The foster-sisters : $b A story in the days of Wesley and Whitfield — John Shaqi
The foster-sisters : $b A story in the days of Wesley and WhitfieldGuernsey, Lucy Ellen
History
The foster-sisters : $b A story in the days of Wesley and Whitfield
Guernsey, Lucy Ellen
Evangelical Revival -- England -- History -- 18th century -- Fiction; Historical fiction; Young women -- Fiction
Officers and men saluted reverently as the Host was borne past them,
and all but those necessary to guard the prisoners, followed into the
church. We took our places in the choir, and mass was said at the
despoiled altar. Then, measures were taken for the care of the wounded.
Two expired almost immediately, in the very act of confession; the
other lingered a few days, and died, so Sister Baptista told me, very
humble and penitent.
But what a sad sight was our poor house! Windows were dashed to pieces,
furniture broken and destroyed in mere wantonness. Our beautiful garden
was a trampled waste—even the great rose bush said to have been planted
by the hands of Mother Angelique herself, and one of our greatest
treasures, was hacked off at the roots.
"The wretches—the wicked sacrilegious villains!" exclaimed Sister
Lazarus, bursting into tears as she came on the body of her favorite
cat, and saw the poor kittens trying in vain to attract their mother's
notice. "I can't help it, if it is wicked—I am glad they fell into the
pool—I hope it was the very one that killed my cat—our cat I mean,"
added the sister, correcting herself, for in a convent it is a great
sin to say that any thing is mine. "I made an act of forgiveness when I
found my beautiful stew-pans all dashed to pieces, but such a sight as
this is too much."
So saying she gathered the bereaved little kittens into her apron and
carried them off to comfort them as she best could. One of our cows had
been shot, as it seemed, in sheer wantonness; the other being shut in a
cow-house at the bottom of the orchard had escaped.
It was only natural that a few tears should be shed over the
destruction of pet plants and fowls and the general desolation, but
there was no giving way to idle sorrow. All set to work with a will to
put things in the best order possible, and so industrious were we, that
by the next day when the bishop arrived, things had assumed something
of their usual aspect.
But no pains of ours could restore vines and flowers, or set up the
ruined fountain, or mend the beautiful and wonderful stained glass,
whose fragments strewed the court, or bring our poor old dog and cow to
life. The bishop brought with him a magistrate and other officers, and
there was a great examination and perquisition about the affair, but I
don't know how it was—the thing was hushed up after a while and nothing
was done. Only the bishop paid two or three visits, and finally it was
made known among us that before cold weather came, the community would
be moved to a smaller but much more comfortable and secure house near
Toulon.
I must not forget to say that Sister Filomena arrived in the train of
the bishop, riding all by herself in a litter, and dressed in a brand
new robe of quite another fashion from ours. We were surprised enough
to see her, and still more to hear that it was she who had carried the
news of our danger to Toulon.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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