The Chevalier's daughter

by Lucy Ellen Guernsey

"Oh, they will agree well enough so long as Betty has anything to gain," said I. And then recollecting myself, as I saw my mother look at me, "I crave your pardon, Meg. I should remember that she is your sister."

"She is no sister of mine," said Margaret. "I will never own her as such again. She has disgraced us all."

"She is your sister, and you cannot help it," said Rosamond, in that trenchant fashion of hers. "You cannot reverse the decrees of Heaven because you are displeased. Betty hath acted a base, treacherous part toward us all, and especially toward Vevette, but still she is our sister, and as such we must needs treat her."

"Very true, Rosamond," said my mother. "Betty hath cruelly injured me and mine as well as you, her sisters, but we must try to forgive her."

Margaret was silent, but I saw in her face the hard expression I knew so well in Andrew's.

I suppose my mother thought there was no use in argument, for after a moment's silence, she began to talk of somewhat else, and then she proposed that we should have a music lesson to quiet our spirits. The girls agreed, and we got out our music and sang several hymns and songs, and practised some new chants and anthems which my mother had got in a parcel from London.

For my Uncle Charles and Aunt Jem still continued their kindness toward us, though they were a little vexed that my mother should have refused their offer, and only a few days before we had received from them a great parcel containing books, music, tea and coffee and chocolate, and I know not what pretty trinkets and laces for me.

Then, when we were in rather a better frame, my mother talked to us in her gentle, serious way of those consolations which were so dear to her own heart, and of that inward experience of the presence and the love of the dear Lord which was able to support and console under all trials. Rosamond drank in the discourse like water, but I could see that Meg was impatient under it.

The truth was that her religion at that time was all outward—a matter of forms and ceremonies, of fasts and feasts. She made a merit of always using the right collect on the right day, and never reading the Psalms but in their appointed order; but to the spiritual treasures concealed in those Psalms and collects, her eyes were not at that time opened. This she has since told me herself.

That evening Andrew came down to our house and had a long audience with my mother. I did not see him, but maman told me the substance of the conversation. He wished to renew the engagement, and have things placed upon their former footing, but this my mother positively refused. Andrew begged to see me, and my mother came to tell me so, but I would not go down.