disfigured the rich raven locks which lay on Gabrielle's shoul- ders ; there were no h celets on the finel}-- formed arms, which, as was usual at tho period, were bare to the elbows. But Faith scarcely noticed what tho lady had on; her whole attention was attracted by the countenance of Gabrielle La Fere ; the largo dark melancholy ejes under the beau- •tiful brow, the palo cjieeks, the delicate fnrA 4 I n f n*« '03, the lips :,o expressive of sweutue«a, !i I . Ml :. H *" i I i: m 170 THE COMTESSE. moro especially wlien from them came the low musical tones of her voice. Calm aijcl still as was the manner of Gabrielle, her Imsbaud's sister seemed to have her n, little in awe ; at least it appeared to Faith that Ninon was not at her ease with the Comtesse La Fere. There could, in- deed, be little of sympathy between natures BO widely different. Gabrielle, after kissing iNiuon on each cheek, looked earnestly into %er fiice, trying, perhnps, to trace in it some Hlveness to a dead brother ; then, with an almost imperceptible shake of the head, the lady turned and led Ninon to a lar^jje room on the gronnd-floor of the house, in which a repast was prepared. Diane motioned to Faith to follow, as both of the maids were laden with li.^ht packages, mantles, and trifles which mii^ht be required by Ninon. Gabrielle glanced at the little English servant and addressed some qucsticm to Ninon in French. Pier tone was too low for the sound to reach Faith's ears, but the maid both heard and understood Ninon's careless reply. ''AiKjIcdsc—Protestanie,— ah, nil ;/" ame the nner of emed to ppeared ase with )ulil, in- naturos .' kissing 3tlj into it some ■with an • ead, tho ,i^e room II \vhi(rh ioiiod to ids were ies, and *?inon. English stion to too low , but tho Ninon's ite, — ah, THE COMTESSE. 171 ' Thou hadst better go to tliy warm sup- per, ' said the comtesse to Diane ; " and seo that the English maiden has from me a better protection against the cold than that slight shawl before we start for Provenco on Monday." "That lady, at least, takes thouglit for the comfort of others," was Faith Stanby's reflection, as she courtosied and folloued Diane out of the comtesse's presence, for Orabnelle's gesture Lad helped the girl to interpret her words. " I cannot help regietlin-, Ninon, that tiou shouldst have brought a ncretic with thee from ELglrnd," said GabrieUe, as the two ladies seated themselves at tlie table- the one to eat and the other to I^elp, for the comtesse herself did not care to ta. te the repast. ^^_" Where is the harm ?" ,.V.:cd Ninon. ±aith is intelligent and quick— has tlje gout [taste] of a mor-sle, and tlio temper of an angel. So long as sljo obeys readily works hard, and never gnimbles, what mat-' ters it to us what she believes?" " Vvhat matters it ?'* repeated iho com- i mi ii ^■ifii i! ifl j , i . If 172 THE COMTESSE. tesse bitterly. "Is it not tliis very iiidiflfer- ence to ■what regavcls the welfare of those who servo us — tljis looking on them as if they were brutes that have no souls, or Btones that have no feeling — that has drawn down on tlie anciennc nohlcsse of France the fearful judgments of heaven? The brutes have turned to rend us, the stones are hurled against us to destroy. Where we looked for protectors we find enemies ! If it mattered not to us in our luxury and pride what the masses around us believed or suffered, we are now startled out of our dream of selfish ease, when infidelity pro- fanes onr altars, and democracy pours out our best blood like water." Gabrielle spoke rather to herself than to Ninon, for at the moment the comtesse had almost forgotten the presence of her lelle- seeur, who, on her part, was giving much more attention to the delicacies on her plate than to the words which fell on her ear. " Thou hast no need to vex thyself about Faith," observed Ninon, without raising her eyes from her pa'J ; she will soon become honne CathoUque at the chateau. Diane has THE COMTESSE. 173 indififer- 3f those )m as if louls, or -s drawn ance the ) brutes nes are here we lies ! If ury and believed t of our iity pro- Durs out than to esse had ler helle- ig much lier plate ear. (If about ising her become •iane has taught her already to dress hair to perfec- tion — she shall teach her also her Ave and Credo ; the one thing is as easy us the other." " Had good Pere la Porto still been with us, I should have had iio fear but that liis pious care would soon have brought about our young servant's conversion," observed the comtesse ; " there would then have been a soul saved, and glory would have accrued to the Blessed Virgin;" Gabiicllo crossed herself as she mentioned the name. "But the doctrines of the Church cannot bo taught ^^y ^fonme-de-chamhrc; and this poor Eiig- hsh stranger may live on and thou die in her native darkness." " Faith is desperately religious in her own way," observed Ninon La Fuie ; " of course it is the wrong way, for she doesn't believe in the Pope, nor bum candles to the saints, and thinks that she can pray just as well in English as in Liitin. Of course I know this is all very wicked, and that she will burn in purgatory for it ; but it is a comfort," added Ninon, uith selfish phiiosopijy, "Avlien a servant has some kind !l'; "-nm 1 1 174 THE COMTESSE. ft i of religion which makes her obedient, oblig- ing, and honest. There's not a bonne Catholique in the chateau to whom I'd Booner give charge of my jewels or my purse than to the English heretic Faith." The comtesse made no reply, and for a while the subject of Faith and her supposed errors was dropped between the two ladies. '• %r% * t, oblig- \ bonne ora I'd or my aith." rl for a ipposed le two CHAPTER XVI. LIFE OR DEATH. ARLY in the morning of the following Monday, the carnage of the Comtesse La Fe're passed through one of the southern gates of Paris, on that journey to Provence which it would take at least six days to ac- complish. Not but that the high roads were good ; a few royal roads intersected France made by the exertion of despotic power and kept up by grinding exactions on the half-starved peasants ; for on tlje poor had entirely devolved the biirdru of maintaining, the highways : where th cottagers had no money to give, they had been forced to give their labor.* Even in merely driving through • Von Sybel. (175) V 'M M m I n infll •M W/r,'s I MICROCOPY RESOLUTION TEST CHART {ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) 1.0 I.I 1.25 Emm 1^ [ 2,8 [1 3.2 13.6 14.0 1.4 2.5 1 2.2 2.0 1.8 1.6 _^ APPLIED IM/IGE Inc ^^ 1653 East Main Street r^S Rochester, New York 14609 USA ''SSS (716) 482 - 0300 - Phone = (716) 288 - 5989 - Fax 176 UFE on DEATH. provinces of Franco at tlie time of Avhicli I am writiijg, an intelligent gid like Faith could not but bo struck by tlio painfal evidence on every side of the effects of tyrannical laws and cruel oppression. The winter of 1792-3 was indeed a season of peculiar distress ; but distress and want had for a long period been the portion of the peasantry of France. What cared the small farmer for his fields, when liaK their produce would have to go to a merciless landlord, to enable him to amuse himself in the theatres or gaming-houses of Paris, while his heavily-taxed tenants were in want of the common necessaries of life ? So little did such tenants care for then* crops, that they would turn out their geese to fatten in tlieir own fields of rich wheat; for why should they gather corn into sheaves, when they themselves and their families were not to eat of the brdad ! Faith could not look into the village homes, or the isolated dwellings which dotted the hetlgeless expanse of landscape, to see how scanty and wretched was the fare of their inmates; she did not see the ipi f Avhicli I ke FtvifcU ) painful sffects of 311. I a season md want Dortion of 3arecl the lialf their mercilesg limself in oi Paris, were in s of life ? for their Dut their is of rich her corn lives and lie brdad ! e village :;s which mdscape, was the it see the 1 ' ■ : I ii. mk i IN A NFW HOME. Tiiire 177. LmE OR DEATH. 177 bowl cf gruel, seasoned with lard, or mixed with the ground bark of trees, on which workingmen were expected to keep up their strength for labor; wheaten bread being looked upon as a luxury, a little bacon but as aa occasional treat. But Faith did notice the wretched state of the hovels in which human beings crouched over their scanty fires, some cottages even having no windows ; she did notice that while some of the country people wore sahots [woodei? shoes], many, even in winter, went barefoot. Penury and distress were evident even to \he eye of the passing traveller ; rrd when Faith remembered the well cultivated fields, the full barns, the haystacks and corn-ricks, and the pretty cottnges of her own dear land, she silently but fervently thanked Providence that she had been born where there is liberty without anarchy, and where ti-o burden of poverty is borne by the many without being made more crushing by the tyranny of the few, " Ah, that is a novel sight for you, Faith," laughed Ninon, addressing herself to the English maid, who sat opposite to her in 12 n I l:'-- Mm -. ■■I fi' j-i 178 LIFE OR DEATH. tlio carriage; for the comtesso would per- mit neither of the women-servants to travel outside, the weather being inclement. " I'll be bound you never saw in your country a woman yoked with an ass to drag a plough over the fields." "Never, mademoiselle," replied Faith; and she could not help betraying by her tone a little of the iudignation which she felt at the sight. lu passing through villages and towns there were again unmistakable symptoms of the fierce discontent, the spirit of hatred towards those who had been born in h station above them which pervaded the oppressed people France. Several times the comtesse was insulted by cries of A has les aristocrates / [down with the nobles!] and the sight of a tree of liberty, or of a knot of workmen wearing the bonnet rouge, and yelling out the Marseillaise, or " A la Ian- terner always awakened some feeling of uneasiness in the travellers' minds. The comtesse, indeed, did not betray her alarm ; whatever she might feel, she maintained lier calm dignity of demeanor ; but Ninon iilcl per- travel t. "I'll )untry a 1 plough Faith ; by her lich she 1 towns tnptoms liatrcd n in h, eel the mes the ' has les 3.'] and a knot ge, and la Ian- ling of 3. The alarm ; ntained Ninon LIFE OR DEATH. 179 became very timid and nervous ; the horrors of the massacres of Paris now perpetually recurred to her mind ; more than once she seemed inclined to dive down and hide her- self under mantles and shawls at the bottom of the carriage. " Oh, that I had never left England- there, at least, I was safe !" cried Ninon. " Everything in France is so horribly changed. Why can't the people rest quiet, and eat their gruel in peace ! I wish that I had lived in the glorious days of Louis XIV., when there was nothing but spectacles and diversions, when no one cared what the canaille * said, or thought of tlieir doings !" " The corruption and vice of those days," said the comtesse, " have prepared for the miseries of these." And Gabrielle spoke the truth. The fearful wickedness which had made the courts of the two last monarchs of Fiance like pest houses of corruption, was one of the principal causes of the French Revolu- tion. Those kings and their courtiers, the luxurious, the impure, had — to borrow a * Term of contempt for the masses. 'I ii; !.§• IM 'i ji •M :ili 180 LIFE OR DEATH. forcible image from Holy "Writ — sown the wind, and those who followed them reaped the whirlwind. The hire of the laborers who had reaped the field, that hire which had been kept back by fraud, had cried; and the cries of those which had reaped had entered into the ears of the Lord of Sabaoth.* After some days' jouru eying, the travellers reached the city of Lyons, and drove up to the entrance of one of the principal hoijels, where Gabrielle had arranged to take a' re- past while the horses were baited. The landlord, all politeness, bowed the ladies- into an elegant apartment on the gvound- floor, from which French windows opened on a slip of garden, which divided the hotel from the street. The low gilded palings which surrounded the garden, left open to the view of the occupants of the room all that passed in the thoroughfare beyond. There were a good many persons in the street, chiefly men, most of them in coarse blouses, unshaven, unwashed, and wearing red caps on tljeii* heads. " I hope that madame Avill find everything • James v. 4. iwn the reaped aborors 3 wliich I cried; pcd had ,baoth.* avellera up to . hoi^els, ke a re- l. The 3 ladies- ground- opened L6 liotel palings open to oom all beyond. 3 in the 1 coarse wearing jrything U7E OR DEATH. 181 as she could wish," said tho obseqaioujj landlord, whoso smooth fat faco v/oro an expression of anxiety which was not natural to it. " I would presume to recommend tho ladies not to attempt to go out to visii restaurants, or to make purchases, wliilo they honor Lyons with their presence. Tlie city is in a disturbed— a very disturbed state. There are thirty thousand workmen at present out of employ; there is a cry for bread ; tho canaille throng round the bakers* shops; they demand — they thieatcn. Houses were broken into last night— it is said that the owners were strung up d la lanterne." The landlord significantly pointed to his own thick neck, enveloped in tho voluminous folds of his largo cravat. The comtesse thanked tho kaidlord for his warning, and said that she had no inten- tion of quittiug the hotel until slio resumed her journe3% Lyons had already won foj itself an unenviable notoriety in the annala of the Kevolution ; while the general dis- tress, <i;reatly increased by tlie country being flooded with assignats, which j-)eopl0 were compelled to take instead of coin, was ■1*''* I i n i 'Ml m ^ ■ . ' i. J' ' i ^i- ''.f\ ■ !;■ " i ;^i^ h i lb - ii ^ (j ^ f i m 182 LIFE Oi; DEATH. especially Mt in a laVjC^o manufacturing town." Bread had become very scarce, and any one su'^pected of hoarding grain was exposed to serious danger from the fury of the Jiicobiu mob. Of this the travellers were soon to have an alarming proof. The eomtesse, who wiyhed to preserve as much privacy as possible, instead of joining the lahle-ir lible [general dinneu- table], desired to take her meal in the private sitting-room, and to be waited on by lier own maids. Diane and Faith remained, therefore, in the * M. Thiers states in his History that in tho year 179i tlio assignats in circulation represented tho enor- mous Guvn of 5,536,000,000 francs, or more than two hundred and thlritj millions of pounds of our money ! Of course their real value in tho market was very much less. Von Sybel, in his valuable History of the French Revolution (see vol. iv., p. 333), relates that the value of a.'isl^mUs went down, till in August 1705 they had Bunlc to 2;. per cent— that is to say, a pound in pajier money was only actually worth sixpence in coin. As this depreciation of the assljnats pressed with intoler- able severity upon government ofQcials and holders of govcrumcnt securities, there was actually oflfored to them as a kind of compensation tho privilege of pur- chasing talloic-crxndlcs, oil, and herrings at a quarter of the ituu'ket value ! Truth is in this case stranger than fiction. icturing rco, iind lin was I fury of avellcrs lorve as joining desired g-room, . maids. 3, in the the year tlio enor- than two r money ! xry much lie French the value they had in paper coin. As th intoler- holders of offored to ^e of pur- [juarter of nger thau UFE OR DEATH. 188 iipartmcnt, in attendance on the French ladies. " So I am not even to have the Httle diversion of a tahlc-iV liuie to enliv(>Ji my journey," sighed Ninon, as, after taking off her cloak and travelling hat, slio seated herself opposite to the comtesso at tho tahle. Scarcely had the ladies comnioiiccd their repast, when their attention was aircstcd by loud cries and yells in the neighboring street. The cause of the noir.o was not afc first evident, but as it increased and camo nearer, the comtesse and Ninon rono from their seats, and looked anxiouslj'^ across tho strip of garden into the street beyond it. The next moment a man, pursued by a yelling, furious crowd, camo in view. Ho rushed wildly down tho road, like a hunted beast when the hounds are close upon its haunches. By his diess tho fugitive might have been known to be, what ho was, a master baker, but that the dress w.vs so much disordered, Viood-stained, and torn. The wretched man's cap had been knocked off his head, and from tho head its(5lf tho ,1 blood was fast trickling down tho ghastly, ■}.l. I 18i LlFli Oil DEATH. terror- stiiclicn fuco. Tho btikov was a pow- erful mi\]), and was milking a ilosporato Btrugj^lo for life, striking right and loft n', tho savages, whoso ohjeot was to pnll liim down, tc;ir him in pieces, trample hiin under foot. It \vas, however, impossible that any one, Htroiig as his frame miglit bo, could lon[j KJ .until! u a struggle against such dospeiato odds; and the baker's last moiuent ^jceined to have come, when tho palings enclosing tho grounds of tho hotiil gave him (mo more chance of life. Fling- ing from himself, by a trememhms effort, two of the mob whose grasp was already upon him, the baker made a dash at thr palings, r.iid succeeded in swinging himself over into tho parterre below. " Oh, mercy ! he is bringing tho wretches liere after him !" shrieked Ninon in terror ; "Diane, close tho shutters — keep out the mob !" and wild with alarm, tho young lady hid herself under tho table. Diane, who was a strong, active woman, rushed to one of tho windows, and rapidly proceeded to close its shutters and fasten them inside by their iron bar, so as to form LITE OH DEATH. 185 t ■.■ a pow- sperato left nl mil liim n under hat any ), could ,t such I's last hen tho ho hotiil Fling- 3 efifort, already 1 at the himself vretchea 1 terror ; out tho ing lady woman, I rapidly id fasten J to form a barricade againsL Iho ycflliiij.,' rufllims who wero clamboriiif^ over tho paliiip;>5. Tlio comtcsso and Faith woro at tho sauui instant busy at tho second window, but not in closing sliuttor.s. At a gosluro iVotn ho-v niistrcs:-i Faith tlircw open tho Fionoh whidow, so that tho gaf^:ping, hunted baker, seeing ono place of r<!t'ugo open, rushed through into tho room, where ho sank on tho cavpot, utterly exhaustcil, unalilo either to fight or to fly. There was no tirao to close tho shutters of tho second window; tho garden slij) was already full of rioters ; there seemed to bo nothing to prevent them from following tlioir prey into tho room, and murdering him un- der the very eyes of tho ladies. I>ut tin* courage of Gabriello La Fero rose with tho danger before her. Bravo and beaut i fnl, sho stood at the open window between tlio sa- vages and their helpless victim, and with a gesture of command waved back tho howling mob. They paused — even tlioso fierco Jacobins paused at tho sight of that fair, fearless woman, standing erect in her deep niouniinj \ J; ^h b* 186 T.TPTC on DEATH. nnblenclnDg courage. There was even a moment's silence amongst tlie throng, then the foremost of them called out with savage fury, " She is an aristocrate /" and the mob caught up and echoed the word aristocrate, <i bos Us arisfocrates ! id seemed about to press forward and wioak their fury upon the defenceless lady. But the clear silvery tones of Gabrielle'a voice again arrested the surging tide of furious men. She did not retreat one step —one inch ; had she done so the murderers would have come on ; but some even of those savage rioters shared the sentiment which has been put into the mouth of Coeur de Lion, "I cannot strike where there is neither resistance nor fear.""^^ " I am an aristocrate,'' cried Gabrielle La Fere, "the daughter and the widow of aristocraies /" The unexpected avowal sur- prised her hearers, and all became silent to listen to what was to follow. " Yes," con- tinued the comtesse, " an ancestor of mine won his spurs at the field of Ivri, and his ♦Vide "Talisman." LIFE OR DEATH. 187 II '■ '" )Ten a ;, then savago le mob tocrate, bout to • upon trielle's tide of no step rderers )ven of aliment >f Coeur here is elle La dow of ,val sur ' ileut to 5," con- of mine and his title and lands wsre given to him by Uenri de Navarre /" The name of their favorite monarch, the king who, more than any other, is regarded with admiring pride by the French, raised a softened murmur amongst the crowd, very different from the savage yells by which it had been preceded. "Go, men of France," continued the Lady of Provence, " tell your wives that it is an aristocrate who has this ' saved you from the crime of imbming your hands in the blood of a fellow-citizen, untried and un- oondemned by any tribunal !" Most of the atrocities of the Jacobins were committed imder the form, of law, and Gabrielle's last sentence had been uttered with consummate tact. The baker was a citizen, and of course by every republican theory had, as such, a claim to a citizen's rights. The strangely versatile character of a French mob was instantly shown by the one addressed by the comtesse. GabrielleV beauty and heroism made the effect of her words irresistible, and to the amazement of Faith, who as yet knew little of Gallic natur*^, 1 ' t I • • • H , j , i 188 UPE OR DEATH. a cry of Five madwnc ! broke ci-itlmsiastically from tho very same lips that but two minutes before bad yelled /f has Ics arlstocratesl The comtesso was no longer regarded aa one of a hated class, but as the beauteous preserver from unlawful violence of a citizen's .life; and the mob were ready to raise aloft on their shoulders in triumph the woman who, but for her tact and presence of mind, they would probably have barbarously murdered ! Gabriellosawher advantage, and followed it up. " I am a Frenchwoman," she said, as soon as her voice could again bo heard, •' and feel like one for tho sufferings of my fellow-countrymen. Take my purse "—she held one out to the foremost rioter, who looked half ashamed to receive it—" share its contents amongst you. Go and procure bread for your hungry 'children by means worthy of brave meu, who should scorn to fihed blood, save in the defence of their country." Again, and more enthusiastically than before, arose the shout, Vive rnadamc ! It Imd, humanly speaking, but depended on i.iFE OR DEATH. 189 the trrrn of a straw wlietlior Gabrielle's own life and that of her companions had not been the sacrifice of her attempt to save the wounded baker, and now it seemed as if every individual in the mob had heart and hand at her service. With graceful courtesy, as a queen might dismiss her attendants from her presence, Gabrielle dismissed the ad- miring crowd. Not till the last individual had regained the other side of the paUngs, which had been partly broken down by the rush of the mob, did the comtesse close the leaves of the window, and calmly turn round to resume her former place at the table. Faith was on her knees, offering a glass of wine to the wounded man, whose head she had bound with her handkerchief. The comtesse smiled upon her. " Brave, good Anglaisc^ said Gabrielle La Fere, "thou didst second me well. I shall know whom to trust in the hour of peril. Diane," she continued, addressing her femme-de-cJiamhre, "ring the bell for the waiter ; tell him to go for a surgeon, and see that this poor man has all^ the help that he needs at my charge. When thou • I -J f I h s:':i, il 190 UFE OR DEATH. hast done this, throw open those sliutters ttgain."'^* * An incident, much resembling that described in the foregoing chapter, was many years ago related to A. L. 0. E. as a fact. But it was not a French lady, but an Englishman of the name of Nesham, who preserved the endangered life of a citizen by a bold appeal to tho Jacobin mob. -a^-i-^ if I'U i I stnssi § mm^ai .CHAPTER XVn. SORROW AND SIN. F Faith from Ler first siglit of the comtesso had felt admiration for the Lady of Provence, that admiration was increased a hundred-fold by the scene which she had just witnessed. The warm heart of tho young English maiden, separated as she now was fiom every one to whom her affec- tions had clung from childhood, yearned to have some being near her whom she could venerate and love ; and Faith felt that her mistress was such a being. Reproaching herself for the foolish prejudice which had made her almost doubt whether wisdom and goodness could bo found at tlio southorn side of th(? Channel, Faith was inclined t-o (191) ill U\ 192 BORROW AND' SIN. rush into iho opposite mistake, and Ijclieve tliat in her French mistress ahe had found an example of the liigliest degree of perfec- tion that human nature could reach. The onthnsiasiic girl's imaoination invested her noble and beauteous lady with the attributes of an angel. '♦ It is not the comtesse's fault," thought Faith, " tluit she has been brought up in the errors of Rome. The All-merciful will not condemn her for following the faith of lier fathers. How few, oh, how very few of those who have been brought up in the clearest light of the gospel are to be com- pared to my noble lady ! I Avill pray, most fervently will I pray, that the comtesse's mind may bo as open to religious truth as her heart is to every pure, generous, and holy feeling !" It was for the happiness of Faith that she had not the power to read more deeply into the liumaTi heart, for the study of that of Gabrielle Avould have been saddening and disappointing to one of a spirit so loving. While the iravellers are pursuing their journey to Provence without meeting willi theii SOIVUOW AND SIN. 193 any other remarkable iuciclcnt by tlio way, wo will pause to glance at tlio cavly life of Gabrielle, antl examine more closely tlio character of the lady of Chateau Labello, and the outward clrcumstancch; which had contributed to form it. Gabrielle, the only child of Comto Louis Labelle, had been bom tlio heiress of a largo landed estate in Provence. From childhood ahe had given promise of singular beauty and talent, and in womanhood sho had more than fulfilled that promise. Admired, flattered, courted by all, the youthful Gabrielle had found life full of enjoyment. Her spirits had been high, her relish for pleasure Keen ; but even in the midst of her lively mirth there had been an undercurrent of serious thought in the heiicss's mind, Avliich had given to her character a depth which was to be found in that of but few of the youthful noblesse of France. After the death of her father, Gabrielle became the dcme propridaire of the large estate of Labelle. J^Iany were the suitors for her hand bef<:>re she became the wife of Henry La Ft're. Far happier in this re- 13 ' rim J Iff' r^n 194 SOmiOW AND SIN. spect t]iau most brides of licr rank in Franco, Gnibriollo bad boon able with her hand to give her heart also. The husband of a fasbionabh) court beauty, or of a grande darne 2^i'oprk(cdrc, was too often a mere cipher, one whose very existence was ahnost forgotten by the work!, and, alas! by his wife also. To love, lionor, and obey a husband, according to God's holy law, and scriptural example, was thought a strange and singular thing amongst the anclenm' nohlesse; a weakness to be smiled at, rather than a virtues to bo admired. Even Gabrielle, though she loved her Henri, and honored to a certain extcuit, never acted as if she felt herself bound to obey hiin. Hers was tlio quicker intelligence, the firmer spirit, the stronger will, as well as the far larger worklly possessions. Henry was • amiable, self-indulgent, fond of ease. The inflnence which bis young wife had over him was unbounded, and that influence was frequent- ly used IvA' good. Gabrielle was no selfish oppressor ; she had some idea of duties as well as privileges belonging to the position of a landed xjroprietor. Her peasan ts were less SOEROW AND SIN. 195 cruelly gionncl down, loss mercilessly taxed than tliose of inost of the laiidloids around her. The comtesso wished to be popular with her tenants, and to a great extent had her wish. It was easy and natural in her to bo gracious in manner, and to give plcasuro and win attachment needed no sacrifice on her part. Happy would it have been for the lady of Provence had she been content to dwell amongst her own people, and direct her energies to promoting their Avelfare. But Gahrielle had an ambitious spirit, and with her, as with most French ladies, the great object of ambition was a high ])lace at court. Henri La Fere would will- ingly have spent most of his time in his beautiful home in Provence, have enjoyed his hunting and fishing, and kept clear of the intrigues and troubles of court-life in Paris. But Gabrielle could not tolerate the idea of her husband sinking into the position of a mere country gentleman, even tliough in that position he might bo a blessing to hundreds around him. Henri Comte La Fere must hold a iAvlcg at court, he must take a leading part in politics, he nuist hold , i ;H I w \ H m iii 1 ^! !, 11 jlll !-l« CiS I' I 196 SORROW AND SIN. a post of disiinctioa in Puvis, ^vlucli, to Gabriello, as to so many of her country- women, appeared to bo the very centre and core of the civilized Avorld. Henri gave up his own tastes and inclinations to please his young wife, and when tlio wild storm of Eovolution swept over the city, paid t ho forfeit with his life. The poor young noble- man had been killed by the mob in .Pans about a year before the tinio when my story opens. p r 1 The death of her husband was a fearful shock to Gabriello La Fore. It not only crushed her earthly happiness, but it over- whelmed her with bitter regrets and remorse. Sorely did tho widow reproach hei^self as to the way in which she had exercised her talent of influence in regard to him who had been suddenly cut off by a violent death m tho prime of his manhood, without warning, ^vithout preparation for the awfal change. Henri, before his marringe, had led such a life as was unhappily usual amongr>t the French noblesse of that period. He had scarcely so much as given a thought to religion, and had rarely entered a church, save, perhaps, SOI'.nOW AND SIN. 197 to look at some fumous picture!, oi* to liear mass on somo occasion whou tlio music was especially fine. Aftorliis marria:^o, IIcnri'3 outward conduct had greatly improved ; lio had not un-ficquently accompiuucd his bride to assist at a. mass; but ho hud never par- taken with her of the Huly Communion, which Pvomanists hold in such supeustitioua reverence as even to make the wafer an object of worship. Gabriollc had I'elt little uneasiness at her husband's neglect of the most solemn rite of her religion. " Ho is so young, he has many years before him," she had observed to Pore la Porto, her confessor, but the day before the tidings reached her of Henri's violent death. Gabriello had devised more— had striven more to procure for her husband the world's dignities and distinctions, than to draw his gay spirit to care for the things of the world unseen, mto which he had now been suddenly sum- moned. Terrible was the revulsion in the mind of the Lady of Provence ; agonizing tlio ques- tion which she w-as incessantly asking her- " w]iero is the soul of my liu^.band ?" aei. IP I- s! i; t - ' i f * ! l! ; , M VT ¥^^ 198 BOUUOW AND SIN. This was lior iibsorbing thought by night and by ( 'ay, a thought of reiiiorso and an- guish. Tlio fires of purgatory, by which (according to tho falso teaching of Komo) Bouls aro purified after death, haunted the imagination of Gabrielle La Fero. For weeks, after receiving tho terrible tidings from Paris, she never closed her eyes in sleep without seeing in horrible dreams the flames prepared for tlie godless. But Rome also teaches (and she has found tho doctrine a very profitable one as regards her worldly advantage) that tho living can help the dead out of purgatorial fires. Gabrielle's intelligent mind had been dis- posed to qnestion tbe possibility of silver and gold, and imrchnsed prayers, buying oflf, as it were, the wrath of an offended Deity against sin. But in the time of her weakness and anguish, the poor anxious widow caught eagerly at any straw of hope that superstition held out. Gabrielle fasted till she injured her health ; she made long pilgrimago:, on foot; she pniv(d to evrj saint in tho calendar; snc y:ve large sums of money for masses to be said for the soul SORROW AND BIN. 199 < ' of Henri La Fere. Nor was all this suffi- cient to satisfy the yearn -ng heart of the widow. Gabricllo resolved on making a magnificent offering to the Cathedral at Aix. She not only placed in it a fine stained glass window to the memory of the comte, but made an offering of a silver shrine to his patron saint. The workmanship of this shrine was exquisite, it being executed by a first-rate Italian artist, from a design made by the comtcsse herself. Tlio gift was massive; two strong men were unable to lift it ; much of Gabrielle's fine old family plate had been sacrificed to complete it. To form the design for this splendid work of art and offering of devotion, and to superintend the carrying out of her plan, was the greatest solace which the young widow experienced during the first six months which followed her bereavement. But GabricUe was to find that her hopes of benefiting her husband's soul by pecu- niary sacrifices made by herself were empty and vain. Scarcely a week had elapsed after her great gifts had been placed in the Cathedral of Aix, wlien the Jacobins smashed m I ■•It 200 SORROW AND SIN. her wiudow, and melted down her silver shrine into money. The very priests whom the comtesso liad paid to pray for the soul of Henri La Foro had to escape for their hves. Gabrielle had spent her time, her efforts, her wealth for naught, and in the bitterness of her spirit conchided that the Lord had rejected her offerings. Had Gabrielle's loss occurred a few years previous, she would probably, in the first impulse of her grief, have entered a convent, to spend the remainder of her life in praying for her husband's soul and her own salva- tion. Happily for her, the very state of .anarchy and irrcligion into which France was plunged at the time prevented her from shutting herself up in a prison where she would have become more and more the victim of superstition. Gabrielle, as has been mentioned, was obliged to pai-t even with her father confessor, as it was not safe for a priest openly to conduct tlie rites of the Romanist faith. This deprivation of what she considered rehgious privileges seemed to the Comtesse La Fere a grievous misfortune indeed. To superstitious Eomanists the SORROW AND SIN. 201 priest stands in tlio place of God; to the priest they confess their sins, from the priest they receive absolution; the priest is the guide of conscience ; the priest is the keeper of the soul. It was perhaps well for Gabrielle that she was driven from the refuge to which, as a Romanist, she natu- rally fled, so that she was not suffered to find false peace from trusting in mortal man. To the widowed lady there still remained the resource of prayers, penances, and works of charity, and these she did not neglect. Gabrielle spent hours in private worship, and gave liberally to the poor. All who knew the life led by the Oomtesse La Fere, deemed her to be very religious. But what, in truth, was her religion? Merely a consciousness of sin, and a dread of the punishment which it might bring. Gabrielle regarded the All-meroiful only with terror, not with love. She dared not even approach her heavenly Father in prayer without invoking the aid of Virgin or saints. Gabrielle knew — felt that the ^prosy of sin was upon hur soul, but slu) i 1 [i}-t I i. ' 1 i 1 '1 1 i 1 pi 202 SORROW AND SIN. Tainly souglit for its cure. In the effort to win pardon and salvation by works of her own, the lady was like a fountain perpe- tually striving to spring upwards and reach the clouds, but ever falling back into its basin on earth. The mourner could not understand the mysterious dealings of the Almightj'' with her country, her husband, lierself. Everything around her seemed to be in a wild chaos of confusion ; and in her darkness and misery a rebellious and doubt- ing spirit took possession of the soul of t]ie comtesse. Gabriello knew that spirit to bo wicked, but she could not free herself from its power. The widowed lady had hard thoughts of the Father of mercies ; her mind refused to accept the doctrine that God is love, and wherever this truth is rejected there can be no spiritual healtli. External sanctity of life and charity may bo fair in the sight of the world ; man admires and praises good works without examining too closely whether they come from a source which is pure or poisoned. Naaman, in his purple and fine linen, ma^-, when seen from a distance, have appeared a grand and goodh upon honors leper i BORROW AND SIN. 203 goodly object; but the deadly plague was upon him. Naaman was a great man, honorable and mighty ; but Naaman was a leper still. \m nil 1 m CHAPTEE XVin. THE CHATEAU. |H, to Avliat a goodly land, to what a beautiful homo, has my gracious Master brought me!" was tlio silent exclamation of Faith to herself on the day of her arrival at Chateau Labelle. That day was the first of December, but it was so soft, balmy, and bright that it nlmost wore the beauty of May. On enter- ing sunny Provence, the English girl seemed to have left winter behind her. She was where the myrtle and pomegranate flourish, where the orange and Icnion hang their golden fruit in profusion amongst their dark green leaves ; she had come to the very homo of the rose, which was blooming (20-1) THE CHATEAU. 205 in luxuriance at a season when in our northern clime, ice and snow cover the face of the euiih. The chateau of the comtcsso was an ancient, stately buiUling, crowning a wooded height, one of the liills that girdle the city of Aix, and distant about five miles from that place. Tlierc was much that struck Faith as pccuHar and picturesque in the appearance of the chateau ; with its mullioned windows, high steep roof, fantastic chimneys, and quaint little turret-towers, it was so unlike any building tliat she had scon in England. The prospects commanded from the towers w-ere 'exceedingly beautiful ; more beautiful than Faith had ever beheld, even in dreams. T'o the south the view over fair sunuy slopes extended as far as to the sea. The Medi- terranean bounded the horizon, now softly blue as a turquoise, now glitteriifg like a streak of burnished silver. But Faith pre- ferred even to this the view from her own Uttle room, which was in one of the pointed- roofed turrets which looked to Ihe east. There the distant Alps lay in tlieir glorious i'^ ' .111 I M'i '1 ?■■ H ■■11 206 TFIE CHATEAU. \ beauty, seen thvougli tlie clear transparent atmosphere, giving the hist finish of loveli- ness to a landscape on which a poet or an artist would have gazed with delight. Faith was neither poet nor artist, but a simple English maiden, yet the pleasure which she derived from looking at the fair works of creation was as pure, and certainly higher than that which belongs merely to a culti- vated taste. Faith looked " tLrough nature up to nature's God," saw His handy work in everything beautiful around her, and the reflection, " My Father made them all," heightened to rapture the admiration with which the glorious landscape inspired her. After severe tiials have been endured, fe\Y things tend so much to revive the spirits as a change to new scenes, especially if those scenes be of exquisite beauty. Faith, in making the painful sacrifice of leaving her countr3% had unwittingly been taking the very course most likely to soothe the heart- grief which she felt on having to give up Edward Marston. Never are flowers so Bweet as when they are unexpectedly found throwing fragrance over a rugged path of ' I iparent loveli- t or an Faith simple icli she oiks of higher a culti- naturo work in ncl thti m all," on Avith d lier. red, fe'VY irits as if those aith, in ing her ing the e heart- glvo up .vers so Y found path of t THE CHATEAU. 207 duty. Faith did not trample them nnder foot because they were not the flowers which she would have prized the most. She did not refuse to bo grateful for blessings granted because others had been deiiied. She thanked Providence for many comforts and sources of enjoyment upon which she had never reckoned, but which had been freely bestowed upon her. The young maiden had feared a dreary time of exile amongst strangers, who would probably liate her on account of her being a foreigner, and of a faith difllH-ent from their own, and Faith's lirst experience with Diane made her conclude that such fear was but too well founded; but the pleasant, cordial manners of most of hoi* fellow-servants soon put the English girl at her ease. French * politeness was no mere name, but Faith found it in many instances to be the outward expression of true kindness of heart. Then there was a repose, a tranquillity at Chateau Labelle, wliicli was very refreshing after the fearful scene at Lyons, which had given Faith a gUmpse of the horrors of the French lie volution. The travellers, at the 11 I ^ ' !' .! i J ! -H i 5 1^ 208 THE CHATEAU. close of their long, anxious journey, seemed to have floated into a safe haven after a storm. The comtesse, as far as Faith could see, had nothing to fear from her tenants. There appeared to bo no danger that the MarseiUcdsc would over bo sung, or the Car- magnole danced, within the walls of Chateau Labelle. With its pictnre-hung corridors, its stately halls with gilded and painted ceilings, its galleries of family portraits, where Labelles of many generations were depicted in strange variety of costumes, the chateau looked the dwelling-placo of peace and order. Every sight and sound within or around it seemed of a nature to calm and soothe an agitated mind. But it must not be supposed that the ' charms of her new home made Faith ever forget the old one, or that her intense love for her country was at all weakened by absence. The thoughts of Faith constantly wandered back to her father's cottage, and to the dear ones whom she had left behind her in England. None of the comtesse's fine French clocks had to Faith the charm of the old rattling timepiece from Golden ^^ '!