"My dear children, my poor, stricken daughters," exclaimed she, kissing them passionately and mingling her tears with theirs, "what have you done to be dashed to the earth by such a stroke of divine wrath?"

"Oh, aunt, pardon us for what we have done!" exclaimed Amelie, "and for not asking your consent, but alas! it is God's will and doing! I have given up the world; do not blame me, aunt!"

"Nor me, aunt!" added Heloise; "I have long known that the cloister was my sole heritage, and I now claim it."

"Blame you, darling! Oh, Amelie, in the shame and agony of this day I could share the cloister with you myself forever, but my work is out in the wide world, and I must not withdraw my hand!"

"Have you seen Le Gardeur? Oh, aunt! have you seen my brother?" asked Amelie, seizing her hand passionately.

"I have seen him, and wept over him," was the reply. "Oh, Amelie! great as is his offence, his crime, yes, I will be honest calling it such,--no deeper contrition could rend his heart had he committed all the sins forbidden in the Decalogue. He demands a court martial to condemn him at once to death, upon his own self-accusation and confession of the murder of the good Bourgeois."

"Oh, aunt, and he loved the Bourgeois so! It seems like a hideous dream of fright and nightmare that Le Gardeur should assail the father of Pierre Philibert, and mine that was to be!"

At this thought the poor girl flung herself upon the bosom of the Lady de Tilly, convulsed and torn by as bitter sobs as ever drew human pity.

"Le Gardeur! Le Gardeur! Good God! what will they do with him, aunt? Is he to die?" cried she imploringly, as with streaming eyes she looked up at her aunt.

"Listen, Amelie! Compose yourself and you shall hear. I was in the Church of Notre Dame des Victoires when I received the tidings. It was long before the messenger found me. I rose instantly and hastened to the house of the Bourgeois, where its good master lay dead in his bloody vesture. I cannot describe the sad sight, Amelie! I there learned that the Governor and La Corne St. Luc had been to the house of the Bourgeois and had returned to the Castle."

"Oh, aunt, did you see him? Did you see the good old Bourgeois? And you know he is dead?"

"Yes, Amelie, I saw him, and could have wished my eyesight blasted forever after. Do not ask me more."

"But I must, aunt! Did you see--oh, why may I not yet utter his dear name?--did you see Pierre?"

"Yes, Amelie. Pierre came home unexpectedly while I was weeping over the dead corpse of his father. Poor Pierre! my own sorrows were naught to his silent grief! It was more terrible than the wildest outburst of passion I ever saw!"

"And what did he say? Oh, aunt, tell me all! Do not spare me one word, however bitter! Did he not curse you? Did he not curse me? And above all, Le Gardeur? Oh, he cursed us all; he heaped a blasting malediction upon the whole house of Repentigny, did he not?"

"Amelie, be composed! Do not look at me so wildly with these dear eyes, and I will tell you." Her aunt tried to soothe her with fond caresses.

"I will be composed! I am calm! Look now, aunt, I am calm!" exclaimed the grief-stricken girl, whose every nerve was quivering with wild excitement.

The Lady de Tilly and Heloise made her sit down, while each held forcibly a hand to prevent an access of hysteria. Mere Ste. Vierge rose and hastily left the chapel to fetch water.

"Amelie, the nobleness of Pierre Philibert is almost beyond the range of fallible mortals," said the Lady de Tilly. "In the sudden crash of all his hopes he would not utter a word of invective against your brother.

His heart tells him that Le Gardeur has been made the senseless instrument of others in this crime."

"A thousand thanks, dearest aunt, for your true appreciation of Pierre!

I know he deserves it all; and when the veil covers my head forever from the eyes of men, it will be my sole joy to reflect that Pierre Philibert was worthy, more than worthy, of my love! But what said he further, aunt? Oh, tell me all!"

"He rose from his knees beside the corpse of his father," continued the lady, "and seeing me kneeling, raised me and seated me in a chair beside him. He asked me where you were, and who was with you to support and comfort you in this storm of affliction. I told him, and he kissed me, exclaiming, 'Oh, aunt,--mother, what shall I do?'"

"Oh, aunt! did Pierre say that? Did he call you aunt and mother? And he did not curse me at all? Poor Pierre!" And she burst out into a flood of tears which nothing could control.

"Yes Amelie! His heart is bleeding to death with this dreadful sword-stroke of Le Gardeur's," said the Lady de Tilly, after waiting till she recovered somewhat.

"And will he not slay Le Gardeur? Will he not deem it his duty to kill my brother and his?" cried she. "He is a soldier and must!"

"Listen, Amelie. There is a divinity in Pierre that we see only in the noblest of men; he will not slay Le Gardeur. He is his brother and yours, and will regard him as such. Whatever he might have done in the first impulse of anger, Pierre will not now seek the life of Le Gardeur.

He knows too well whence this blow has really come. He has been deeply touched by the remorse and self-accusation of Le Gardeur."

"I could kiss his feet! my noble Pierre! Oh, aunt, aunt! what have I not lost! But I was betrothed to him, was I not?" She started up with a shriek of mortal agony. "They never can recall that!" she cried wildly.

