Then my father broke down, clasped me in his arms, and wept over me in the way that is so terrible to see in a strong man.
"My child, my Marguerite's only child! My treasure! And must I lay down thy young life also? Oh, Lord, how long, how long!"
Presently, however, he composed himself, and laying his hand on my head, he most solemnly dedicated me to God and his service, as the most precious thing he had to give. That dedication has never ceased to affect my life, even when I have strayed the farthest.
We returned home slowly, after my father had given me the most minute directions for finding the secret passage, and I had repeated them after him so as to imprint them on my memory, for I dared not write down even the least hint of them lest the paper should fall into the hands of our enemies.
I told my father that I would look into the chapel, and be sure that I understood what he had said.
"No one will think anything of it," I added. "I am always wandering about the place, and I often go to the chapel and sit in the old stalls."
"Very well, child. I trust thy discretion. Only come in before it is dark, lest the poor mother should be needlessly alarmed. And one thing more, my Vevette: let not a hint escape thee to the Sablots; not that I would not trust the father and mother with any secret, but I confess I mistrust Lucille after what you have told us about her."
"You don't think she would betray us?" I asked, startled.
"I cannot tell. If she has indeed been tampered with, she may not be able to help herself. At all events, the fewer people are in a secret the better."
When we returned to the tower I slipped away and entered the old chapel. It was of considerable extent—quite a church, in fact, though I suppose no service had been said there for perhaps a hundred years. The altar of wonderfully carved oak was still in its place, though all its ornaments and images had been removed or destroyed. The altarpiece which was painted on the wall still remained, and though faded and stained was still beautiful.