• N THE CHATEAU. 209 Square, "which she had aclmhcd from her oarhest childhood. When Faith heard the lowing of cattle from the fertile meadows of Provence, she would sometimes close hei eyes, and try to fancy that the familiar sound came from AVoodlauds Farm, a spot a thousand times dearer to her than any in the realm of France. Was Edward think- ' lug of her? had her departure given him pain? Often, very often did Faith find her- self asking her heart such questions. When she most admired fine prospects, or the sight of grand works of art, "Oh, if he wore only beside me !" was her instinctive re- flection. Faith also remembered her father with tender afi'ection ; and while her hands went busily on Avitli her daily work, her mind was full of little plans for giving him pleasure. What long closely-written letters she would write to him ; with what intf ^sting descrip- tions of life in Provence would she till them ! The letters must indeed be " few and far between," for in those days postage was heavy, and Faith doubted whether she could piepay it. Once or twice in the course of a 14 i i i i :!': if m t: U l! ■ vil - ;' ■ U 210 THE CHATEAU. year would bo a,s often as tho young servant could indulge in the luxury of sending off a letter^ but wliat an event would its arrival bo at home — dear home ! Amidst the beautiful objects wliicli Faith saw in Chateau Labelle, there were somo which she could not behold with feelings of unmixed pleasure. Annette, tho lively, good-humored servante who took an especial pleasure in showing off the place to the English stranger, drew her one day into tho chapel in which the comtesse performed her daily devotions. Tho many-colored stains thrown by painted windows on marble carvings and tesselat-d floor, tho delicate traceries, tho graceful ornaments of the little chapel, struck Faith at the first glance with admiration ; but the feeling changed to ono of pain as tho young Protestant raised her eyes to the image of the Virgin Mary which occupied tho principal position over the altar. "Is it not beautiful — superb! a gem of a chapel!" cried Annette to her com- panion. Faith had not yei sufficient mastery over ii \i ▼ W i THE CHATEAU. 211 , < ■ 5 1 Ai i "f a new langiiiigo to oiuiblo lior to do more than ^ivo assent; she could not explain witli sufficient llncncy uhj that assent was ratliei a cold one. The clinpel was indeed beautiful ; but with that iniajj^o — that idol, as Faith deemed it — over the altar, the whole place, designed for Christian worship, was defiled by super- stition. Faith remembered the altar at Bethel, and the doom pronounced upon it ; she recalled the Commandment given amongst the thunders and lightnings of Sinai : Thou shalt not make unto thyself any graven image. Thou shalt not how doion unto them, nor tvorship them ; and she dared not let the admiration of the eye mislead her judgment, or deaden her conscience. Faith left the gorgeous shrine of mariolatry with a fervent though silent prayer : " Lord, open the eyes of my dear lady, that she may look on Thee as the only Intercessor for sinners, the only Saviour of the world !" The English girl was not only painfully impressed by the disregard of the Second Commandnient ^hown at ChAteaii Labelle, she was also struck by the habitual dis- mU >' -J 'm 212 THE CnATEAU. regard of llio Tliirtl. Tlio most sacred names were constantly taken in vain ; they ..were brought into the lightest excTaraations littered by the laughing li]), and seemed, in the minds of her companions, to bo associ- ated with no idea of reverential awe. " 1 think that I must try to get enough courage to speak about this, at least to Annette," said Faith to herself, " as soon as I know enough of the language to enable mo to explain with clearness how the Bible forbids us to take God's holy name in vain." Faith was very rapidly acquiring the language ; she seemed to draw in know- ledge of its phrases and idioms with the air which she breathed, and this was in itself a source of enjoyment to an intelligent mind. The French tongue, mixed as it is in Pro- vence with the musical langue d'oc, the language of troubadours, poetry, and love, had a great charm for Faith, and appeared to suit the lovely country where it is spoken. Faith heard little besides, for in the chateau there was no one who could talk English but lierself and Ninon La Fere, and that young lady seldom now cared to speak it. THE CHATEAU. 213 It ploasod her better to babble lively French nonseuso with Diane, than to converse with Faith, whoso quiet, modest demcfinor was in itself a silent reproof to folly. Ninon luul soon lost her fancy for basket- making when she found that the art could not be acquired without trouble. Unfinished baskets were tossed aside as lumber, or given to Faith to complete. "To twist bits of osier in find out is more, tiresome than to dance without a partner, or to walk round and round yon dismal par- terres of roses, with nothing to listen to but the screams of those odious peacocks!" exclaimed Ninon one morning, as she petu- lantly flung down a shapeless thing to which flattery itself could scarcely have given the name of a basket. It cannot be said that Faith at all re- gretted being now in less constant attend- ance on Ninon La Fere. The English maid preferred more of house-work and less of hair-dressing. It was a pleasure to her» however, when she was called, as occasion- ally happened, to wait on the comtesse. • Faith felt intuitively that she was trusted 2M THE CHATEAU. and liked by the noble lady, and the kind- ness of lier mistress was repaid by her with a warmth of attachment which made a smile from tlio comtesse encouragement sufficient for any exertions. It was the desire to understand the words uttered by Gabrielle's musical voice that made Faith most anxious to improve her own knowledge of French ; but words wore scarcely needed, for Faith read her lady's wish in her looks, and a glauce was usually sufficient. The service of love requires little guidance beyond that of the eye. CHAPTER XIX. A LETTER. <( AT is it tliat I bring thee ? — guess!" and the merry eyes of Annette sparkled with fun as she stood one morning before Faith, holding a hand behind her, so as to hide the thing which ifc held. " Oh, is it a letter ?" exclaimed Faith, eagerly glancing up from the work on which she was engaged, the scarlet JMjoe which she was quilting for Mademoiselle Ninon. "You Protestants are all conjurors," laughed Annette ; " how couldst thou guess the truth at once!" and she produced the letter, which was directed in a well-known, stragghng handwriting, and bore an English post- mark upon it. (215;. 1 i 11 216 A LETTEB. " It is from my father!" cried Faith, and she eageilj' held out her hand ; but Aunetto would not so readily yield up her charge. " No, no ; it must be paid for first," she said, merrily shaking her head; "it must be paid for," she repeated, " money given — so many sous " [halfpence] ; for she thought from Faith's perplexed look that she did not understand her. But Faith's perplexity did not arise from not knowing French, but from not knowing how to find money. Sho had placed her dearl^^-earned ten guineas in the carrier's hands to be taken to her father ; she had not since then touched a coin, nor could she expect any wages for months. It was tantalizing to the poor young servant to see Annette counting on her brown fin- gers how many sous were to be paid (and the number did not appear to be few), and not to have a single one to help in purchas- ing the coveted treasure — a letter from home. "I have them not," said Faith sadly, looking wistfully at the letter. " Ah, thou hast no money, OTwn amie, not even to pay the post !'* cried Annette with I. J A LETTEB. 217 ready sympathy; "see then, I will trust— I will lend— and pay the postman myself;" and gayly tossing the letter to its owner, the French girl tripped out of the room. Who does not know how welcome is a letter from home after a first long absence ! Not a month, indeed, had elapsed sinco Faith, with an almost breaking heart, had left her father's cottage ; but so much had happened during the time, the current of her life had so changed its course, and brought her amongst scenes so new and so Btrange, that to her feelings it might have been six. Like a child feasting its eyes upon some dainty before proceeding to enjoy it. Faith read each word of the address in thcv dear, familiar hand, ere she broke tlio broad wafer which fastened the sheet. It was vo Httlo mistake to direct to her as Mks Stanhy; Faith scarcely recognized herself under the title, but smiled to herscll; as sho sfiid, " It was so like dear father to write it." It should be held in mind that Faith had reason to expect that the contents of her parent's letter would be especi;i]]y tender !■ \ \ I 5 ' I 218 A LETTER. and lo^in[^'. This was tlio first time that Stariby had written to his daughter since she had roscncd him from a very distressing position by what was, from the maiden, a very large gift, purchased by her at a heavy price, — no less than that of her own freedom . Faith had often longed to hear what her father had said, and how he had looked, on first- knowing of the proof which his only child had given of her filial afifection. Now she would see his own words. It was with very pleasant anticipations that Faith began to read his letter ; but these anticipations were certainly not to be realized by the following characteristic epistle fi'om Gentle- man Jos : "Dear Child, — I own that I was not a liLllo siu-^yrlsril to find that you had gone off to France. I never thought a daughter of mine would have entered service, and least of all the service of a Frenchwoman ! I am, as you well know, a stanch subject of good King Oeorge, and. if I'd only been offered a commission, there's nothing I'd have liked better than to have helped WiU Pitt to thrash those Jacoljin dogs — ecrascr ces vilains f;ans- cidottes /" [Gentleman Jos had picked up this solitary French phrase, which he was fond of showing off on overy possible occasion.] "But it's natural enough that young folk at your age should like duinge; and A LETTER. 219 ^ don't suppose that I hlame you for consulting your o-wn advantage. Only mind that you don't learn foreign ways ; like my old school-fellow, Sara Johnson, I'm English from cocked-hat to shoe-bucklo ; no French fripperies or frogs for me ! By-the-by, when you are sending anything home, don't forget that you are in the land of lace. I gave Deborah my ruffles to mend, and she has patched them up with worsted yam, as if they were a pair of old stocldngs. I wish you had not run away ; everything here is at sixes and sevens. I've not had a well-cooked meal since you left ; tho chimney smokes, and times are hardei than ever. When you send home money, mind I'll have none of your assiy- nnts, your dirty bits of French paper, only fit to light plpcf} with. Honest good coin for me. Whatever you do you must be quick about it, for I'm certain that we'll have tear with France next year, and then you'll be as much cut oflf from us as if you had gone to the moon. Deborah sends her love. She has the rheuma- tics, as usual.— I remain your affectionate father, " JosiAH Stanby." Faith siglied as slie laid tlio letter down on Ler knee ; it was not wliat she had ex- pected — it was not what she had hoped to receive from her home. She was too lojal and loving a daughter to accuse a parent, even in thought, of covetousuess or weak pride ; but she could not help perceiving tliat her father did not like to acknowledge that she liad already made a sacrifice for Hi' ! 1 M ' i i i i % 1 220 A LETTER. his sake, and slro saw that he wished to spur on to further efibrts in his behalf odo who l)ad iiGYor required such spurring. Morti- fied and disappointed by wliat she had r(3ad, Faitli did not at first notice that there was a postscript to the letter, crossed over the first page ; for Gentleman Jos's strag- gling writing had so covered his largo sheet of paper, that it was only by crossing thai he had found space for a postscript. On a second porsual, however, Faith repaired her omission, and in the crossed portion of tlif^ epistle road as follows : "P. 6'. — Edv/ard Stanton's marriage vnth Matty Doyle is to come oft' three days before Christmas. We nro not a :;li;cd to the weddin;? ; but I mean to go np to the church, and see a bit of the fun. Deborah hopes for a good slice of the cake, as she is to help J^Irs. Doyle in the making of it." The letter dropped from the hand of Faith Stanby ; a keen pang shot through her lieart. Edward had then, indeed, forgotten ber — and so soon ; ho could never have cared much for her — never as she had cared for him ! It would have been a relief to Faith to have burst into a passionate flood A LETTER. 221 of tears "when the last fragment of her wrecked hopes was thus swept away from her forever ; but she had no time for weep- ing, for she heard the silvery tinkle of the comtesse's bell. Faith bit her lip hard, so hard that she almost brought blood, and trying to repress all outward sign of emotion, hastened to obey her mistress's summons. " The only earthly pleasure lef fe to mo is that of serving my sweet lady," thought tho . poor young maid, as she ran down tho sfcoo]) turret-stair. In two minutes another stop than Faith's had ascended that staircase, and .sharp cu- rious eyes were peering over the letter which Iiad brought such pain to her who had received it. As the eyes, though keen as serpent's, had no power to penetrate tho meaning of sentences written in English, Diane derived no great satisfaction from tho act of meanness into Avhicli curiosity had betrayetl the fcmmc-de-cJiambrc. i i i 51 i! .( ! : A^ I' II % '.111 ' (J i m n h ^(^ CHAPTER XX TEMPTATION. In a beautiful apartment, "vvliicli vras kuown as tlio comtesso's boudoir, sat Gabriello and Ninou La Fere. Tlie former had appa- rently been engaged in the occupation of spinning, for lier hand rested on an elegant !S])inning-wlieel formed of ebony chased Avitli silver, and part of the linen yarn on the little machine had alread}' been drawn into a delicate thread. Ninon seemed to have no occupation but that of pulling to ])ieces, petal by petal, a magnificent rose of Provence which she held in her h and. There ]iad been a silence of a few seconds, when Ninon resumed the thread of a conversation which that silence had broken. (222) m (( TEMPTATION. 223 " Of course thou art perfectly right, G;i- brielle," she said, with one of her aflectod shrugs ; " every one ought to tliink ahko, and pray alike, cela va smis dire. I hopo thou wilt not take it into thy head that every le ought to dress alike also, and preach a crusade against shoe-buckles and silk stock- ings, because St. Agatha or St. Yerouiea made a point of going barefoot." "Thou dost talk lightly, Ninon," said the comtcsse. " I should have thought that oven thou must have seen that it would be a meritorious act to draw a poor heretic iuto the bosom of Holy Church, and teach her to adore blessed Mary, the Queen of Heaven." Gabrielle crossed herself as she spoke. " I like Faith," continaed the lady ; "she is frank, affectionate, willing. The more I like her, the more anxious I am that she should enter that Church, out of the pale of which we are taught that there can be no salvation. Her conversion is much lo be desired, both for her own sake and that of others." " I cannot see what others have to do with the matter," observed Ninon. " Thou Il TEMFIATION. (lost not Kuppos(5," slio continued laughing, ■ tlirit Fuitli's liorctical notions can bo caught like tlie plague?" " I do not forget how in this very Provence the lieresy of the Albigenses onet) spread," observed Gabriello La Fere. " It is to bo feared that the poison has not even yet died out, as one of my father's best servants, Le Koy, was said to have been tainted v/ith it. liemeniber, also, how numerous in Franco were the heretic Huguenots not more than a century acfo." "And a fine work our pious kings made of converting them !" cried Ninon La Fere. "Thou tliyself hast spoken to mo with horror of ^i o hunting down of tlio Albigen- ses ; the plundering — shooting— burning ! And as for the Huguenots whom our Grand Monarquc turned wholesale out of the king- don), because, like thee, he believed that people should all think alike, I'll bo bound fhoy worn not half so bad as the Jacobins now. England, when I was, there, seemed to me io get on pretty comfortably without the blessing of the Pope, or the special care of the saints. Her king, at least, keeps his .1 ■rii, I,' TEMPTATION. 225 hoad on his slioulders, -whicli is moro than ours —poor good maE —is likely to do !" Gabriello ^va3 shocked by her bellc-savcrs levity, and, without condescending to reply, rose and rang tho bell for Faith. Tlio coni- tesso would havo preferred speaking to her intended convert without tho presence of Ninon, had she not deemed it needful to have some one beside her who coukl, if re- quired to do so, translate her words into English. Ninon was rather disposed t<> remain in tho room, in tho hope of glean- ing some little amusement from the attempt of Gabrielle to make a Papist of a stubborn Anglai.se. On Faith's appearing in answer to the bell, Ninon, who had finished her occupation of pulling the rose into pieces, took advantage of tho comtesse's being engaged in speaking to her maid, to take possession of the spinning-wheel of her sister. While tho following conversation went on, Ninon first snapped the thread, and then, in a mischievous fit of industry, managed to bring the linen yarn into a con- dition little better than that of the rose. In depressed spirits from the efiect of 15 .:i Si (I I > i A ': I l>. 1 223 TEMFrATION. lending hor hiihovH Icltor, poor Faith en- tored tlio boudoir iiitlo prepared to encoiuilor any fresh trial. She was like n bird with a broken wing; unfU citlici for llight or resistance. ^''Madanio rang?" sliti said timidly in French, without advancing much further tlian the door. " Close the door and conic nearer," said Gabrielle, with more than lier usual gra- ciousness of aspect and manner. Faith obeyed, and the lady went on, speaking slowly and distinctly, and occasionally ]>auHing to select some word more easy to be understood by a stranger than that which liad first come to her lips. "I feel an interest in thee, Faith; it is my wish and intention to have thee much with me as my pen- )nal attendant." " Madame is very good," murmured Faith, who regarded waiting upon the comtesso as by far the pieasantest of her household duties. "But there is one thing which I wish thee to understand," said her iiiistress- 'Froiii tlie unhappy circumstances oi these y ; TEMPTATION. 227 I '^i -sSI I times, it is but soklom that oitlior mjself or my sci'VJinU can enjoy tlio higher piivlhii^os which our Holy Church ollbrs to faitlit'ul heHevers ; but thou must bo awaro that mv chapel is always open for worship. Within it; I expect and require that every one attached to my service nhould pay his devotions, at least once in the course of tho day. The priest may not bo there to receive confession and givo absolution ; but tlui place is itself consecrated, and the shrino contains a piece of tho true cross, which must be sacred to every Christian, as well as other relics scarcely 1 h precious thati this." Seeing that Faith looked perplexed, Ninon took 1 her office of interpreter, her light accents contrasting with tho low earnest tones of her sister. "Madame la Comtesso tells thee, Faltli, that she Avants thee to bo a good Catholic, and pray at least once a day in her chapel, because she has in it some holy bones, and a still hoher fragment o^' wood." Faith, from her fii; ar^ceptanco of \\ situation in Finnce, jiad looked forv.'ard f %: A ' 1 1 ■ ^!l 228 TEMPTATION. to the probability of having to meet some such temptation as that whidi had now come upon her, and she had prayed for grace to hohl fast to the trutli ; and yet, wlicn the temptation came, it seemed to tako her by surprise. Here, then, she Avas called to make her first stand against Romanist superstition, and that at a time when her spirit felt broken and crushed, and the favor of the one being whom in a land of strangers she loved and reverenced might bo forfeited by such opposition. It cost Faith much not to courtesy silent submiss- ion to her mistress's will ; it was with a l^ainful effort that, clasping her hands, she faltered forth in her broken French, " Ma- dame, forgive me; it is against my con- science." » "Thy conscience!" laughed Ninon La Fere ; " what has a/eriune-dc-chconhre to do with a conscience?" Gabrielle rebuked the laugh by a glance ; then said, addressing herself to Faith : " It is impossible that a young majden like thee should have any fixed ideas on a subject so vaat— so subJirao as tliafof rolii-iou. Thou i TEMPTATION. 229 canst not hare the presumption to set up thy views against those held by all the holy fathers of the Church — by all the successors of the apostles ? Brought up, as thou hast unhappily been, in a benighted land, I blame thee not for having hitherto embraced errors which thou hast been led to regard as truths. Thou art not yet sufficiently familiar with our language to read books which I design to place in thine hands, therefore I cannot expect thee at once to give up erroneous views ; but 1 do expect, and require, outward conformity to that form of worship which is mine, and that of all my dependants ; and I desire that from this time forth thou wilt daily offer up thy devotions in the chapel of Mary the most blessed." Gabrielle spoke as one accustomed to eomoand, and, by a slight movement of her hand, dismissed her maid out of her pre- «once, as if disobedience, or even hesitation ill compliance with her will were out of the question. But Faith did not retire; she remained in her attitude of pleadin lUstross. 1s*l ■.; tl I ■ ^ km M i 1 : ^ tm ■m M "■,1 * 1 il :1#l| 230 TEMPTATION. " What matters it, foolish girl, where thou dost say thy prayers ?" exclaimed Ninon in English. "No one knows what thou art saying. I suppose that thy religion doth net forbid thee to worship in any place under the sun !" Faith for a moment caught at the suggestion as a means of escape from what was to her a distressing difficulty. Her prayers— her silent prayers— could and should be addressed to her Maker only, though she might be surrounded by relics and images regarded by Papists with idola- trous veneration. But Faith's hesitation was brief. Ahsfain from all appearance of evil: Be not conformed to the icorld, were the warnings that flashed on hor mind. What would the outward conformity re- quired by the comtesse bo but the first downward step which must inevitably lead to others? Having yielded on one x^oint, would a weak girl have the courage, tlx^ power to make a firm stand on. doctrinal questions? It was easier to decline praying at all before the shrine of tlie Virgin, iLan for Faith to defend scriptural views of pui'o TEMPTATION. 231 worship in a language wliicli she iniporfectlj knew. The English maiden dared not retreat from her first position of . passive resistance, because she could not possibly maintain an argument in any tonguo but her own. She could not tell her lady how the Word of God forbids bowing down to a graven image ; she could not tell of that precious relic, tlie brazen serpent itself, broken to pieces and called Kehnsldan* when it became an object of idolatrous worship. Faith could only repeat timidly, but earnestly, without raising her eyes, " I cannot— it is against my conscience." Gabrielle was unaccustomed to opposition, and, above all, opposition from a dependant. The reiterated refusal of a servant-girl to perform what appeared to the lady an act of rehgious duty, as well as one of obedience to herself, raised anger in the naturally proud heart of the Comtesse La Fere. " Self-willed girl, as presumptuous as thou art ignorant, since thou dost refuse to do my bidding, thou canst not expect my favor," said the lady coldly, the tones of her * A briizon biuible— 0/-«(?en. See 2 Kinr,'f3 x\\n. 4. -f i 11 i: 11 1,1 m r t f 232 TEMPTATION. voice as well as lier words betraying anger, though her manner was perfectly calm. "Leave me!" she added, with an impera- tive gesture, which Faith instantly obeyed, " I have lost the only friend who was left to me !" thought the poor girl, as she passed through long galleries and passages on her return to her room. " What will follow ? The comtesse, good and merciful to all, will hardly turn even a Protestant adrift. I shall be suffered to remain in her service — at least I think so ; but in how painful a position ! A stranger, despised as irreligious, and in disgi-ace as disobedient." Faith drew a heavy sigh as she re-entered her turret chamber. Her glance fell on the letter from England, which Diane had left in the same place as that in which she had found it. * Three days before Christmas, Edward to be married !" murmured poor Faith. " Ah, well, I care very little what becomes of me now!" Faith was not long left in doubt as to the consequences of having offended the com- tesse. She had not been an hour at her work when she heard Diane's quick step on A- TEMPTATION. 233 the stair, and then the door was uncere- monioiTsly pushed open, and tho French maid's dark face appeared, with a smile of mahgnant satisfaction on the thin Hps. " No more riding in coaches for the girl picked out of some English hovel!" cried Diane, with a toss of the head. " Madame has condescended to listen to what I pro- posed from the first. The heretic, who won't kneel in the chapel, shall go and scrub pots and pans in the kitchen, and serve under Marie, whose temper is as hot as her fire, and who hates Protestants worse than cannibals!" Then, with a mocking laugh, Diane slammed the door, and ran down th© staircase again. {■ 'H 'I M vOiL~ CIIAPTEK XXI. HIGH AND POOB. |EIl change of work and position in tlie liouseliold establishment of Chateau Labelle was by no means pleasant to Faith. She had very little taste for cookery, and it was no small trial of temper to be ordered about, scolded at, and abused by Marie, a little irritnble, bustling Frenchwoman, who seem- ed u first to be determined to find fault with everything that she did. Nor was Marie by any means the only one of her fellow-servants from whom FaitJi had to bear uuldndness. For some days after her interview with the comtesse, Faitli met with coldness, if not with actual insult, fi'om Gvery one around her, the rmmC T i I: IIICH AND POOR. 235 natured Annette herself not excepted. TIio old traditions of the anden regime lingered in Chdteau Labelle even in those days of social change; to be in disgrace with madame was to be in disgrace with every one who looked up to the grande dame as obsequious courtiers to a despot. , The object cf madame's displeasure could be deserving of no one's regard ; was not tlio lady of the chdteau infallible; could the comtesso make a mistake ! Thus, under a kind of social ban, to a gentle and loving spirit especially painful, Faith had to bear a daily cross ; but it was rendered endurable by the consciousness that it had been taken up in obedience to the dictates of conscience. In her humble, but not degrading position. Faith w^as winning the blessing pronounced by lips divine upon those who are persecuted for righteousness' sake. And as the maiden braced up her mind to endure hardness, oppression, and injustice, gradually not only the power of endurance increased, but the strain on endurance lessened. Faith had resolved to do her new kind of work ■**■• II! i) 236 laCH AND rooB. well, tliougli she did not like it ; and ^YitU improvement in it came interest also. Marie had a quick temper, but not an unkindly heart, and Faith's gentleness and readiness to learn ere long won her favor in the Frenchwoman's eyes. Marie had be- gun with a violent prejudice against every one holding Protestant views ; but her prejudice gradually melted, like ice in sun- shine, under the influence of the kindly feelings which Faith's sweetness of temper inspired. Marie had thought that Protest- antism was bad, and that every one profess- ing it must of necessity be bad also ; but before Faith-had served under her for many weeks, Marie had reversed the proposition, and held that as the Protestant was good, so likewise must be her rehgion. " I. never had under me a girl so quick and willing, so neat and good-tempered, so truthful and honest," said Marie one day, in indignant reply to a contemptuous sneer at the English heretiqiie, made by Diane. " If never speaking an angry word to any one present, or a spiteful word of any one absent, comes of being a Protestant, I ^.tinkhMhv »:J*, AN ERRAND OF ME^RCY i'h U- Vage Ji6. dec! that F the coul Froi to t of t thro Faii beei ent Bom ' deal suci] amo lighi clea: lowl: Lab( A] who] Angl any thel to 1 BICH AND POOR. 237 declare, Madomoisello Diane, it's a pity that thou thyself art not a heretique also !" For even the -worldly intuitively judge of the tree by its fruits ; aud Faith, before she could string together tv/o sentences in good French, had been unconsciously preaching to the household of which she was one of the lowliest members. It was known through the chateau that the cause of Faith's disgrace and change of position had been her refusal to do something inconsist- ent with her religion. A desire to know Bomothing more of a religion which was so ' dear ,to the English girl's heart, and had such influence over her octions, was raised amongst several of her companions. The light of Faith was shining, and shining clearly, whilst she was performing the lowliest duties of a kitchen-maid in Chateau Labelle. Annette was the first of the servants from whom the cloud of coldness towards la petite Anglaise entirely passed away ; no cloud of any kind could remain long in the mind of the light-hearted girl. Annette soon showed to Faith more than her former kindness, 1 1, i !,V 238 EICH AND rOOB. and with it a frank confidonco and esteem, which encouraged the English niuidon to venture somotinics to drop a word in season to lier ignorant but not ill-dinposod eom- panion. Annette, hko too many sorvant;-} who, after the hardships of a very i)oor homo lind themselves amidst the hixurics of a grand mansion, '.idulged in a wastehilness of her mistress's property wliith Faith's more sensitive conscience regarded as scarcely honest. ''Is it Y/ell to burn dayliglit, dear An- nette?" Faith asked one morning, ,when' she entered a room which her fellow- servant was cleaning. "Tlio sun has been up two hours, and thou hast thy candle burning still." "Ah, qii'imporlc ?" [what matters it?] laughed Annette. "Were I to keep as many candles lighted to sweep by as madame does to do honor to the shrine of tlio Virgin, they would not be missed at Chateau Labelle." "Whether they would be ouisscd or not does not seem to mo to be the only, or even IIICH AND rOOR. 239 M the raoat important question," replied Faith, expressinf? hornelf with a good deal of difficulty in French, and yet nanaging to make her meaning tolerably clear. " Is not waste in itself wrong, even waste of our own things ? And if so, how nuioh more that c^ our niisfro;-,,;*^ goods— things with which wo are trv ted /" " Th m Unst i leas so strange !" exclaimed Annette, ' > vhom tliis view of the subject was entirely novel. "Wliere didst tliou learn that to Wiisto Is a sin?" *' From my Bible," answered Faith simply. "I read there that after the grandest of feasts — that wliere thousands of guests were fed, where the King of kings was the Master, and His servants the lioly apostles — the Lord gave the command. Gather up the ^'ragments, that nothimj he tost. If Ho who could have rained bread from heaven thus thought of the crumbs, and St. Peter and St. John but (obeyed Him in gathering them up, dare u-c think it no sin to waste, however great bo the plenty aroimd us? I have sometimes thouglit that account in the Bible was given expressly for servants, 4 240 BICn AND POOR. lest they slioukl think the wealth of their masters any excuse for wasting their goods." " Thou hast reason, Faith," said Annette. " See, I blow out the candle ;" and she suited the action to the word. Faith in the service of any mistress would have regarded economy in the light of a duty, but she had a double motive in wasting nothing that belonged to the Com- iesse La Fere. To save her needless expense was to economize charity funds — the crumbs gathered up from her table helped to feed the suffering poor. Especially at the sea- son of Christmas the lady gave liberally to the needy around her of potage [soup], prepared in her own chateau. During the winter of 1792-3, the very great distress which prevailed in the country from various causes so moved the pity of the comtesse, that she doubled her usual benefactions. From morning till night, and sometimes far into the night, Faith was either busy pre- paring food in what resembled a soup- kitchen for the poor, or in dispensing it to the hungry multitudes who surrounded the postern-gate of Chateau Labelle. Tliia RICH AND rOOR. 211 was to the Christiau servant a most con- genial occupation, while, from the trouble and fatigue which it caused, it left her but little time for fretting over private sorrows. Faith's imtiiing zeal on behalf of the poor tended more than anything el,' o to remove Marie's prejudice against her ; and it was with honest admiration that she, who had once hated Protestants " worse than canni- bals," watched the movemexits of la petite Anglaise, as from a kettle, almost too lieavj for her strength to lift, she filled with steaming soup one after another of the mugs and jars stretched out eagerly to receive it. One of the recipients of the comtosse's boimty especially attracted the notice and excited the pity of Faith. This was a man almost bent double with age, with hair and beard silvery white. His mien was timid, almost cringing, as though he feared to claim even the slightest attention. Every one seemed to push past the poor old Frenchman; hungry children thrust him against the wall ; he seemed never likely to approach near enouo'h to the son^-^kettlo to have the tiny mug which he held in bis 16 •.!l J h 242 EICH AND rOOR. trembling fingers filled with its savory con- tents. " Stay, the old man must have his share !" cried Faitli, moving nearer to him who ap- X)e;ired to be nnable to get nearer to her. With some little difficulty the English girl succeeded in making her way through the press of hungry applicants; she poured warm soup into the mug of the aged man, whose hand shook so that half of the con- tents were lost in conveying them to his? month. "It is such a tiny mug, I must fill it again," said Faitli, with a sunshiny smile. The poor old man invoked the blessing of all the saints on her head. " I was glad to see thee caring for old Antoine," observed Marie to Faith in the evening, when, wearied with a hard day's work, the two servants sat together by tlie blazing fire in tlie kitchen. *' Is that the name of the silver-haired man who looked scarcely able to stand ? " asked Faith in her broken French. *' Yes ; he is a regular pensioner of madame," was Maries reply. " Antoine RICH AND rooil. 243 was gardener to her grandfather, and to Jiis father before him, thoy say ; but it is twenty years since the old man has been able to dig up an onion, or tie up a lettuce. Madame allows liim to remain in his own little cottage at the end of the olive planta- tion ; it is a very lonesome place to live in, yet to leave it would break the old man's heait Some folk— and Antoine is one of them— get rooted to one spot like a tree, which stands where it always has stood, even when old age has hollowed it out, and it has no more core than an empty nut- shell" ''Docs he live all by himself?" asked Faith. " All by himself, like a hermit," answered Marie. '-I guess Antoine wll be found some day stark and stiff in his chair. But who can help it ? he chooses to live alone. Madame sends to him every month a pre- sent of money and coffee, and ho sometimes comes here for potagc, but he can seldom manage the distance. I'd not seen him this winter till to-day : but folk in Januarv come for the crumbs like birds." ' % ■ i I A il M ''fl ■1 ^ ;•■ ^B > H 1 ii 2U RICH AND roon. " Madame is very kind to the poor," ob- served Faith, whose disgrace had by no means lessened her loving admii-ation for her mistress. " Madame is an angel !" replied the warm- hearted Marie. "If she had not been so good, dost thou think that Chateau Labello would have stood the first storm of the Revolution, when feudal seigneurs were murdered on their own thresholds, and be- cause the Bastile was destroyed in Paris, madmen aU over the land thought that every other big building must come down ! Why, hast thou not heard," continued Marie, with raised voice and excited gesture, "that in Franclie Compte the chateau of some noble was burned every day to the end of that dreadful July, and that in the Magonnais six thousand peasants rose against the ancienne nohlesse, and in one fortnight destroyed seventy-two dwellings of the aristocrates ! * Woe then to those who had ^rround down the poor, woe to those who had treated the peasants worse than Afiican slaves! But here— in Chateau Labelle— • Von SybeL RICH AND rOOPv. 215 there was not so mucli as a ^villdo^v broken, nor a branch torn from the trees. Madumo's guards were her own tenants ; tliey rose like one man in her defence ! Ah, when the peasants came swarming up the avenue armed with scythes and pitchforks, some folk cried to the comto and cc mtesso, ' Fly for your lives, — the Jacquerie has begun ! trust not a Proven§al; all the country is mad, all the country is athirst for the blood of the old noblesse' But thou shouldst have seen the comtesse then. She had no fear. Why, said she, should she fear the people amongst whom she had dwelt from her cradle, she and her fathers, and fathers' fathers before her? Ah, it was gTand to hear how the peasants shouted when madame rode up to them with her husband, and to see how they made way to the right and the left, and waved their caps, and cried Vive la comtesse ! There was not a single bonnet roufje nor a tricolor ribbon amongst them !" " Was the comte as much beloved as his ladv?" innnirpd V.uih '• He was a goodly gentlem-itj. the Comte :»k. '■( 1 1 ' i \ > » ^46 KICII ANI> POOR. i J ' i ^ La Fere ; but thon (.'ost uiider.'-iftn(l, tho estates vrere jiot h:i ■, tbo coBitessc is dame 2:>roprietaire, it was to her that tho peasantry looked. But moMieur was very good," continuod Marie, in n. more noufihalant tone; "he was gntf^ious and pleasant in manner, anduheu on iioiseback looked like another St. George. 1 often say that it was a pity, a great pity, that he and madamo ever left their chateau in Provence to go to that teiTible Paris. But when they first went, just after their marriage (that was five years ago), Uie Ee volution had not broken out. It was natural that a young belle like madamo should like to go to the grand receptions at tlie Tuileries, and show her diamonds at the balls at Versailles; and that Monsieur le Comte should bo proud of a high place at court. Who could tell what would follow?" ** Such fearful troubles !" exclaimed Faith ; " how sorely madame must have sufferecl I" "When the news came of the comte's murder," said Marie, " I thought madamo would have died. She wished she had been beside him. Had she been," con- .Vyt, RICH AND POOn. 247 tinued Marie with cnthusiusm, "I don't believe that there's a Jacobin as could have laid a finger on him, no more than if the blessed Virgin herself had stood at his side. Ah, I forget," and Marie's voice dropped ; '* those sanS'Culoiks care neither for Virgin nor saint; they have stabled horses in convents, pulled down chapels for firewood, laade church-bells into soius, and melted down into money madame's beautiful silver shrine ! Dost thou think," and Marie looked inquiringly into the face of her English companion as the new thought struck her — *' dost thou think that the poor comte will have to stop longer in purgatory because these vilains Jacobins stole what was meant to win for him the martyr's intercession? St. Pancratius knows that it was not the comtesse's fault : it would seem hard if the comte had to suffer ; for the holy saint had the treasure, though he was not able to keep it out of the Jacobins' hands." The question seemed a strange one to Faith, and might almost provoke a smile, though it Avas put in sober oavnestness by the ignorant woman beside her. " I should I: rW :|1 ) . > Ml r 1. 