during almost two years' absence her morbid faith had grown
stronger. She would go to him and ask to be released. She would leave
her child in her place to make amends for her sad mistake.

Circumstances had brought about the same ending by different means. Her
nurse and companion on her journey had strengthened her faith in her
resolve. Arrived at Montreal she received still further confirmation of
the righteousness of her course. She had been an unlawful wife. She had
sinned in taking the marriage vow. It was no holy sacrament, and she
could be absolved. So she began her novitiate and was presently received
into the order. She fasted and prayed, she did penance in her convent
cell, she prayed for the Sieur Angelot that he might be converted to the
true faith. It was not as her husband, but as one might wrestle for any
sinful soul. And that the child would be well brought up. She had known
Berthe Campeau, sister Mary Constantia, a long while before she heard
the story of the little girl who had come so mysteriously to Detroit,
and who had been wild and perverse beyond anything. One day her name had
been mentioned. Then she asked the Abbe to communicate with Father
Rameau for particulars and had been answered. Here was a new work for
her, to snatch this child from evil ways and bring her up safely in the
care of the Church. She gained permission to go for her, and here again
circumstances seemed to play at cross purposes.

The Sieur Angelot understood in a little while that whatever love had
inspired her that night she had besought him to rescue her from a life
that looked hateful to her young eyes, the passion that influenced her
then was utterly dead, abhorrent to her. Better, a thousand times
better, that it should be so. He could not make that eager, impetuous
girl, whose voice trembled with emotion, whose kisses answered his,
whose soft arms clung to his neck, out of this pale, attenuated,
bloodless woman. Perhaps it was heroic to give all to her Church. Even
men had done this.

"And thou art happy and satisfied in this calling, Mignonne," he half
assumed, half inquired.

Did the old term of endearment touch some chord that was not quite dead,
after all? A faint flush brought a wavering heat to her face.

"It is my choice. And if I can have my child to train, to keep from
evil--" her voice trembled.

He shook his head. "Nay, I cannot have her bright young life thrust into
the shadow for which she has no tast