To this convent was Christine sent. To this austere dwelling, the abode of silence and self-denial, was she, the young, the beautiful, the loving, pitilessly consigned. It was as though a gravestone had suddenly closed over her head. With her, the superior of the convent received the following letter:—
"Madame la Supérieure,—I send you your niece, Christine Van Amberg, and beg you to oblige me by keeping her with you. I intend her to embrace a religious life; employ the influence of your wise counsels to predispose her to it. Her misconduct compels me to exclude her my house; she requires restraint and watching, such as are only to be found in a convent. Be pleased, dear and respected kinswoman, to receive her under your roof; the best wish that can be formed for her is, that she may make up her mind to remain there for ever. Should she inquire concerning a young man named Herbert, you may inform her that he has sailed to Batavia, whence he will proceed to our most remote settlements.
"I am, with respect, Madame la Supérieure, your kinsman and friend,
"Karl Van Amberg."
Five years had elapsed since the date of this letter, when one day the convent gate opened to admit a stranger, who craved to speak with the superior. The stranger was an old man; a staff sustained his feeble steps. Whilst waiting in the parlour, he looked about him with surprise and emotion, and several times he passed his hand across his eyes as if to brush away a tear. "Poor, poor child!" he muttered. When the superior appeared behind the grating, he advanced quickly towards her.
"I am William Van Amberg," he said, "the brother of Karl Van Amberg. I come, madam, to fetch Christine, his daughter and my niece."
"You come very late!" replied the superior; "sister Martha-Mary is on the eve of pronouncing her vows."
"Martha-Mary!—I do not know the name!" said William Van Amberg; "I seek Christine—my niece Christine."
"Christine Van Amberg, now sister Martha-Mary, is about to take the veil."
"Christine a nun! Oh, impossible! Madame, they have broken the child's heart; from despair only would she take the veil; they have been cruel—they have tortured her; but I bring her liberty and the certainty of happiness,—permission to marry him she loves. Let me speak to her and she will quickly follow."