n the most guiltless--the most guiltless--do you hear?--of the Norman
house. Never, never shall she have the chance! Come, thy striped
petticoat!'

'But, oh! what will Madame do? Where would she go? Oh! it is
impossible.'

'First to thy father's. Yes, I know. He has once called it a madness
to think of rallying my vassals to protect their lady. That was when
he heard of it from thee--thou faint of heart--and thy mother. I shall
speak to him in person now. Make haste, I tell thee, girl. I must be out
of this place before I am watched or guarded,' she added breathlessly.
'I feel as if each moment I lost might have death upon it;' and she
looked about her like a startled deer.

'To my father's. Ah! there it is not so ill! But the twilights, the
length of way,' sobbed Veronique, in grievous distress and perplexity.
'Oh! Madame, I cannot see you go. The Mother Abbess is good. She must
have pity. Oh, trust to her!'

'Trust! Did I not trust to my cousin Diane? Never! Nothing will kill me
but remaining in their hands.'

Veronique argued and implored in vain. Ever since, in the height of
those vehement austerities by which the bereaved and shattered sufferer
strove to appease her wretchedness by the utmost endeavour to save her
husband's soul, the old foster-mother had made known to her that she
might thus sacrifice another than herself. Eustacie's elastic heart had
begun to revive, with all its dauntless strength of will. What to her
women seemed only a fear, was to her only a hope.

Frank and confiding as was her nature, however, the cruel deceptions
already practiced on her by her own kindred, together with the harsh
words with which the Abbess spoke of Berenger, had made her aware
that no comfort must be looked for in that quarter. It was, after all,
perhaps her won instinct, and the aunt's want of sympathy, that withheld
her from seeking counsel of any save Perrine and her daughter, at any
rate till she could communicate with the kind young Queen. To her, then,
Eustacie had written, entreating that a royal mandate would recall her
in time to bestow herself in some trustworthy hands, or even in her
husband's won Norman castle, where his heir would be both safe and
welcome. But time has passed--the whole space that she had reckoned as
needful for the going and coming of her messenger--allowing for all the
obstructions of winter roads--nay, he had come back; she knew letter was
delivered, but answer there was none. It m