Archie went into the most minute details, down to his misgivings when his regiment was ordered to leave for Canada, down to the hereditary hatred of the Montgomerys for the Camerons; and he accused himself of cowardice in not having sacrificed even his honor to the gratitude he owed the D'Habervilles. From the utterance of Montgomery's barbarous order he omitted not the smallest incident. He described the anguish of his despair, his curses, and his vows of vengeance against Montgomery. In painting the emotions which had tortured his soul, Lochiel had small need to add anything in the way of justification. What argument could be more eloquent than the plain story of his despair! Lochiel's judge was one well fitted to understand him, for she it was who in her youth had one day said to her brother Captain D'Haberville: "My brother, you have not the means to worthily sustain the dignity of our house, except with the help of my share of the patrimony. To-morrow I enter a convent. Here is the deed wherein I renounce all claim in your favor." The good woman had heard Archie's story with ever-increasing emotion. She stretched out her clasped hands to him as he described his anguished imprecations against Montgomery. The tears flowed down her cheeks as he described his remorse and his resignation while, bound to the tree, he awaited a hideous death. "My dear Archie," exclaimed the holy woman. "Oh! thank you, thank you a thousand times for those words," cried Lochiel, clasping his hands. "My dear Archie," exclaimed the superior, "I absolve you with all my heart. You have but done your painful duty in obeying your orders. By any other course you would have destroyed yourself irretrievably without preventing the ruin of our family. Yes, I forgive you freely, but I hope that you will now pardon your enemy." "He who was my enemy, madam, has gone to solicit pardon from him who will judge us all. He was one of the first to fly from the field of battle which proved so disastrous to our arms. A bullet stretched him upon the ice, wounded to the death. He had not even a stone on which to rest his head. A tomahawk ended his sufferings, and his scalp hangs now at the belt of an Abénaquis warrior. May God pardon him, as I do, with all my heart!" A divine light beamed softly in the eyes of the nun. Born as revengeful as her brother the seigneur, her religion of love and charity had made her as all charitable as itself. After a moment of rapt meditation, she said: