"And all this time you have been pretending to be a good Catholic," said Mother Mary. "What a wolf in sheep's clothing have I been entertaining among my lambs!"
"No, madame," I answered; "I confess that my judgment was warped for a time by passion and self-interest, and the stress of a great disappointment, and in that frame I made a profession of your religion. But it is long since my faith began to waver, and since I have been on shipboard it hath been confirmed in the old way by thought, prayer, and study of the Word of God. I was no willing emigrant, but was betrayed into my present position by the treachery of those who professed, for motives of gain, to be my friends. I think it neither wrong nor shame to leave that position for the protection of the man to whom my father himself gave me."
Mother Mary was about to reply, when, glancing around, she saw all the girls listening with open mouth and exchanging significant glances with one another. So she cut the matter short.
"It is well," said she; "I wash my hands of you. Child of wicked parents, you have followed in their steps! Go, then, with your paramour, and remember that the vengeance of Heaven dogs your steps! As to me and mine, we will not set foot on this wicked shore. I demand to be taken to the French ship immediately, without a moment's delay."
"Madame," said Andrew, bowing, "I trust I shall not forget that I am a gentleman, and that I am speaking to a woman who has been kind to my wife, and who is old enough to be my mother."
I saw Mother Mary wince a little at this.
"Come, Vevette, Mr. Folsom's boat waits for us."
I would have taken a kind leave of my companions, but Mother Mary would not allow it, fearing, I suppose, that marriage might be catching. We descended into Mr. Folsom's boat, and were soon at the shore.
We walked up through the green lane—oh, how delicious seemed the firm ground and the grass to my feet!—till we came to Mr. Folsom's house, which was not the rude erection I expected to see, but a handsome square mansion, partly of stone, and with a pretty garden beside it. I am told that Boston hath grown to be quite a fine city. It was even then a pretty town, with neat houses and some good shops and a very decent church, which they called a meeting-house, for the most part. For they say that the name church belongs to the faithful who assemble there, and not to the place. 'Tis a matter of small moment—just one of those inconsequent things which people hold to with the most persistence. In my grandmother's time Archbishop Laud would have deposed a worthy minister because he did not believe in St. George. However, I shall never get to Mr. Folsom's house at this rate.
Mistress Folsom came to the door to meet us, having been advertised by a special messenger. She was a comely lady, richly but plainly dressed in a somewhat bygone fashion. Her two pretty daughters stood behind her, as sweet and prim as two pink daisies. She made me welcome with a motherly kiss, and listened with great amaze and interest while my husband made her acquainted with the outline of our history.