hapel.'

'It shall never take place anywhere,' said Eustacie, quietly, though
with a quiver in her voice; 'no priest will wed me when he has heard
me.'

'The dispensation will overcome all scruples,' said the Abbess. 'Hear
me, niece. I am sorry for you, but it is best that you should know at
once that there is nothing in heaven or earth to aid you in resisting
your duty.'

Eustacie made no answer, but there was a strange half-smile on her lip,
and a light in her eye which gave her an air not so much of entreaty as
of defiance. She glanced from one to the other, as if considering, but
then slightly shook her head. 'What does she mean?' asked the Chevalier
and the Abbess one of another, as, with a dignified gesture, she moved
to leave the room.

'Follow her. Convince her that she has no hope,' said the uncle; and
the Abbess, moving faster than her wont, came up with her at the archway
whence one corridor led to the chapel, another to her own apartments.
Her veil was down again, but her aunt roughly withdrew it, saying, 'Look
at me, Eustacie. I come to warn you that you need not look to tamper
with the sisters. Not one will aid you in your headstrong folly. If you
cast not off ere supper-time this mockery of mourning, you shall taste
of that discipline you used to sigh for. We have borne with your fancy
long enough--you, who are no more a widow than I--nor wife.'

'Wife and widow am I in the sight of Him who will protect me,' said
Eustacie, standing her ground.

'Insolent! Why, did I not excuse this as a childish delusion, should I
not spurn one who durst love--what say I--not a heretic merely, but the
foe of her father's house?'

'He!' cried Eustacie; 'what had he ever done?'

'He inherited the blood of the traitor Baron,' returned her aunt. 'Ever
have that recreant line injured us! My nephew's sword avenged the wrongs
of many generations.'

'Then,' said Eustacie, looking at her with a steady, fixed look of
inquire, 'you, Madame l'Abbesse, would have neither mercy nor pity for
the most innocent offspring of the elder line?'

'Girl, what folly is this to talk to me of innocence. That is not
the question. The question is--obey willingly as my dear daughter, or
compulsion must be used.'

'My question is answered,' said Eustacie, on her side. 'I see that there
is neither pity nor hope from you.'

And with another obeisance, she turned to ascend the stairs. Madame
paced back to her brother.

'What,' he said;