"And you are sure they fixed tonight?"
"Quite sure, but if disappointed tonight they will try some other night."
"Did you hear of any one person marked out for any special object."
"There will be an attempt made to carry off Lady Conway and her children."
"I suspected as much. Well, we must be prepared; I will row Lady Conway across the lake, and you can drive her up the country to neighbor Friendly's house, without anyone suspecting the matter. Be silent and cautious, I will prepare watches secretly. You get home as quickly as you can from the drive."
"I will, sir."
The fête passed off without any alarm: no one would have dreamed that an attack was expected. The nuns one by one left the convent, which was supposed to be the object aimed at by the attack, and let the watchers guard the dwelling, while they took refuge at M. de Villeneuve's mansion. They dared not alarm the inmates of the school-house, which they thought was left out of the plot, lest their plan of safety should be frustrated. But an armed band watched over its safety in the hovels, and wherever they could be stationed unseen.
It was a dreary watch, though a lovely night; the round, full moon threw its splendid light over hill and and valley, lake and forest glades. Not a sound was heard. The watchers did not trust themselves to speak, lest they should give the alarm outside. Eleven, twelve, one, two; shall we wait longer? Yes, there is a sound outside; the out-houses are already on fire, and the school-house and the convent—all at once. A whole multitude of rioters are in the grounds; they force the convent doors, and, to their surprise, are met by armed men.
"Save, save the children," is the cry; "let everything go, even the prisoners, till they are saved." There is no engine, the city is so far away, and rioters are all around; but ladders had been prepared during the day, and everyone was soon in requisition. But the fire seemed then the least evil, for as each young lady was borne from the flames a mob surrounded her, and a fight ensued for possession. It was a terrible scene, the more terrible as it was impossible to get the children and teachers together to see if all were there. There was no resource but to fire on the assailants, and accordingly a volley was discharged. This sobered the people somewhat; they loosed their hold and fled. One man, with a few followers, lingered awhile, apparently very anxious still to examine the parties saved; he was observed and seized by a strong hand and bound. Alfred Brookbank was the prisoner of his brother Walter.
And now are the pupils all saved? for the house is burning fast. How anxiously they were counted! What a relief to find them all there! There were no lives lost, and but that the building had been fired in many places at once, that could have been saved by the valiant arms who were there to defend it. But the evil work had been done effectually, the convent and school-house were level with the ground. Many of the valuables had been removed the day before; but the furniture was destroyed. The newspapers said it was the work of the mob; yes, but that mob was excited by one man's revengeful soul, which had animated the spirit of that mob to frenzy. Americans are too generous to make war upon defenceless women, unless incited thereto by some false tale of wickedness.