1 F! I: men AND rooR. think that liolj saints above want no trea- sure but what is heavenly," replied Ftiith ; " and as for intercession, wo need no inter- cessor but One." "Ah, thou art Prolestante—lierctique— Anglaiser cried Marie, but without the bitterness of tone with which she would have pronounced the words a few weeks before ; « what canst thou know of purga- tory, or of what is going on there ! It can scarcely be worse," she added, « than what IS going on in poor France. Ah, I hope and pray that it may soon, soon come to an end, this terrible Revolution!" V 1 I CHAPTER XXn. HIGH AND LOW, ARIE'S liopes were not to bo realized. Tlie year 1793, wliicli had just opened, was to witness some of the most atrocious crimes committed during that fearful period which has filled so many blood-stained pages of the history of fair France. On the 21st day of January, Louis XVI., the descendant of a long line of kings, stood on that scaffold which had already reeked with the blood of so many of the noblest of his subjects. The tidings of the execution of the king were received with horror by Gabriello Tj^ Fere. The cup of her country's iniquity seemed to her to be full, and had guilty Paris shared the fate of Gomorrah, tlio (249) 250 HIGH AND LOW. comtesse ^\ oiild liavo seeu in the deluge of iire only tlio lightcons vengeance uf Henven. The good -the pious— the merciful had been rutldessly slain : wliy did the thunder- 1 oilrt sicop, ^yhy did not the wrath of Om- nipotence sweep tlie nnirdcrers from the face of the eartli ! ^ Most especially was the indignation of (labrielle aroused by the condiu^t of Phi- lippe, Due d'Orleans, at the trial of Louis XYI. Egalit' had voted for tlie death of his cousin .-ind king ! Gabrielle would noi let his name be utter«Kl in her presence ; it never passed her own lips ; she never alluded to the due but as le froifre, uni;!, on the fo'towing November, E- dite' sufferc'd the same fat.' as his soven ign, and at tno hands of tli^ very democrats to win a\ nose favor he h.M i sacrificed conscience and Idn^^ " SVe ar<' now certain of a war with England," observed Marie U Faith, on the evening of the day on which news of the deata of the king had reached Chateau Labelle. ''The messeiiger who brought the shockinj- tidings from Paris said also 1 fit ^'iere were ru uors that war had already W/ '■"'.«; nian and low. been declared, and that tlio 1) 251 l)()oming of yoni big Englisli guns -would soon l)c hear* o ir I'onl on. "It ^vill bo a bitter thing to mo to b(> quito cnt off from my conntry, nin-er to heal- from my home," sighed Faith; for even Avhen the fato of nations hangs in tlu! bahmce, the most patriotic and nnselfish cannot ' Ip anxiously pondoiing over tlie question how the crisis of public events -will affect their own private interests. " Hear from thy home ! ah, that remiuLls me that a lettei* for thee Avas brought in the comtesse's post-bag," said Marie. '' I meant to give it to thee in the morning, but the murder of the poor dear king — rt st his soul ! — put everything olso out of my head. Hold, here is the letter ;" and Marie after fumbhng for two or three miniitos amongst the various articles kept in her capacious pocket, produced the crumpled soiled, folde ■' heet of paper, whi ! jolied, as she observed, as if it had lam f year in a dust-hole. "It may be the last letter from dear England which I sha? receive for a very, . ' ^ n !'«; > I'M I k. IM. 252 HIGH AND LOW. V017 long time," thought Faith siullj, while Mario was exploring the depths of her pocket to find the epistle. The first glance at the back of the letter showed tlio English girl that it hud not been -written by her father. " If my black hen had dipped her claw in ink and taken to scratcliing on paper, slie'd have made just such a sninvl as that," observed Marie, as she handled the letter to Faith. "Who can have written to me? it must liave been my stop-mother," said Faith, wondering at Deborah's having made so very singular an effort. Mrs. Stanby had never been known to write two lines when she could employ the ready pen of her step-daughter, and it could have been no slight cause that had induced her to perform the astonishing feat of scrawling over two pages of a sheet of large-sized paper. Faith could not avoid suspecting that the letter would contain an urgent request for money. How to send any to her home the young servant knew not ; her first quarter's wages were not yet due, and before the time for HIGH AND LOW. 253 pnyineiifc arrived, it was likely that all puaceful commuuication would bo closed bet woe II the two nations on tlio opposito sides of tho Channel. But tho unselfish, affectionate daughter was never again to bo called upon to sacri- lice comforts, almost necessaries, to sui)plj tho need of an indolent, thriftless parent. Before Faith had finished reading the ill- spelt, unpointed scrawl, the tears woro falling fast on the soiled and blotted shoot which contained tlio following lines : "dear faitli this is to say and youl Be Sory to hero i writes to give bad noes of yer father but ho wood go to Marston's weding tho it snowed ard and Catchd cold and kep his bed and niver no more Got up but parson Boed him several times and Died Sunday last quite e«y and he Utle thout in Goldn squar as hed ivor liav como to Be Berried by the parrish but i puts him on his Laco rufels so he luked like a gcmman as he Alaya was and no more at Present from yer moter debrah stanby." Yes, the life of poor Gentleman Jos had closed ; the end had come of his vain hopes, idle regrets, and petty follies. He had boon all his days running after shadows, and had met at last with the great reality, Beatli. A solemn mosst'n<rer is Death. Mi 264 HIGH AND LOW. wheresoever and to whomsoever he comes : whether to monarchs, the shock of whoso fall startles nations ; or to the cottager who drops into the grave almost as silently and as little noticed as a withered leaf into a stream. Death is the angel that summons to the Master's great tribunal alike him to whom the many talents have been entrusted, and him who buried the one. How little it matters to the disembodied spirit obeying that solemn summons whether it rise from the palace, the hovel, or the scaffold; whether there be at the funeral many mourners or few ! Little it; recks whether the name which the lifeless form once bore be inscribed in the records of history, or eve the year close, be well-nigh forgotten. Few were the tears shed for Josiah Stanby save by one faithful, loving girl, who treasured up memory of every little act or word of kindness that had chequered his selfish life, and who forgot nothing connected with a parent's memory except that there had ever been anything for his family to forgive. f v or H CHAPTER XXm. CONTESSION. JABRIELLE LA FERE felt compassion for her young English servant when, a few days after- wards, she accidentally heard tliat Eaith had lost her last surviving parent. The conscience of the comtesso was not quite easy as regarded the orphan girl who had come to a foreign land, tnist- ing at least in the justice if not in the kindness of strangers. "Have I not dealt harshly with Faith ?" thought her mistress ; " did I do well to show diapleasure towards her because my servant would not barter conscience to win my favor? Faith may be— must bo fearfully mistaken in the views to whipli e]in oo r>l^'^''-^-«"^"1" -iM . ..1.,, ,,^j, l,->^oi;iil.*l,Ui\ ClIIIL^r (255) '^ i M •■: 250 CONFESSION. Jianghtily to drive her from me was scarcely the way to win her to mine." Gabrielle took a practical way of show- ing sympathy ; she both advanced Faith's wages, to enable the orphan to procure decent mourning, and also from her own wardrobe the comtesse helped to supply her with many suitable articles of dress, to the scarcely concealed dissatisfaction of the femme-de-chamhre, Diane. Gabrielle did not, however, bestow her gifts in person. " How could I speak to Faith any word of comfort?" thought the Romanist lady. " Doubtless her poor father lived and died holding Protestant errors, despising the intercession of the Blessed Mary, and with- out extreme unction to smooth his path to the grave. No priest has given him abso- lution ; no masses will be said for his soul ; by what arguments, then, could I console the grief of his daughter?" The lady was, however, undecided as to whether she should not bring back Faith to her former place in the household, and let the English maid resume her attendance on !Nipon QTlirl— -a? iwiciio-iiciic; iiUU Uiit/0 de- ;• " if I scarcely i show- Faith's procure ler own supply Iress, to a of the slle did person, tvord of t lady, nd died ing the id with- path to n abso- is soul ; console I as to raith to and let mce on C8 de- COKFESSION". 257 signed — wait more frequently on herself. But the comtesse had at this time many matters of deep interest to herself to pro- vent her mind dwelling on what only con- cerned the welfare of an humble dependant. "Ninon, my sister," said Gabrielle, as she entered her boudoir one evening, and, after closing the door behind her, went up to Mademoiselle La Furo, and laid her hand on her shoulder, " I have heard from Pero la Porte.'* . Ninon was on her Imees before the gilded cage of a new favorite, a paroquet gay in plumage of crimson and green, Avhich, in default of more exciting amusement, the young lady was tr3'ing to teach to call out her own name. "Ah, Gabrielle, I would give the Avorld that thou hadst come in here but a minute ago ; I am certain that he said something like ' Ninon !' the charming, beautiful crea- ture !" exclaimed the girl with a delight quite disproportioncd to its cause. "Leave the biril, and try, it* possible, to listen quietly and seriously (o what I am going to tell thee," said Gabrielle Ija Fere, 17 I .- . '[ fi 258 i! " 18- m I CONFESSION. with a touch of severity in her tone, for she was in no mood for trifling. The comtesse seated herself on the high-backed, richly carved chair which she usually occupied opposite the wide hearth, on which a fire of wood fagots was blazing, for even in Pro- vence January weather was cold. Ninon turned her face towards her Mk-sceiir, but* without rising from her former position before the cage, and during the conversation which ensued, the eyes and the attention of the French girl frequently wandered towards her new pet. " I have heard from Pere la Porte," re- peated the comtesse. " Thou art aAvare that the good priest has not quitted the province, but, observing due precautions, has gone from place to place^ secretly performing his spiritual duties. He is, I need not say, overwhelmed like ourselves with indignation and grief at the murder of oui* good king. All open marks of respect to the memory of the sovereign are forbidden by those who, under the name of free'^.om, have destroyed all freedom in France. The very body of Louis XYI. has been consumed by quick- |f CONFESSION. 259 ■' i lime, that no loyal mourner may ever be able to say, ' Here lies the dust of the descendant of St. Louis.' " Gabrielle paused for a moment from emotion, then went on. "But the faithful still find some way of showing their loyal devotion, and Pere la Porte has dost tVou attend to me, Ninon?" The t^'- j'^4tin.i was asked with abruptness, and with an air of displeasure. " I am aU attention," said Ninon, whose looks contradicted her words. " The good father," continued Gabrielle, "has arranged to have a private funeral mass for the king's soul to-morrow, in the little ruined chapel of St Catherine, which stands, as thou knowest, in the ForU Verte. I intend to assist at the holy service, and to take ' o opportunity of confessing my sins to the priest." " I thought," observed Ninon, " that thou hadst told me that the coachman was scarcely to be trusted in these dangerous times, and that thou wert in constant fear of getting the priest into trouble." "I shall not use my caniage," said Ga- bricUe. " Diane, who is as anxious to m V '■ s J 1 . % !| I I s m ' 260 CONFESSION. confess and receive absolution as I am, will go with me to tlie cliapel on foot. I came to ask thee, Ninon, whether it be not thy wish to accompany me also ?" Ninon started up from her kneeling posi- tion with an exclamation of surprise. " I go, indeed!" she exclaimed; "two miles there, two miles back, througli a dreary forest, on foot ! impossible — quite impossi- ble ! And for wdiat ? To hear a funeral mass, of all tilings the most trisfe ; for there wiU not even be music, no requiem, no pro- cession, iio incense, not so much as the ringing of a bell ! For such a dismal en- tertainment I will assuredly not run the risk of having some horrid Jacobin mob hunting me dow^n like a hare ! I may be made a martyr ag*iiinst my will, but ivith it never, never !'* " There is but little danger to be appre- hended, I believe," observed Gabriello coldly. " Oh, a little goes a long way with me," cried Ninon, with an affected shudder. " I've not forgotten the ghastly look of that wretched balcor at Lyons, the eyes half CONFESSION. 261 . J- n am, will I came not thy posi- es se. D miles dreary mpossi- funeral )r there 10 pro- as the mal en- un the in mob nay be tvitli it appre- ibriello li me," lucldor. of that .'S half t'l f .: starting out of his head, and the red drops falling over his face! Thou may st like to run into the den of a lion, but I would far rather keep outside it. There are plenty of troublesome spirits at Aix, and we are not so very far from Marseilles itself, where Jacobins swarm like bees, and are furious as hornets. What could make thee imagine, Gabrielie, that / should take it into my brain to go on a dangerous pilgrimage on foot to a ruined chapel, to hear old Pere la Porte perform a funeral mass?" Ninon could scarcely stifle her laughter at an idea so absurd. "I thought that it might be a comfort t<^) the^ ^o confess and receive absolution for thy sins," said Gabrielie with a sigh, for she felt ijo'.v? sorely she herself needed spiritual comioi',. " It is, I fear, a long time, Ninon, sine ^ ';hou hast enjoyed such privilege." " I h ave never been to confession at all since 1 went with Madame de Genlis to England," replied Ninon, resuming both her carelessness of tone and position in front Oi thu ciigo. t ^ [1 i i I i' 2G2 CONFESSIOX. ^^ Gabriello looked grave-almosfc distressed, 1 always feared," she observed, " tliat no good would come of thy being sent to a iai]d of heretics at so early an age." "No harm came of it-none in the world • 1 wish I were in England now !" said Ninon.* tantalizing her bird with a lump of su-ar all the time that she was spealdn<^ '^'I iiever could see the use of whisperin- to a stout eldoily man all one's little childish to lies, and having him put naughty things into one s head, that would never have come tliere but for his questions. I once asked ^aith, 'Dost thou ever confess thy sins?' bhe lodved surprised at my asking her, and said, Oh yes ; I confess them every nio-ht ' X was surprised in my turn. 'Dost thou tind a priest to hear thee so often 9' Ga- brieUe, thou shouldst have seen her bright peaceful look as she aiisnered, 'No need of a priest mademoiselle ; I go straight to tho iiord. "I regi-et that thou shouldsth have held ftny such conversation with a misguided Protestant," observed Gabrielle La Fere Thou mavst call hov iiiicn-.^vi-l ;f ^i XiUU stressed, that no nt to a ) world : I Ninon, f sugar "I ^g to a Jliildish frw ^ thin^. e como ' asked sins?' er, and night.' it tliou ' Ga- bright, leed of to the held guided are. ■ thou 11 CONFESSION. 2G3 wilt," cried Ninon; "but somehow she seems to go pretty straight with all her misguiding. My window, as thou dost know, commands a view of the postern gatei where Faith deals out thy charities to tlie poor. For lack of better amusement, I have sat for hours watching the giving out of pota(je. It was some fun to see the press- ing and the jostling. If one cannot have court lords and ladies to look at, better have beggars than no one at all." " What have the beggars to do with the question of Faith ?" inquired Gabriello La Fe're. " Faith had a great deal to do with the beggars," laughed Ninon ; " and she did it well, and with all her heart, as if she could never be tired while a single poor child was himgi-y. Misguided Protestant indeed! Faith is a sister of mercy in disguise ! If I worked as she v/orks, I'd expect to be canonized as a saint, without any help from good Pere la Porte !" The comtesse rose from her s'^at and walked to the window. She had come to the decision that it would neithei- be snfe i % ■ i ?! f 204 CONFESSION. nor riglit to bring Faitli again into closo ko Ninon, who liad intcrcoiirso with one liL no settled religious views. " It is only tho frivolity of Ninon's- character," thon{^ht Gabiielle, " that lias prevented her ^ isit to England having a very dangerous effect on her mind." But a doubt would arise even in that of the bigoted liomanist lady, whether to be as utteily careless of all re- ligion as was her hnsband'p young sister were not worse than even refusing to kneel before the shrine of th(i Virgin, or to adore as divine a piece of consecruted wafer. "Tt is strange," reflected GabrielJe that night, after restless hours during which she had vainly attempted to sleep ; " how strange it is how I am haunted by these w^ords of Faith which Ninon repeated to- day, — / go straight to the Lord. It sounded so child-hke, so trustful! I could hrlf envy the poor heretic a faith so simple and so peace-giving. She goes straight to the Lord with her burden of sins, lays them down at His feet, and her heart is lightened of its weight ; she believes that she is for- given ! Oh, Tviiat wOuid i noi give lor sucu to closo who jiad only tLo tlioii«^ht c visit to effect on ;ise even st lady, )f all rc- 3g sister to kneel to adore fer. elJe that hich she ; " ho\v by these jated to- sounded lid hdf nple and t to the ys them ightened B is for- for such CONFESSIOh. 205 wretcli in the mytL and rolling a stone blessed assurance !" moaned the unhappy lady. " I labor, i fast, I pray, I pjivo of my substance, 1 try in e\ery possible way to obey the rules of the Clmrcli, and yet I find no peace — no peace ' Tim like the poor story, ever rolling uill, and just as it reaches the summit eeing it bound back doAvn tho steep, so that he must begin anew all his labor and trouble ! It is very hard t^ win heaven by our works; harder still to feel sure that wo have won it. I go to the Virgin, I go to the saints, I go to the ])riest, to seek comfort for a grief-burdened heart, healing for a sin-diseased soui ; Faith — were she right, O most happy Faith ! — she goes straujht to the Lord .'" i j, ^m MICROCOPY RESOLUTION TEST CHART (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) ^ .APPLIED IIVMGE Inc 1653 East Main Street Rochester, New York 14609 (716) 482 - 0300 - Phone (716) 288- 5989 - Fax USA ; I CHAPTER XXIV. PASSING ON. IME flowed rapidly onwards, bearing fearful events on its cur- rent. Spring, summer, autunni of 1793 passed away, and still, like the car of the idol Juggernaut, which used to be driven over living human bodies, the French Eevolution rolled on, crushiiif^ under its ponderous wheels victims from every rank of life. In October the beauti- ful widowed Queen of France, Marie An- toinette, ended her suiTerings beneath tin; flashing steel of the guillotine. In ilw following month, Egalite, Duke of Orleans, also died on the scaffold. Nor was he, bv any means, the only Revolutionist wli' perished by the French Revolution. J (2GG) PASSING ON. 267 Wcas as if those who dragged forward the ponderous car of death oft lost their footing, and faUing, were crushed bj their Jugger- naut as remorselessly as the king and the nobles whose blood had already stained its wheels. The ferocious Danton himself, in liis turn, fell a victim to the hatred of those with whom he had joined in destroying so many innocent lives. War added its miseries to that of anarchy. There was civil strife in La Vendee, where the loyal peasantry, under gallant leaders, made a desperate but ineffectual effort to stop the death-car of Eevolution. They fought, suffered, and died in the cause of loyalty and order. There was war with Holland, Germany, and Spain ; and Great Britain in that momentous year also entered tlio arena of strife. In August the Union Jack of Old England floated from the walls of Toulon, which had been taken by Admiral Hood. But foreign intervention did not arrest the fearful course of the Revolution in Paris. The cannon of the Allies could not silence the roar of a savage population i[ P r 268 PASSING ON. thirsting for blood. One crime succeeded another: the crowning hoiTor of all occurred on the 10th of November. Th'^n the Parisians, or those who bore rule in Paris, solemnly, in the face of day, under the light of the sun, denied the Creator, renounced all belief in liim by whose pov/er they lived, and moved, and had their being! What was called by the impious blasphemers the Feast of Reason was held in Paris. A wretched woman, dressed in white, with sky-blue mantle, and wearing a cap of liberty, was actually set on high as repre- senting the Goddess of Reason i Were not these monstrous events recorded in history, they would appear to be too horrible and strange to be imagined even by the brain of a madman. It is well that tliev are re- corded, that the world may nevi orget to what lengths of wickedness, what depths of madness and crime, human nature may be brought when the savage passions of men are set loose, unrestrained by religion. These are days when nations need to be reminded how closely linked together are the two commands, Fear God, honor t/ie king, PASSING ON. 260 and Avliafc an awful torreufc of guilt; and misery may rusli in when oiico the protect- ing sea-wall of those commandments is broken. Again Christmas-time came round ; but who in miserable France jomed in the angels' song, Glory to God ia the hujhcst, arul on earth peace, (joodioill toward men ? Glory had not been given to God, and on 3a^^-h there was a devouring sv/ord. The cry of the few faithful still left in the land was, Hoio long, Lord, Jioiv long? Gabrielle La Fere, with deepening sadness, saw a new year again open upon her distracted country. She indeed had been spared when so many innocent victims had fallen around her. King, queen, husband, iriends had perished on the scaifold, or been murdered by the mob ; and here she was still unharmed in her stately chateau, dwelling amongst her own people. This was partly owing to Gabrielle's personal popularity, to the aifec- tion which she had won from the peasantry around her; partly to the circumstance previously mentioned, the obligation under which the family of Danton lay to the lato Is , 1 I ■(■ ? ( K' I m ^ m ;:il1 270 PASSING ON. ComtessG La Et're. But Gcabrielle fouiKl it absolutely necessary to exercise au amount of caution which, to one of her fearless spirit, was irksome. iShe rarely quitted her own grounds, which were extensive ; very seldom was the comtesse's carriage seen even in the city of Aix— most of her horses had been taken for the use of the army. Gabrielle in various other ways reduced her daily expenditure. Not only would the appearance of wealth have been dangerous jn times when the possession of .rank and riches was often treated as a crime, but the wealth itself was greatly diminished. The enormous circulation of assignats through the land occasioned wide-spread distress. Such few of the comtesse's tenants as paid rent at all to the dame proprietaire, who had no means to enforce payment, brought only assignats to her steward, who dared not refuse them. Gabrielle privately dis- posed of both jewels and plate, but a considerable portion of their price was returned in paper money. Complaints would have been worse than useless ; they would have been perilous in the extreme if TASSINQ ON. 271 made by an aristocratc. For the first time in her life the once wealthy lady of Chateau Labelle had to practise rigid economy. Gabrielle saved on herself; for she would not curtail her charities, nor pay her ser- vants' wages in that wretched substitute for silver and gold with which Jacobin rulers had flooded the country. Solitary, unpro- tected, and forlorn, Gabrielle felt much like a shipwrecked mariner whom the waves have dashed, bruised and bleeding, upon shore ; and who, from that shore, watches the vessel in which he had sailed sinking under the furious billows ; she felt like ono who, he iring from afar the cries of drowning companions whom he cannot save, in his desolation could almost wish to share their fate. It seemed strange to the widowed lady that nature should still look so peaceful and fair, that the changes of the seasons should stiU succeed each other so regularly, while the whole framework of society was shattered to pieces, and crime and anarchy prevailed. How was it that the rose-tints of djiwn still lay so softly on the wooded hills, that Hll .! 8t m . 272 PASSING ON. ti-cos budded and blossomed and shed frjigranco around, and tlio lark carolled gayl}' on high, just the same as if sorrow and sin were unknown upon earlh? Ga- briello did not see in this the tender mercy of Him who is kind to the imthankful and evil, and who niaketh His sun to rise on the just and the unjust. There was still in her heart a gloomy dread of the power of tlio Supreme Being, a secret questioning of His wisdom and justice, an impatient rebellion against His will. Gabrielle was still blindly trying to feel her ovm way to salvation without the light which could guide her to the one, the only way opened by the mercy of God. The Lady was still like Naaman in his Syrian palace ; the whole head was sick, the whole heart was faint (Isa. i. 5); and she knew not where to find a cure for the deep-seated disease of the soul. And how passed the months with Faith Stanby ? In a routine of lowly duties, and mingled trials and blessings, that left her humble and thankful, rejoicing in hope. It was no light trial to be, as Faith was. utterly alone in the world. The maiden's fASSINQ ON. 273 id shed carolled ' sorrow 3ad was a. i. 5); a cure ul. 1 Faith es, and effc her ^pe. It h was, aiden's heart clung with lovo, only increased by absence, to the thought of country, aud king, and the associations of home ; but even if Faith could have returned to her native land, she would have been homeless there. It was no light trial to have hor lot cast amongst those who, instead of sympathizing with her deepest feelings, often through those very feelings found means of giving her pain. At times — aud especially after the taking of Toulon by the British, and the naval victory of Howe — the English maid was something in the position of a foreign bird that, loosed from its cage, is mercilessly attacked by the wild ones. French vanity, mortified by defeat, found bitter gratification in wounding la petite Anglaise. It was the delight of the servants at Ohdteau Labelle, aud especially Diane, to heap abuse upon everything connected with England ; and if Faith's color rose, and her lip quivered, her persecutors looked upon her pain as a triumph of their own national piide. But Faith's trials only drove her more close to the shelter of the great Rock of her 18 ■i iil Wi . i 274 PASSING ON. strenrvth. Sho increasingly rGalizod what It IS to dwell under the shadow of the Al- mighty. Tho maiden went strai-ht to the Lord, not only to confess and receive for- giveness of sins, but for comfort under trouble, and grace to bear meekly and cheerfully whatever sorrows He in His wisdom might send. It was tho habitual lifting up of the heart in silent prayer that enabled the Enghsh girl to act 'so con- sistently that the most bigoted Romanist could find no fault in lier, save in the mat- ter of her religion. And respect for that religion was gradually gaining ground, especially with Marie and Annette, the two domestics in Chdteau LaboJle who were brought into most frequent intercourse with the Protestant maiden. Faith was often questioned as to what hcreUqiics really beheved, how they worshipped, and what was the source of their hopes as regarded the Me beyond the grave. The English gir had from her childhood known enough of the Bible to be able to give a reason for the hope which was in her ; and her influ- ence, like hidden leaven, was gradually PASSING ON. 275 fm spreading amongst tlio liousoliold at Cliuteau Labello. Romanist servants saw in tlicir companion tho power of evangel ical faith to guartl from temptation, and to support under all the troubles of life. Faith had earthly blessings as well as earthly trials, and she enjoyed them with a thankful and cheerful spirit. It was a blessing, indeed, to know no want, no care for the morrow, and to have health and strength to do her work. Faith's affection- ate attachment to the comtesse was also a source of pleasure. Not that the servant saw much of her mistress. It was but seldom that Faith had even a glimpse of that noble form in its drapery of mourning, that beauteous face so expressive of silent sorrow ; and still more rare was it for the English servant to have a word from tho Lady of Provence. But the word, when- ever it was spoken, was a kind one ; and the comtesse's trials, Ii;i ■ generosity, her nobleness of conduct, made a very strong impression on Faith. To work for her, to pray for her, to love her, gave Faith an interest in her own humble duties which !' ,fti 27C PASSING ON. prevented tlieir sameness from over be- coming irksome. It was from affection, as well as from conscientious regard for duty, that the servant girl cared for her mis- tress's interests as if they had been her own. Thus the orphan and the exile, in her lowly estate, was actually far happier than the noble lady whom she served. The one had found rest on the Rock, while the other was tossing still on a dreary sea of doubt. While Gabrielle La Fere was murmuring in her heart because she saw not her ^Maker's wisdom and love amid the earthquake, the whirlwind, and the fire, the fearful j>dg- monts which were desolating a guilty coun- try, Faith was listening to the still smaU voice within, which spoke comfort and peace to her soul, and looking forward to a home in that better land to which every day was bringing her nearer. I ^1 CHAPTEK XXV. THE EH RAND. I*' ' GAIN summer had como with its brightness. On ono of its lovehest afternoons Mario sent Faith into tlio kitchcn-gartlon to gather herbs. The occupation was a picas- uut one ; and Faith, as she bent low to cull the fragrant sago and thyme, was so mucli absorbed in thoughts of her own little garden in England, that she did not hear a light step on the path behind her. " I would speak with thee, Faith," said a voice which, from its peculiarly rich sweet- ness, Faith recognized as that of her mistress. 1 1 was verj'- unusual for the Lady of Provence to visit this part of her grounds, and Faith rose from her stooping position with a little to receive the orders of madame. (277) I- Mf.- ■ f f S! It 'Al lit 278 THE ERRAND. " I am going with Diane to— it matters not whither; but we shall be absent for several hours," said the Comtesse La Fere. " TJiis is the first day of July " (Gabrielle would not adopt the new name of Thermi- dor, given to the month by those who affected change in al 'lings), " and on the first day of each month I am wont to send by the hand of Diane, a Httle pension to an aged gardener, Antoine Le Roy. Diane has been unable to go this morning; she will be absent with me this afternoon; and the old man would be disappointed by delay." Gabrielle drew out an embroidered purse, and took from it twelve silver francs.' "Thou wilt bear these to Antoine. Marie will tell thee where he dwells; and do thou ask her for a half Mlogramme of coffee. It is my custom to add that to the silver which I send to the poor old man." Faith courteseyed, in sign of obedience ; and, well-pleased at the commission en- trusted to her, with the money in one hand, and a basket of herbs in the other, returned to the kitchen. Marie, with heated face, was standing by the fire, en^^a^ed 'O'-O^ THE ERRAND. 279 hoiiilU, which she waa preparing for ma- clarae's repast. Faith repeated to her what the comtesse had said. " She is goiripr to confession in the ruined chapel, no doubt," observed Marie. " Ma- dame always takes Diane with her — Diane is so eager to confess. It suits her so well to hand over her fagot of sins to the priest, that she may have her hands free to go picking up more, I suppose." There was satire in the c' ^rvation of Marie ; for Diane's religion was well known by her fellow-servants to be a mere form without life, the form itself being probably kept up chiefly to please madame and retain her confidence. " Is it not dangerous for madame to go to that chapel?" asked Faith, whoso attach- ment to her mistress made her uneasy whenever she happened to know of the comtesse's going on a secret expedition through the forest on foot. " Not so dangerous as thou mayest think," answered Marie. " I don't mind telling thee ; thou art faithful and discreet." Marie dropped her voice as she went on, 1 ' I I- M ■ u i'l 1 H ':. I Mi.fj 5 V,'-t^ ^.! I m 280 THE ERRAND. and glanced round to see that no second listener was present. "Few know that a priest is ever to be found in St. Catherine's Chapel. It looks empty; the rain can come in ; the wind blows the leaves over the floor ; there is no holy vessel to bo seen, or the Jacobins would, long ere this, hav(3 carried it away, as they did madame's beautiful shrme. But there is a secret place in that ruined Chapel in which every- thing is kept that is needed for celebrating mass ; and the priest himself can hide there. There is an old faded painting of St. Cathe- rine and her Wheel on the chapel wall. One might look at it a thousand times and not guess that it is anything but a picture, very much the worse for time and weather, left there because no one thought it worth removing. But let one but press a finger in the middle of that painted wheel, and one touches a secret spring— one can draw back a panel— there is a closet in the wall behind, where the paten and chalice are kept, and the Host itself " (Marie crossed herself as she spoke), " so that nothing is wanting for the holy service ; and yet nothing is seen THE ERRAND. 281 should a stranger enter the chapeh Aht I forgot that thou art a Protestant. Thou hast nothing to do with priest or high mass. But thou wilt not betray the secret?" Marie bit her lip, aware that her talkative- ness had led her to disclose what only a few, and those zealous Eomanists, were intended to knoAV. "I would rather die than betray my lady's secret," said Faith. " But my present business is with my lady's errand. I was to ask thee for half a kilogramme of coffee, to carry with this money to poor old An- toine." "He always has it, on the first of each month, and must have it of the very best, madame's own Mocha," said Marie, bustling off with her large bunch of keys to the closet in which the stores were kept. " Diane always insists upon that, and on good full measure besides ; Antoine's half kilogramme must weigh heavier than any one else's, or I never should hear the end of the matter." " Is Diane, then, so warm a friend of the poor old gardener?" inquired Faith. " She speaks of him as her second father," ■■| . II: l-M IhII] 282 THE ERRAND. said Marie, who with a liberal hand was measuriug out the coffee. " I think that Antoine is some kind of relation to Diane ; anyways she has known him since she was a child, and says that she can never forget the hon-hons with which he treated her then. Diane has a very good memory— very for other things than bm-hons. She never for- gets an affront, as a younger Le Roy found to his cost; so it's well that she can remem- ber a kindness also." "And is Diane always the person to carry madame's bounty to Antoine?" asked Faith. "Always; he cannot abide the sight of any one else. Antoine is a little wrong here," Marie touched her forehead with her finger; "he is timid, he is a hermit, he would scarcely open his lips to strangers. Diane says that 't would throw Antoine into a fit if any one whom he did not know should come suddenly into his cottage. Thou must knock first, Faith, and gently. Perhaps the francs and the coffee may prove to the old man that thou art no stranger ; and I remember that thou didst show him' iiglit of > wrong vith liev •mifc, he L'angers. ine into t know cottage, gently, y prove ranger ; ow liiiu THE ERRAND. 283 kindness when potage was given out in the winter. Surely thou wilt have a welcome ; no one could be fiightened to look on thee. Antoine will be glad of the money ; good, hard, ringing coin goes a great way, spe- cially in these days when — what between the assignats and the war — silver is as scarce as strawberries in Bnimaire [November]. Ah ! that Pitt — that vilcdn Pitt ! — he's at the bottom of the mischief!" And Marie clenched her teeth and gave a little menac- ing shake of her head, as she always did when she mentioned the name of the great Prime Minister of England, who was re- garded by the French in those days some- thing as Prince Bismarck is in these. Faith smiled ; she was more than usually cheerful that day. " It seems to me," she playfully observed, "that if the vintage failed, or the silkworms refused to spin, it would be said that Mr. Pitt was at the bottom of the mischief." Marie laughed as she tossed the packet of coffee to Faith. " Ah ! thou art Anglaise } thou dost stand up for him who has bribed ail the world to attack poor France from M 284 THE ERRAND. I i without, as if slie ]jad not trouble enough within. The saucepan boils over fast enough without Pitt's stirring the fagots." Mario ran to the fireplace, where a hiss and a fizz had probably suggested the not very poetical simile to the mind of the cook. " And now away with thee, Faith. Take the right hand path after leaving the back garden-gate, thou canst not lose thy way. Antoine's cottage stands all alone ; thou wilt see its red chimneys above the olive-trees. And do not loiter," continued Marie, "for there are a hundred things for thee to do ; Annette wants help with the linens ; Diane wiU bo furious if her skirt be unfinished ; the mushn curtains must be changed; the coffee-pot nibbed bright ; there are peas to be shelled, and potatoes to be peeled ; and I can't begin' the preserving of the currants tiU thou art here to -assist." Of all the members of the household at Chateau Labelle, the most hard-worked was la petite Anglaise, for she was the servant of servants. Faith, the orphan and foreigner was expected to perform every service that no one eiae liked to perfo,m ; she had to bo THE EllEAND. 285 up early and late, and to give help in every domestic department. It was by her quick- ness, her attention, her orderly habits alone, that Faith was able to make her services keep pace with the unreasonable require- ments made upon them. She had so much to do within the chateau that she never was able to quit it, except when sent to gather kitchen-herbs for the table, a favorite occu- pation with Faith, for it gave her a little fi-esh air ; and the sight of i^lants, though only vegetables, was always refreshing and pleasant. It was a rare treat to the j:)e«i7f^ Anglaise to be sent on an errand through a plantation, especially as that mission both implied trust on the part of her mistress, and was one of kindness to an afflicted old man. With the light-heartedness of a child about to enjoy a, holiday. Faith made her short preparations for her walk ; and as she passed through the back-gate into what looked to her like a leafy paradise, she warbled in low but cheerful tones the notes of a hymn of praise which she had last sung in dear Old England. fi 'I E I M: 11 CHAPTER XXVI. FRAUD AND FEAR. I lONEY tastes as sweet out of a crockery vessel as out of ouc of gold ; and the amount of pleasure which an individual receives from any source of gratification cannot bo meas- ured by the value which the world would put on that source. To Ninon La Fere, a walk through a plantation, with a visit to a cottage as its goal, would have been intole- rably irksome. She would never have noticed the elastic softness of the turf, the purity of the air, the deep exquisite blue of the sky; the songs of happy birds would have been no sweet music to her. Ninon could not even have understood how any one could experience a sense of delicht ii nua ex] (286) igi m a mMM FRAUD AND TEAR. 287 solitary ramble. Yet Faith's heart almost bomided with joy as she pursued her lonely way, wishing that her walk could be pro- longed for hours. The beautiful wild- flowers which bordered her • path, the gorgeous butterfly which basked in the sunshine, then fluttering, rose and flew on before her, as if to tempt pursuit, — these trifles gave keen pleasure to Faith. Or rather they were not trifles which yielded ecjoymcnt to the lowly-hearted young Christian. As the flowers and the butterfly owed their brilliant hues to the sunshine, so Faith's simple delights owed their keen relish to the highest and holiest source. Assured of pardoning mercy as she was, and full of grateful love, Faith at that moment reahzed something of that " perfect peace " which is reserved for them — and for them alone — whose souls are "stayed" on the Lord. There was no more cloud on her conscience than in the glorious sky above her ; the deep heavenly depths of the one were emblematic of the other ; and beneath such a sky it w^as no marvel that the hum- blest object looked bright. Why should M: \ "t\ f!' mn I '■'i 288 fi;aud and fear heirs of lieiiven go mourniug in sackcloth when the great Father's works and words >»liko bid them rejoice ? Shall the Christian forget that joy — holy joy — is amongst the fruits of tli€ Spirit ? Faith had no difficulty whatever in find- ing the cottage of Antoine Lo Roy ; she only felt sorry to see its red chimneys so soon. The dwelling was small, but prettily situated. It was partly covered with a vine, whose large green leaves, unripe clusters, and delicate tendrils formed a natural cur- tain to the single window, and drapery over the door. Gently the maiden tapped on the panel, wliicli looked worm-eaten and old. An eager, tremulous " Entrez, entrez, mademoi- i^eUe," made her lift the latch and cross the threshold. The cottage had appeared picturesque and pretty when seen from without, but the squalor and misery within it made themselves at once disagreeably perceptible to more than one of the visitor's senses. It seemed to Faith, on her entrance, as if the place could not have been cleaned for years; dust lay on every object, accu- FRAUD AND FEAIl. 