"Good mother," exclaimed Amelie, throwing her arms around the nun, who folded her tenderly to her bosom, although her face remained calm and passionless, "we are come at last! Heloise and I wish to live and die in the monastery. Good Mother Esther, will you take us in?"
"Welcome both!" replied Mere Esther, kissing each of them on the forehead. "The virgins who enter in with the bridegroom to the marriage are those whose lamps are burning! The lamp of Repentigny is never extinguished in the Chapel of Saints, nor is the door of the monastery ever shut against one of your house."
"Thanks, good mother! But we bring a heavy burden with us. No one but God can tell the weight and the pain of it!" said Amelie sadly.
"I know, Amelie, I know; but what says our blessed Lord? 'Come unto me all ye that are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.'"
"I seek not rest, good mother," replied she sadly, "but a place for penance, to melt Heaven with prayers for the innocent blood that has been shed to-day, that it be not recorded forever against my brother. Oh, Mere Esther, you know my brother, Le Gardeur; how generous and kind he was! You have heard of the terrible occurrence in the market-place?"
"Yes, I have heard," said the nun. "Bad news reaches us ever soonest. It fills me with amazement that one so noble as your brother should have done so terrible a deed."
"Oh, Mere Esther!" exclaimed Amelie eagerly, "it was not Le Gardeur in his senses who did it. No, he never knowingly struck the blow that has killed me as well as the good Bourgeois! Alas! he knew not what he did. But still he has done it, and my remaining time left on earth must be spent in sackcloth and ashes, beseeching God for pardon and mercy for him."
"The community will join you in your prayers, Amelie," replied the Mere.
Esther stood wrapt in thought for a few moments. "Heloise!" said she, addressing the fair cousin of Amelie, "I have long expected you in the monastery. You struggled hard for the world and its delights, but God's hand was stronger than your purposes. When He calls, be it in the darkest night, happy is she who rises instantly to follow her Lord!"
"He has indeed called me, O mother! and I desire only to become a faithful servant of His tabernacle forever. I pray, good Mere Esther, for your intercession with the Mere de la Nativite. The venerable Lady Superior used to say we were dowerless brides, we of the house of Lotbiniere."
"But you shall not be dowerless, Heloise!" burst out Amelie. "You shall enter the convent with as rich a dowry as ever accompanied an Ursuline."
"No, Amelie; if they will not accept me for myself, I will imitate my aunt, the admirable queteuse, who, being, like me, a dowerless postulante, begged from house to house throughout the city for the means to open to her the door of the monastery.
"Heloise," replied Mere Esther, "this is idle fear. We have waited for you, knowing that one day you would come, and you will be most welcome, dowered or not!"
"You are ever kind, Mere Esther, but how could you know I should come to you?" asked Heloise with a look of inquiry.
"Alas, Heloise, we know more of the world and its doings than is well for us. Our monastery is like the ear of Dionysius: not a whisper in the city escapes it. Oh, darling, we knew you had failed in your one great desire upon earth, and that you would seek consolation where it is only to be found, in the arms of your Lord."
"It is true, mother; I had but one desire upon earth, and it is crushed; one little bird that nestled a while in my bosom, and it has flown away. The event of to-day has stricken me and Amelie alike, and we come together to wear out the stones of your pavement praying for the hapless brother of Amelie."
"And the object of Heloise's faithful love!" replied the nun with tender sympathy. "Oh! how could Le Gardeur de Repentigny refuse a heart like yours, Heloise, for the sake of that wild daughter of levity, Angelique des Meloises?
"But come, I will conduct you to the venerable Lady Superior, who is in the garden conversing with Grand'mere St. Pierre, and your old friend and mistress, Mere Ste. Helene."
The news of the tragedy in the market-place had been early carried to the Convent by the ubiquitous Bonhomme Michael, who was out that day on one of his multifarious errands in the service of the community.
The news had passed quickly through the Convent, agitating the usually quiet nuns, and causing the wildest commotion among the classes of girls, who were assembled at their morning lessons in the great schoolroom. The windows were clustered with young, comely heads, looking out in every direction, while nuns in alarm streamed from the long passages to the lawn, where sat the venerable Superior, Mere Migeon de la Nativite, under a broad ash-tree, sacred to the Convent by the memories that clustered around it. The Ste.
Therese of Canada, Mere Marie de l'Incarnation, for lack of a better roof, in the first days of her mission, used to gather around her under that tree the wild Hurons as well as the young children of the colonists, to give them their first lessons in religion and letters.
Mere Esther held up her finger warningly to the nuns not to speak, as she passed onward through the long corridors, dim with narrow lights and guarded by images of saints, until she came into an open square flagged with stones. In the walls of this court a door opened upon the garden into which a few steps downwards conducted them.
The garden of the monastery was spacious and kept with great care.
The walks meandered around beds of flowers, and under the boughs of apple-trees, and by espaliers of ancient pears and plums.
The fruit had long been gathered in, and only a few yellow leaves hung upon the autumnal trees, but the grass was still green on the lawn where stood the great ash-tree of Mere Marie de l'Incarnation.
The last hardy flowers of autumn lingered in this sheltered spot.
In these secluded alleys the quiet recluses usually walked and meditated in peace, for here man's disturbing voice was never heard.