impossible.'

'And after what my aunt has said, I would die a thousand deaths ere
speaking that word. I asked her, Veronique! She would have
vengeance on 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