289 mulated in every corner, tlie very air was lieavy with dust, while the iiii plastered rafters above were covered with the gray cobwebs of successive generations of spider.s. Light, even on that warm bright day, feebly Btmggled into the cottage, being not only obscured by vine-leaves without, but by an inner coating of dirt within. Faith's eyo.s soon became accustomed to the twilight dimness of the place ; but on her iirst en- tering it from the blaze of daylight, slio could scarcely distinguish the features of it*. aged, solitary inmate. And what penury and misery were' stamped on those features ! Antoine, whom' Faith had not seen since the wintci-, looked: little more than a living skeleton. Ho made a feeble attempt to rise from the chair on which he had been sitting by a table, with his bony hands resting on his knees, and his bearded chin sunken on his chest. But the effort to rise was a vain one ; he had not strength sufficient to stand upright. "Is it Mademoiselle Diane?" asked Antoine, with nervous eagerness. ^o, not x^ianc j but I nave conie m iier 19 I II m r m 290 VUkVD AND feah. place, iul.lcd Faith quickly, fancying that sho HaAv ft look or tlisappoiiitmont pass ovor tho fuco of l!jf poor old mau. " This month . mndanio has seufc hor present by mo." Faith counted out tho twelvo frnncs on the table, and at tho chink of each one, as It fe I Antoino uttered an ejaculation of thankfulness to tho Virgin, tJie saints, or madamo--a thankfulness mixed with sur- priHo. "All these for mc-all-«7//" i^^ ^^_ claimed, clutching the silver in his thin lingers when Faith had finished counting it out. ^ "All," sho replied, with a smile. "But vrhereforo art thou thus surprised at my adys kindness? Doth not Diane brin"- thee the hko gift from madamo every month in the year?" " Ah ! yes, yes ; madamo never forgets tho poor old gardener; Mademoisdlo Diano always comes with a present," replied Antou.o. " I3ut six francs in i..s as^ignal. does not go far-one gets so ]i-ti < breaJ -so little-it would not keep soul andbodv ^g np roots for my ;;o^au- r-A-msmiggtt FRAUD AND PEAK. 291 feu when I can manago to crawl out of my cottage." '* Six francs, and only in paper ! — is lliafc ;ill tliaL lliou dost rccoivo througli Diaiio?" asked Faith, tho dark suspicion which crossed hor mind giving to her usually gentle countenance an expression almost of ^' '''^' sternness. " I have no more, mademoiselle ; not a Kous more," replied tho pensioner. "I used to have twelve francs in silver every month, with the poor king's face (peace to his soul!) stamped on them every one. But Made- moiselle Diane says that times are no\y changed, and that Madame la Comtesso cannot give as slio gave in tho days of tho ancien re<jime, when the noUcsnc had plenty of horses in their stables, and of loiils (Vor in their co£fers." " But Diane, doubtless, always brought you a supply of coffee, like tliis?" asked Faith, holding out the largo fragrant packet which she had carried vvith hor from Cha- teau Labelle. Antoine seized hold of the parcel with a wondering joy, an extravagant delight which 1 < i-.- * 'i, h M I i J El 1| i :;ji 292 FflAUD AND FEAR. ik was almost painful to see. "All! wliai; perfume— what luxury !" ho cried ; " it i^ long— very long— sinca I havo tasted a drop of warm coffee !" " Then it would serve Diane right if she were never to taste a drop of warm coffeo again !" exclaimed the English girl, with a burst of indignation which she could not repress. The old gardener looked startled at her words, which at the first instant he scarcely understood. Their meaning, however, sooii dawned upon him; and the pensioner be- came suddenly aware both that he had beeu cruelly defrauded of his due, and that he had been letting out to a stranger facta which Diane would undoubtedly wish to ba most carefully concealed. " Don't let Diane know that I told you. O mademoiselle, for the love of the blessed saints, don't let her know!" exclaimed the trembling old man in pleading accents, as if he himself had been the criminal who had reason to dread a discovery of a system ot* frauds Faith did not venture to give a direct wswfflBWTses 1)1 FJRAUD AND FEAR. 293 replj' to tlio reitenitcLl entreaty. She only assured the old gardener that slio would think of him, and care for him, and that sho had hopes that ho would soon hog bettof days. Would it not bo far belter for iiim, she suggested, to corao and live in the chateau, if madame, wlio was so kind and good to all, would give him leave? He might then, perhaps, receive her bonuty from her own hand. Mario would nee that he wanted nothing ; ho would never be hungry again. But Antoino, after years of utter seclusion, was too timidly nervous to admit tho possi- bility of changing his place of abode. Ho trembled violently, tears gushed from hia aged eyes at tho very idea of quitting lii.H cottage. Faith saw that tho point could not be pressed. All that she could do at that time was to tr}^ by slight attentions, to mitigate the discomfort in which she had found Antoinc. Faith filled his kettle, lighted his fire, and would luive remainod with Antoine till she had brou<>ht his miser- able liff.lo dnii inlo sonipfliinrr liko oi'dov, but for tlie charge of Marie that sho should not H 'I ' ) i ■■ I ii 294 FRAUD AND FEAR. delay her return. Faith was not sorry on her own account that she must not remain many minutes in the cottage, from which air, as well as light, was so much excluded ; it was a relief to leave the close, sickening atmosphere within, for the freshness of the soft, warm breezes without. The last sound which Faith heard from the lips of Antoine, as she closed his door behind her, was the repeated entreaty that she would not brmg him into trouble with Mademoiselle Diane. "Oh, the wickedness, ihe deceit, the cmelty of that woman !" exclaimed Faith to herself in her native tongue, as she turned from the wretched hovel, " to betray the trust of her generous mistress, to rob one so very poor as Antoine, and under the pretence of old friendship, of gratitude for past kindness ! Could anything be more base ? Antomo is afraid of Diane's anger-no wonder that he is afraid. She who i3 capable of such meanness, such cruelty, would be capable of any other sin. But what is. to be done ?" thought Faith. " Th this wicked course of fraud to be still carried ! i *^mmimm nUUD AND FEAR. 295 on? Ought not my lady to know of it; and if so, who is to tell her ?" Faith unconsciously slackened her steps, for the new subject offered to her thoughts was very difficult and perplexing. The Eng- lish girl shared that dislike to anything re- sembling tale-bearing which in schools and in households prevents one member from informing against another. Faith had seen many things at Chateau Labelle of which she could not possibly approve, but she had not deemed it to be her duty to carry a report to the comtesse of the shortcomings of her servants. But was the present case similar to the rest? "Was silence to be justified by necessity, or made a point of honor? Faith would gladly have persuaded herself that it was so. She was not by nature possessed of a high degree of courage ; she had al- ready suffered greatly from the dislike of Diane: dare she draw down upon herself the intense, the vindictive hatred of that unprincipled woman by accusing her to her mistress? Diane was, more or less, an object of foar to every member of the liouso- liold at Chateau Labelle ; no one cared to ;' '. ( ;; I: Ml' if 'J 29(5 phaud and fear. Iiavo her as an eiicmj, though no one sought her as a fiieud. It was Diane's boast that she never forgot or forgave an affront ; and, however regardless of truth she might usually be, few doubted that in this matter ihefemme-dc-cliamhre spoke truly. Faith was a gentle girl, of a very peace- able disposition : she never willingly gave nor readily took offence. In a peculiarly difficult position she had succeeded in pass- ing more than eighteen months in a foreign land, amongst those who professed a different religion from her own, without having an actual quarrel with any one. She had suffered, but she had not striven; when reviled, she had not reviled again. Faith was ready to make any sacrifice for the sake of ixjace, except the sacrifice of conscience. Had the time come when all hope of peace must be given up, and with peace perhaps personal safety ? For the peril involved in making a deadly enemy of a Frenchwoman m the year 1794 cannot be measured by what it would cost to offend a superior in Britain. In her own comitry, Faith had been under the sLield of the law ; in France, IHIp i FRAUD AND FEAR. 297 law afforded littlo or no protectio;. to the weak. Anarcliy ou every side afforded tearful opportunities to the bold and un- scrupulous to gratify porsonid malice and revenge. There had been women in France , and those not very few in number, who seemed to have exchanged the natural tenderness of their sex for more savage cruelty than that shown by the Jacobin men. Faith had heard with shuddering horror of women sitting in view of the scaf- fold, as at a play, knitting, talking, jesting, as they counted head after head falling under the stroke of the guillotine. The maiden felt intuitively that from none of these harpies coulcl less mercy be hoped for than Diane was likely to show to one who should give her mortal olfenee. "I dare not— oh, I dare not incur her hatred!" thought Faith, as again she quick- ened her steps ; " I am so helpless, so friend- less!" Faith's eyes glanced upwards into that clear blue ether which had looked to her, but a short time before, like the sapphire pavement of heaven. " Helpless* friendless !" repeated Faith, in a tone of self- ■i > , si M^ . ! t rf'A iii U f ,'.i 298 I'EAUD AND FEAK. reproach, " ,vl,ilo I can aslc for I,clp from above-wlicn the Lord Himseli' is my friend ! Oh, this co«-ard fear of man, .shall 1 never break from its bondage ? ' m,o is he that w!U harm yc, if ye be fdloims of tlat f^oh^s good?'" Ruth tried calmly to look hor new difficulty in tlio face. " That poor old man is starving ; ho is dvinr; a ...germg death from actual want, because ho IS defrauded of his own ; or ho is <Wvcn just enough to keep him alive, tl,at Diano ■nay continue to make wicked gain by robbrng the poor! If I keep silent, know- ing what I know, will not the wasted, wUhered laeo of that old man h.uut mc? feh dl I not be Diane's actfompliee in guilt V Automo cannot, dare not plead his own cause; ,s not tho cause of the poor tho oauso of the Lord? In past days I was tempted sorely tempted to disobey the voice of eonscieneo through tlio snare of eartily love: now I flinch back through earthly fear. The snare is laid, as it we?e on the oppo.site side of my path ; but it is prep.ared by the same spiritual enemy llnl FRAUD AND FEAR. 200 How strong still in my bouI must bo t])p power of solf nnd sin !" Faith dreaded mccthig Diane, now tliat she was conscious of possessing llio fcmmc- de-chamhres secret. Intercourse vrilh lu!r had never been pleasant, now it would become very painful. The young servant re-entered the chateau, and rcsvnnod lier domestic duties with a preoccupied mind ; she was so taken up with what she had seen and heard at Antoine's cottage, and thn difficulty of deciding upon what course she should pursue, that for once, by lier in- attention, Faith tried the temper of Marie, a temper which was very easily sot in a blaze. "What has como over thee, stupid? Hast thou no hands, no eyes ? Canst thou not set dovm a tray of currants without letting half of them tumble down on the floor? Ill take good care that thou dost- not go gadding through the plantation again, for thou hast left thy wits behind thee !" ouch Avas the angry rebuke of Mario, uttered in the shrillest tones of her voice, which was naturallv shrill. But Faith ! Ih ill >■■ 1| ' tiil i I 300 FRAUD AND FEAR. ficarcely lieard wliat sho said, and was im- consciously treading under foot some of the berries M-liidi she. had dropped in her sudden stnrt on Diane'.s entering tlio kitchen. The femme-de-chamhrc advanced, and stood directly in front of and almost close to the frightened girl. "So madame tells me that thou hast carried her present to Antoino," said Diane, m tones much lower than those of Marie' but more terrible in their measured distinct-' ness than the loudest chiding of tlie an-ry cook. " Thou didst doubtless find the dear old gardener comfortable and in good health?" ^ "I cannot say so," began Faith, while the nervous movements of her foot made more havoc amongst the red currants. Mario liad quitted the kitchen, or Faith's attention would have been unpleasantly drawn to this fact. "But 1 say it," observed Diane, advanc- ing still closer to Faith, and bending for- ward till the poor girl could feel her warm breath on her brow. Faith saw the blood- red bow of ril)bon which the fcmme-de- PlIAUD AND FEAR. 301 vhamhrc wore quiver with ciuotiou like that which a spider gives to its web when a prey is c'uight ill its toils. " / say it, and t/iuii must say it also, or it Avill bo tl:c worso for thee ! Ilcrctiqi'.e, Anyhd'^e, thou dobt uiulorstand mo?" It was impossible not to understand the menace conveyed in the words. Faith had not courage to reply, even had she had time to do so ; but Diano turned sharply away as Marie bustled back into the kitchen. Faith had to bear a pelting storm of abuse for lier carelessness in rot only throwing down but crushing the currants, as she knelt to pick up the fruit, and then to wash the red stains from the floor. But the chiding of Mario, compared to the threat of Diane, was as the pelting of summer rain compared to the barbed arrow that silently strikes deep into the quivering flesh. Yet even as Faith on her knees "as (Migaged in gathering up the trampled fruit, she was forming a resolve that, let the consequences be what they might, she should not be frightened out of performing a Chris- tian duty. She would w^atcli for the veiy |i ,\-M •- j, I. ife. ;. ■ , .]' t] 302 FEAUD AND FEAK. first oppoiiunltv of speaking aloiio with Lor mistress ; tlio conitusso slioukl know that slio liacl placed false confiilencc in oiio avIio had shamefully abused her tmst; and thf lady in hor wisdom might find some way of protecting Antoino from fnfcnre wrong, possibly without bringing on Fi'ilh all tlio tempest of wrath which she drcpdod'. The maiden, as she knelfc, was siloutly praying for discretion and courage, and otrengtlien- ing herself by repeating and appropriating the divine promise of protection : Fear thou not; for I am with ihcc: he not dis- mayed ; for I am ilnj God: 1 will drcngihcn tliee ; yea, I will hdp ihee ; yea, I will uphold thee loilh the rirjhl hand of My righteousness. 1,-i CHAPTER XXVll. DARING THE WORST, tion. pIEN the servants mai ixvomul the suppcr-tablo that evening, Diano wiiH more than nsually animated in manner, and full of conversa- Ilcr talk flowed entirely in ono channel. Sho related tale after tale, all bearing upoii tlio same subject of hatred and vengoanco, sliown in secret plots and in Juidniglit murders. Each story seemed to bo more horrible than the ono which had preceded it; and Diano told it with tho skill of an actress — darkening countonanco, deepening tones giving added effect to her narration, till she made tlio flesh of her listeners creep, and ther: blood run cold. j'iVer and aaou, at tho closer ol somo (303) 1% i, Sj!( '1 t ! li V ^- 304 DARINa THE WORST. tale, tliG fomnc-dc'chamhre would give ft glaco of triumpliauf-, defianco at Faith, who looked, as sho folt, shoclcod and sickonod at Iho records of cnielty and criino. "I am in no danger of exposure by yon pale, puny Aiir/laisc" tliought Diane ; " she is weak and soft as a feather, and will never venture for a moment to match lier strength against mine." But even a feather, with all its softness and pliability, has an inherent power of resistance : of feathers liave been formed breastplates which could turn the edge of a weapon. Diane might easily succeed in frightening Faith, but in shaking her resolve she did not succeed. The effect of fear on the English girl was to make her mistrust her own firmness, and therefore determine to do a painful duty so promptly as to leave herself no time for retreat. Faith dared not wait even till the following day, lest the morning should find her irresolute. Only pausing, therefore, until she saw Diane sit down as she usually did after supper, to a game of ronge-et-noir with one of the other servants, Faith set about her appointed task. 'I^f DAiuNQ THE woiisr. 005 by yon ) ; " sho .11 never ;trength softness Dwer of formetl ge of a 3oeil in resolve fear on nistrust termino to leave 1 dared lest the Only iane sit er, to a e other 3d task. Slio slipped quielly out of the seivants liall ; but not to go, according to usual loutiue, to help to prepare the sleeping jipariments. The maid turned down a picture-hung corridor, and proceeded towards the bou- doir in ^v^icll, as she well knew, the comtesso was wont to pass her evening:-, frequently alone. Faith had never before gone unsummoned into the presence of Gabrielle La Fere. Tlie poor girl's heart beat very fast, as her timid tap at the door was answered by the hidy's voice bidding her enter. Gabrielle sat at a small inlaid table, with jier desk before her ; she was engaged in looking over old letters by the light of a bronze candelabrum. Such occupation is often a sad one ; and the lady, as she pur- sued it, looked even more pensive than usuah The window of the boudoir was wido open, for the evening was warm, and tho breeze that gently stirred the curtains was fragrant with the x^crfume of orange-blos- soms from the garden below. The comtesso appeared to be alone, for Faith did not observe that Ninon La Fere was seated at 20 ) 306 DAllINQ THE WORST. the oi:)en Tvindow, she being almost concealed by one of the curtains. Tired of the novel with which she had been trying to kill time. Ninon was indulging in the dokefar niente f^ she might bo supposed to be gazing on the glimmering stars, but tlie thoughts of the young lady were engaged on objects very far below tliem. Gabrielle looked up fi-om her papei;s, as Faith, after closing the door behind "^ her, respectfully apx)roached her mistress. " Thou hast visited Aiitoine Le Roy, and hast doubtless come to tell me of thy visit. How fares the old man?" asked the comtesse. "But ill, madame," replied Faith. ^'^ What is his malady?" inquired the lady. "I believe, want of proper food and proper care," answered Faith, with an effort. Gabrielle La Fere looked surprised. " I provide what the old gardener needs ; he cannot know want," she observed. " No, madam, not if he receives what your bounty provides." That if, uttered with nen--ous emphasis, was the passage of the * 8wcd do noihiny, an Italian term for idle loimging. m J DARING THE WOllST. 307 3onceale(l tlie novel kill time. r nicntc ;'* g on the ts of the 3cts verj ipei;s, as incl her, 58. Roy, and thy visit. icd tho the lady. >od and m effort, 5ed. " I eds; he iiatyonr ed with 3 of the lounging. Rubicon to Faith. Gabrielle's attention was instantly fixed, and her suspicions awakened. The comtesse bade Faith give her a detailed, minute account of all that she had seen and heard during the visit to the gardener's cottage. The maid could not choose but obey. Uninterrupted, save by an occasional question from Gabrielle La Fere, Faith simply and truthfully narrated all that had passed, neither omitting nor exaggerating aaglit. A cloud of stern displeasure gathered on the brow of the listening lady. Gabrielle kept her dark eyes steadily fixed on tho speaker, and Faith met that searching gaze without blenching. There was a pause of silence when the English maiden had finished her account. Faith was startled at that silence being broken by a laugh from behind the curtain. "I declare, 7na heUe-soeur,'* cried Ninon, "that thou dost look as stern and solemn about this trifling affair as if it concerned some handsome young marquis being sent to the guillotine just set up in Aix, instead ! ii> I !:' ■.r J i i (^ l ' V>GS DARING THE WOIIST. of a wretched old man grumbling in a miso- rable cottage !"' " It is no light matter to me if I find that one of mj dependents has been wronged and oppressed, and that another has been guilty of fraud and falsehood," said the Comtesse La Fere. "I must sift this affair to the bottom. It is too late to send for Antoiuo to-night, but I will see him myself to-morrow." " I hope that thou art not going to do or say anything to put Diane out of humor," cried Ninon. " She is the only person in this tomb of a chateau with whom I can laugh and converse ; I shall die of enmii if she grow sulky. Faith talks nonsense about this old man. He has been bent double and has looked like a scarecrow for years. Ho must have died long ago had he not been well cared for by Diane. But these canaille have no gratitude ; and pensioners, AS all the world knows, never die !" Gabrielle was not wont to pay much heed to^ the babble of her hcUe-swur, and her mind was noAv too painfully occupied by the diselosuruis made by Faith to take in ev< n V.'M-i I'- ll i I M DAKINQ tfHE WORST. 309 .:! ill m a iiii.se- tho purport of what Ninon was saying. The comtesso pressed lior hand to her forehead, remained some moments in reflec- tion, and then addressed Faith Stanby : " Mention to no one what thou hast tohl me to-night," said the lady ; " I will not fail to look into this matter," and with a gesture of her hand the lady dismissed her maid from her presence. " I have done my part ; I am so thankful that I have been given courage to speak," said Faith to herself as she quitted the apartment. "All now rests with madame. She is just and good ; what is wrong she has power to set right. That poor old man will have cause to bless the chance— but surely it was not chance which made the comtesse send her gifts for once by another hand than Diane's." But though the conscience of Faith was satisfied, and she could lie down to rest that night with a sweet consciousness that a dan- gerous duty had been bravely performed, she could not easily sleep. Her mind was haunted by the horrible stories which Diane had related, and for some time she vainly :*i %H 310 DAKING TIIE#WORST. tried to banish thorn from memory by repec>iing psahiis and old English hymns Tiie hooting of an owl, which Faith had oc- casionally hoard before, now troubled and disturbed her, as if a death-Avail were in Uu) mght-bird's cry. At length, however, drow- smess overpowered thought, and Faith was forgetting in sleep all hor cares and fears >vhen she was startled from hor first slumber by the glare of a candle on her closed eyo- lids. Opening them in sudden alarm. Faith beheld standing at her bedside, with a light- ed candle in her hand, the woman whom she most dreaded. The dark complexion of Diane had almost a greenish hue, and the expression of her eyes looked wolfish to tho imagination of the terrified girl, who thus suddenly roused from sleep, regarded her enemy as she might have done some hideous apparition. "I owe thee something— I know it, joer- /ider said Diane, glaring down at Faith, and speaking in a voice tremulous from fury. « I owe thee something, and I never forget such dGhi<i,-~Jcn7icus, jamais r The last words were hissed out rather than DARINa THE WORST. :ui spoken ; and before tlieir souml had died away in the cars of tlio trembling listener, i\\Q fi'mmr.-dc-cJiamhrc had turned and glided out of tlie apartment, which was again left in ntter darkness, save from glimmering starlight dimly visible throngh the case- ment. Faith sprang from her bed, and was at the door in the twinkling of an eye, f"oni an instinctive desire to lock and bolt it so as to render impossible a repetition of such a visit. But there was no key to turn, no boH to fasten ; ihe door of the little turret-cliam- ber had merely ii latch. The .frightened girl dragged the only chair in the room from its i)laco, set it against the door, and put her heavy box upon it ; a poor barrier they formed, but at least no one would be able to enter that chamber again without rousing its inmate. Faith had seen at Lyons the countenances of men inflamed with savage fury ; she had seen them when it appeared but too likely that actual mur- der was to bo committed before her eyes ; but no face that she had ever looked on left on her memory such an impression of hor- U\ ' .1 .! I u ai2 DAniNGf THE WOllST. ror as that pale, livid ono on wlilcli the glare of the candle had fallen that night. " I will go to Annette— I will entreat her to let mo sleep with her— I dare not sta}' here alone," cried poor Faith, trembling from head to foot with nervous excitement- Tn order to carry out her design, she began removing her little barrier from the door to enable herself to open it ; but Faith changed her intention before she had effected her prrpose. ** Foolish and cowardly that I am," mur- mured the maid. " Of what use would it be for mo to have the protection of a compan- ion for a short space of time, when every hour of the day— and the night— I am liable to meet with Diane ? She will try to harm me, that I doubt not, but scarcely by stab- bing or shooting me in the chateau. I must be on my guard, and trust in the Lord. Who is it that can hurt me if the Almighty be my defence and shield? Are not the hairs of my head all numbered? Can even a sparrow fall to the ground without the permission of my heavenly Father? TJie Yory worst that human hatred can do to a DARING THE WORST. 313 fcliG glare Teat her not stay rembling utement- LO began tloor to cliaijged jtecl lier 11," mur- ald it be compan- m every m liable to harm )y stab- Imusk e Lord. Imighty not the m even out the ■? The :lo to a ■ I Christian is to send hun a little sooner to the home above, where all la safety, and rest, and peace !" Faitlj pressed her hands tightly over her tlirobbing heart, and looked forth from the casemeiit on (he stars in the deep blue sky, so calm in their radiant beauty. She thought on the majesty of Him who had studded the firmament with those orbs of light, and who for thousands of years had upheld and guided them, while generation after generation of men had' passed away like waves that successively break on the Bhore. There are few things that bring more forcibly before the mind of the Chris- tian the shortness of life belew, and the vanity of earthly hopes and fears, than con- templation of the sky at night. It is not only literally that the world becomes hidden from the view ; not the bodily eyes alone are raised upwards ; faith, looking at the stars, looks beyond the stars, and thought is intuitively shaped into prayer. At least thus it was with the young exile. Gradually the tumult in Faith's spirit be- came hushed into peace ; her heart ceased to flutter so wildly. The owl had left off it ' H il !\ 314 DARINa THE WOEST. hooting, and sweetly tlie nightingale's song came from the distant grove. Faith's heart had also its music, though her lips did not breathe it aloud. A song heard in England recurred to her mind; a melodj, sad and j^hiintive indeed, but with something soothing in its sadness. Faith returned to her bed, laid her head on her pillow, and at last dropped again into slumber with the strain in hor ear-^ : SONG. When darkness broods around, All is night— drear night ; Thp breezes bear no sound — All is night — still night ; The watchers' weary eyes Gaze on the eastern skies, Where soon the sun will rise- All be light— clear light. When o'er the spirit crushed Broods the night— sad night ; Earth's sounds of joy are hushed — All is night — still night ; Hope, with more earnest gaze, Through the deepening gloom surveys Where will burst the glorious rays— All be light— bi-ight light. e 8 sonrr Faith's lips did eard in mclodj, metliing irncd to , and at 'ith tho ^>kUs!^ CHAPTER XXVni. THE BED niBBON. it \\ ff.;i s T must bo owned lliat Faith awoke on tlio morrow with a weight on her mind, an undefined sense of dread which oppressed her even before her senses were sufficiently clear to make her aware of its cause. She arose very early; the sun had scarcely ♦ risen, the dew lay thick on the lawn which spread beneath that part of the chateau to which her turret belonged. Faith went to the casement to refresh herself by one glance at the glorious eastern prospect, bathed in the rosy glow of sunrise, and canopied by its golden clouds. Chancing to look down from her liei<^lit on tlie lawn Faith's attention was aHracted by some (315-) Ii 316 THE RED RIBBON, small red object, which seemed to her, at the first glance, like a stain ol blood on the green grass below. The events of the pre- ceding night had made the poor girl so nervous that a thrill of fear ran through her frame, till, looking down more intently on the object. Faith perceived that it was nothing but a bow of red ribbon. " I am more timid than a child, if a bit of colored silk makes mo tremble," said Faith to herself, with an attempt to smile at her own cowardice. " But that looks like the bow which Diane wore yesterday evening ; no one at the chateau wears a red bow but herself. It is .omewhat strange that it should be lymg there on the lawn, before 'any one but myself is awake in Chateau Labelle !" Faith had another question to solve as she ^jin-ned away from the casement. How was it that Diane knew, as she evi- dently did know, that the comtesse had been informed of her base conduct towards Antoine? Faith concluded, and was cor- rect in the conclusion, that Mademoiselle Ninon, whose delight was in gossip, had told THE RED RIB130N. 317 her, at I on the the pre- girl so through intentlj t it was a bit of d Faitli at her ike the vening ; )ow but that it , before Chateau solve sement. he evi- se had owards as cor- loiselle ad told all to the fcmmc-de-chamhrc w' eu Diane waited upon the young lady at niglit. Faith's morning preparations never oc- crupicd much of the time of which she had so little to spare. Being, however, up so early this morning, she was able to devote some more muiutes than she usually did to the Bible-reading and prayer in which she found her greatest refreshment. The maiden then went again to the easement and looked down to see the red ribbon once more. To her surprise, not a trace of it could she perceive. In vain Faith's gaze searched the lawn from side to side ; there was nothing on the green grass but the dew-drops that shone in the glittering sun-beams. "I could almost fancy that I had only dreamed that I saw the red bow, my mind being so full of Diane," thought Faith. But the English girl was not given to idle fancies ; and common sense made her de- cide that some one must have picked up and taken away the ribbon during the intor- ,w>l U^f,.r/^/^r^ l^pv fivof ori'l eP'^'^Tld look from the casement. Faith thought that she ft: .11 :Mf .iltl 818 THE RED llltJBON. could oven trace Bomotliiiif; like footprints on the dewy lawn, tliongli the lieight of her turret made it difficult to assure herself of the fact. But who was likely to have been thero at so early an hour ? The gardener had not yet come to his work, and all was still as death in Chateau Labelle. Faith tried to dismiss the subject from her mind, but again and ngain caught herself conjec- turing how that ribbon had fallen on the grass, and how ii had so suddenly vanished from it. 8ho coidd not but reflect that from the front of the chateau the nearest way to the olive plantation lay across that lawn. When Faith entered the servants' Jjall, she found no one in it but Marie. "What's in the wmd now, I wonder, Faith?" was her first greeting, as she looked with curiosity at la pelite Anglaise. " What Borfc of report didst thou bring to niadamo yesterday of thy visit to Antoine Lo Boy?" ''Wherefore dost thou ask me?" said Faith, who remembered her mistress's in- junction that she should keep silenco on the subject. THE llEJ RIBDON. 319 'X lift "Because madamo gavo mo so strango an order last night. As Hoon as brealcfast is over I am to go alono in tho pony-cart to the cottage, and bring back okl Antoino to the chateau, and suffer him to speak to no one till ho has seen my hidy herself. I was never sent on so strango an errand l)efore. Didst thou— but, hush ! the others ju'o coming in to breakfast, and madamo desired me not to mention the business before tho rest of tho household." '* Madamo is prompt in taking her mea- sures," thought Faith; "but I much w tbat red ribbon shows that somo ono oiso has been quicker still." Diane now enteri u tho nail. The blood- rod bow was fastened on her dress, bu^ Faith fancied that it looked damp, and it had certain] V been pinned on awry. This was the first time that a crookedly put on bow ha* ' ever been seen in tho dross of the acGom^lished femmc-de'chamhre of tho Com- tesse La Fere. " Thou hast a look of weariness, I lane," observed Marie, as she handed to her, at breakfast, her cup of chocolate. "Hast ^ni i. 1.1 n20 THE KKD lilBBON. I thou been dreaming of tliat liorritl murder at the mill, of which thou wert telling us last night?" Diane did indeed look haggard and tired, and her manner was irritable and restless. Faith tried to avoid looking at her enemy, but a strange kind of fascination seemed to draw her eyes in the direction of Diane. At the conclusion of the morning meal Diane went, as was her custom, to assist Mademoiselle Ninon at her toilette ; that of the comtesse was already .completed. To attire mademoiselle, build up over its cushion the pile of her hair, duly apply pomatum and powder, and give the finishing touch of rogue to her cheeks, was usually a tedious affair. To Ninon, her toilette was perhaps the most interesting business of the day, and she spun out the time which it occupied by light gossip with her femme- de-chambre, so that hours were consumed in front of the mirror. Ninon did indeed sometimes complain that all her trouble and Diane's were wasted, since only the crows and the peacocks saw the result of an elaborate toilette. But dressing herself THE RED BIBBON. 321 out as if to receive visitors was the yonng lady's favorite amusement, and as it was well-nigh her only one at Chateau Labelle, she usually made it a protracted one. Faith could not help hoping that on this critical mornmg it might be even longer than usual. I i '-I ! 1 tj* 21 '' f •m ^'H iifl CHAPTER XXIX. A VERDICT. ARIE soon set off on her little expedition to the cottage of ^ Antoinc Le Eoj. Tlio way by wliieU she drove the pony-cart was longer than the foot-path through the olive plantation, hut still would not take many minutes to traverse. Not more than n half-hour elapsed before Faith heard the sound of approaching wheels. The pony stopped at the back entrance to Chdteau Labelle, and then the tones of Marie's voice were^ heard speaking encouragement to Antoine. " Come, come, my good friend, what aila thee? Thou hast nothing to fear from madame." (322) ler little tage of way by 3ny-cart Ligh the ot take •ro than iard the le pony Chateau 's voice lent to mt ailH r from A VERDICT. 323 Faith, from motives of delicacy, avoitletl meeting Marie and Antoine at the door; she did not show herself to them at all. S]'^ knew, however, from the sound of the old gardener's slow, limping steps that Marie, doubtless in obedience to her mis- tress's orders, was taking him straight to the boudoir. Faith was naturally very anxious to know the result of his interview with the comtesse. With an abstracted mind she mechanically went on with her household duties. The maiden had not mucl i.ne, however, for speculating on whaw *vould bo said or done. In about ten minutes Faith heard the tinkling bell which summoned her to the presence of Gabrielle La Fere. At the door of the lady's boudoir Faith suddenly encountered Diane, who brushed past her so rudely, in order to enter the room before her, as to thrust the young maid against the wall. Faith, how- ever, instantly recovered her balance ; and with emotions of mingled anxiety and hopt^ followed the feiwine-de-cJiamhi^e into the boudoir. "Piirdon me, madame," said Diane in 5|' \: i\ '• U 5' if^ '' ''I fl< i '""•3 H f. ' ' urn 324 A YERDICT. tones of suppressed passion, as she entered tho presence of the comtesso ; " madame is too just to let an accusation— a most slan- derous, Avicked, atrocious accusation— be brought against her faithful servant, without giving her an opportunity of answering it, and of facing her malignant enemy!" As she uttered the last word Diane glared upon Faith with a look of tho most intense hatred. "Do not trouble or excite thyself, Diane," cried Ninon, who was seated near the win- dow, a little to tho rear of her sister; "Antoine has set the whole matter right! Ho assures us that thou art tho best of his friends." Faith, in no small surprise, glanced at tho old man, who was standing trembling before the comtesse, who was herself also standing. Marie, an interested witness of the scene, appeared at a few paces' distance. Faith's glance at the aged gardener convinced her at once that he was under the influence of «trong personal fear. Antoine shook so violently, that at a gesture from her mistress Marie placed a chair for the poor old man ; but he did not avail Itimsolf r^f if «^^^^f i, J A VEEDICT. 325 grasping the back of it -vvitli his bony hands, to steady himself on his feet. " Art thou willing, Antoine, to repeat in the presence of Faith and Diane what thou liast said to mo now?" asked the comtesse. Antoine glanced nervously from the ono servant to the other, without venturing, however, to raise his sunken head high enough to look at their faces. " Compose thyself," said Gabriello en- couragingly ; " if thou dost speak the truth, there is nothing that thou needst fear. Dost thou still aver, according to what tliou has just told me, that Diane has every month, constantly, and without fail, brought thee coffee in good measure from me, and twelve francs in fair silver coin ?" "Always — ^always, madame; and Made- moiselle Diane has often added gifts of her own, — mademoiselle is so kind. May the saints reward her !" " Thou dost hear him, Diane !" cried Ninon. "Madame hears him!" cried the femmc- de-chambre. But the comtesse did not look perfectly '■« i'S' '. I: i! ^ a^ 326 A VERDICT. satisfied still. Slio turned towards Marie, with the grave dignity of a judge question- ing a witness. " In what state, Marie, didst thou this morning find the cottage of Antoine ?" " In a state neither better nor worse than that of most peasants' cottages, ;nadame," replied Marie. "It looked tolerablv clean, but I did not search into the holes and crannies." " Faith made it out to bo a den of dirt," said Ninon. "And perhaps it looked so to Faith, mademoiselle," observed Marie quickly. "She comes from a land where I'm told there's no end of mopping and scrubbing, till folk could eat their dinner off the floor — if they ly knew how to cook a dinner Avorth c .ing," added the cook in paren- thesis. " Faith had never so much as seen an omelet before she came to Piovence ! But I must say this for her," continued the warm-hearted Frenchwoman, turning to address herself to her mistress, " Faith is an honest girl, and a truthful girl ; I'd take her bare word against tlio oath of any one else." A YERDIOT. 