The next day Madame de Cernan and her daughter were on their homeward way. The nearer Wilhelmine approached the places she had frequented with M. de Breuil, the sadder became her thoughts. When the sombre turrets of the castle became visible, enveloped in the morning clouds, a torrent of tears flowed from Wilhelmine’s eyes. “Never! never!” she passionately exclaimed, and threw herself in the arms of her mother. Madame de Cernan did not endeavor to repress the emotions which the aspect of these places was calculated to call forth in the refined mind of her daughter; she waited patiently until time should familiarize her to these memories; but the time which calmed the paroxysms of sorrow, also restored all her incertitudes. No longer to love Edmond, seemed a sacrifice beyond her strength; and would he not, then, have the right to reproach her with the loss of the happiness she had promised him? Unfortunate woman! she should have concealed her love; then, at least, she would have suffered alone. There were even moments when Wilhelmine wished to go and reclaim her marriage-ring; when she would revel in all the horror inspired by the thought, and encourage it in a spirit of penitence; again, she would repel it with fright and indignation; but, nevertheless, this idea pursued her incessantly, and even in her sleep she heard a voice murmur to her, “Go, seek thy ring in the tomb!” Madame de Breuil consulted the venerable priest who had always instructed and guided her. Under the sacred seal of confession she implored his counsel; prostrate at his feet, she entreated him to decide her destiny. Never had the confessor directed a penitent in a case so difficult; he paused for many moments, and seemed unwilling to pronounce—but the young widow insisted. “My daughter,” at last said the minister of truth, “it has been said, ‘Thou shalt not swear!’ and you have failed to follow this command; you have disobeyed God—you ought to submit to the consequence of your fault. It has been before Heaven; beside a dying bed you have pronounced a terrible vow—this vow you must fulfill.” “O, mercy! mercy!” cried the penitent “Yes, my daughter, I but repeat the words spoken to you by the voice of conscience; I only say to you what you say each day to yourself. Either renounce Edmond, or demand from the dead your marriage-ring.” “My father!” replied Wilhelmine, trembling and overwhelmed, “my father, to renounce Edmond is impossible, I love him a thousand times more than myself; he is dearer even than M. de Breuil, whom I loved so well. In mercy, curse me not! for all will be expiated to-day. You decree that I should descend into our family vault. I will go. You tell me to touch the hand of a skeleton. I will touch it. You order me to ask from the dead the ring which alone can unite me to Edmond. Well, I will ask it, even if I must die in the sad place I go to sully with my presence!”