CHAPTER X.
Human fate, or rather the fate of the whole human race, is but as a web of cloth fixed in the frame of circumstances, with an unseen hand continually throwing the shuttle. The threads may be infinite, and some far apart from others; some in the centre, some at the selvage, but all tied and bound together by filaments that run across and across, and never ceasing till the piece is finished. When will that be? Heaven only knows. Certainly not till the end of the world.
We must now, by the reader's permission, leave the thread of Iola, and take up that of the abbess where we last left it.
As soon as she had closed the door and pushed to the panelling which concealed it, the abbess reascended to the nun's gallery in the chapel, and thence proceeded into the great body of the building. She found, as may be supposed, the utmost confusion and alarm prevailing; for by this time the noise of the great bell, and of the various sounds that were rising up around the walls, had roused all the nuns from their pallets, and, with consternation in their countenances, they were hurrying hither and thither, seeking something, and not knowing very well what they sought. Although a good deal alarmed herself, and unable to foresee what might be the end of all that was taking place, the abbess, whose heart was naturally merry, could almost have laughed at the grotesque accidents which fear produced; but, having more mind and character than the whole convent put together, she at once proceeded to restore order.
"Go at once to the chapel," she said to every nun she saw; "gather all the sisterhood there, and see that none be omitted. I will join you soon."
This order had to be repeated frequently; for at every step she met some one, and several required it to be reiterated two or three times, before terror would suffer them to comprehend it.
At length, passing round the end of the chapel, the abbess entered the great court, and found to her joy and satisfaction a much greater body of men drawn up for her defence than she expected; for the woodman had not been idle during the morning, and many more of the peasantry had been warned to listen for the sound of the bell than the voice of the porter could summon. Four of the inferior foresters also had somehow found their way into the building, dressed in leathern coats and iron caps, and each carried on his shoulder a sort of weapon, which none within the walls had ever seen before. This was a sort of small cannon, fastened upon a rudely constructed stock, and fitted to carry a ball of the weight of two or three ounces. There was no lock, nor any contrivance even for applying fire to the touch-hole by one movement; but round the arm of the bearer was twined a coil of match, which one of the men was as at that moment lighting at the porter's lantern.[[1]]
"What is that? What is that?" cried the abbess; "it looks like a little falconet."
"It is a hand-gun, lady," said the forester. "Some of our people brought them from Burgundy; and Boyd sent in these four. When it is time to use them, we hoist them over our shoulders; and, while the men behind take aim, we fire."
The abbess mused, for the invention was quite new to her; and, strangely clumsy as it was, it seemed to her a wonderful discovery in the art of war. She even grew very valiant on the strength of it, and called aloud for the bailiff, to consult with him upon the means of defence. The bailiff could not be found, however; and the porter informed her, with a grin, that he had gone to the buttery, thinking that there must be the principal point of attack.