believed it my duty to become a nun,
and I left her. She returned to France, being a widow, and having no
other child; and there she died, among distant relations."

"Was she angry with you?"

"She never said or showed that she was. But I know that she was grieved
to the very soul, and for life. This, my dear, has been the greatest
affliction I have ever known. I did not feel it so at the time, having
no doubt of my vocation; but what I have suffered since from the thought
that an only child and only parent, who ought to have made each other
happy, were both miserable, God only knows."

"Yet you did what you thought was your duty to God. I wonder whether
you were right?"

"If you knew how many times--but," said the lady, interrupting herself,
"we shall know all when our hearts are laid open; and may minister to my
mother yet. If I erred, and there be further punishment yet for my
error, I am ready to bear it. You see, my child, how much you have to
be thankful for, that your difficulty is not from having failed in duty
to your parent. For the future, fear not but that your duty will be
made clear to you. I am sure this is all you desire."

"Shall we have any more such conversations as this when I come to live
here? If we can--"

"We shall see," replied the lady, smiling. "Father Gabriel says there
may easily be too much talk, even about our duties; but occasions may
arise."

"I hope so," said Euphrosyne, rising, as she perceived that the lady
thought it was time for her to go. "I dare say Pierre is here."

Pierre had been waiting some time.

The abbess sat alone after Euphrosyne was gone, contemplating, not the
lamp, though her eyes were fixed upon it, but the force of the filial
principle in this lonely girl--a force which had constrained her to open
the aching wound in her own heart to a mere child. She sat, till called
by the hour to prayer, pondering the question how it is that relations
designed for duty and peace become the occasions of the bitterest sin
and suffering. The mystery was in no degree cleared up when she was
called to prayer--which, however, has the blessed power of solving all
painful mysteries for the hour.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

PERPLEXITY SOLVED.

"What is the matter, child? What makes you look so merry?" asked
Monsieur Revel, when his eyes opened upon Euphrosyne the next morning.

"Nothing has happened, grandpapa. The only thing is, that I like to do
what you w