"I fear not," said my mother. "The act was too public and deliberate, and they will not lose sight of her, you may be sure. Poor, deluded, unhappy girl! By one hasty act she has thrown away home, friends, and, I fear, her own soul also." I burst into a fit of sobbing so hysterical that my mother, alarmed, hastened to put me to bed, and administer some quieting drops, which after a time, put me to sleep. I did not wake till the beams of the rising sun startled me. I opened my eyes with that wretched dull feeling that something dreadful had happened, which we have all experienced. Then, as the truth came to my mind, I dropped my head again on my pillow in a fit of bitter weeping. But my tears did not last long. I remembered our guest in the tower, and that no one had been near him all the day before. I sprang up, dressed myself quickly and quietly, and slipped into my mother's room. "Is that you, Vevette?" said maman sleepily. "Why are you up so early?" "I am going to visit the pastor, maman," I answered, softly. "No one has been near him since the night before last, and he must think it very strange. Besides, he will be in need of fresh provisions." "Go, then, my precious one, but be careful. The keys of the storeroom are there on my table." The storeroom was the peculiar domain of Mrs. Grace—a kind of shrine where she paid secret devotional rites, which seemed to consist in taking all the things out of the drawers and cupboards and putting them back again. I had never been in it more than once or twice, and it was with a feeling almost of awe that I took the key from the outer lock and shut myself in. What a clean, orderly, sweet-savoring little room it was. The odor of sweet herbs or gingerbread will even now bring the whole place vividly before my mind. I filled my basket with good things, not forgetting some of Mrs. Grace's English gingerbread and saffron-cakes and a bottle of wine. Then, as a new thought struck me, I took a small brass jar, such as is used for that purpose in Normandy, and stealing out I called my own cow from the herd waiting in the courtyard, and milked my vessel full. Just as I had finished, old Mathew appeared. "You are early, mademoiselle," said he, smiling. "That is well. Early sunbeams make fresh roses. I know madame will enjoy her morning draught all the more for that it comes from your hands." "I like to milk," said I; "but I must not stay. Maman will wonder where I am." I took my basket from its hiding-place and hastened up the stairs to the tower. Before knocking I listened a moment at the door. The old man was up, and already engaged in prayer. I heard the most touching petitions put up for my father and mother and for myself. Surely all the prayers offered for me in my childhood and youth were not thrown away. It was for their sake that I was not left to perish in the wilderness of this world into which I wandered. When the voice ceased, I made the signal, and the door was opened.