Lady Rosamond's book

by Lucy Ellen Guernsey

But it may be His will even yet to save me, and if so, none of their schemes, however artfully laid, but must fall to the ground. And if I am to suffer for my faith, I know He will support me to the end, as He did Amice and has done many another. By His help I will never deny Him; and they shall never make me say I am sorry for marrying my husband—never! I glory in his name! I cherish the memory of his last embrace, when we thought ourselves parting for but a few hours, and I know we shall meet again where no malice or wrath of man can part us. Yet my spirit shrinks to think of his return to his desolate home! Oh, Richard, Richard! Oh, to see thee once—only once again!

Mistress Warner and I had set out to walk down to the cove to see a child, one of Magdalen's pupils, who had met with a bad scald. Richard had ridden over home, meaning to be back at night. We had gone about half way, when I remembered some linen I had meant to bring for a lying-in woman, and sent Warner back for it—I sitting meanwhile on a rock which formed a natural seat beside the stream. I had sat thus but a few moments, when I heard, or so I believed, a child crying in the wood close at hand. I thought of nothing but that one of the children from the hamlet had got astray, and as I always run about our own woods without fear, I went to seek it. I was well within the shadow of the woods, when all at once I felt myself seized from behind—a cloak was thrown over my head, and I was so muffled that I could not scream or make any noise to be heard.

"Make no resistance, Mistress!" said a man's voice. "If you utter a sound, you die the next moment!"

I was in their power, and there was no help, so I submitted; and being bound, I was carried some distance, and then found myself in a boat from which I was lifted up the side of a vessel and placed below. The air was stifling, even if my head had not been covered; but at last the cloak was removed and my eyes were bandaged instead. I made good use of them in the moment I had them, however, and saw that I was in the cabin of a small vessel, such as ply along this west coast to and from Bristol. More I was not allowed to see.

Somehow my mind was curiously calm all the time. I believed I had fallen into the hands of pirates, and might be carried away to Turkey and sold as a slave; but I was determined not to lose my life or liberty without an effort. I said my prayers, commending to Heaven myself, my husband, and my friends at home, and prayed earnestly for release and for grace in my time of need. I kept my ears open, and judged that I was alone in the cabin; but I could now and then catch a few words from the deck, and those words I was certain were English.

After much tossing, which lasted for many hours, we were again still, and I heard the casting of anchor and the lowering of a boat. I was once again muffled in the cloak, and being set on shore, found myself on horseback behind somebody, to whom I was bound fast by a belt. We rode fast and far—how long I could not tell, but at last our ride came to an end. I was once more taken down, carried through some place which echoed hollow, like a vault, and then downstairs; but before I reached the bottom, I heard a whisper which told me where I was.

"Ah, 'twas ever what I looked for!" said a voice, which I knew right well.

"Hush!" said another voice, with imperative sharpness.

Then being set down, my hands and eyes were unbound, and a glance told me my whole situation. I was in the vault under St. Ethelburga's shrine, in our old convent garden. Before me were the new mother assistant, a priest whom I had never seen, and one in the dress of a lay brother. I expected to see Sister Catherine, but she was not there, though I am sure I heard her voice. Not a word was said till my bonds were unloosed, and I was set down on a rude bench. Then the priest addressed me:

"Rosamond Corbet! Miserable apostate and perjured nun that you are, your spiritual superiors are still anxious to save you from the fate you have prepared for yourself. Therefore they have brought you to this holy place. You may yet repent—may yet return to the home from which you have wandered, may resume your former place, and even rise to high honor and trust therein."