327 Marie's frank testimony in licr favor went warm to the heart of poor Faith, who was feehng her own position intensely pain- ful, and who sorely needed the support of a friend. She was accused to her dear mis- tress of falsehood and slander; and the wretched old man, in whose behalf she had risked so much, had evidently been fright- ened into saying anything and everything that suited tlie purpose of Diane. " I think that Faith will scarcely receive so fine a character again," said Diauii with bitterness ; " ot least from none but idiots. I ask madame's pardon for using angry words in her presence, but a saint could not stand being insulted and slandered as I have been by a Jieretique Anglcdse. Madame has heard what Antoine has said — dear, good old Antoine, who loves his friends ; madame will punish the wicked wretch who has tried to rob me of madame's favor, which to me i$so precious." Gabrielle La Fere turned towards Faith " What has thou to say in thine own de- fence ?" asked the lady. " Dost thou still nold to thy statement Oi wrongs received by <' !l rl '! 1 n 'til 328 A VERDICT. Antoine Lo Roy, wliicli wrongs ho himself tlenies ?" " I told madame the simple truth yester- day," said poor Faith ; "I canuot say anght else to-day." There was a profound silence in the room for several moments, only broken by the heavy breathing of Antoine, and the little sound caused by the trembling of the chaii* on the back of which he was leaning. "What is thy verdict, Gabrielle?" cried Ninon, who was the only person present who felt rather amused than pained by the scene. " My sentence is this," said the comtessc. " Faith, who asserts, but cannot prove the truth of her statement, that Antoine has been neglected and defrauded, shall be con- strained to carry to him every day from my servants' table a plate of warm viands in lieu of the little pension. She shall also be obliged to spend at least an lour in his cot- tage in cleansing it, or in any other wjiy attending to the old man's comfort." The sentence was heard with surprise ; a gleam of something like pleasure came to the A 7ERDICT. 329 old gardener'3 face, but that of Diane expressed great dissatisfaction and disap- pointment. "Is tliat all, madame?" slio inquired. "Is such a mild punishment sufficient for a — " Diane paused, as if no epidiet of abuse which she might choose could bo sufficiently strong. " I have given my decision," said Gabri- elle firmly. " Marie, see that my behest is obeyed. Taho now Antoino under thy charge; give him refreshment, -which ho seems much to need ; and then let him bo conveyed back to his cottage, since I find that he still refuses to leave it to dwell under this roof. Faith is to carry him his meal to-morrow ; see thou that it be not a scanty one. And now, you may all retire." "Diane, come with me," cried Ninon, rising with alacrity from her seat; "now that this absurd business is over, I must return to my half-finished toilette. Thou shalt try on me that new cosmetic, for the sun has scorched my complexion." Faith and Maiie, leading with them the feeble, trembling Antoine, retired to the I' 1' ii 'It * i*^ 830 A VEllDICT. Bervants' liall ; ^vbilo Diane, cliafing witli inward fury, followed tlio young lady to her private apartment. As soon as Diano was out of hearing, Mario turned laughing to Faith. " Well dr^iio, bravely done, 'pdilc AnglaUe /' she exclaimed; "who would have thought that thou, with all thy quietness and meek- ness, wouldst be the one to venture to hit Buch a tolling blow at the proud Diane !" " I was not able to defend myself, but 1 felt thy kindness, Marie," said Faith, with grateful emotion. « Thou at least dost not believe that I have uttered untruth." " Nor docs the comtesse believe it either," cried Marie with animation. "Dost thon think that if she had deemed thee a liar and slanderer, she would have let thee off so easily, or have chosen thee to be the one to carry food to Antoine ? Doubtless madamo saw, as any one might see, that there has been tampering with this miserable old man. —Come, Antoine," continued Marie, "lei me be thy father-confessor ; tell the truth now, Diane is not hero to threaten thee with a thrust of her bodkin !" A VERDICT. 331 •Ji But not another word, bad or f<ood, conld be wrung from the trembUng Antonio ; it seemed as if ho had either lost the power of speech, or had nuulo a vow not to utter another sentence. The servants gathered around him, Hstening witli much interest to Marie's •vivacious account of all that had occurred. Faith was surprised and relieved to find that the general feeling amongst her fellow-servants was in her favor. The Eng- lish maiden now experienced tlio advantage of having gained a high character for truth- fulness; not a «inglo individual in the servants' hall believed for a moment that she had slandered Diane. " There had not been time for Diane to go to the cottage of Antoine," observed Annette, " madame sent for him so early ; otherwise I should have been pretty certain that Diane had bribed or coaxed him to say whatever she pleased." " Or fi'ighteiied him out of his wits," added Marie. "Diane keeps her coaxing for Mademoiselle Ninon." Faith remembered the red ribbon on the lawn, and was on the point of telling of 1 . •■' :l m .a . ^H is Fi'i i , - 1 f 332 A VERDICT. >vli<'it sho hud seen, when iiuoilior remark inado by Mario restrained her. "Diane's anger might frighten a stouter Iieart tlian tliat of the poor okl gardener. You shoukl liavo seen her face to-day, palo to the very lips with passion. I tiiouglit that sho would have flown at madame her- self." It flashed across the min(' of Faith Stanhy that even were it in her power to convict Diane of the treachery which sho suspected, she had better refrain from doing so, lest she should place her mistress in a situation of difficulty, possibly even of danger, (xabrielle La Fere, the avhstocrate, trod already on ground sufficiently slippery in those perilous times of revolution ; sho could not afl'ord to make an enemy even of one of her servants. Faith knew enough, of the cJiaracter of the high-spirited comtesse to feel certain that were Diane to bo actually convicted of treachery, falsehood, and fraud, no considerations of prudence would induce the lady to retain in her service one so utterly base. And if the femme-dn-ohamhre were to be dismissed in disgrace, it was A VEUDICT. 833 too likely that ylio would at least attempt to drag down others with her in hor fall. "It is bettor, far better," tliought Faith, "that I should bo tho only object of thrt lualico and hatred of Diane. Far bo it from mo to draw down tho lightning upon my dear mistress. Madamn doubts my guilt; I hope and believe thdl; she doubts it ; and even if it bo not sc , hi an/uier world sho will know my innocenc > of t) :-t sin of which Diane has falsely accuojd mo. One groat object is gained — that poor old man cun no longer be starved that Diane may heap up hor ill-gotten gains. May the Lord forgive him as freely as I do for the weakness which has made him utter so many false- hoods to-day!" Diane Avas very little seen in tho servants' hall during the remahider of that day ; she had a headache, she said, and did not choose to join the rest of tho household at meals. Her absence was little regretted. The femme-de-chamhrc had made no friends in Chateau Labelle. No one either re- spected or liked her, but her fierce, revenge- ful character made her rather an object of I lil' Sii* "^^ II: 1*^ \'i'. . Ill HM n Hi lii i 1 mi. A VERDICT. I fear. Few cared to rouse the resentment of one who was known to nurse, year after year, the memory of an offence, biclmg her time till she could wreak her malice upon the offender. Faith found that, instead of incurring opprobrium, as might have been expected, by informing against a fellow- fc'ervant, she had risen in the estimation of the rest of the household, especially in that of Marie, for her courage in attacking a petty tyrant. " I never thought that the pdUe Anglaise would have had the spirit to tackle Diane," said tho laughing Marie to Annette ; " I'd have as soon expected our white kitten to spring at a wolf ! And she nearly had the best of the battle, too," continued the cook, with a burst of mirth ; " had that wretched Antoino had but half the courage of the meek little maid, we'd have had proud Mademoiselle Diane down in the dust, as sure as my name is Marie !" " That petite Anglaise is very quiet, verj gentle," tried Annette, her eyes brimming over wifh glee ; " but if it comes to a mat- tor of riollt or wvnnrr—l.nl. \ J ^J^^ hoiiew nglit or wrong— bah ! A VET^DICT. 335 she would faco tlio terrible Robespierre himself !" "I half forgive Faith for being the countrywoman of that mediant Pitt!' laughed Marie. fli I !' t] |;iP ^m\\\ CHAPTEE XXX. A DISCOVERY. N the following morning thero seemed to be a lull after a storm. Diane appeared as nsnal amongst the rest of the household, and >vith her accustomed manner. No change in her was to bo perceived, save that she never spoke to Faith, though she not un- frequentlj spoke at her; but there was nothiDg very unusual in this. Faith, however, knew her enemy much too well to trust the deceitful calm. It must booAvned that when the young Enr ishwo- man started after the mid-day meal with the dinner provided for Antoine, tlie possibility of meeting Diane by the way bv no means iMd'oasod tbo enjovnicnt (330) •^i jJtr jittie waiii. A DISCOVERY. 337 The rustlo of a bird stirring amongst ilio leaves of tlie olives made Faith start; she repeatedly turned and looked behind her to Bce that her footsteps were not dogged. But Faith chid herself for hor fears; and after a rapid walk arrived in safety at the vine-mantled o#ttage of Antoine. The appearance of the interior of that cottage, as seen by Faith when she now entered it, confirmed her impression that it had been visited by D^nne at a very early hour on the preceding daj*. There had been a partial cleaning and tidying of the miserable place ; fresh air had been admit- ted, and the atmosphere was no longer difficult to breathe in. The holes and cran- nies, had, indeed, never been touched; dust lay in rolls in every place where its presence Avould not immediately strike tlio eye ; and in many an obscure corner tho spiders still had an undisturbed, and peace- ful reign. Faith found old Antoine still very nervous and tremulous, and apparently afraid to utter a word. To her his timid, depreca- torv manner scorned to be a mute entreaty 22 H ■i ■ : ! i'8 • HI .fi-' ' i h Ii 338 A DISCOVERY. for pavcloii ; nm\ lior cheerfal, kindly smile told that slie freely gave it. " I have l)von.<^lit thee a plentiful supply — see!" Baid Eaith, as she opened her little basket; "enough for dinner and supper besides. And now I am about to clean thy pretty cottage, and makoftit as neat as madame's own boudoir. As the day is so bright, and the air so warm, wilt thou tak(! thy meal outside, nnder the shade of yon beech, and so escape the discomfort of being in the midst of the dust -wliic].! I must needs raise?" Antoino shook his head, and looked alarmed at the suggestion. lie did not care to cross his threshold, and sliowed by signs that he wished to remain while tli(^ cottage was being set to rights. Ho did not mind the dust, he had been accustomed to it for years. Faitli placed the dinner before the old man, and then, wliile lie partook of it with evident relish, she sat vigorously to work with the implements for cleansing which she had brought over with her from the Cha- teau. ]\lari(5 h ad not been incorrect in say int: A DISCOVERY. 339 tl.at hor young assistant had la.owii nothing o£ Fiench cookery until she had como o Provmce ; hut lew girls had been so quick, orde.ly, and thorough as regarded house- work. Antoine looked up from his dinner in mute surprise at the ^.igol•ous onslauglit raado by the EngUsh maid upon the accu- mulated rubbish of years. Faith had before long almost comple cd her work, for the thorongli scrubbing tlia was to follow clearing out she deterred until the following day ; but an old cabmc ,^ as yet undusted, still required her attention It seemed to Faith as if the top of that cabinet, which she could only reach by standing on a «tool, might not luu^ been touched for a hundred years, so thick was the layer of dust upon it, and upon some object which had apparently been 'f ' tl'^™ to he out of the way. Half choked by the dust which she was raising, the maiden took down the neglected vohime-for such i was -that lay before her. She stepped down from the stool, and carried the book to the door, to subject it to a "«««^;;'Y P™f "' of wiping and clapp'" .., so aa piirlially nt if 'Vi 1^1 ■ "'n' P -• i W n 340 A DISCOVERY. I;: least to rcmovo tlio tliick co^iting wum It Soon the brown leather (liiirliisg and rcil odges of the book became vi^ ibly under ibe quick disciiDline of tho dusUr; imd Eaith, opening the volume, glai;ced at the contents of the pa«,es, yelUny with age. "Oh, it is a Bible!" exclaimed Faith Stanby, wit^i the jojfui surprise of cue who liiLS unexpectedly liglited lypon i- treasure. Faith had, of course, brought her English Bible with her to Provence, but she had oken greatly wished to possess a French one. The Scriptures in tho language of the country in which she now Iwelt would be of the greatest use to the Protestant maid in speaking on religious subjects, as she now not unfi-equently did both with Marie and Annette. Though Faith, by this time, spoke French as fluently as English, she feared to mar the sense of quotations from Scripture by attempting herself to translate them. Glad as one who has found great spoil, Faith carried back the precious Book into the cottage of Antoine, leaving the door open, as was needful, to enable her to bear out tho rlnsf. nnrl vnl^hicl. A DISC0VEI17, 341 "Didst tliou know, Antoine, that ilion Imdst a Bible on the top of thy cabinet ?" asked Faith, placing the volume on the table before the gardener, who had by this time finished his meal. Antoiue slowly turned over the pages one by one with his withered fingers and looked at them, but with no intelligence in his bleared old eyes. It was evident that ho could not read the volume. "It must have been my grandfather's Bible," ho said slowly; "'my grandfather, ho was a Huguenot — that was long, long ago, in the days of the Grand Monarqiie.^^ "I daresay that thy guandfather loved and prized his Bible," said Faith ; " will not thou love and prize it also ? This is a blessed Book — so full, oh, so full of comfort! It gives us God's own message of mercy and love. If thou canst not read it thyself, wouldst thou not like to hear it read, Antoine?" The old man nodded his gray head, and Faith required no further permission. A door of usefulness had been suddenly onened before her and it was with no la*^'"- ij h U m n 342 A DISCOYERY. gard spirit that the English gu-1 entered on the blessed work which she lioped that her Master had given her to do. Here wa.s this old Romanist, the descendant of Hugiie Dot parents, trembling on the verge of the grave ; and into her hand had a torch been entrusted to lighten the gloom, and perhaps guide a poor wanderer home. Faith had been the means of supplying a sufferer's bodily wants ; and now she might be the honored channel of conveying to him spiritual nourishment, tuine and mUIc ivithout mmmy and mhout price. Faith was too eager to impart rehgious consolation to the afflicted to defer even for a day, the reading of the Scriptures to poor old Antoine. She only waited until she had washed the dust from her hands and face in a little brook which flowed at the back of the cottage. Faith then re- entered the humble dwelling, di-v. the stool to the feet of Antoine (who occupied the only chair m the place), and took her seat upon It, resting the Bible on her knee. Atter a short, earnest prayer for a blessing upon what she and her companion should near, J?aith housxn in vno.i ..lon/i " A DiaCOYERY. 843 of holy Scripture. She did not pause long to select, nor did she attempt to offer any comment of her own upon the divine words of tenderness and love which she read from the fourteenth chapter of the Gospel of St. John. Antoine listened with clasped hands, and in silence the most profound ; and when Faith glanced up into his face, as she finished reading the chapter, she saw that tears were flowing down the cheeks of the poor old man. *'Are they not sweet, are they not precious, the sayings of our dear Master V" said Faith, as without closing the volume she reveren- tially laid it on the table. A well-spring of feeling had been opened in the poor old gardener's heart. It was many, many years since he had heard that chapter read, and perhaps it had brought back recollections of his childhood. Bend- ing down his face on his folded hands he murmured, in a scarcely audible tone, " I am such a sinner — a poor old sinner — the good Lord have mercy upon me!" " He will— be assured that He will," cried tlie English girl ; " if thou dost lool m •vJ , \h 344 U'l.ue nor,s A DISrOTERY. ith to Him who died for si li- fe Dost ihort forgive mo ?" ar^kGd Antoi eservc id unxiouslj'. Now that the ico of r* <^uc0 been broke^v the Jiged man was no longer aLI . to keep buck the word^i wliich he had been longing to pour forth. "0 mademoiselle, I have wronged theo, but I did not mean it — I could not help it — oh no, I could not help it ! Diane she is cruel — she is terrible ; she came and awoke me from sleep; it is dreadful to be so wakened in dim twilight! Diane told mo tljat she would kill Lie—and kill thee— if I told tlxo real truth to madame." Faith uttered an exclamation of surprise, not at what she Iieard, but at what she . tw ; for the comtesse h/M-self stood on the threshold ! Gabriello a light footstep had been unheard as sre approached the cot- tage • and r w the expression of her coun- tenance showed that part at least of t, j last seji^ence uttered by h^r old pensioner had reached her iudign^nt ear. •^ ^L for siu- Autoiiij ervo had was 110 ts wliicli ih. "O eo, but I — oh no, ; cruel — me from enecl iu hat she told tlio surprise, iho L.aw ; on the tap had tho cot- 3r coun- ' tl 3 last >ner had ' 1 it?" mac gi-ai risii nes con sue <( "tl life COT en( ( f -ll M CHAPTER XXXI. FLiaiJT. IHAT do I bear !" exclaimoJ tho comtesse, advancing into the cottage with that grave dignity which to Faith's eyes always made her look like a queen. Antoine, gi-asping the table to assist himself in rising, stood on his feet, and by the lowli- ness of his obeisance tried to cover the confusion which ho felt at the entrance of such a visitor. "Is it possible," continued Gabrielle, " that thy very lifo was threatened, and the life of this innocent girl, to induce thee to cover by falsehood the guilt of an artful enemy ?" Ooncoaiment liad from the first been irk- (345) 1 I 4 > ; - -, 1/: ; ! t: . i mi i^ :i f/ mi k sSs SKSS 346 ixiaiiT. some and painful to poor old Antoine, and now that it had also bocomo useless. l,o threw It aside altogether. As the comtesse Icnew so much, there was no reason why slio should not know all. It was a relief to her pensioner to tell everjthing ; not only to relate (ho circumstances attendiui; Diane's last stealthy visit to his cottag^ but to recount the sufferings which her grasping cupKhy had for y^ars inflicted upon the tinud, heli)less old man. Gabriello had declined taking the solitary ehair, which Antoine had humbly offered tor her accommodation ; she had preferred remaining on her feet; and her f,c„ro seemed now to rise to more than its usual l|eight as she stood, a silent, indi-^nant listener to the talo of tyranny, frand, and cruelty poured forth by the injured old man. in the darkest coloring was the character of Diane presented to the eyes of her mistress. And this IS the viper who has been for *^o long nurtured under my roof!" cried tho comtesse, as Antoine concluded his story I suspected that all was not right; it was Wis suspicion which iivn-lr, nie »,.<."— -i -- . FLIGHT. 347 final judgment until I could tlioronglily sift truth from error; it was this suspicion wliicli induced mo to come, unattended, to this cottage to day. Now the course before me is clear. I uill instantly dismiss from my service the base woman who has so shamefully abused my trust." " Ah, mercy !" gasped Antoino suddenly, his eyes dilating with terror as he stared fixedly at the little window, towards which the baclis of Gabriello and Faith were turned. The old man's exclamation was sharp as a cry of pain. "What ails thee?" inquired the comtesse. The answer was given in one word, " Diane .'" Without waiting for a command from her lady, Faith ran hastily out of the cottage to see if the femme-de-chamhre were actually eaves-dropping beside the vine-mantled window. The English girl could, however, see no one ; but she had no time to examine thoroughly, for she was almost instantly called back into the cottage by a heavy sound of a fall, and then the voice of her lady calling to her to come and help her. ;l t* 1 ! ^ - ! i\<\ fl 348 FLIGHT. Antoine had fallen oil the floor, either in a fit or a swoon. To raise him, to bring restoratives, to bear him to his little pallet, required the united strength of Gabrielle and her attendant. The comtesse did not shrink from making the personal exertions to which she was altogether unaccustomed. Her slender delicate fingers gave their help to the fainting old man as readily, though not as effectually, as the toil-strengthend hands of Faith Stanby. Water was quickly brought from the streamlet, wine from the table, — a bottle of the latter having been amoDgst the provisions selected by Mario and brought by Faith. The invalid's hands and feet were chafed, his temples bathed, and gradually he revived, to the great relief of Gabrielle and her maid, who had feared that the stroke of death was upon him. It was a considerable time before the eyes of Antoine unclosed, and then they were turned anxiously, fearfully towards the little window ; and the first word that passed his quivering lips was " Diane !" " Thou art nervous and ill, my friend," said the comtesse ; '' thou must remain no FLIGHT. 34.9 longer alono in this desolate cottage ; tliou slialt be carefully rcinovcd to Chateau Labelle,— no one shall harm or frighten theo there." The proposal was wise and considerate, but it met with the most vehement opposi- tion on the part of the eccentric old man. Antoine clung to his little habitation as if it were part of himself, trembled at the thought of quitthig it, and iuvplorcd with tears and sobs to be left to die where his father and grandfather had died before him, in the place where he had drawn his first breath, and where he had hoped to draw his last also. In vain Gabrielle attempted to reason with the old gardener, and persuade him to submit, if but for a time, to a change which was so obviously for his welfare ; the agita- tion of Antoine became so distressing, that the comtesse was obliged to desist, lest she ishould bring on a fit. " He must not be left in solitude to-night," said the lady to Faith. " I will bid Jacques come and sleep in the cottage ; Jacques is a good and kindly lad, and my stables are now so empty that ho can be easily spared. " |3.> : u I • S. 1 fl ■i ^' 350 FLIGHT. Remain here, Faith, for a brief space, till I send him to relievo thee of thy watch by poor Antoine. Thou hast acted nobly, my girl ; thou hast not feared to speak the truth, and to plead the cause of the poor : thou must never leave me, Faith ; the place of Diane shall be thine." Faith thanked her lady with her loving, grateful eyes; very sweet to the young servant was such praise from her mistress's lips. The comtcsse was about to quit the cottage of Antoine, when her glance fell on the open book which lay on the table. A little surprised to see it there, as she knew that Antoine could not read, Gabriello went up to the table and laid her hand on the volume. "What is this book?" the comtesse in- quired of Faith as she did so. "It is the Word of God, madame," Faith answered, her heart fluttering from mingled emotions of hope and fear, as in a tone of reverence she made the reply. Gabrielle took up the BibL. "Our Church wisely selects from the ScripturoB such parts as she thinks suited for tli(^ FLIGHT. 351 j^ ;' I, laity," the comtesse observed ; " the Holy Mother breaks the bread for her children, and gives them their allotted portions." " And mixes with these portions a great deal that is anything but bread," thought Faith, remembering the false doctrines and vain traditions of which she had heard much since she had com-^. to I'l'ovence. "Thus I have neve- till i ow seen the Scriptures in a complete fuiai," continued the comtesse, who had for a long time in- dulged a secret desire to do so. Gabriello had not the slightest fear of being drawn into what she deemed Protestant errors by reading the Scriptures which Papists profess to honor : to the poor and ignorant, indeed, the lady believed that the Bible might be a dangerous book ; but the comtesse could trust her own 'atellectual acuteness and her strong attachment to her Church to guard her from being drawn into adopting Huguenot views. " I shall be better able to win my poor Faith to the bosom of the Catholic Church," thought Gabriellc, " if I can meet her on iicr own ground, and convince her out of the 5 1 w tiaTatssiBJSiiti.,: II fi 352 FLianT. Biblo whicli she regards with such reverence. Now that I value my young maid more than I ever did before, I shall more earnestly strive to draw her into communion with Eome." With this hope on her mind Gabriello asked, and readily obtained, leave from Antoine to tako his Bible with her to Chateau Labelle, and with the Holy Book in her hand the comtesse quitted the cottage. "My mistress has the Bible; she will read it, she will study it!" thought Faith Stanby with thankful joy as she saw 'the lady depart. " Oh, if the good seed of the Word do not spring up and grow, and bring forth a thousandfold in that noble, generous nature, it will not bo for want of being watered by my constant and fervent prayers !" Slowly and thoughtfully Gabriello re- traced her steps through the plantation on her return to her home. She had a painful' duty before Jier ; she had to dismiss from her service one who had been her atten- dant for many years, in the time of her greatest joy and of her deepest affliction ; FLIGHT. 353 one whoso talents had niaJe her exceedingly helpful, and who had professed the strongest attachment to her mistress's person. Ga- briello was not a woman to regard her ser- vants as she might have done useful pieces of furniture, made to add to her comfort or luxury, — things to be set aside or exchanged for others without a pang of regret. To the mind of the Lady of Provence there was, between her as mistress and the long fami- liar members of her household, a tie not to be broken lightly, nor without a feeling of pain. And Gabriello thought sadly of the perilous stiito of the soul of Diane. That covetous oppressor, that false-hearted woman, had been diligent in the outward performance of religious dfilie^,; she had appeared zealous for the 'iJiLtliolic faith. It was painful to Gabrielle to r<i^:')ct that Diane had accompanied her to confession, and had repeatedly partalen with her of the most solemn rite of her Church, while all the time the femme-de-cliamhrG had been acting the basest of lies. ''Of what avail," thought Gabrielln, 23 M i;} ■'If i ii 1' • 354 FLIGHT. i ! "could confession have been, or even the priest's absolution, "when Diane was syste- matically pursuing a course of cruelty and deception? Can there be really remission of sins where there is no true repentance, no renunciation of sin ? Did not my unhappy servant rather add to her guilt by varnish- ing it over with hypocrisy so revolting?" Still absorbed in these painful reflections, Gabrielle La Fere re-entered her stately mansion. As the comtesse was passing through a corridor she met Annette, and bade her call Diane, to whom she wished to speak alone in her chamber. " Madame, Diane went off to Aix, scarce ten minutes ago," answered Annette, looking surprised at her lady's command. "To Aix! without my permission or knowledge !" cried the Comtesse La Fere. Anything of mystery was a delight to Annette, the young French servant, and there was clearly some mystery here. V/ith such animation and lively gestures Annette related how Diane had come in much heated, much excited, panting and out of breath, about half an hour before, and had FUGHT. 856 bidden Jacques get the pony-cart ready vite, vite, for that madame had ordered her to drive off at all speed to Aix, to bring a doctor to poor old Antoine, dear old Antoiae, who was lying at the point of death. Diane had just come from his cottage— she had run till she was ready to drop, she was so very anxious to bring help to her faithful old friend. Jacques had been quick, but not quick enough for the impatience of Diane. While he was harnessing the pony Diane had rushed up-stairs. She had not re- mained there many minutes ; she had come running down with a box covered up m a shawl ; not a large box, but Annette said that she thought that it looked heavy, and it must have held something very particular, for Diane would not trust it for a moment out of her hands. Diane had stood on the lawn stamping her foot with impatience be- cause Jacques could not harness the pony as fast as she could tie a bonnet-string. « As soon as the little cart came out of the yard," continued the animated French giri, "Diiiiie rusiieu lu n, i.\.i.ui-~'^i' >^'- a in her haste, sprang into it, and snatched i li-' w\ MO 356 FLIGHT. the ^vliip and llio rein from eTacqnes. Slio plied tlie whip so liard," said Annette, miinicking the action of flopging, " that the poor pony llcw like the wind ! Diane nearly upset the cart as she turned round the corner of the road,— she drove as though all kfi Anglalse and Pitt himself were behind her!" Annette's lively narration was interrupted by the voice of Ninon, heard from the gallery at tlie top of the broad staircase. The voice was raised in a far louder, moro excited tone than usual ; and with agitation in her manner and alarm on her face, the young lady came rushing (^own-stairs. "My jewel-case gone! The casket— lings — bracelets — brooches,— all gone- gone!" Ninon almost shrieked out as she descended. " Some thief must have been in my room! Call Diane — oh, where is Diane?" It was to the femme-dc-chamhre that Ninon constantly turned for help or advice in all her petty troubles. The sud- den disappearance of every trinket that she had possessed, except a few that chanced to !.-v. v.ix xi-^i. jjciouii, Wi.i« liiu luust uiscressing blow that had ever befallen Ninon La Fere. FliflHT. j7 Gabriello ut onco divined wliat had oc- cun-ed during lier own abscnco from Cha- teau LabellG. She now felt certain that Artoino had actually seen Diano at his ^vindow, and that the fcmmc-de-chamhre, playing the spy, had discovered f^uat all her treachery was known. Sho had n, with her usual promptitude of acti availed herself of the brief space of tinv which re- mained before her mistress should return to the c^ iteau to dismiss and disgrace her ; Diane had fled to Aix, after robbing Ninon of her jewels. It would bo vain to attempt pursuit, or recovery of the stolen property, for in the city of Aix a democratic commune boro rule, and the self-constituted mayor was Cochon, a Jacobin butcher. "I fear, my sister," said Gabrielle gi'avely, " that thou wilt never behold either Diane or thy jewels again." And while Ninon wrung her hands in distress md dismay, the comtesse gave orders that Jacques should at once repair to Antoin. 's cottage, and send Faith back to the chateau. '! ' ^1 u ii ii w MICROCOPY RESOLUTION TEST CHART (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) 1^ iflO 2.8 114.0 III— II 2.2 2.0 1.8 ^ x^PPLIED IM/1GE Inc 1653 East Main Street Rochester, New York U609 USA (716) 482 -0300 -Phone (716) 288 - 5989 - Fax CHAPTER XXXII. THE SEEVANTS HALL, OR tliG ensuing week the flight of Diane, and its attendant circnm- stancGS, formed the one topic of never-failing interest amongst the household at Chateau Labelle. Even Lord Howe's victory was forgotten, and the war raging between France and the Allies comparatively seldom alluded to ; talk over the latest horrors of Paris was exchanged for conversation on a subject in which every one felt a personal interest. "Surprised at the conduct of Diane! — no, I was not surprised !" said Marie, ono day, as she sat with tlie rest of the house- hold at dinner. "I knew Mademoisello Diane well enoniih to believe hor to be (358) •o' THE SERYAMTS' HALL. 359 capable of anything ^vicked. Slio is as fall of malice as a melon is of seeds. Diane had not been a year at the chateau before she ruined poor Claude Le Eoy — got him dismissed at an hour's notice, though he was as good and steady a young man as ever put saddle and bridle on a horse." "Wnendid that happen?" asked Ffiith. "Oh, eight or nine years ago," replied Marie, " in the days of madame's father, Comte Louis Labelle, whoso monument stands in the Cathedral of Aix, at least if the Jacobins have not smashed it. The comto was gay and fond of a life at Court, and while ho amused himself in Paris, ho cared not to inquire too closely into what was passing here in Provence. Monsieur le Comte did not know a good servant when ho had one, or he would never have sacrificed Claude Le Roy to the malice of liis lady's fine femme-de-chamhre.^* "How had Claude offended Diane?" said Faith. "Who knows," replied Marie, with a meaning smile and shrug; "perhaps Claude Mademoiselle Diane as did not upon ■I r m m i-' '(|| w :^h Mil l! 360 .liE servants' haj the perfection of women; perhaps he did not fancy her as much as she chose at first to fancy him. At any rate, Claude was not one of Diane's flatterers, so she naturally became his foe. I know that she hated him, after her own fashion of hating, and hunted him down as the bloodhound hunts, till she got him turned out of the place. By the way, Claude was nephew of old Antoine ; I should not be surprised if Diane owed madame's old pensioner an extra grudge for being related to Claude ;— one never forgives those whom one has wroi ged. Poor Claude ! I never Imew anything worse of him than his singing one of Marot's hymns, when he was in the loft over the stable, — and a fine rich voice he had for singing. I wonder what has become of him now?" " I will ask Antoine if he knov- hat has become of his nephew," said Fal.. , who had been occupied, while Marie was tLlking, in filling a small covered dish with the viands which she was about to take to the cottage in the olive plantation. "Why shouldest thou go, Faith?'* :-ii THE SERVANTS HALL. 361 inquired Annetto. " Did not madame give leave tkai Jacques should take thy phxco in canning the meal to Antoine, and in seeing that his I'oom is kept clean ? To Avait on a poor, wretched old man is no part of the duty of a comiesse' sfemme-de-chamhrc.'' " It is a pleasure which I would not will- ingly give up to, any one," said Faith with a beaming smile, as she bore away the littlo supply of good things for her aged friend.. And the English maid spcko truly, for }ier daily visits to the cottage were indeed Jw source to i'aith of the purest pleasure. It was during the hour which she spent with the aged gardener that she felt herself most ihrectly engaged in work for her heavenly Master. Old and ignorant, but of a child- ^Uke, teachable spirit, Antoine was receiving day by day, as it were drop by dro^), spiritual nourishment from her who brought to him earthly food. The old man delighted to hear of the love of a Friend above ; sweet to the soul of Antoine, as golden drops from the honeycomb, were promises from Scrip- ture repeated by Faith. Antoine had been in soro dread of purgatory, and had, consQ- -,i^ ^1 i ':• 'I t? K- *-i: M 'ti ii tmw'KM 'wy- 362 THE SERVANTS' HALL. quently, bliraiik from tlio tlionglit of ap- proacliing death ; but the tidings that his sins were not to bo purged out l)y fire, but had ahead} been washed out by blood, .-md that to the lowly believer death is but tlie en- trance into life everlasting,— these tidings filled the old man's eyes with tears and his heart with joy. Faith knew how anxiously her daily visit was expected in tiie vine- mantled cottage, how Antoine's withered face brightened as ho heard her step and her light tap at the door, and for no amuse- ment that the Avorld could offer .vould she have given up the office of cheering, in- structing, and blessing the aged invahd, who seemed to be given to her as her espe- ckii cliargo from the Lord. " There goes a true-hearted girl, if ever there was one !" cried Marie, when Faith had quitted the servants' hall, to go on her errand of kindness. " Thou wert not always her friend," said A^nnette. "Friend indeed!" laughed Marie. "T began by disliking Faith heartily, for tlio double crime of being English and Protest- THE SEIIVAKTS IIAIi. 363 ant; and I gave her pretty good cause to dislike mo in lier turn. I take sliame to myself when I think how I badgered and baited the poor young thing, stranger as she was, and an orphan besides. Bi>t Faith's patience fairly tired out my temper.^ I can't keep my dislikes always a-simniering, as does Diane ; with me they boil over at once, and there's an end of tho matter. Says I to myself, * Faith can no more help the ill-luck of having been born in Eng- land, then she could have helped it had she been born deaf or blind ; and as to her being a Protestant, Claude had Huguenofc blood in his veins— ay, and some Hngaenofc notions in his head ; and yet he and this Faith Stanby are about the two best Chris- tians as ever I knew.' " " There's heresy, Marie, downright here- sy 1" exclaimed one of her companions. " What would madame say if she were to hear thee ?" • All present burst into a laugh at tho ques- tion, — a laugh in which Mario merrily joined. " I can't tell what madame would say,'* lU ^1 tl ■dii„ 3G'l THE SERVANTS HALL. answered l\Iarie; "but. I'll l)o bound that she would think of the matter mucli as I do. Madame is sharp enough to see that tho kind of religion which makes man or woman keep faste and feasts, and repeat Paternos- ters and Aves by tho score, while hating, robbing, and slandering their neighbors, i.s but like a glazo upon upper crust. Give me the religion that goes through and througli like leaven," continued Marie, unconsciously making use of a Scriptural illustration ; " thou dost not see much of it — it makes no show — bat it changes the whole nature, every crumb of conduct is the better for it ; that is the kind of religion for me." Was it nothing that, in a land where eaperstition on tho one hand, and infidelity on the other, pervaded all ranks of the people — was it nothing that a servant girl had shown to a single household, or even to a single individual, that such a religion is possible, and that it springs from living faith in tho pure, simple truths of the gospel ? " Certainly Faith is tho happier for her Bible-readinj *C1» rHE servants' hall. 365 nd that as I do. hat tho : woman aternos- haticg, libors, is Give me through isciously itration ; akes no nature, L* for it ; (i where nfidelity of the ^ant girl ' even to shgion is n living i of the ' for lier who was perhaps the one of tho comtesse's household over whom the example of la petite Aaglaist had most influence. " When she has had the worst troubles, I never knew Faith appear half so wretched as poor Mademoiselle Ninon is now." " Ah, mademoiselle was so fond of Diane!" observed one of the servants. " Fond 1" repeated Marie, with a shrug of contempt ; " it was the kind of fondness which she has for her fan in summer, or for her fur tippet in winter. Mademoiselle, likes to be served, flattered, amused,— Diano understood that well enough ; but I doubt whether the young lady ever was, or ever will be, really fond of any one, if she lives to the ago of a hundred." " She is scarcely likely to have a long life, if mademoiselle goes on as she is doing now," observed Annette. " She sits in her room, or on the terrace, crying over the loss of her jewels." "How was it that Diane carried oSc* all poor mademoiselle's jewels, and none of madame's?" asked a servant who sat oppo- site to the last speaker. M' i :: Hi :fil I1' THE SEUTANTS' HALL. " Maaamo's cabinet ^vas locked," began Annette in reply ; slio was interrupted by Mario. . " Madamo has not now many jewels to lose," said the cook. " As tho comtesso turned most of her silver plate into that beautiful shrine which the Jacobins stole and melted down into money, so she has turned most of her diamonds and rubies into iwtarjc and bread for the poor. There is no danger of thief or Jacobin laymg hands on those jewels now." "Mademoiselle Ninon would not have given tho tiniest ring from her finger to save a family from starvation," observed ono of the household. "Ah, poor mademoiselle, I am sorry for her," said tho more tender-hearted Annette. " She has grown so thin, so wasted,— all the powder and rouge cannot hide the change in her looks. Indeed, for months before this trouble came, mademoiselle had been losmg her strength and spirits. She says that a country life is killing her inch by inch, ame tl Madi DUght ic at nrsi- un aciu^^j , •^''• she is half afraid that liei hdle-smir is THE servants' hall. 367 poing into a declino. Maclomoiscllo liorself declares that notliins will euro licr but a vis.t to some grand watcring-placo. Tlioro there is a famous doctor, ^vhoso name 1 forgot." , ,r • a - Doctor-bah I" exclaimed Mane ; a visit to a play or an opera is all thab made- moiselle wants. She is simply sick ^YltU mnui. Tho champagne is merely flat ; stir it with a crumb of amusement, and you II set it fizzing again." . , .