"He was to have been mine! He is still mine, and forever will be mine!

Death will reunite what in life is sundered! Will it not, aunt?"

"Yes; be composed, darling, and I will tell you more. Nay, do not look at me so, Amelie!" The Lady de Tilly stroked her cheek and kissed the dark eyes that seemed flaring out of their sockets with maddening excitement.

"When I had recovered strength enough to go to the Castle to see the Count, Pierre supported me thither. He dared not trust himself to see Le Gardeur, who from his prison sent message after message to him to beg death at his hand.

"I held a brief conference with the Governor, La Corne St. Luc, and a few gentlemen, who were hastily gathered together in the council-chamber. I pleaded long, not for pardon, not even for Le Gardeur could I ask for pardon, Amelie!" exclaimed the just and noble woman,--"but for a calm consideration of the terrible circumstances which had surrounded him in the Palace of the Intendant, and which had led directly to the catastrophe."

"And what said they? Oh, be quick, aunt! Is not Le Gardeur to be tried by martial law and condemned at once to death?"

"No, Amelie! The Count de la Galissoniere, with the advice of his wisest counsellors, among whom is your godfather and others, the dearest friends of both families, have resolved to send Le Gardeur to France by the Fleur de Lys, which sails to-morrow. They do this in order that the King may judge of his offence, as also to prevent the conflict that may arise between the contending factions in the Colony, should they try him here. This resolution may be wise, or not, I do not judge; but such is the determination of the Governor and Council, to which all must submit."

Amelie held her head between her palms for some moments. She was violently agitated, but she tried to consider, as best she might, the decision with regard to her brother.

"It is merciful in them," she said, "and it is just. The King will judge what is right in the sight of God and man. Le Gardeur was but a blind instrument of others in this murder, as blind almost as the sword he held in his hand. But shall I not see him, aunt, before he is sent away?"

"Alas, no! The Governor, while kind, is inexorable on one point. He will permit no one, after this, to see Le Gardeur, to express either blame or approval of his deed, or to report his words. He will forbid you and me and his nearest friends from holding any communication with him before he leaves the Colony. The Count has remitted his case to the King, and resolved that it shall be accompanied by no self-accusation which Le Gardeur may utter in his frantic grief. The Count does this in justice as well as mercy, Amelie."

"Then I shall never see my brother more in this world,--never!"

exclaimed Amelie, supporting herself on the arm of Heloise. "His fate is decided as well as mine, and yours too, O Heloise."

"It may not be so hard with him as with us, Amelie," replied Heloise, whose bosom was agitated with fresh emotions at every allusion to Le Gardeur. "The King may pardon him, Amelie." Heloise in her soul hoped so, and in her heart prayed so.

"Alas! If we could say God pardoned him!" replied Amelie, her thoughts running suddenly in a counter-current. "But my life must be spent in imploring God's grace and forgiveness all the same, whether man forgive him or no."

"Say not my life, but our lives, Amelie. We have crossed the threshold of this house together for the last time. We go no more out to look upon a world fair and beautiful to see, but so full of disappointment and wretchedness to have experience of!"

"My daughters," exclaimed the Lady de Tilly, "another time we will speak of this. Harken, Amelie! I did not tell you that Pierre Philibert came with me to the gate of the Convent to see you. He would have entered, but the Lady Superior refused inexorably to admit him even to the parlor."

"Pierre came to the Convent,--to the Convent?" repeated Amelie with fond iteration, "and they would not admit him. Why would they not admit him?

But I should have died of shame to see him. They were kind in their cruelty. Poor Pierre! he thinks me still worthy of some regard." She commenced weeping afresh.

"He would fain have seen you, darling," said her aunt. "Your flight to the Convent--he knows what it means--overwhelms him with a new calamity."

"And yet it cannot be otherwise. I dare not place my hand in his now, for it would redden it! But it is sweet amid my affliction to know that Pierre has not forgotten me, that he does not hate me, nay, that he still loves me, although I abandon the world and him who to me was the light of it. Why would they not admit him?"

"Mere Migeon is as hard as she is just, Amelie. I think too she has no love for the Philiberts. Her nephew Varin has all the influence of a spoilt son over the Lady Superior."

Amelie scarcely regarded the last remark of her aunt, but repeated the words, "Hard and just! Yes, it is true, and hardness and justice are what I crave in my misery. The flintiest couch shall be to me a bed of down, the scantiest fare a royal feast, the hardest penance a life of pleasure. Mere Migeon cannot be more hard nor more just to me than I would be to myself."

"My poor Amelie! My poor Heloise!" repeated the lady, stroking their hair and kissing them both alternately; "be it as God wills. When it is dark every prospect lies hid in the darkness, but it is there all the same, though we see it not; but when the day returns everything is revealed. We see naught before us now but the image of our Lady of Grand Pouvoir illumined by the lamp of Repentigny, but the sun of righteousness will yet arise with healing on his wings for us all! But oh, my children, let nothing be done hastily, rashly, or unbecoming the daughters of our honorable house."