“My poor mother!” cried Lucy, throwing her arms around her neck, and concealing on her bosom her face, bathed in tears.
“What is the matter?” said Agnes, in alarm.
“I ought to have told you sooner, but I had not the heart to do it. Have pity on me.”
“But speak, speak then.”
“I cannot be the wife of that unfortunate youth.”
“Why? how?”
Lucy, with downcast looks and flowing tears, confessed at last the vow which she had made. She clasped her hands, and asked pardon of her mother for having concealed it from her, conjuring her to speak of it to no one, and to lend her aid to enable her to fulfil it.
Agnes was overwhelmed with consternation; she would have been angry with her daughter for so long maintaining silence towards her, had not the grave thoughts that the circumstance itself excited, stifled all feeling of resentment. She would have blamed her for her vow, had it not appeared to her to be contending against Heaven; for Lucy described to her again, in more lively colours than before, that horrible night, her utter desolation, and unexpected preservation! Agnes listened attentively; and a hundred examples that she had often heard related, that she herself even had related to her daughter, of strange and horrible punishments for violated vows, came to her memory. “And what wilt thou do now?” said she.
“It is with the Lord that care rests; the Lord and the holy Virgin. I have placed myself in their hands; they have never yet abandoned me, they will not abandon me now that——The favour I ask of God, the only favour, after the safety of my soul, is to be restored to you, my beloved mother! He will grant it, yes, he will grant it. That fatal day——in the carriage——Oh! most holy Virgin! Those men——who would have thought I should be the next day with you?”
“But why not tell your mother at once?”