„ , ,. . •With a laugh at Marie's illustration o the young lady's malady, tho circle round tlie dinner-tablo broke up ; and Annette and the rest of the servants dispersed to their various occupations. I i if ^1 Ml ! "* i CHAPTER XXXIII. FEELING AFTER TRUTH. lABRIELLE, with tho Bible in lier hand, was like a traveller making his way alone and on foot through a difficult country which ho has only traversed before by star- light, and in a conveyance driven by onother. While tlie student was constantly struck by new beauties in tho sacred vol- ume, she was also frequently startled by fresh difficulties, altogether unexpected, as if the traveller's course should be arrested by rock or river, forcing him to turn aside from the direction which he wished to pursue. Gabrielle had commenced her etudy of the Scriptures partly from curiosity, partly from the hoi)e of finding in them (368) FEELING AFi'EU TKUTII. 360 Bviritual consolation, partly— aa uo havo Been— from the dosiro to discover argu- ments by Avliich to draw over Faith to tlio Romanist Church. Tho comtcsso, in pur- suance of tho last-named object, spent hours in diligently seareliing tho Bible for proofs that her Church, in obcdieuco io apostoUc command and example, paid adorim; reverence to tho Virgin Mary, an Intercessor, Queen of Heaven, and Mother of God. This doctrine, which practically places a woman on a level with Him by whom and for whom all things were created, was especially dear to tho heart of Gabri- cUe. It was with something like dismay that she discovered that this is a doctrine which it is impossible to confirm by any candid interpretation of Scripture. « And is this all— all that I can collect about the latter Hl'e of tho Blessed Virgin !" exclaimed Gabriello, as, after carefully searching through the New Testament for confirmation of legends and traditions con- cornmg the Mother of our Lord, she returned to the very brief mention of Mary contained nf thft Acts of the first chapt 24 ■M I 370 FEELING AFTER TEUTH. Apostles. " It is not from the Scriptures, tlien, that the Fathers of the Church have gathered materials for the lofty shrine raised to the honor of the Madonna. I marvel that there is so little mention of Mary even in the Gospels. Twice the Lord addresses her almost in the tone of gentle rebuke ; as though to i\ "nd her that, tJiough blessed amongst women, she was but a woman still ! And was it not to her — the Blessed Virgin herself — that Christ referred when He said, ' Yea, rather blessed are they that hear the word of God and keep it.' Yea, rather blessed,'" repeated Gabrielle, pressing her hand to her brow, and feeling troubled at the conclusion which she could not avoid drawing from the words of the Lord ; " can it be that the glorious Virgin herself is placed, as regards salvation, on the same footing as the low- liest Christian; that even she needed, like the rest of mankind, to be saved by the death of her Son; and that she acknow- ledged such need when in her inspired song Bhe exclaimed, 3Iij spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviouu ? A physician is not required m FEELING AFl'ER TRFIIT. 371 for tli8 whole, nor a Saviour for tlio sin- less." Gabrielle also vainly endeavored to re- concile other articles of belief held by tho Eomish Church, and its numerous rites, ceremonies, and traditions, with the pure unmixed Word of God. How could the celibacy of priests bo required, the lady reasoned with herself, Avhen St. Peter him- self had a wife, and St. Paul declared mar- riage to be honorable in all ? Where was purgatory to be found in tho Bible, or the doctrine that the merits o.' .aints or the prayers of priests could save souls from its awful flames ? Where was the sacrifice of the Mass enjoined ? Did not the Scriptures refute the doctrine that Christ's sacrifice is renewed every time when the Host is con- secrated by the priest, since it is written of the Lo)'d, Not yet that He should offer Himself often .... Christ was onee offered to hear the sins of many. Gabrielle was perplexed and distressed by the numerous discrepancies which she discovered between the teaching of the inspired writers and the teaching of those whom slie had hitherto regarded as 372 FEEUNQ APTER TllUTH. lier spiritual guides. Many a time the lady was tempted to c5lose the Bible, and lock it up where no eye could ever see it again ; and yet she was drawn by an irresistible impulse to read more and yet more, rising early and retiring late to her rest, in order to spend hours in searching the sacred pages. The Epistles, a portion of Scripture which was to Gabrielle almost entirely new, were especially full of difficulties to the mind of the Romanist lad}'. She could not avoid seeing that the doctrines held by the apostles on the deep truths of Christianity were unlike those of her priests. Gabiielle met with such numerous passages in which faith is set forth as saving, justifying, giving access to grace, that a conviction was forced upon her reluctant mind that simple faith in a crucified Saviour must be the very root and stem of such religion as would grow from diligent study of the Bible. "\Vliat, then, Avere all the doctrinos, rites, and observances, all the worship of Virgin and S;ii)its, the reverence for relies, the bodilv exercises sanctioned and maintained FEELTN iFTER TRUTH. 373 10 lady lock it again ; sistible , rising I order sacred Q wliicli iv, were nind of ; avoid tpostles y were Uo met 2h. faith giving 5 forced lo faith bo very' would Bible. ?, rites, : Virgin Lcs, the ntained by tb,e Romanist Church? These things, Uko some parasite plant, had (dmost hidden from Gabrielle's view the stem of pure Scriptural faith ; but she had been brought up 80 firmly to believe them to bo an essen- tial part of religion, that she now regarded her doubts concerning their real value with pain, if not with remorse. " Would that I could but consult with Pore la Porte !" exclaimed Gabriello to lierself ; " ho would silence my doubts, he would guide my conscience." Then with a feeling of painful perplexity the lady revolved in her mind the Master's words, Call no man your father on earth. The command could not be taken literally ; could it be that it forbade yielding up the control of conscience to any mortal what- ever — could it be that it forbade blind obedience even to the Pope liimself as a Bpiritual father? Gabrielle tried hard to bcUeve that tlie divine command must have some other meaning; but the attempt to discover such other meaning always ended in disappointment, Jt was with intense pleasure that Faith ■if ■A m '■ l*;f I ■rfV a . 374 FEELINa AFTER TRUTH. Win observed that the Biblo was lier mistress's frequent companion, and the young Berva,nt passed few waking hours in which she did not uplift a silent prayer for a blessing on its perusal. Faith wondered, indeed, to see that diligent study of the Scriptures seemed to bring no comfort to the lady= Gabrielle's brow was more clouded with gloom than it had previously been, and her manner had become more grave and reserved. Faith could not help contrasting the comtcssc's melancholy v\dth the peaces and joy experienced by the aged Autoine. Why should the self-same trutiis have such a different effect upon the souls of the two Romanists? Faith could not answer the question; but the cause was simply this: tlie old gardener was receiving the kingdom of heaven as a little child, content to accept salvation as a free gift, with simple grati- tude and faith ; Gabrielle, on the contrary, had a rooted persuasion that she must her- self pay some price for her soul's redemj)- tion, that with the merits of "Christ some other merits must be mixed. Tlie simplicity of the gospel scheme offended the pride FEELING AFTER TRUTH. 375 lisiress's ; servMJit sLe did issiiig oil [Iced, to ?riptures lio ladv= od witli !Cii, and •ave and atrasting le peace Antoino. Lve irnch the two 5wei' the )ly this: kingdom ;o accept le grali- 30iitrary, list lier- redemj)- ist some im])L\*ity 10 pride which hirked in the comtesse's heart ; there was in ife secret resistance to doctrines so liunibh'ng to the natural man. The Bible was to the Komanist lady like Elisha's message to the Syrian leader, bidding her simply wash in the Fountain opened for sin and be clean; but — like Naaman — the spiritual leper turned proudly fi'om the means of grace provided for her cnro. Were not her Abana and Pharpar — were not gorgeous rites and meritorious works liettor than all the waters of Israel ? Gabrielle had indeed tried them for jchtb in vain, but still would fain indulge the hope, — " May I not wash in them, and be clean ?" 'I 1 ; u X, ^ , l] ':! r m ii 1 i . i i CHAPTER XXXIV. MIS r BESS AND MAID. ATTH had silently observed for some days that her lady was deeply engaged in the study of the Scriptures. The time came when she could remain silent no longer. It was on a morning when the English maiden was standing behind her mistress, employed in combing out and arranging her long dark tresses; while the comtesse occupied the time, as she now usually did, in reading the Bible of Antoine. On that morning, for the first time since Faith had refused to worship in the Chapel of the Virgin, Ga- brielle broke through the reserve which she had observed towards Faith on the subject of religion. (376) MISTKESS AISD MAID. 377 red for ly was ludy of e came ^er. It maiden (iployed iig dark ied the reading lorning, fused to gin, Ga- lich she subject "Faifcli," said ilio comtoKso abruptly, half closing the book which l;iy on her kneo, " dost thou think that thy sins are forgiven?" The maiden was a little startled at the unexpected question ; it was one, however, to which she had for long been able to give an answer, and she timidly, but without hesitation, replied in the words of St. John, " ' The blood of Jesus Chri^it clciinseth from all siu.' " "Yes, I know it," said Gabriello La Fere ; " and yet not all sinners aro saved. How are we — how art thou — to be sure that Uiat blood hath sufficed to make thee whole?" Faith paused for a moment to reflect, then replied again in the words of Scrip- ture, " ' Believe in the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved.' I know that I do believe," added the maiden. "Believe, and thou shalt be saved; that was the answer given by the apostle_ to tho • jailer at Philippi," observed Gabriellc, as fcsho opened Hkj Bible and turniMl over its pages till she had found tho sixteenth ii Uj' fc^l I m w. il I 378 MISTRESS AND MAID. chapter of Acts. " But would Sfc. Paul have given the same simple answer to every inquirer? AVould he not have spoken to many of prayers and repentance and good works as helpiug to render them acceptable in the sight of the Lord ?" Gabrielle was thinking of her own splendid offerings and deeds of mercy, her self-denial and acts of devotion. Could she not rest upon any of those meritorious things as a means of win- ning favor from Heaven ? Faith almost trembled from a feeling of fear that by her own ignorance she might in any way darken the light of tratli beginning, as she trusted, to shine on her lady. She considered lierseK to be unfit for argument on any topic whatever; how should she dare to attempt to handle subjects too lofty to be grasped even by an intellect the most exalted ! Yet she must not leave the comtesse, by silence on her part, to conclude that no reply could be given. " I can only speak for myself, madame," answered Faith in a low, humble tone ; " I rest my hopes on. nothing but God's free grace through Christ, offered to all who truly believe in Him." MIBTIIESS AND MAID. 379 « Dost thou deem, then, that there is no merit, no vahie in the holy Hves and good deeds of the saints ?" asked Gabriello, with Blight impatience in her accents. " Oh, madame, saints are but pardoned sinners," cried Faith ; " their robes are only white because they have been washed in the blood of the Lamb." She stopped abruptly, wondering at having ventured to say so much. "But how was the merit of that blood applied to them— how can it bo applied to us?" asked the Comtesse La Fere. The English girl, with nervous eagerness, was searching her memory to ,find some verse which should express what her mind grasped, but which she had no power to put into words of her own. The first verse which occurred to her, and which she uttered aloud, was, as she knew, but one out of many bearing upon the same life- giving truth. " There/ore being justified by faith, toe have loeac^ tcith God through our L&rd Jesus Christ^ said the English maiden. "Peace with God! peace with God!" murmured Gabriclle La Fere to herself. ^^' m rf nso MISTRESS AND MAID. Hero was tlio licfilin.G? -wliicli lior sonl neod- ed ; hero Avas tlio blessing imnieasurabiy more precious than the cure of any physical disease. But Gabrielle was not yet i)repar- cd to throw herself entirely and witliout re- serve upon God's jnercy souglit ihroujj;h Christ's atonement alone ; she was not pre- pared entirely to renounce all merit of her own and say, as a holy man onco said, " I put all my good deeds and my evil deeds into one heap together, and floe from them both unto Christ." Gabrielle could not give up the idea that the belief that man is justified by faith only would cause good works to bo neglected, and holiness of life disregarded. The comtesso did not see that if living faith, tlio root and stem of religion, be vigorous, the fruits of pure thoughts and pious deeds must be joroduced naturally and of necessity ; for we have di- vine authority for declaring that if the tree bo good, so is its fruit good also. Gabrielle did not choose to continue the conversation with her servant, and Faith ventured on no attempt to renew it. While in meek silence she waited on her lady, she KISTRESS AND M.UD. 381 lil need- iHurab'iy physical l)repar- liout ro- il 1 rough not pro- t of her sfiid, " I il deeds >m them iild not t man ia sO good s of life not seo stem of of pure reduced liave di- the tree inue the :i Faith While adj, she little guessed what thoughts concerning hor- Bolf were passing through the mind of the comtesso. •• This girl— this Protestant servant— who bo firmly believes that she is andean be justified by faith only, and who has found peace in thai belief, she certainly shows forth in her life that such simple faith has i^ower, with some natures at least, to produce holiness, obedience, and love. Is it impossible that she may be as right in lier doctrine as she seems to bo in her practice? Can it be that this lowly believer, who seeks for tinith in her Bible, has actually found the water of life, whilst I perish with thirst? " Faitii was too much occupied with house- hold duties to have time to ponder over the foregoing conversation with her mistress during the earlier portion of that day, though she found that her thoughts were constantly reverting to it, however her hands might be employed ; but when Faith started on her usual eiTand to the cottage of Antoine Le Roy, Gabrielle, and what she had said on that morning, filled the mind of the maiden to the exclusion of every other "11 subject. W| 382 M7STRES3 AND MAID. iXA i The ten minutes Kpcnt in passing tlironf^li the garden and olivo plantation wore what Faith decme- 1 her golden time ; prayer and praise, and tin iiglits of gratitude and love, iiHually made the shady path to her as tliG lioiLse of God and the gate of heaven. She was never ho happy as when thus alone with nature and nature's Creator. But on tJiis occasion Faith sang no liymn as she walked ; instead of meditating on passages from Scripture to raises her own hopes to- wards heaven, she was mentally going over again the eonvursation held with tlio Lady of Provence. " Oh, would that my mistress had asked those important questions of some one able to answer them fully !" thought Faith. " I am so ignorant and slow of speech, and madamo knows everything far, far better than I do, except the Bible, which she has but lately begun to study. There seem to mo now to be so many things which I might have said, if I had only had the courage and presence of mind to say them T nm afraid that the very iVeeness of God's Qvvi) is a stumbling-bioek in the way oi my dear lady. MISTRESS AND MAID. 383 thronf^li Sho has boon so accu tomed l-. tliiuk that Dro whnfc many things aro needful boforo tlio soul can lyor niicl have poaco uith God ; sho lin-5 been taught lid lovo, to mix so mucli of her own doings -with }V as tlio humblo faith in tho Saviour';-; work, that heaven. 4 simply to believe and live, bolievo and bo \\H alono saved, believe and be happy, is a hard say- ]3ut on ing to her,— or rather, tho news seems to bo aa sho too good to bo true. And yet, if I could )assagea only have remembered them at tho moment, )p(33 to- I could havo mentioned so many, many ng over things in tho Liblo that explain to us how lO Ladj sinners are freely saved through faith!" The maiden thought of prophecy and tyi)c, d asked tho brazen serpent, tho paschal lamb, the 3110 able Eedeemer's gracious invitation given in the th. " I Book of tho Propiiet Isaiah, Look milo Me cli, and and he ye saved, all ye ends of the earth. Tlie • better English girl felt, though sho had no power sho has to cxi^lain her conviction in words, that the seem to look of faith is enough for salvation, for the I might heahng of tho sin-sick soul, sinco a life of age and obedience must follow upon it. The Tsraol- a afraid iie, cured by a look at tho brazen serpent toe is a lifted up in tho wilderness, received not ar ladj. healing that he should lie down and sleep i; H I!' 11'.. 381 MISTRESS AND MAID. away the rest of Lis days, but that lie should be np and doing, and steadily follow on wliitliersoever tlie fiery pillar should lead him. The blood of the paschal lamb would have been shed in vain for any child of Jacob who should have chosen wilfully to remain in Egyptian bondage when his tribe marched forth to freedom. The meaning of these t^^pes was clear to the mind of the simple, unlearned servant, for she herself had looked and lived ; and having been freely saved by grace, had turned her back on the spirtual Egypt forever. But no really earnest Christian is content to go to heaven alone ; and personal attach- ment to the Lady of Provence intensified Faith's desire to see her in possession of the blessing which had been granted to herself. " Oh, I would give my right hand ; I would give the sight of my eyes," thought the young servant, " that my dear mistress should know and experience all that is meant by that precious -verse : Therefore being jii^iified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ." le should )llow on •uld lead lb would child of ilfuUy to his tribe moaning d of the 9 herself ng been ber back 3 content il attacli- itensified 3ssion of anted to lit hand ; thought mistress [ that is Therefore with God CHAPTER XXXV. A CHASE. I HE attention of Faith was so en- tirely absorbed by her reflections on what had passed between herself and the comtesse, and the intercessory praj^er to which those reflections now led, that she had neither eyes nor ears for any external object, but walked on like one in a dream, looking neither to the right nor to the left. Very rudely was the mind of the maiden recalled to earth by a sudden shout, or rather yell, from man}' voices, which greeted her as soon as a bend in the pathway brought her in view of the cotta^-c of Antoiue. (( 'rii Tis she ! — she comes — seize her — kill her -I has rAndaiso !' death to rAnii;l;nse !" !;•!■ '■■ K i m 25 (385 > 386 A CHASE. such were the cries wliicli startled Faith. A mob of savage men, mingled with women yet more savage, had gathered in front of the cottage. TJiey had been watcliing for the coming of their victim as wolves might watch for their prey. To go forward would be madness ; Faith could not nwstake the import of that fearful howl for blood, which she had heard before at. Lyons. Her momentary glance at the enemies in front had sufficed for recognition of the face of a man named Butin, whom Diane had several times brousfht to the O chateau without the knowledge of its mis- tress, and of whoso character Marie had expressed a very low opinion indeed. The appearance of that man in the crowd made Faith certain that she heard Diane's hatred in the cry, " Death to I'Anglaise," and saw it in the dark fierce faces before her, though Diane herself did not scorn to be present. Despairing of finding mercy from the rabble, the poor girl turned and fled for her life, hoping by her speed of foot to distance her pursuers, and ren-am the slicller of tlie chateau. 13iit scarcely had Faith ini-iied A CHASE. 387 ir and begun lier rapid fliglit, when, to her terror, she fonud that her retreat was cut off by another band of ruffians, who had just burst through the coppice which bordered the ohve planta-tion, and whoso sliouta echoed back those of the fierce pursuers behind her. Thus hemmed in both in froni and rear, Faith felt that hor hxst liour had come ; for as well might she have implored pity from a x^ack of ravening wolves as f fom that Jacobin mob. But hfc is clear, and not to be yielded up without a desperate effort. Spurred to exertion by the strong instinct of self-pre- Hervation, Faith again turned, and, leaving the path beset by enemies, plunged amongst the trees through which that path ran. She flung away the basket which she carried on her arm, that her flight might be unim- peded, and rushed wildly on, — as the hunted doe might rush, straining every muscle — - panting — gasping — flying — urged on to hor utmost speed by the fearful sounds behind her, which told that her enemies wore hot in pursuit. Faith had the strength and activity of youth ; and 'extreme peril will 1 ;■ ]i i 388 A CHASE. incite to efforts of wliicli, iii Ccalmer moments, the linman frame may seem incapable. How the poor fugitive tore through brambles and plunged over brushwood, leaving frag- ments of her garments behind her ; how she bounded down this steep descent, or with agonizing gasps, struggled up that mount- now stopping for a few seconds to regain her breath— then driven forward again by a shout, or the noise of crashing of branches by her pursuers,— may only be imagined by those who in some fearful nightmare have dreamed of flying for life ! Faith knew not whither she was rushing ; she but Imew that she must struggle on— on— and yet on —till her powers should fail, and she should drop down in utter exhaustion. She was no longer now in the plantation ; something like a fence had been scrambled over, and the dull green foliage of the olive had been exchanged for the leafy covert of large forest trees, under whoso shade ferns and mosses grew in profusion. Faith paused, when her breath and strength were almost gone, to lean — ll vm lul' a Dcv;uii^.i — d^ciixi.ju ,A^i,^iy- bossy trunk, and gaze up at the brand los I moments, neap able, brambles ^^ing frag- ; how she ;, or with mount — to regahi .gain by a branches agined by aave have knew not but knew mcl yet on (he should She was something over, and had been irge forest ad mosses , when her ; gone, to Inst Bome branches A CHASE. 389 above her, and ask herself whether it might not be possible to climb -^.p into some hiding-place where she might remain con- cealed from her dreaded pm'suers. But such climbing was impracticable for a wo- man ; the maiden had neither time nor the requisite strength to make even an attempt to clamber up. Her breath came in painful, gasps, and her heart throbbed so fearfully from the rapidity and length of her flight, that a wild hope rose in the poor girl's mind that her heart might literally burst, and that so her pursuers might find but a lifeless corpse on which to wreak their f ary ! Such was the only way of escape from a death of violence which seemed to bo before tho exliausted maiden. Faith could scarcely forbear praying in her terror that she might thus be caught up to safety where the mur- derers v/ould have no powei: to follow her — that she might die before they could reach her. She thought that she could not fly a single step further, and that she had passed the utmost limit of possible endurance ; and yet, like a dying horsft, cfoadod and lashed f? i. i 11 ' ! ■t ' , \M ■ & ' D~ to make one last effort, aj^fain and agaui cries 390 A CHASE. and yells from tlie approaching rabble made Faith start again on her course. The terrible strain could not have been borne much longer; Faith knew that she must give in, and nothing seemed before her but to sink on the ground, and there await her terrible fate, when the fugitive suddenly came in sight of a small chapel which stood on the edge of the forest. It was a deserted-looking building, partly in ruins ; the glass had been shattered in the windows, the door torn from its hinges; grass grew between the marble squares wliich had once paved its floor. But Faith intuitively fled to the building, little suited as it seemed to be to afford her shelter. It was something to die in a place that had been raised by human hands, and intended for the worship of God. The fugitive rushed into the chapel, and beheld straight before her, dimmed by time and stained by wea- ther, a picture painted in fresco upon a panel opposite to the door. Then flashed upon the memory of Faith something which she had heard — when, wliere, or from whom, at that moment she could not remember- - ! f A CHASE. 391 I about a picture of St. Catlierine and her Wheel. Faith clarted across the narrow chapel, her finger pressed the centre point of the dimly-pictured wheel, rather with the energy of despair than with the vigor of hope. To her surprise and delight she found that the panel yielded, that the quick movement of her arm could push it aside, and that as she did so an opening appeared in the wall. In an instant Faith was through the opening, and with a last convulsive eiforfc was drawing back the panel so as completely to hide her i)lace of retreat from any one who should enter the chapel. Then, sinking at last under the strain which had been undergone both by mind and bodj-, the fugitive, with almost suffocating gasps, fell prostrate upon the paved floor of her secret recess. •i CHAPTEK XX^VI. THE RECESS. AITH had barely recovered the l^ower of breathing again ^vithout extreme distress when she heard the sounds made by her approach- iug pursuers, and then the loud clatter of wooden shoes on the chapel pavement. She had no means of seeing how many of the mob had entered the building ; there were at first a good many voices speaking outside it, but she could only distinguish two voices within, one of which she felt certain was that of Butin, for his accents had a peculiar harsh- ness which made them easy to be recognized. In silence profound as that of death, al- most afraid even to breathe^ the concealed maiden listened with intense interest to the (392) THE RECESS. 393 following conversation between Butin and some companion. They — after a brief search— stood in the chapel, so close to her place of retreat that, but for the panel which separated her from them. Faith could, by putting out her hand, have touched the man -who was nearest. "I fancied that she'd have run to earth here," said Butin in his most grating accents. " Thou seest that she has not," returned his companion ; " there's not a corner here in which a rat could hide— -not so much a^ a door behind which she could crouch." "She ran like a hare— ha! ha! ha!" laughed Butin ; " I wish, Simon, that her red-jacketed countrymen" — the Jacobin added a curse— "would show that they knew how to make as good use of their legs !" "Thou wouldst run too," observed his panting companion, " if thou knewest that the first man who overtook thee would smasHlin thy skull with a hammer." "The Anglaise cannot escape us, Simon, run as slie may ; if our citizens do not catch her to-day— and there are fifty at least on ^IH ;J 394 THE RECESS. lier scent — slio'll bo arrested with tlio com- tosse, her mistress, to-morrow. Bat for the fun of tlio eliaso, it was liarclly worth while to heat ourselves on a (.la_y in Thermi' dor with hunting down a wretch who may just as well die under the national razor* as under hammer or knife." "Ah! what about that arrest? I'vo not heard the whole of the story ; Ict'^ leave the rest to wear out their breath and muscle in tlio chase. I don't care to be in at the death," observed Simon. Faith could hear that, as ho spoke, the man wearily throw liimsell: down to rest ; she believed that his head was actually leanijig against the paint- ed panel which served us her screen. " TliG story, is easily told," said Butin, Avho also appeared disinclined to run further. "Diane — brave woman that she is! — started for Paris early on the morning alter the day when sho had been forced to leave the chateau. Sho is not one to let the grass grow under her feet, especially wl^n she has a wrong to avenge. Diane saw Eobcs pierre himself." * A playful namo given to tlio guillotine. Ui THE RECESS. 395 i razor* as ' Simon uttered an abrupt exclamation, wliicli might inclicato either satisfaction or suipriso. "Matters wore easily arranged between the two," said Butiu. " The only wonder is that the bloodhound!^ have not been slipped from their leashes before. Tho messenger from Ttobespicrre with the war- rant f<jr arrest comes down from Paris by the coach which will reach Aix some time about midnight." " But is there enough against this said Comtcsse La Fore to make it a business for the executioner to settle ?" aFiked Simon. " Enough 1" repeated Butin; "there's enough to bring a score of vile aristocrats to the guillotine ; especially," ho added witli a grating laugh, "if they have wealth iu plenty, as she lias. Bees might be left alone to die a natural death, if they had not honey in their cells. " I thought that this comtesso had given away her wealth pretty freely, and that slic was rather popular in this part of the coiui- trv," said Simon. " Popular — bal) !" exclaimed his compan- H I 396 THE RECESS, II 1 1 ion. " A fow whining women, or peasants aoffc-licartccl as women, may lift up their liands and cry out for mercy on the aristo- crat ; but Coclion knows his work, and will do it : he's a pupil of Ilobespiorro, and an apt one ; it won't bo his fault if our city of Aix docs not follow the glorious lead of Paris. But why stop .wo here?— art thou still weary ? Methinks, from the yelling I lioar yonder, our brave citizens have pulled down their quarry at last. I must lend a hand to finish the job, or Diane will never forgive me !'* Taith heard ilio rapid clatter of their sabois as the two democrats hurried out of the chapel, in hopes of witnessing her last agonies. The noises in the distance soon died away, and silence succeeded — such a silence that it seemed to Faith as if she were lying, cold and still, a corpse in a tomb. But the first agony of terror had passed away. Faith was now calm, and wondered at her own calmness. Her first emotion was that of thankfulness, not so much for her own strange preservation, as for the discovery THE llECESa. 397 which sh<) had mado of tho cliinj^cu which threatened her mistress. A warrant of arrea^v was then actually on its way froni Paris, and would roach Aix at midnight; tho men of ijlood would arrive at tho chateau, and find their intended victim — gone ! Failli almost started to her feet, from tho impulse to rush forth at onco from her placo of conccidment and hasten to Chateau Labello to warn Gabriello La Fero of her danger. But a moment's reflection showed her the folly of acting iipon such an impulse. " I should only bo throwing away iny own life, and by so doing endanger one far moro precious," said tho servant girl to herself. "No; I must remain hidden here till night and darkness como on; by that time my pursuers will — at least I trust so — havo be- come weary of their long search. I shall then steal quietly out of tho chapel, and speed back again to tho chateau. But how shall I find my way ?" Faith turned cold as this new difficulty suggested itself to her mind. " I have not the smallest recollection of anything that would serve to guide mo after I plunged into the wood. I li:ive only ■^<f ¥ \ 398 THE RECESS. |l! a coDfuscd remembrance of tangled brnsli- wood and tliickets, and ferns as high as my knee, tliat canght my feet as I .straggled on, and great trees with gnarled roots over which I stumbled, and bossy trunks beliind which I thought of hiding. I could not find my way back by day, and by night — oh yes," Faith suddenly interrupted herself witli an exclamation of jo}^ " I can better direct my steps by night than by day, for the stars will be shining — heaven's own light to guide me ! I remember Annette's showing me the great map of Provence wdiich hangs in the hall, and pointing out the ruined Chapel of St. Catherine ju.st to the south of Chateau Labelle. li I tix my eye upon the pole-star, it will guide me straight to the olive planta- tion, and from thence I will need no guide. Oh, Heaven be praised for the mercies, the wondrous mercies of this day ! But for my fearfnl chase ; but for its accidentally — no, not accidcntalhj — bringing mo i])to this chapf ], and but for Mane's having given me the clue to find this cell of refug^', my mis- tress, my beloved mistress would have been betraved into the iiands of lier toes! Tc THE RECESS. 399 etl brusli- igli as my jggled OD, >Yov wliicli ind wliicb it find my -oh yes," If witli an :]irect my tliG stars t to guide Lig me the igs in the Chapel of f Chateau pole-star, ve pkxnta- 110 guide, ^rcies, tlie nt for my tally — no, into tliif.) : given mo ', my mis- liavo been foes ! '1\: me it may be given to warn her — to help her — to save her! The mere hope of such a blessed reward overpays mo for all 1 liavo suifered." Faith had abundant leisure for reflection, for there still remained some hours of day- light. It was well that sucli a breathing- space was given to the poor girl after the great fatigue and terror which she had undergone. It was a time for bodily rest sorely needed by strained muscles and quivering nerves. It was also a tiino for sx^iritual refreshment, for reviewing the mercies of the past, and recalling promises from Holy "Writ to strengthen the soul to meet whatever trials the future might bring. Faith gave herself anew to her Lord — to live or to die, as might please Him— and asked for courage that she might bo raised above the fear of those who could only Idil the body. Great peace came in answer to prayer ; the throbbing heart could bo stilled into quiet trust even when, as twice happened, parties of her pursuers entered the chapel, proving to Faith how absolutely necessary it was for her to make Jio nttompt ; ;i ! 400 THE RECESS. to leavo lier hiding-place until darlmess slionkl have closed in. . Tiio maiden was able at leisure to survey that liiding-place, as, with her arm for her pillow, she stretched her aching frame at full length on its floor. The recess which had proved to her sucli a refuge was simply a long narrow strip of space between the false wall of the chapel and the true one. This H])ixcG was little more than a foot in breadth. Hung up on pegs fixed into the wall were various articles of dress, such as are used by Romanist priests when per- forming mass. There were also vessels of silver on a shelf at the end of the narrow cell. Tlio place was not dark, light and air being admitted from above by a long open- ing in the ceiling, through which Faith could see the blue sky, and a portion of the old ruined tower. The mind of Faith, as may be supposed, was much engaged in revolving plans for the flight of the Comtesse La Fere. How should «he flee, and whither ? To find any satis- factory solution of so difficult a problem was beyond the power of the English girl. titil darlmess ;ure to surve}'' r arm for lier ling frame at recess wliicli ge was simpl}' betwceu the the true one. lan a foot in fixed into the ilress, such as its when per- xlso vessels of of the narrow , light and air Y a long open- ch Faith coulu ion of the old Y be supposed, ig plans for the . How should find an}^ satis- Lilt ft problem le English girl. THE RECESS. 401 Disguise was scarcely likely to be effectual in a place where the face of the lady was familiar to hundreds. "Who could once look upon that countenance," thought Faith, "and ever forget it!" To escape by land into Switzerland appeared to be impracti- cable ; the fugitives would be almost certain to be overtaken before they could reach the frontier ; and even if they could succeed in travelling that distance, at the frontier they would be arrested. Was there any hope of escaping by sea? The Mediterranean was not many miles distant from Chiiteau Labelle ; Faith knew that well, for she had often gazed from her turret on the bright silver rim which bounded the southern horizon, but she knew of no port that was near. Marseilles, which was about twenty miles off, was itself the very hot-bed of revolution, and perhaps the last place in France to which one of the old noblesse would willinslv flee. Faith, after long anxious pondering over these difficulties without coming to any clue by which she could find her way through them, gave up all attempt to do so. Tiie ccmitcsso, she earnestly 26 I ♦ u '.■ i. i' II I'l,! 402 THE RECESS. trusted, would find out some means of escaping when onco she was made aware of the peril before her. Thus Faith watched and waited until tho long turquoise-liko strip of blue above her deepened in tint, and gradually tho various objects in the recess became less and less visible in tho dimness of gathering twihght. "When Faith could no longer distinguish chalice from paten, she softly raised herself from her recumbent position, listened in- tently for several minutes, and then slowly drew bach lier panel. The chapel into which she looked forth was perfectly still, nothing was moving in it but a bat flitting restlessly about tho ruined building. Faith stepped forth from her place of hiding, with a silent prayer and thanksgiving. She then care- fully reclosed the panel behind her; that secret cell might afford refuge to others. " But it will not avail my mistress," thought Faith as she left the chapel. "Alas! that the secret should bo known to the treacher- ous Diane !" Ik. 10 means of ado aware of ited nntil the lie above licr y the various less and les.s ring twilight, r distinguish L-aised herself listened in- then slowly >el into which still, nothing ng restlessly aith stepped with a silent 3 then care- id her; that 3 others. 3SS," thought "Alas! that he treacher- I '^^0 ^ ^m ^4 /■.. " w-*"*^ CHAPTER XXXVII. A FRIEND IN NEED. I O find one's way through a forest, even when the stars are glitter- ing brightly, is no easy task, and Faith soon, to her distress, ex- perienced such to be the case. The pole-star, indeed, to a certain extent served to guido her, when she could succeed in getting a glimpse of the sky from some of the more open spaces which were in the wood ; but very frequently the foliage prevented the wanderer from seeing it at all. She had miscalculated also in supposing that the most direct road to St. Catlierine's Chapel lay through the olive plantation. When Faith had been fleeing from her foes, her course had not been a straight one ; sh^i M03^ '^ 4 f* I a I ;i 404 A FRIEND IN NEED. had darted now to tbo right, then plunged to the left, as the thicket appeared to offer better cover, or ^vhcn sounds of pursuit had made her suddenly change her direction. The poor girl was now utterly bewildered in trying to retrace her steps, and almost in despair lest daylight should find her wan- dering still in the forest, while Jacobins u'cro sacking and destroying Chateau Labelie. Faith had been nearly two hours in the wood, feeling her way, trembhng and pray- ing very fervently to be guided aright, when she came to a break in the wood, and saw beyond it a twinkling light as from a cottage window. Wearily the maiden dragged her steps in that direction, uncertain as she was whether she were approaching the habita- tion of friend or foe. The crescent moon had just risen, and to her intense relief Faith recognized by its light the well-known oiTiline of the vine-mantled dwelling of Antoine. The moonbeams gleamed on the little brook in Vv'hich Faith was wont to dip her jar to bring water to her aged friend. The maiden had approached hiH cothige «. 