I had heard these words before, from one who found comfort in them when she was void of all human consolation, and they came to me like an echo of her voice.
"I do not fear, dear Madam!" I answered her, and then I told her how I had before been comforted concerning my mother in my night watch. After she had bade me good-night, with a kiss and a blessing, I said my prayers once more, repeated the ninety-first Psalm, and lay down to rest. I wont deny that I felt a little shiver of fear when I woke once in the night and saw the waning moon shining in at the casement, and heard the mournful calling of the sea, and the sighing of the wind in the trees, while an owl whooped dismally in the wood; but I remembered my Psalm, said my prayers, and falling asleep, did not wake till dawn.
Touching this change of dress—I have been considering the matter, and it does seem to me as if I ought to pleasure my father therein. I can honestly say the change will be no pleasure to me. I was never fond of dress. I care not the trouble of it, and am quite content with my stuff gown and linen pinners, which cost me but little time and thought. Moreover, it was the dress in which my dear mother liked best to see me. I know Mother Superior would say 'twas my duty to cast aside all considerations of earthly affection, like that woman she told me of who left her children to go to the convent. But my mother herself was wont to please my father in all things, and she taught us children to do so. I am quite sure Father John would say the same, but I can't ask him, because he is in Exeter, and will not be at home till night. My Lady has had my dress made all ready for me—a gown of fine brown woolen stuff, such as she wears herself, with large sleeves and linen undersleeves, garnished with French lace, a petticoat of blue damask and a hood of the new fashion, made of blue silk and garnished with lace like the sleeves; also a long tasseled girdle and wide-falling band of lace or lawn, but no mufflers or pinners, and no veil. It lies on my bed at this moment, and I must decide, because my Lady would have me put it on to meet my father.
[CHAPTER XXIII.]
I HAVE really put on my dress, my Lady's gentlewoman, Mistress Warner, arranging it for me, which she did with many exclamations at the improvement in my appearance. I must needs own that it is very becoming, but I do not as yet feel at home therein. When all was complete, I went to my Lady's room. She was much pleased.
"Be sure, maiden, you will lose nothing by thus giving up your will to your father," said she, kissing my cheek: "I know very well, that there is no vanity in your heart, but that 'tis a real taking up of the cross, for you to leave off the dress you liked, to pleasure your parents, and the self-denial will have its reward."
"I never thought of any self-denial!" said I.
"I dare say you did not," she answered, smiling, and arranging my hood.
I hope I shall not dislike to leave off all this finery when the time comes for me to return to the convent. I am afraid I have begun to dread that return already; but as my Lady says, "Sufficient unto the time is the evil thereof." That seems to me a wondrous wise saying. I wonder where she found it, or whether it is her own?