"The truest reparation you can make them, Ellen, the one they would most value, and which will alone relieve them from the reproach of their consciences, and the odium of their neighbors, will be to go back with me, live in peace and amity with them for a time, and go from them in kindness to your convent seclusion."
"It is indeed a cup of humbling you would hold to my lips," said Ellen, paling suddenly—"yet doubtless I need to drink of that very cup. Pride, I think, is my besetting sin."
"Pride and love of your own will, Ellen,—unseemly faults for a fair and gentle woman—yet offset by rare virtues."
"Do not flatter me, Donald; let me face the truth; in showing me my real self, you are my truest friend. Pride and self-will! when I should possess 'a meek and quiet spirit,' and 'an humble and a contrite heart' before I shall be ready for my holy calling."
"May it not be, Ellen, that you are mistaking your determination to fulfill a rash vow, made under exciting circumstances, for a true call founded on real consecration of heart and spirit? Talk with Father Gibault; he is a holy man, yet a just and reasonable one; tell him all, and ask him to help you to determine your path of duty. Then come and tell me your decision—and with God's help, dear one, I will add to yours all my strength and courage, to enable you to follow where your conscience leads you. But oh, Ellen, will you not tell me once, just once, that you do love me, and would give yourself to me if you were free?"
"Donald! Donald! you must not disturb my soul by such entreaties!" she cried in pleading tones. "Do you not see that if once it were said, it could never again be unsaid?" and she left me hastily, her head drooping like a flower upon its stalk.
CHAPTER XXIV
What if Father Gibault's priestly zeal should prove stronger than the common sense, and sound humanity, I credited him with? What if he should conclude that the immolation of two lives was necessary to the saving of one soul? Should strengthen Ellen's superstition as to the sacred obligation of her impulsive vow? Well! in that case I should have two strong forces to war against, Ellen's superstition, and a priest's influence. But I had no thought of resigning Ellen until the authority of the Roman Church had put her forever beyond reach of my hopes. She had been created for love, and happiness, for the duties and ties of earth; once the fervor of self-sacrifice had exhausted itself, she would be miserable in a convent. I thought I knew her nature better than she understood it, and meant to save her from self-immolation for a happier life, and one, I truly believed, not less holy in God's sight. As impatient as I was to take once more my part in the struggle waging beyond the Alleghanies, I meant not to leave the Illinois Country until Ellen had consented to go with me, or was immured for life behind convent walls.
Father Gibault was with her when she came to me the next morning, and my heart beat fast with apprehension; his presence seemed to convey a hint of doom to my hopes. Ellen's face was very serious, but rigidly self-controlled, and about her was an air of unaccustomed meekness and humility.