11 plunged :d to offer irsuit had direction, lewildered almost in her wan- Jacobins Chateau urs in the and pray- iglit, when 1, and saw I a cottage agged her IS she was le liabita- :ent moon in SB relief rcll-known ^veiling of Lied on the ont to dip ;ed friend. m cottnge I A FRIEND IN NEED. 405 from an opposite direction from that by which she usually reached it. Here was at least a safe landmark ; there would no longer be difficulty in finding her way. Faith was so eager to reach the chateau that she had passed the cottage without attempting to enter it, when a little reflection made her return on her steps. " Antoino is not asleep, for his light is burning. Poor old man ! ho has had no one to bring him food to-day, and doubtless he has been terrified by the dreadful cries of that fearful mob that gathered in front of his door. Ho will fear that I have been murdered, and may be in trouble and suspense on my account. Antoine is so timid and so old, that anxiety and fear might bring on another fainting fit— and ho might die here alone and unaided ! I will but tell him that I am safe, explain that I cannot come to-morrow, but that doubtless Marie will do so, and then speed on my way homo with an easier mind." In such haste that she omitted even her cnstomary tap, Faith Stanby lifted tlie latch of the cottage door, and then darted back in U [* iOQ A FHIEND IN NEED. alarm, for Autoino was not, as usual, alone. A man, seated on the table for lack of a second chair, was apparently engaged in finishing a substantial supper, for a savoury scent pervaded the little room. "Faith Sfcanby ! Oh ! the All-merciful be praised !" exclaimed Antoinc, lifting his trem- bling hands as he caught a glini]ise at the door of the friend whom ho had never expected to look on again. The stranger sprang to his feet and ap- proached Paii]i witli a ready courtesy which lessened her fear. She glanced up anxiously into his face, and all dread of hira vanished at once ; nothing could bo more unlike the fierce, cruel countenances of Butin and his rabble than that whicli was before her now, beaming with gratitude and Idndness. " Come in, Mademoiselle Faith," said the stranger ; " my uncle has been telling me how much, how very much he owes to your goodness." " Come in, my guardian angel !" cried the poor old man, who had melted into tears of thankful joy ; " there is no one hero to harm n Si A FPJEND IN NEED. 407 lal, alone. Itick of a gaged in [I savoury erciful be his trem- =50 at the ad never i and ap- coiirtesy anced iij3 id of Lira bo more I noes of iiicli was fcude and said the lling mo 3 to your nied the tears of to liarjD thee ; tliero is no one near but Chiudo Ln Hoy, and he is faitliful and true as thou art, and loves the Bible almost as well." Faitli raised her hand to her brow, and looked again at the stranger. Slie thought that slie rcmcniberedhis name, and slio tlien recalled to mind what Marie had said in her presence of a nephew of old Aiitoino who had been driven from Conite Labollo's ser- vice by the malice of the wicked Diane. This recollection increased the fooling of confidence v; ith which the appearance of the Provencal had inspired her, and it suddenly occurred to Faith that here niiglit be a Heaven-sent liel]:)cr Avliom she could trust in this time of great need. Claude knew not, of course, what wan passing in the mind of the maiden, but Faith's pale, anxious look, disordered dress, and dishevelled hair, with what he had lieard from his uncle of the brutality of the mob. made the Proven9al feel certain that tlio English girl was in a grievous strait. He was desirous to re-assure her, and to make her aware how eager he was to do anything w\ thatli X}' in his power to serve and protect her. 408 A FIMEND IN ^'EED. (( Y(3U .'iro 8nr|)riscd to find a stranger hero at tlil« lato liour, Mndemoiscllc," said J JO Rov, ])art]y to cxpl'iiii liis i:)ositioi], partly to give Faith tiiue to recover licr self-possession ; " but I am a native of this place, and was born and reared in this cot- tage. Being on a coasting expedition in a fishing-smack Avith a friend, I could not forbear taking the opportunity of re-visiting my old homo, and seeing my aged relative once more." " Ah ! and Claude Avauted a glimpse of the old chateau," added Antoine ; " there never lived a Le Hoy that Avas not faithful to tho house of Labclle." " You would then servo the comtesse, you Avould help nor were she in peril ?" cried Faith eagerly, addressing herself to the stranger. " With my life," answered Le Hoy, and Faith saw in Iho expression of his fine manly features that ho meant what he said. Faith would hesitate no long(;r ; there might be somo possible risk in throwing liorself on tho mercy of a stranger, but tlie ])oril of the iiiuo made such risk appear as \ stranger jcllo," said posit ioi), cover ]]cr ivo of this I this cot- litiou in a could not rc-visiting d relative ipso of the lore never iful to the tesse, yon II V" cried If to the Roy, and ine manly id. ;er ; there throwing r, but tlie xppear as A nilEND lU NEED. 409 nothing in comparison of that Avhich she HoDght to escape. The idea of a coasting expuditiou in a fishiug-sMacit suggested jiopes of a means of deliveranco for the comtesso Avhlcli were eagerly grasped by Faith. Speaking rapidly, and in as few words as possible, for every minute was ])recious, Faith told of the position of dan- ger in which her mistress now stood ; she told of the wan-ant of arrest which was on its way from Paris ; and it was quite un- necessary to add that safety could only be hoped for from immediate flight. Claude listened quite as eagerly as Faith spoke, and caught up her meaning more rapidly than she could express it. " I have it !" exclaimed the Provengal, with joyous animation, as soon as the maiden paused in her narrative. " My friend Mar- tin the skipper is a Royalist, like myself, and even were he not so, he is a brave fellow, and the last man who would betray or desert a lady in distress. I will at once hasten back to the shore, — the boat is lying under the beach, close to one of the numer- ous channels by which the Rljoue empties t n II f no A FIIIKND IN NEED. itself imo ilio so;i, nlinosfc opposite to Rochcnoir. Mailtuiio Li Conitcsso will know the ])liico AVoU ; slio used in her childliood to riclo tliillier on lior Avhilo pony to pjatlier up shells on tlio bciicli, or to enjoy an hour'H sail on tlio ^loditcirancan with Monijicur lo Com to Labcllo." Faith's wan countonanco briglitcncd into delight at such u definite plan, such a feasible scheme for escape being brought before her. She felt that in Claude Lo Eoy, she had found a strong staff on which to lean, he was so bright, bold, and intelligent, as well as kind ; ho had not only sympathy to feel fur those in peril, but he had readi- ness to suggest, and resolution lo act. Claude's manner, gesture, tone, all inspired confidence and courage. ^ "It will not bo difficult, I think," con tinned Claude Le Hoy, for madame and yours(;li" to reach the place to-night. Tlie distance from the chateau to Rociicnoir is barely five miles; at least, by the bridle-path through the wood, and tlicn across the stony plain of La Crau. You will have scarcely a human habitation to pass. A light shall i A FHIEND INf NEED. 411 bo burning at niianiglit in our littlo vessel to ftiiiilo yon, aiid I myself Avill bo waiting on the beach to recciv'o you. Before dawn we shall bo far away on the blue waves on our course to Italy ; antl uiilesB niadarae's enemies have fins like fish, or wings like oirtls, they will scarcely follow her across tlio wide waters." The blithe langli with which Claudo con- cluded the sentence, had an exhilarating effect upon the spirits of Faitli. Tho Provenf;id evidently enjoyed tho thoughts of an adventure, and the danger attending the one in prospect seemed to shrink into insig- nificance from the cheerful, ho^ .ul tono in which it was spoken of by Lo Ilor. Only five miles of quic^^ road to bo traversed— there couhl uo little difficulty in accomplish- ing so short a journey by moonlighl, ; and then freedom on tho fr^sh briny waves, safety beyond reach of the cruelty of man or tho malice of Avoman ; a life of peace with <i dearly loved mistress whom she would have been the means of roscuing from death, — the prospect of all this m ■ so transnnrt- iiig to Faith, that she ulnio,;t j'orgot liei fii^-) A FRIEND IN NEED. fatigues and lier fears, as, after grasping old Antoine's hand as a farewell, and receiving his fervent blessing, she turned to depart. "You will let me escort you to tho chateau?" said Claude. " Oh no, no ! I could find my way blind- fold ; you must hasten down to the sea-side. 1 would not be the cause of your delaying one minute," cried Faith. Claude did not press the offer, but hastily poured out a glass of light French wine from a bottle -which stood on the table, and •with kindly courtesy presented it to the weary maiden. " You will require all your strength," said Lo Eoy. Faith took the much needed refreshment, and then, with Antoine's blessings and Claude's kindly farewell ringing in her ears, with a lightened and most thankful heart, the maiden sped by moonlight along tho path through the olive plantation. )ing old jceiving Bpart. to the y blind- 3ca-side. lelaying b hastily jli -wine ble, and to the all your jshment, igs and tier ears, il heart, ong tho InT MB* CHAPTER XXXVIII. WELCOME. HE time spent in wandering throngh tho forest had appeared to Faith so fearfully long, so much longer than it actually was, that she believed that midnight must already have arrived, if indeed it wore not far past. Slio expected to find the doors of the cha- teau clothed, and hghts put out; for early hours wt-re kept tit Labello tho bolts were always drawn, tho chains fastened, and the keys brought to the comtesso at ten. But lights still gleamed in the windows, and there were sounds within tho chateau, indistinct and faint, but sufficient to show that some at least of the houseliold were still astir. Faith opened the back-door wiih- (413) 'v I I' 4:U WELCOME. out any obstruction, and had scarcely done so when she was met by Marie, who, to the English girl's great surprise, caught her in her arms, and, with passionate ejaculations to half-a-dozen saints of the Eomish Cal- endar, kissed her again and again. "Oh, moil en/ant, we thought thou wert lost, we thought thou wert murdered! Madame has been so wretched!" almost sobbed forth the excitable woman. "The mob has been here— they smashed some of the windows— they called out such dreadful things— but retired when madame addressed them. But her fear was for thee— for thee ! Oh, mon enfant, how hast thou escaped from their hands ?" At the sound of Marie's loud welcome all the household hurried to the place and crowded round Faith, overwhelming her with eager questions. "I can answer nothing now— I must speak to madame— this moment— this mo- ment—oh, do not delay me !" cried Faith in a tone of entreaty, with a painful effort to make her way through tlie throng. " Stand back all of ye !" exclaimed Marie : I WELCOME. 415 :e\y clone o, to the it her in culations lish Gal- lon wert urdered ! ' almost '.. "The some of dreadful :1 dressed 'or thee ! 3ed from come all ice and ing her -I must ;his mo- Faith in effort to I Marie ; " Faith looks ready to drop. Go to madarae, mon enfant/* she added, patting, witli rough kindliness, the weary girl on the back ; " I will see that thou has a warm supper, and a good one, when thou hast said thy say to my lady." Faith hurried off in extreme impatience to give her warning to the comtesse. She was met at the door of the boudoir by Gabrielle, to "whom Annette had already conveyed the glad tidings of the absentee's safe return. A mountain weight of anxiety hac'' 'een lifted from the heart of the lady, OiVJ l( her welcome to Faith was not as demonstrative as that of Marie, it was as full of kindness and feeling, " I am so thankful to see thee hero safe ! Where hast thou been ; and how " — com- menced the comtesse; but for once Faith sacrificed outward respect to her mistress, and for that mistress's sake ventured to interrupt her. " O madame — forgive — suffer me to speak. I have much, much to tell, and my life may depend on mv telling it auickly." cried Faith. ;t m 'MS 416 WELCOME. Gabrielle instantly led tlio way into the boudoir, and motioned to Faith to close the door behind her. Sinking down beside the sofa, on which Gabrielle then took her seat, Faith, in a position which relieved her own weariness, whilst it enabled her to look up into the face of her lady, in language as clear and concise as she could use, described the events of the day. She related what she had overheard in the chapel, her interview with Le Roy, and his plan for effecting the escape of the comtesse by means of the boat and the fishing-vessel now lying off Roche- noir. Gabrielle remained perfectly silent until Faith had concluded her rapid narrative. The lady then glanced at the richly orna- mented clock which adorned her mantel- piece. The gilded hands pointed to a quarter past eleven. Faith's eyes followed the direction of those of her mistress, and she was greatly relieved to see that the hour was far less advanced than she had feared that it might be. " I must go and rouse Ninon," said the comtesse rising, "and toll hor to prepare "WELCOME. 417 for instant departure. Faith — noble, triio- hearted Faith — thou must be the partner of our flight ; nothing but death shall separate thee and me. Go now to Marie, bid her attend me in mademoiselle's chamber, and take heed to speak to no one but her of what thou hast told me now. The other women must retire at once to rest — the sooner the chateau is still the better ; if I could trust the fidelity, I could not trust the discretion of all. And take thou thyself wine and refreshment ; thou must need them," continued the comtesse kindly, not so absorbed by her own peril as not to notice the weary looks of her faithful attendant. Faith obeyed her lady's command; and while she hastened to convey her orders to Marie, Gabrielle, with firm step and calm demeanor, proceeded to the chamber of Ninon in order to awaken her. The comtesse found, hoAvever, that Ninon had not yet gone to sleep. The young lady, who could not disrobe herself without the help of a femme-dc-chamhre, was still sitting reading a novel, and only raising her eyes now and apices to complain, in accents "o^ ! -m I i ^.f ^'■} i M 27 418 WELCOME. of peevish displeasnro, at the tiresome absence o{ Faith. Ninon was somewhat startled by the unexpected appearance of ler mc-swur, and read at once in the coun- tenance of Gabriello that some matter of no iight importance had brought t!io lady into her room at an hour so unusually late tiresome lomowhat ranco of tlio coim- ttor of no lady iuto ito. CHAPTER XXXIX. FKEPARATI 0N8. EF ill lialf-an-hour ! Oh! it can't be — it is impossible ! every- tliing to i:)ack, and Faith away !" exclaimed Ninon La Fere, after she had heard, with very conflicting feelings, and many interruptions, her helle-sceiir's account of the position in which they now stood. The changes in Ninon's frivolous mind, as she listened, had been various ns those in a kaleidoscope. First came terror, amounting to agony; Ninon was almost stupefied with fear at the idea of Jacobins invading the chateau, and was certain that she, as well as Gabrielle, would be dragged to the guillotine, or slaughtered like th^ Princesse de Lamballe. Then, by a sudden (419) :! 420 PREPARATIONS. change of ideas, pleasure succeeded to alarm. Ninon tliouglit of leaving the hated chateau and going forth into the world that she loved. To the French girl any change was dehghtful, and to escape from her pre- sent gloomy abode was to her like escaping from prison. Vibrating between hope and fear, pleasure and pain, restless— startled — frightened, yet not without a sensation of pleasant excitement, Ninon, with her pow- dered hair down on her shoulders, her tight-fitting boddice half unlaced, and her l)inched features varying in expression with every exclamation that she uttered, Ninon looked a striking contrast to the fair calm lady beside her. "We must start before midnight," said Gabrielle La Fe're, laying a slight but perceptible emphasis on the word "must." " The difference between one half-hour and another may make all the difference between life and death. Ah ! here comes Mario," she added, as, flushed with excitement by what she had just heard from Faith, the servant <jntered the apartment. " Mario, I see that thou knowesfc tdl ; thou wilt iif3ip me in this PREPARATIONS. 421 strait," said the lady. " Go and bid Jacques saddJi the horses — we have still two loft — fcA' mademoiselle and myself, and put a pillion on the pony for Faith. Her danger is equal to my own ; I will not leave her here to meet it." "Saddle the horses indeed!" exclaimed Ninon, starting up from her seat in a state of irritable excitement. " I cannot ride — thou knowest it— I have not ridden for years ; I do not like the saddle, and never did. To dream of setting me on a great trotting carriage-horse too, weak and deli- cate as I am ! how canst thou be so barba- rous as to think of so cruel a thing !" " It is only by riding that wo can take the shorter bridle-path through the wood, or be able indeed to reach the shore without walking the last part of the way," observed Gabriel le, whose manner was much more calm than the looks of Marie, who was unconsciously clenching her fists and grind- ing her teeth at the young lady who could raise frivolous difficulties at so critical a time. '•' I tell thee I can't ride— and won't ride. i <■? 422 PREPARATIONS. I would rather remain hero by myself, if thou liaat the heart to desert me— thy dead husband's only sister i" cried Ninon, sinldng down again on her set, and bursting into u violent flood of tears. " Marie, desire Lemoino then to put the horse; into the carriage — it must bo ready by midnight," said the comtesso, yielding the i^oiiit without farther attempt to argue it with tlje unreasonable, self-willed girl. " See that Faith has refreshment," Gabriolle added to Marie, as the lady and her servant quitted the apartment. The comtesse had much to arrange before leaving — perhaps for ever — the lionie of her fathers, not only as regarded her own needs, but the comfort and security of the dependents wiiom slie must leave behind. " Then Faith has returned— I am glad at least of that," muttered Ninon, startiijg up, and maldng her way to the bell-rope. The young lady pulled it twice briskly, well sat- isfied that she would at any rate have a femme-de-chambre to assist her in making preparations which were to Ninon a very important aiTair. myself, if -thy Jcttd n, sinlcing ing iuto a ) put tlie bo ready yielding to argue lied girl. Grabriclle r scrvani esse had -perhaps not only 3 comfort hom sl]e 1 glad at :ting up, pe. The well sat- ) have a I making II a very rnr^PARATioNs. 423 Faith, as was her wont, obeyed Iho summons without a minute's delay. She was always ready for duty, even Avhen, as on the present occasion, scarcely able to perform it. Often, very often, had the fro ward young lady sorely tried the maiden's patience; but all former trials of the kind were as nothing compared with what Faith had to endure on that night. It was not merely that she was half dead witli fatigue after that terrible day, and that she had had no time to partake of refreshnjont, save the glass of weak wine so considerately protrered by Claude ; the faithful servant, intent on the danger incurred by her mistress, was in a state of feverish impatience to start. Ninon, who never considered the W(;lfare of any QUO but herself, and to whom tlio smallest things often appeared more ijnportaut than great ones, was as m.ich taken up by prepa- rations for her journey as if some pleasure- trip were before her, and sIk had days and. weeks in which to make such ])roparations. " Oh no, not that box!" she cried witli an impatient moveni(>nt of hand and foot. "I want the other -the large one ait tlie bottom 424 rRErABATIONS. Li of tho tlircG, that liokls my favorite drosses. Lift down the others — how slow thou art ! Diane was a inonstre, but at least she was a &vsi-v3.io femme-de-chamhre J" " But madomoisello cannot take with her large boxes, or much lu{];gago of any kind," faintly suggested Faith Btanby. " Who asked thco for f hy advice ?" was the angiy rejoinder. " Of course I could have taken nothing larger than a pocket- handkerchief, if Gabrielle had kept to her insane plan of riding on horseback ; but the carriage is large, ^^ o can pile it well up — so bo quick and pull out that box ! There, there — thou hast managed to drag it out at last : now get the dressing-case down." " But, mademoiselle — " expostulated Faith, who had almost strained herself in the effort to move the large boxes. " Of course the dressing-case must go with me ; dost thou imagine, lete, that I could travel without my powder-box and my perfumes ?" Faith bit her lip hard, and then in an imploring tone urged speed, as on it every- thing might depend. PBEPARATIONfl. 425 drosses. lou art! was a nth licr f kind," )?" was 1 could poclcet- 3 to lior but the [ up — so Thero, it out at n." stulated jrself m nust go , that I : and my 1 in an it everv- ** 1 do make all possiblo spcod, hUc ; it is thou who dost work as if all thy tingcrs were thumbs ! Wliat ! thou hast not found the hico handkcrchiul's yet, and my cJupeau lieu — the most charining of little hats — and the wreaths — the beautiful wreaths ! Ah, I do so hope that we shall go to Naples — de- lightful Naphi! T: shall be sure to see plenty of con pnay t^^eve !" " Ah, twelve ci clock is striking!" exclaimed Faith, looking v ■ almost despairingly from a pile of dresses, mantle.^ ribbnus, lace, lin«ns, and finery of all sorts, from Avhich Ninon was trying to make a selection. It was never very easy to the weak girl to make up her mind, and it was more difficult now than ever, so reluctant was she to leave any pet piece of luxury behind her. It is likely that Ninon would have continued hesitat- ing and doubting until daybreak, but for a sudden interruption. "Mademoiselle, the carriage is ready," said Marie, abrnptly entering the chamber iu which for more than a half-honr Taith had been endeavoring to pjick for Ninon. " JDut I am not ready— shall not be ready ' [ f ^ I 426 PREPARATIONS. for the next hour or more !" exclaimed the young ladj, who had not so much as laced up her boddice, or exchanged her light satin slippers for travelling shoes. "Look thou at that box, there is scarcely one article yet packed in it !" " No article need be packed in it," said Marie angrily, her impatience getting the better of her manners. "Mademoiselle can't take with her a trunk large enough for a bedstead ! Faith, madame has been ask- ingrfor thee. Leave me to attend to made- moiselle." Nothing loath to make her escape from 'the room. Faith hurried out to join the comtesse, after one more imploring entreaty to Mademoiselle Ninon not to delay. The prompt action of Marie was, however, far more effectual than any words could have been, " Madame cannot be kept waiting at risk of her life," cried the warm-tempered Proven9ale, her impatience blazing up into passion. Catohiug up a large shawl, she flung it round tlio astonished Ninon, and then clapped — wrong side foremost — a iiai med the as laced ;ht satin ok thou ) article it," said ting the moiselle )ngh for )en ask- 5 made- PREPARATIONS. 427 apon her dishevelled hair. Marie then snatched up with her left hand the small- est box, which chanced to contain but white kid gloves and flowers, and with her strong right arm half carried half dragged Ninon La Fcro out of the room, down the staircase, and into the hall, wliTe the comtesse was only awaiting the coming of her sister-in-law to start on her critical journey. )e from ain the utreaty r. The ver, far [d have at risk mpercd up into kvl, slje n, and — a iiai 1^^' lljl in I i ^i 4 A^ ^^ ^n^(^^ otl a mi of CHAPTER XL. THE FUGITIVES. INON found lierself in tlio car- riage, and the carriage itself in motion, almost before she had recovered from the shock of amazement given to her nerves by the audacious conduct of Marie. Then in no measured terms she gave vent to her indig- nation, and in despair at finding that she was actually starting without carrying any- thing worthy the name of luggage, she passionately entreated, even with tears, that Gabrielle would instantly ord^ r the coach- man to drive back to Chatoaii Labello. "Oh, for pity's sake, tell him to turn round the horses — to drive back at speed ! Did ever a young lady go on a journey to (428) THE tTGITIVES. 429 other lands fitted out only with flowers, gloves, and satin slippers !" At less anxious a time the fervent petition and its cause must have raised a smile even on the lips of Gabrielle, but now she only gravely replied : " I cannot go back, my sister ; life itself is at stake. Thou shalt share with me what I have brought ; and the few jewels which I bear with me in my casket will, I hope, pro- cure for us the necessaries of life, at least for a time." The comtesse's own preparations for the journey had indeed been but slight. A single box of moderate size contained all the lady's travelhng wardrobe; but in a black velvet reticule suspended from her girdle Gabrielle carried a greater treasure than all that Ninon parted from with such passionate regret, — Antoine's old copy of the Scriptures. When Ninon found that all her entreaties and tears were useless, she relapsed into gloomy silence ; and as neither Gabriello nor Faith were at all inclined for conversa- tion, each of the three occupants of the te'! mi 430 THE FUaiTIVES. carriage pursued Iior own train of thouglifc witboufc breaking in, even by an observation, on tbose of her companions. It might not be uninteresting to read the varied nature of these tiioughts as the carriage rolled on, under the pale light of the moon, along a rough and desolate road. Faith was, indeed, almost too weary for any connected chain of reflection. The motion of the carriage was at first soothing to her, connected as it was witli the feeling that her own part in contributing to the escai^e had now virUially been played out ; that she had nothing now left to do but simply to obey the orders of another. It has been well said that rest is " a sense of duty performed," and that rest was now in some measure enjoyed by Faith, but it was disturbed by the intense desire to push forward— to be fairly out of France with her mistress. Faith longed for the power to give wings to the horses that appeared to drag the carriage so slowly; and tender as she was towards dumb creatures, she was inclined to wish that Lemoino would less sparingly use the wiiij). There were but THE FUGITIVES. 431 few houses to be passed on tlie road (by the bridle-path there would have been none), but these houses caused some uneasiness to the faithful servant. This was especially the case with one lonely cabaret , which had a tree of liberty planted in front of the door. A window in one of its upper rooms wa;^ thrown up as the carriage rumbled past, and Faith caught a glimpse of a head in a red night-cap stretched out to see who could be driving towards the coast at the stilly hour of midnight. Ninon's feelings Avere divided between pleasure at leaving Chateau Labelle, with hopes of a future life of amusement, bright- ened by all the world's petty vanities, and the annoyance of having to begin that life so utterly unprovided with the means of maldng the most of it. Her memory did not cling to friends or country with the tendril-like clasp of Faith's; it rested, like mould, on every object that had ministered to her vanity. Hope was, however, Ninon's predominating emotion ; and while GabricUe La F(jr(^ \\ as fleeing for hor life, her sistor-in-law, loung- ing back on cnsliions by her side, was weav- ■'I 432 THE FUGIITVTS. iiig a little romance, of wJiich she herself Avas, of course, the heroine. (.rabrielle, on iho contrary, conld not rjiiit the home of her childhootl, the abode of her 3'outJi, the Fccve of her wedded happiness, AvitliOiifc deep feelings of sadness. Tiio lnvm and shrubbery thrjugli ^vhich she had so often wandered with h';r Henri hi Oright days gone for ever, the turrets aiid battlements of the old chateau which she had so often .«;nrvcyed with emotions of worldly pride, tlie galleries hung witli familiar portraits, — Gabrielle felt pain in bidding to all these inanimate objects a long, probably a last farewell. She grieved more at having to leave her dependents ; she had done all that lay in her power to preserve them from suffering want during her absence, and had specially commended poor old Antoine to the care of Marie ; but still, in the present condition of France, all the future must be very uncertain. It was far from improbable that Chateau Labello might share the fate of many a lordly mansion that the Jacobins had burned to the ground, and Marie and I THE FuarnvEs. 433 herself lot [iiili 3 of lier ppiness, lio lawn hafl so ;Iit (lays lements lo often ■ pride, iraits, — ,11 these a last > ving to all that m from ind had :oine to present oaust bo robablo the fate acobins rie and the other servants would have to begin their course anew in the world. The carriage which conveyed the fugitives went at moderate speed until it entered the stony plain of La Craii. Hero the road, which was scarcely ever nwod for vehicles, became exceedingly rough, and tho violent jolting of tlie carriage culled forth occasional exclamations of annoyance fron\ the lips of Ninon. The coachman plied \ah whip more freely, but tlie horses made slov/ progress, and sometimes came to an actual halt. The scent of the sea was, however, now perceptible, and that scent was more welcome to the fugitives than the perfume of fields of rosea ; to the young islander, especially, that scent breathed of freedom and home Presently, in dragging the vehicle over a pebbly ridge, one of the horses stumbled and fell. The carriage came, of course, to a dead stop. The coachman Lemoine, and Jacques, who accompanied the party, got down to try to disengage the fallen animal from its harness. The delay at such a time was terrible ; even the comtesso could not hf-Ip beirayiiig some impatience. 28 ^ i ' :• ? I I if;' ^ 434 THE FUGITIVES. " If all slioukl bo lost, and we so rear safety," she murmured; then leaning for- ward from the carriage-window, the lady endeavored by her voice to quicken and incite to more vigorous efforts the servants engaged with the fallen horse. " It is of no use trying to get him up, madanio," said Lemoine, coming to tho carriage-door after ten long minutes thus spent ; " tho beast is much hurt ; we can't get him on his legs; and if we could, it would bo idle to try to drag the carriage over these heaps of shingle. There's not a coachman in Provence as would attempt to drive horses down to that beach." The ' man's manner was sulky, and scarcely respectful. " Then we must get out and walk," said the lady. Faith was so stiffened by fatigue after the exertions of the last day, that but for her exce<3(ling impatience to reach the boat, she would have felt unable to drag heiself along that stony, difficult way. Bat it was a relief to her that the tedious halt should come at last to a:, end, and that the fugitives THE FUGITIVES. 435 filiould Lave rather to trust to their own feot than to stumbling horses and wheels that seemed as if they would not turn round. " There is a light— see !— down by the shore!" she joyfully exclaimed as soon as she had followed the ladies out of the car- riage. " Claude Le Roy has not failed us." That spark was as the beacon of hope to tlie fugitive women, though its smallneSs, alas ! showed how great a distance still intervened between them and safetv. Gabri- elle ordered Jacques to carry down to tho boat the small amount of lugujage wiiicli the travellers had brought Avith them, aiul leav- ing Lemoino with the carriage and horses, she began to make her way in tho direction of the guiding light, accompanied by Ninon and Faith. It was not to bo expected that the progress of the three could bo rapid over such difficult ground ; and before they had gone many yards, Ninon suddenly camo to a stop. " It is impossible that I should walk, and in my thin slippers !" she exclaimed. ** Tho atones hurt niv feet : I cannot o-f^t on." Faith was ready to walk burofoot over ) -I g^i lit: 436 THE FUGrnVKS. iharp fliuts rather tlian pause at sucli a •moment. But Iier offer to let madcnoisello wear her saboh was received with peevish anger. T .. ... istrancos of Gabrielle had, in- deed, the effect of making Ninon move forwards a few steps farther, leaning very heavily upon the arm of her i^oov fcmmc-de- ■chamhrc. But these few steps did not bring the ladies sensibly nearer to that light on which their eyes were so anxiously bent. ' "Hark!" exclaimed Gabrielle siiddenly, •turnii g back her head to listen ; " what i« that Sound that I hear h. J.ie distance ^ ' . . "O mademoiselle, hasten on! — ha!,ti!U on !" criet^ Faith, in an agony of impatience ; " the enemy is in pursuit." " I can't go (jho step farther!" exclaim'^d Ninon, and she threw herself down on a ridge »f pebbles, and began to ring her handb, and cry like a helples child with terror and pain. ** M lame, I i.riploro you, fly — fly!" ciicd •Faith to the comtcode. " I know these dreadfu- sounds too well ; they are cominJr: ne. u- iid nearer. I vill i main with THE FUGITIVES. 437 such a i^ioisello peevish had, hi- n move ng very 'Mme-dc- ot bring light on bent, icldenly, ' what i.s — lia,;, n atieuce ; :claim i ivn on a ing her Id with !" eiicd V tllOSG CO mi 11$: in with madomoisello, you may yet escape and Hvo. Oh, for the love of Heaven, fly while tlior. yet is time !" "Not alone," said Gabriello La Fero; "1 will never leave thee, Eaith, to bo torn to pieces by tlioso ruffians." Laying a firm hand on her sister's shoulder, the eomtess(\ with a fow earnest words, compelled her t(^ rise, but i persuasion or renionstranco could compel her to walk. After a feeble elTort to make two forward stops, Ninon again fell down, crying, upon tiio hard Bhingle. " Faith, make thy way to the boat ; thy young life must not bo uselessly thrown away," said Gabrielle, as shouts and cries and trampling of feet crunching over th«» pebbles told that the puiduers Avere fiust '^ainsng upon the fugitives. " Go, I com- mand thee, go; and may the Almighty protect and bless thee for all thou hast done to save me, albeit it be ■* >n(;» in vain !" Whether tho strength of x«'n?<' vould have snffi( \l under any circumsiaijccs to enablo. her, v/orn out as she was, to reach ihe distant boat, may well bo doubted ; i: 488 THE ITOinVES. but the very idea of forsaldng l\cr miHtroSfl at such a critical moment depriveLl the faithful f^irl of the liltlo poAvcr of motion which had hitherto romaiuod in licr weary limbs. Faith made no attempt to reply, but she also made no attempt to iiee. For onco she disobeyed the command of her lady. "VVhero the comtesso remained, she would remain; the fate of mistress aiui maid, whatever that fate might be, would at least bo met together. A f<nv more minutes, a few more terrible minutes, rendered more dreadful by vain attempts to rouse Ninon to make efforts on which tiio safety of others might depend,- and all suspense was over. It Avas evident that it was now too late for escape, — tlio Jacobins were close on their prey. Faifli clasped lier hands, closed her eyes, and resigned herself to the worst. A brief ejaculatory prayer burst from her lips ; ere it was ended the fugitives were overtaken and surrounded. Ninon, who had no more courage to meet dtRastm' f.l>n.n PriAVnrx.' onrl r\Yaaa-nnn (\f *v>infl to enable her to escape it, was the most THE FUGITIVEH. 439 temfied of tho tliroo women wlion slio saw dark forms in tlio moonliglit riisliing down from tho liiglicr part of tho shiuglo, and throwing down before them showers of pob- ])les from tlio licaps over wliich and throngh which they wcro tramping. Ninon uttered two p'* arcing shrieks, — shrieks so loud that they reached tho ear of Le Eoy, who wa8 anxiously watching in the boat for tho com- ing of tho hidies from Chateau Labello. Then, all her powers collapsing from thn extremity of her terror, Ninon swooned away on tho shingle, where slio remained for nearly an hour in an insensible state, quite unconscious of all that was passing around her. Graduallj', however, tho unhappy gii-l awoke to consciousness, which brought with it only misery. Dizzy and faint, with quivering limbs and swimming brain, Ninon with some difficulty raised herself to a sitting posture and gazed around. She was utterly alone on that dreary, desolate shore, over which tho moonbeams cast sucli a dim and gliastlv gleam. Even iho dintaiit light had disappeared from the beach, and no- .!!• ' ' no THE FUGITIYES. tiling was to be heard but the faint sigh of the breeze and the answerin*^- moan of the sea. Where was Gabrielle ? what had happened ? Avhat horrible scene liad been acted upon that desolate spot? Ninon ti'embled and shivered. Those who had borne off her sister to prison or to death, had from herself merely torn off the shawl which Mario had Avrapped around her, and left behind them the senseless form which it had enfolded, and which they cared not to carry away. Ninon was not, like Gabrielle and Faith, a special object of Jacobin pursuit ; no warrant had been drawn out for her arrest, like that which had that night reached Aix from Robespierre in Paris. Ninon was simply left to live or die on the shingle, watched over, cared for by no one. The child of luxury, the pampered young aristocro.te, Avas more helpless, deso- late, and wretched, than any gypsy wanderer bepging lier way from hamlet to hamlet. Long alter sunrise had flushed the sky, a miserable object, notwithstanding the satin boddice and I'ich.lv brocaded nkiit which slie wore, with braised and bleeding feci whicli THE FUGITIVES. 441 left red traces on the liard stones over which she so wearily dragged them, poor Ninon reached the cabaret which she had passed on the preceding night in the com- tesse's carriage. The wretched condition of the aristocrate excited the mirth rather than the pity of the inmates of the cabaret, which was one of the lowest sort, and kept by a violent Jacobin. The few denizens of the place soon gathered around the weeping, trembling young lady, made her the butt of their heartless gibes. " Ah ha !" laughed one ; " here is a pretty demoiselle, who has been late out at a masquerade, and who has worn out her dainty slippers with dancing." " Or at the spectacled chimed in the land- lord, rubbing Lis unshaven chin ; "it seems that there's been a tragedy acted, in which mademoiselle has been taking her part." "No, no; the tragedy has not come off yet," cried the first speaker, who set up as a wag ; " it will come off to-day at AIa, where Madame la Comtesse and her English spy will audience." la Comtesse and appear before a largo ■ i II !» «l ■ t: di2 THE FUGITIVES. "I'm going to the t/ial," ciicd out the landlord. " And I — and I" — exclaimed other voices. " That's only the first act of the tragedy," laughed the wag ; " the second will come off to-morrow, when the drop will fjdl, and the last scene close with tumultuous ap- plause !" He mimicked with his hand the descending movement of the too familiar instrument of death, amidst uproarious mirth. Ninon, with horror and bewilderment, heard the words and saw the action which announced to her the destined fate of her sister-in-law and Faith. They hud been carried off to undergo the mockery of a trial at Aix. The miserable girl's anguish was less on account of the danger in which lay her nearest relative and only protector, than from a dread that she also might bo seized upon and borne off to Aix. Ninon had, with efforts which had cost her almost intolerable sulTering, dragged her^ell as far }is the cabaret, hoping to find in it pity and protection. Now her strongest desire was to escape from the place, a desire intensi- THE FUGITIVES. 443 fied by an evident design on the part of some of the Jacobins to detain her. " No, no ; let her go — let her go !" cried the landlord ; " this is no cage for so gay- plumed a bird. Let her fly home, if her lame wing will let her, and tell her sister's hired sycopliants that Henri La Fere's widow is going the same way to freedom as Capet's wife took before her! Did she think, forsooth, to roll past hero mdieard in her fine carringe ! The next carriage that she mounts will be paid for by the people, and her journey will bo but a short one !" I CHAPTER XLI. THE TRIAL. T was the most sultry day of tho most sultry month of July. The sun shone down vJiih. glare more intense than is usual even in tne warm latitude of Provence. Not a cloud tempered his rays, not a breath of wind relieved the oppressive stillness of the at- moPijhere charged with heat. Tlirough each southern window of the largo old town-hall of Aix, streamed in fiery floods of hght in which dust-motes glanced and quivered, and which lit up hundreds of faces turned in enger expectation towards the dais on which sat tlie Mcire, Cochon, and his fellow-judges, wilh u semi-circle of nilhanly-iookiiig jurors, assembled to pro- Ifli THE TLIAL. 445 nounce a verdict of life or (le;illi upon two innocent women. Notwithstanding the sultry heat of the day, the toAvn-hall was crowded, for the trial of the Dame Froptidairc of Chateau Labelle was the cause of extraordinary ex- citement in Aix and th^^ .iljacent country, Avhere her ancejstors li'ul for 'centuries lived in almo;,t princely state. '^\^ fearful scenes of judicial nnirder to which Paris had be- come familiar were com})arativeh' new at Aix, and in that provincial city, therefore, excited interest more keen. The pressing, jostli'^.g, hustling amongst tlie crowd in the hall, rendered tiie heat of the weather more intolerable still. Several womc n had, with difiiculty, to be borne out in a fainting state, and those who remained seemed to be try- ing the cxpej...aent how much heat the human frame can endure, and how little of fresh air it requires in order to escape actual suffocation. " Gabrielle, Avidow of Henri La Fere, 8tand forth ! " There stood the Lady of Piovence, unprotcctod and defenceless, before the . ^ UQ THE TIIIAL. tribunal cf those from whom slio well knew that no mercy was to bo hoped for, no Justice was to bo expectoil. The countenance of Gabrielle was usually palo, but now a bright rose-tint flushed her cheek, and gave more than their wonted brilliancy to her beautiful eyes. She loolicd more queenly tliaii ever as she stood erect, with folded liands, listening to the charges brought by the public prosecutor n gainst her. But there was more mournful dignity still in her mien as she confronted the wit- ness who afterwards bore t(!stimony that might bring her mistress to the sciiffold ; for that witness was her own fcnme-de- chamurc, Diane ! " Widow La Fere," said Coclion, a burly butcher, proud of the position of brief autho- rity to wliicli he had climbed, " thou hast heard the accusation against thee. Thou art charged with having at divers times spoken against the Kepublic, one and indi- visible ; of having abetted a ])riost in the secret perforniance of rites proliibited by the National Committee ; of having syni])!i- thized with Louis Caix't and iiis v.'idow, THE TRIAL. 447 10 well hoped . The [y palo, ' cheek, illiancj I more 3t, with 3harges ji gainst dignity he wit- ly that j.iffohl ; nmc-ilc- n burly I; autho- )u hast Thou J times id indi- ; ill the ited by syinp:i- v.-idow, and of having even attempted, before their trials, to convey to them money, which, had it reached them, they might have used to defeat the sacred ends of justice. What hast thou to say in answer to such capital charges as these ? " Clear and silvery sounded the voice of Gabriello La Fere in reply ;' the throngs in the town-hall held their breath to listen. " To avow under my ov/n roof principles in whicli I had been reared from my cradle to keep loyal to my sovereigns in their adversity, to daie to worship my Creatoi according to the dictates of my conscience, — if there bo guilt in these thing.-;, then in- deed am ". p-iilty. But it was not always in chivalrous Franco that such things have been reckoned as cnme;^." "She is condemn^:' by her own confes- sion ! " cried Cochon vvif •. wolfish eagerness. And then followed the mockery of voting, the vain attempt to fling over murder the ermine man lie of justice. A deep muiniur — partly of stern assent, partly jicrliaps of pity — rose from the assembh^d throng, as the iniquitous sentence was pronounced i ri^. i i .M« i 'h 448 THE TRIAL. which coiulcmnGcl Gabrielle, widow of La Fero, to suffer death on the following morn- ing, by the guillotine, in the market-place of the city of Aix. The comtcsso heard the sentence without blenching, without so much as a quiver of the eyehd. Her calm reproachful gaze fell for a moment 'on Diane, and the wretched woman dared not meet it. She turned her head away with evident confusion, which r,ho tried to hide by engaging in conversa- tion with Butin, who stood behind her, until her betrayed mistress had been, removed from the prisoner's bar. But it was otherwise when Faith Stanby was the accused one, and Diane was again called forward by name, this time to bear witness against the pale English girl. Then indeed the keen, beady eyes of the femrne- de-c7iamhrc gleamed with malignant triumph, jmd Diane poured forth her words fluently ; the only trace of inward agitation being that livid hue which overspread her face, as it liad done on that night when she had stood, candle in hand, beside the bed of Faith Stanby. m THE TRIAL. Ud Tlio doom just pronounced upon her be- loved mistress had not taken from Faith the natural desire to avoid a violent death for herself ; but it had been like the heavy blow which for a time deadens the sense of personal fear. Tlio faithful servant cared less for life, since the Conitesse La Fere must die. The maiden's perceptions, how- ever, v/ere not dulled as to what was passing before and around her. Faith felt intuitively that far less sympathy than the Lady of Proveuce had excited in the crowd of sj^ec- tators was extended to the servant giil, the foreigner, the Jncjlaise,— accused, as to her surprise she found herself to be, of having been bribed by Pitt to act the part of a spy. "Id it true, prisoner, as this witness affirms, that thou didst receive treasonable letters ^lom England, and that one of them contained a large remittance of money from the British minister?" was demanded of Faith. " I never received a sous of money ; I never received any letters, save two from jv,x- r^oor home, and that was before the war broke out, long, long ago," replied Faith, ia 29 m W: ■■m\ i •■■'.^, 450 THE TRIAL. a voice ratlier low, raising for a moment her eyeSf which had boon modestly bent on the marble-paved floor. " Had those letters anything in them re lating to the probability of a war between England and the great Eepublic ; or any remarks concerning the political state of I'ranco ?" asked Cochon. Faith was about to reply in the negative, when she suddenly remembered the incau- tious phrases contained in the lettei of Gentleman Jos. It had been the last letter ever received by her from her father, and had been perused so often that Faith knew every sentence in it by heart ; but she had destroyed the paper itself as dangerous, on the night on Avhich she had quitted Chateau Labelle. Startled at having been almost drawn into uttering a falsehood,* Faith hesitated, blushed, and with a little em- barrassment replied, " The letter was only from my father, a laborer ; he merely wrote his own private thoughts, as any parent might, to his absent child." *•' Thou dost evatle the question, girl !" cried Cochon, in a bullying manner. " Did m THE TBIAL. 451 the letter, by whomsoever written, contain any mention of George . minister, Pitt?" There was a low grc vl of imprecation amongst the spectators at the mention of a name so detested by the dcm crats in France. Again Faith hesitated a o ; but the Englishwoman's spirit was msed by the evident desire to browbeat her, and wrest w^mtever she might say to her condemna- tion. " The letter contauied nothing, sir," she answered firmly, "that could do harm to France or its rulers. My father was only a poor man; but in England the poorest may write what they please to their chil- dren." " Again I demand, Anglaise, did that letter contain any mention of Pitt ?" Faith was silent. She could not with truth say "No," and her silence was in- stantly construed into a confession of guilt. The cruel verdict qnickly followed ; it was crime enough to be even suspected of being an agent of the dreaded minister of King Did Have I not paid my debt, Auglaisc MICROCOPY RESOLUTION TEST CHART (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) m m m 1^ m 14.0 [ 2.5 2.2 2.0 1.8 ^ APPLIED IIVHGE inc 1653 Cast Main Street Rochester, New York 14609 USA (716) 482 - 0300 - Phone (716) 288 - 5989 - Fax 452 THE TRIAL. hissed out Diane in a loud whisper, as the fientenccd maiden passed her to rejoin the other prisoner. " Ah, my poor Faiih !" was the comtesse's greeting, " thou and I, Hke so many before us, were condemned before we were tried." (( ^ >^ CHAPTER XLII. THE CONDEMNED. jIT down side by side, widow Lji Fere and maiden Faith, com- tesse and soubrctte; take your last meal together. The guillo- tine cuts away all idle distinctions !" Such were the parting words of the jailer, as he left the prison chamber in which Gabrielle and her servant were immured for the night preceding execution. " There is some truth in what he sn js," observed the comtesse with a faint smile, as she motioned to Faith to occupy the chair by her side at the table on which a coarse meal had been placed. But to the faithful servant it would have been distressing to have changed towards (153) 11 if *:5i i ^4 ii i54: THE CONDEMNED. her fellow-sufferer, even in the slightest degree, the lowly, respectful demeanor which she had shoAvn to the comtesse in Chateau Labelle. Nor had Faith any vain ambition to rise above the station in which Providence had placed her; in the position of a servant, as she had lived, so was she ooiitcuted to die. Faith, with tears in her eyes, so earnestly begged to be allowed to wait on madamo "this last night," that Gabrielle let her have her own way. It was a mournful gratification to Faith to servo her lady both at meal-time and afterwards at her evening toilette. It was a pleasure ouce more to comb out those long dark tresses ; and as the maid did so she thought, "Hov/ can any one have the heart to hurt one dear hair on this head! But it is a comfort to remember that all th'^--^ hairs are numbered." It was from no emotion of prid^ that Gabrielle suffered herself to be waited on thus by her partner in tribulation ; never had ihere been less of pride in the soul of the high-born lady. Death is indeed a great h'velier, and Gabiiello La Fere felt him to THE CONDEMNED. 456 be so, r.3 Lis dark shadow fell on her path. Very solemn thoughts were passing that night through the miud of the doomed Lady of Provence. Witli the Bible in her hand, Gabrielle was steadfastly looking at herself in the mirror of Truth ; she was examining: her own soul as became one who knew that in a inw short hoars she might bo called upon to render account of all that she had done in the body during her sojourn on earth. And how did the actions of her life appeai' to the Romanist lady in that solemn review of the past? All marred by self-seeking, and stained by sin. Gabrielle saw how lovo of praise and love of popularity had mixed with other motives to incite her to perform munificent works of charity. She saw liow her heart had been estranged from her Maker, — how she had presumptuously ques- tioned His wisdom, ungratefully doubted TI*« lovG, even when her knees had been bent in apparently devout adoration. Ga- brielle saw that her exercises of self-denial, her mortification of the flesh, had sprung from a proud desire to purchase some ri^lit to the grace offered xolthout monei/ ami 456 THE CONDEMNED. without price. The penitent was discover- ing that in self-righteousness tliere is sin, — that they -who cherish it in their secret hearts are defrauding God of His gloiy. It is not in the chariot of meritorious works, with splendid gifts but unhumbled heart, that the spiritual leper must approach the Fountain of grace ; but lowlj^, contrite, self- renouncing, with the believer's hope in his heart and the suppliant's cry on his lips, Lordf if 2I10U loilt Thou canst make me clean I "Faith, art thou afraid of death?" asked Gabrielle La Fore, raising her eyes from the pages of the Bible which she for the last hour had been perusing and pondering over in silence. Faith was seated on a low stool near her mistress's feet. The thoughts of the poor prisoner had been wandering back to her childhood's home in the dear land to which she felt it sad never more to return. In dreamy meditation Faith was again listening to the twitter of the birds under the eaves, the lowing of cattle rising from the meadows, and the soft chime of THE CONDEMNED. 457 cliurcli-bells borne on the breeze. Roused suddenly from such pensive recollections, Faith paused for a few moments before reply- ing to Gabrielle's question, and then said in ft tremulous tone, while a tear moistened her lashes, "Madame, my courage is not like yours. I own I would rather— if it had been the Lord's will — have died quietly in my bed." " I meant not the mere act of dying, tho short, shai-p pang when soul is separated from body," observed the lady; "it seems to me that it matters little whether that come to us in the quiet chamber or on the scaffold. But this is what I would ask. Art thou afraid of that v/hich lies beyond death?" " No, Heaven be praised !" replied Faith, clasping her hands, and looking up at her mistress Avitli a peaceful smile on her pale features. "Absent from the body, present with the Lwd ! I would not wish to be always on earth, — to he tuith Christ is far better /" " But is thy soul then so pure and spotless tliat thou art certain that no punishment awaits thee in the dread Hereafter ?" asked 458 THE CONDEMNED. the comtcsse. " Is it not according to the justice of the Most Holy, that sin — oven if it be but sin of thought — should not g<3 altogether unpunished ?" "My sins have already been punished,' replied Faith simply ; *' all my many sins of thought, "word, and deed." " AVhen ?" inquired Gabrielle quickly. " When my Redeemer died on the cross, and paid the forfeit for tliem all!" Faith glanced up at her mistress as she spoke, and saw tliat the dark eyes of Ga- brielle were glistening with tears. " Ah ! my child, thine is a blessed — most blessed assurance !" said the lady with emotion, laying her hand on the shoulder of her servant, " Such thoughts came even into my soul this day, when I stood be- fore that tribunal, — surely that comfort must have been sent to me from Heaven ! I thouglit how the Most Holy, the Most Exalted, hud Himself stood arraigned before a mortal judge, had Himself listened iir silence to accusations from mortal lips. He did i]ot defcntl His own spotless character, He was muti; befoi'c His accusers ; and THE CONDEMNED. 459 wliereforo?" Faith folt llio prcssuro of GaLriellg's hand heavier on her shoulder, and the hand itself trembled with emotion as tlio lady went on. " It was because He stood in our place — my place ; Ho was judged for my sins, condemned for my guilt ! Christ was sentenced that I might go free ! Faith, Faith, I do believe that I am saved — for Christ died for sinners — there is no condemnation, NO condemnation for them who trust only in Him !" The heart of Faith bounded with joy — ^joy so strong that it seemed to sweep away all other feelings in the fulness of its sparkling current. Her prayers then had been answered at last ; her mistress had found peace in believing ! Blessed indeed is the time when the lep- rosy of sin is purged from the soui, and from the healing Fountain of Grace the forgiven penitent rises with a new nature, as of a little child, imparted by the Spirit of God ! With some, as with Faith Stanby, the great change comes early ; so early that it is only kn.'Wn to have taken place by spiritual health shown in a holy, ooiisistunt life. %. I fe I i \ (1 460 THE CONDEMNED. With others, ns with Gabriello La Fere, there is a raarlcccl and novor-to-be-forgoiteu time, of which the Christian can say, " It was then that my leprosy Avas healed ; it was then that, like Naaman,! washed and was clean !" In peaceful, happy communion of spirit, the rest of that evening was passed by the two prisoners sentenced to die on the following morning. TJio comtesso and her servant knelt side by side, fellow-heirs of a heavenly kingdom, whilst Gabrielle poured out aloud in words the prayers and thanks- givings which welled from the hearts of both. When tho two had risen from their knees, Gabrielle observed to the English maiden, — " There is but one thing which makes me a little regret being called away so soon from this earthly scene. I could have wished to have lived a little longer, dear Faith, to do some- thing for Him who has done everything for me; to have done it," she added, fearing her meaning might be mistaken, " not as a work of merit, but onhj as a proof of my grateful love.'* " I have been thinking the same, madame," replied Faith. " It seems to me that there is just one thing which is still left for me to do." THE CONDEMNED. 461 "What is tliat ono tiling ?" inquirctl fho c^mtesso. " It is — from my lioart to forgive Diano I" Gubricllo was silent for a space. Hers was a spirit keenly sensitive to wrong, unci deep were the v»rongs which she had sus- tained from a perfidious betrayer, one whom she could not but regard as the murderess not only of herself but of her faithful servant. The lady paused before she answered, but the pause was not a long one. "Yes, my child," said Gabrielle mildly; " fi'eely have we been forgiven, freely must WG forgive. May the Almighty pardon that unhappy woman, even as I do now !" Then the two prisoners laid themselves down to rest, and their slumber was sweet and untroubled even by dreams of the commg morrow. The moon glanced in through the grating of iron, and her rays fell softly on the sleeping face of Gubriello lia Fere, like the smile of , guardian angel waiting to whisper to the widowed prisoner, " Rise, mourner of earth, rise ; for the Master hath conio, and he oulleth for thee!'' Sf ^^ \ ^ IV CHAPTER XLIII. THE GUILLOTINE. VERY largo concourse of people had assembled, even before sun- rise, in the market-place of Aix, to witness the execution of the Comtesso La Fere. Almost every window that commanded a view of the scaffold and guillotine was filled with spectators, though in some few houses the shutters were closed in token of mourning, for there were many citizens who looked on the condemnation of Gabrielle with feelings of indignation and grief. There were many in France who mourned over the crimes committed in the name of Freedom. " Ah ! how well do I remember the day when there was almost as great a crowd us (462) THE GUILLOTINE. 463 thiB round tho great door of the Cathedral ft. yonder, to soo the comtesse come forth as a '^ brido in her whito satin and glittering jewels!" observed a peasant svoman, who, with her basket poised on her head, stood in tho sldrt of tho throng. "Thou mayst well remember it, Mad- eleine," said a fish worn an who overheard the remark, " for that dress of thine was new on that day, and a gift from the brido of Chdtoau Labelle." "There bo many as took her gifts then as have been waiting here for hours to see her die," observed Madeleine sadly. " Alas ! how little they who pressed and crowded to get a sight of the bride, guessed that it would ever come to this ! I wish that when that horrid steel, that flashes up yonder in the sun, comes down, it might be Ro- bespierre's head, and not the comtesse's, that should drop down into the basket." " Hist !" said her companion, in a warn- ing tone, " unless thou dost think that thine own head hath been long enough on thy shoulders." "Sec, hce ! they conic!" exclaimed Mad- 464 THE GUILLOTINE. eleine suddenly, pointing towards the scaf- fold, at the fiirther side of which the prison- ers had just dismounted from the death-cart. There was a universal movement amongst the crowds at the moment, as when a wind sweeps over a field of corn, and a murmur- ing sound which denoted that "le climax of interest had come. MadeleiLo raised her- self on tiptoe to look over the sea of heads- between her and the scaffold, and then exclaimed, "There she is— the good, the beautiful lady !* Ah ! can the blessed Saints let her die thus?" "On whose arm is she leaning ?" asked the other. " Dost thou not know ?" cried Madeleine ; "that is the Anglaisc who is to be guillotined with her lady. Poor soul, how gentle she looks ; it is a sin and a shame to kill her !" " A sin and a shame indeed !" repeated an indignant voice behind the peasant. It was that of Marie, who had walked from Chateau Labelle to have a last sight of her mistress and of her fiiend. The heart of the impe- tuous Proven^ale was full almost to bursting, and she cared not who overjieard THE GUILLOTINE. 465 the passionate exclamations wliicli she uttered from time to time. Though Gabrielle had mounted the scaf- fold with her arm resting on that of Faith, she was really rather supporting than lean- ing on her attendant. The French com- tesse was possessed of more physical courage than belonged by nature to her young English maid; but both, upheld by the same spirit of devotion, were serenely calm, even when standing so clone as actually to touch the fearful apparat of death prepared for their destruction. " Faith, dear Faith," whispered Gabrielle, gently pressing the arm of her maid, " what a priceless blessing thou hast been unto me!" "It is sweet to me that I may be with you to tho last," was the softly murmured reply. "What can be passing yonder?" said Gabrielle suddenly, glancing over the mass of upturned faces below, in the direction of the spot where Marie and Madeleine were standing. "Faith, dost thou not mark liow the multitude sway backwards and forwards, 30 466 THE GUILLOTINE. like a sea agitated by the sudden gust of a tempest?" " Tliey are trying to get nearer to you," began Faith; but the comtesse gave her no time to finish the sentence. "No, no; the people yonder are not so much as looking towards us ; the scaffold— the victims— are not the point of interest with them. Dost thou not see the man yonder, waving a paper on high ; all are crowding towards him— ha ! they are raising him aloft on their shoulders !" " How the people shout !— oh ! what can they be shouting?" cried Faith eagerly, as much convinced now as was her mistress that something of a very extraordinary and ex- citing nature must have occurred. The distance from the scaffold of the man who was ^vaving the paper on high, and gesticu- lating with frantic vehemence, was almost too great for her to distinguish his features ; but there was something in his appearance Avhich reminded Faith of Claude Lo Eoy. Whoever the man might be, ho was evi- dently the bearer of tidings, and tidings of iuterest so thrillnig that spectaiors, cxecu- THE (.> iLLOTINE. 467 »> tioner, victims, — all seemed to forget tlio terrible cause that had drawn tliem together. From the spot where Lo Roy (for it was he) appeared, raised on the shoulders of wildly excited men, there spread raiDidly some electric-like influence, which in less than two minutes had converted the whole multi- tude in the market-plac^ into a loudly shouting, madly rejoicing, frantic looking mass of enthusiasts! Had each man and woman in the throng suddenly received pardon when about to die on the scaffold, there could not have appeared to be greater rapture amongst them than that which burst forth in the now clearly audible shouts, • " Robespierre is fallen — is fallen ! Robes- pierre to the guillotine !" The mad excitement of delight with which the destruction of the Jacobin leader was hailed in Paris is matter of history, and forms a striking page in the records of th.-it marvellous time. We read that Robes- pierre's fall, in that eventful July, caused a joy which could not be calmed down foi several davs." The intoxicjition of deli.^h* ♦ Thiers. 1'-^ m 468 THE GUILLOTINE. was almost universal tlirouglioiit the city. Men deemed that the Reigii of Terror was over; Paris again could take breath! Crowds rushed to the prisons, the doors were flung open, and captives were released en masse. Those who had never expected to come forth, except to mount the death-cart, were now, amJdst frantic rejoicings, restored to their families and friends. The pendu- lum of the Eevolution had begun on that Thermidor to swing backwards, and it did so with a force resembling that with which the thunderbolt speeds. The spirit which animated Paris spread to the provinces, as life-blood circulates from the heart to the farthest extremities of the body. Aix, like other French cities, was wild with joy and excitement. Men who had heard, if not with approval, at least without open indigna'.ion, the sentence of death passed on a noble lady, now made the echoes ring again in the streets with shouts of " Vive la Comfesse La FereT Those who, the day before, would scarcely have ^nrtVAfl a fill wr to save her. now unharnessed tlie horses from the first carriage on which ri THE GUILLOTINK 469 they could lay hands, and insisted on drawing her themselves, in a kind of tri- umphal procession, back to ChateaTiLabelle. Instead of a victim, the comtesse suddenly found herself the idol of the volatile people. Faith, who, in a minor degree, came in for a share of the popularity of her mistress, felt herself like one in a dream. She was utterly amazed by the display of the wonder- ful versatility of the French character now before her, and could with -difficulty believe the evidence either of her eyes or her ears. The English gM looked with mute inquiring wonder from the car of triumph to the instrument of death, where the steel which was ere this time to have been dripping with her blood, was still flashing diamond bright in the sun. The first thing which made Faith realize that the astonishing events of the morning were facts, and not dreams, was the sight of Marie's faniihar face, beaming with joy, and the strong grasp of her hand, as, after forcing her way through excited crowds up to the carriage, slie exclaimed, " Ah ! had this blessed ijows but come ten njiunteH later, I should never m THE ■VUILLOTINE. have looked on thy living faco agam. And, at a sign from her mistress, mounting to a seufon the box of the carriage, Marie, who had left the chateau not two hours before in grief and despair, formed one of the party who -with glad exultation escorted back to her home the Lady of Provence. t» CHAPTER XLIV. CONCLUSION. 4- ~ Y story might here close, for though the tempest of Revolution was by no means over, its bolts never again reached Chateau Labelle. Should the tale, however, have been perused -with any interest, a brief glance at the future lives of some of its characters may not be unwelcome to the reader. Animated by higher motives, the joy that sprmgs from a sense of sin forgiven, and the love which that joy must inspire, Gabriello returned to her charitable works. She now gave to them not only her money, but her cheerful interest, her personal attention. When Antoiue peacefully fell asleep, his mis- (471) ■H 472 (DONCLUSION. tress, as well as Clauclo and Faith, btood by the dying-bed of the good old man. Lo Roy then became the occupant of the vino- mantled cottage ; and the comtesse appoint- ed him to be her steward and almoner, in which situation the Provencal showed the noble qualities of head and heart which he possessed. Though Gabrielle had fully embraced the great leading doctrine of Protestantism, justification by faith, she would at first have been startleu by the idea that she was any- thing but a devoted member of the Church of Eome. Gradually, very gradually, through perusal of the Scriptures and prayer, clearer light dawned on the mind of the lady. Ancient superstitions, erroneous views, dropped away one by one, like the old leaves of the laurel in spring, when the fresh new shoots are expanding; till at length Gabrielle learned to regard her late forms of worship as a bowing down m the house of Rimmon ; and would have shrunk as much as Faith herself from addressing A long visit from Pevo la Porte, whoso CONCLUSION. 473 influence over lier lady Faith had dreaded, had very different results from what she had feared. The priest, a devout man, who at risk of his life had ministered to his flock during the worst times of tho Eevolu- tion, had had his mind much opened by a residence in England. On him also tho light of truth had dawned; and when in many an earnest conference he compared his new views with those of Gabrielle, he was so confirmed in his impression that the Eomish Church had darkened that light by Buperstition, that he felt that he could no longer remain a member of her communion. Boldly coming forward to avow his consci- entious opinions, La Porte became the first Evangelical pastor ministering in that part of the province, since Louis XIV. had driven tlie last one from the domains of the Comtes de Labelle. The Protestant pastor soon collected around him a little flock, chiefly gathered from the tenants and servants who followed Gabrielle in renouncing the errors of Kome. The first of the household at the chateau who adopted a purer faith wero Marie and 1^ 474 CONCLUSION. Annette ; but the number gradually in- creased, till the little cliapel in tlio mansion could ro longer contain the congregation who assembled in it to worship in spirit and in truth. GabrioUe then had the ruined chapel of St. Catherine enlarged and put into perfect repair. There was indeed in it no gorgeous shrme, no splendid ornaments, no carved image of Virgin or of Saint ; but with sim- plicity beauty was combined. Faith took special delight in watching the progress made in preparing this chapel for Evange- lical worship : with deep feelings of grati- tude she regarded the place where she had found shelter in the hour of extreme peril With the permission of her mistress. Faith, on the day before it was opened for divine service, went to adorn the chapel with flowers. This was to her a delightful task ; and as she placed a rich wreath over the i^t where she had once crouched in con- cealment, a thanksgiving arose from her grateful heart, Uke the perfume from the «4 vx ««* ^v %»r* " Ah !" she exclaimed, " what cause have CONOLUSTON. 475 I to romcmber this chapel with grati- tude !" " And wilt thou not give mo cause also to remember it, dear Faith?" said the voice of Claude liO Eoy, who, unheard, had ap- proached her. " Wilt thou not here give mo tlie reward of seven years of patient waiting and of faithful attachment?" Faith turned round with a smile on her lips which was sufficient reply, for Claude had long known that her heart was his own. She took from his hand a basketful of orange-blossoms, fragrant and white, which Le Roy had brought to help her in adorn- ing the chapel. And as Faith took the basket with its. beautiful contents, what strange remem- brances came into the mind of the maiden, of another basket, empty, soil-stained and crushed, which she had raised from the road on one chilly November evening ! The damp and cold dreariness of that day, with its piercing wind and rising mist, had not been a greater contrast to the brightness of the summer morn in Provence, than the sadness which had then darkened the soul 476 OONCLUSlOlf. /)f Faitb, to ilie joy wliich filled it now. The biltor trial of tlio timo whou, for her J|iti*tov'B sake, sho had ^-'von up her dearest eartiily hopcH, had led to the happiness of this ! In a few days more, the bells of St. Catherine's chapel rang forth a blithe peal for the wedding of Faitl' and Le Eoy, and thobrid.'d morn was for them the commence- ment of a married life of singular happiness and peace. Fervently grateful was Faith that she h xd been preserved in her early youth from the temptation which had nearly made her forsake the path of duty, and that sho had been given grace to obey the command to marry only in ike Lord. Though now a wife, and occupying the cottage which sho looked upon as a little paradise. Faith, as well as her husband, never quitted the servico of tho Comtesso La Fere. Faith Le Roy remained to the end of her days the confidential, valued attendant of tho Lady of Provence. One of the brightest spots in the life of Faith (in which there was so much >! brightness), was a visit, of several mort' v duration, which she and her husband, acoom- ph OOKCLUSION. 477 panying their mistress, paid to England, after tlio pcaco of AmionH had closetl th« long Avar between that country and Franco. To Faith, who had never lost her lovo for her native land, this was a period of intense onjovmcnt, only heightened by the object whicli had induced the Comtesso La Fere to vi,,it England. Gabrielle, whoso now lowly spirit earnestly sought and thankfully re- ceived instruction, was desirous to meet ' and converse with some of the English leaders in works of mercy, the report of whose successful labors had reached her ears in Provence. The comtesso was strengthenwl and cncon.raged by intercourso with thos*) devoted Christians to go on ^*n an extending career of usefulness in her own beautiful country. Gabrielle carried back from England knowledge which helped her to make Chateau Labelle a central point of light and love, in a land where there was so much of spiritual darkness. Gabrielle la- bored much for the Lord,— it was her delight thus to labor ; but she never looked upon her works or hnr gifts as anvthin*^ ]nit pledges and proofs of grateful lovo to^HIm ' 1 4 478 CONCLUSION. whose merits and mercy alone bad made her— the leper— clean. Once, during her sojourn in England, Faith chanced to seo Edward Marston. Many years had elapsed since their last painful meeting; but it was not merely Tune that had wrought the change which startled Faith in him whom she bad once regarded, as in all points save one, the noblest of men. While Faith m her upward path had gone from strength to strength, becoming ever more pure-minded and unselfish, Marston had been constantly yielding to temptations from which religious prmciple is the only effectual safeguard. Edward had been a too prosperous man ; his goods had increased, but there had been no blessmg upon them. The farmer had drunk of the cup of worldly enjoyment till he had come to the poisonous dregs. When Faith looked on the countenance, once so fine, bloated hy self-indulgence, and with a coarse, sensual expression upon it, left by unrestrained passions, she could scarcely believe that the horse-racing, high-betting, hard-drinking man of the world before her, $ CONCLUSION. 479 was the same Edward for whom she had once felt such deep attachment, such fond admiration. More than ever did the wife of Le Roy bless her heavenly Guide that she had wedded one whom to her dying day she could honor. This little sketch of the later careers of the characters in this story would not be complete without some mention of Ninon La Fere. Ninon had suffered so severely on the night of Gabrielle's arrest, and the miserable day which succeeded it, that it seemed doubtful whether her already feeble healtli would ever recover from the effect of terror and fatiguo which she had undergone at that time. For months the poor girl was prostrated by nervous fever, which threat- ened to destroy not only her bodily powers, but those of her mind. By care and nurs- ing, however, the invaUd rallied at last, and her health and spirits were afterwards to a considerable degree restored by a visit which she paid to some friends at a fash- ionable watering-place on the coast. There Ninon met with a Corsicun officer, who, 480 CONCLUSION. though possessed of no recommendation beyond that of a handsome person and flattermg tongue, easily succeeded in win- ning the hand of Mademoiselle La Fere. The union was by no means a happy one to the weak and frivolous woman, who disco- vered, when it was too late, that she had given herself to a spendthrift and tyrant. Ninon had cause bitterly to regret that she had ever quitted the quiet home where she had thought her existence so intolerably tedious and dull. About ten years after her marriage, Ninon, now Madame Parrocea, paid a visit to Gabrielle La Fere, This was the first time that the Corsican's wife had been able to obtain permission from her tyrannical lord to accept the repeated invitations which she had received to visit Chateau Labelle. Poor Ninon, wasted and withered in appearance, nothwithstanding false hair and rouge, came back to her old home a weary, broken-spi- rited woman ; an object of pity to those who had not seen her since the days of her youth. Her disposition, however, was little altered save that her temper was more irritable, her CONCLUSION. 481 spirits more uneven than they had been when she was first introduced to the reader. Madame Parrocca was much the same volatile, frivolous creature as she who had petted Jacobin and tyrannized over Faith. But if Ninon was little altered, the place which she visited was much so ; and Ma- dame Parrocca saw with surprise and curi- osity, though not with much real interest, the many changes which had taken place in Chdteau Labelle since her marriage. These were particularly brought to her notice when, on the morning following her arrival, Marie showed Ninon over the place. " What ! dost thou mean to tell me that a school for the tenants' children is held in the hall every day !" she exclaimed. " Ah ! yes, madame," Marie replied ; "and it does one's heart good to hear their merry voices as they come out for their play. And then there's the festival at Christmas — ^the feasting — the toys ; Madame la Comtesse knows so well how to make the little ones happy ; and she enjoys their sports as much as they do themselves." **'I cannot imagine Gabrielle enjoying 31 482 CONCLUSION. anything, slie used to be so trister muttered Madame Parrocca, who liad no idea of the pleasure derived from giving pleasure to others. „ « If madame will turn in this direction, suggested Marie, " she wiU see the beauti- ful corridor laid out as a ward for the sick." "A ward for the sick !" echoed Ninon, with a look of disgust. " I used to say that Gabiielle made the chateau into a convent ; it seems to be a hospital now. This all comes of the new-fangled ideas on religion which she seems to have taken up." « La comtesse spends hours daily in teach- ing the Httle ones in the school, or in read- ing the Bible in the sick-ward," said Mane, who herself took an active part in the work of charity carried on around her. Ninon shrugged her thin shoulders with an au' of affected compassion. « I wonder how the comtesse can lead such a galley- slave's life!" she exclaimed. "And yet she looks wonderfully little changed ; Gabri- oUe does not seem to grow old," added Madame Parrocca, as Marie's throwmg CONCLUSION. 483 opon a door gave her a view of tlie Lady of Provence, at the farther end of the corridor, smiling as she placed some delicioasly ripe grapes in the hand of a sick child. « Madame 3 beauty is of the soul-t.nd the soul never grows old," said Mane, with an affectionate look at her mistress. Madame Parrocca shrugged her shoulders again. The meaning of Marie's observation was beyond the comprehension of the wo- man of fashion. " I suppose that Faith, whom I see yon- der, is also very busy in this charity dmdg- ery," said Ninon ; "it would be just m her line, she was always so insufferably good. Marie was nettled by the remark, and by the tone of contemptuous superiority m which it was made. Marie had still a battle to maintain with her own quick temper. « Faith is madame's right hand," she re- plied with a little tartness ; " I do not know how Madame la Comtesse, or any one else in the chateau, would manage without her ; she has such thought, such quickness, such ' kindness for all! The very best thmg for us all which you, maaanio, ever dul, was to 484 OONCLCrSION. bring la petite Anglaise over with you from England." Tho words had in them much more ol truth than poHteness ; Marie was still noted for bluntness of speech. The befrizzled and beflounced lady beside her made no reply, but carefully gathering the folds of her dress around her, that they might not so much as touch the snowy-white counterpanes of the beds, Ninon slowly made her way towards the place where both the comtesse and her servant were now engaged with another pa- tient. Faith was gently supporting the suf- ferer's head on her bosom, while Gabrielle, with a look of tender compassion, was hold- iiig a cup to her lips. " That woman looks awfully ill, really a shocking object ! " exclaimed Madame Par- rocca with a gesture of disgust. " I wonder how the comtesse can bear to wait like a nurse upon such a miserable wretch ! " "Many may wonder at it," answered Marie. " That case is the worst in the ward the only one which is hopeless. That wo- man is slowly dying of a most painful dis- she will never rise ease again from that CONCLUSION. 485 bed ; her sufferiuga have been yery dread- ful. But she wants for nothing here; she has every attention, every comfort,— and Faith sat up with her all last night." " I suppose that she has plenty of pray- ing and preaching too," said Ninon, with a scornful emphasis which told how little she would value such religious exercises her- self. " Monsieur le Pasteur has seen the suf- ferer often; but I scarcely think that he makes any impression upon her," answered Marie gravely. Madame and Faith pray much for her, I know, and will not give up all hope for her soul, -especially after some words that she uttered last night. But where there has been hypocrisy for years," continued Marie, "who can say whether there be real penitence, when the dying in their agony cry out for that mercy from God which they themselves never showed 1" " Surely I have seen that wretched crea- ture's face before!" exclaimed Madame Parrocca, leaning forward to obtain a nearer vie^. of the patient whom she was approach- iug. "But no; I must be mistaken,— it is 486 CONCLUSION. impossible, quite impossible that she should ever be found under this roof l" " You are not mistaken, madame," said Marie with animation ; " nothing is impos- sible to Christian mercy and Christian for- giveness : that dying woman k-'Diam /" e.Ko.