“And still it grieves me, my brother. I go about here just as usual. Father, mother, and all the others think that I shall always go on this way, and I let them think so, and purposely strengthen this belief while I am preparing to leave them secretly. Oh, Pierre, they will never forgive me.” “Why should you distress yourself with such thoughts, my sister? You know that you must undertake this mission. And it is right you should, for the will of Heaven is superior to the human will. When father and mother and the others hear what Heaven has accomplished through you, do you not think they will forgive you?” “Your words have done me good, my brother,” cried Joan, her clear, brilliant eyes shining with happiness. “Would that I could always have you by my side and hear your voice! If you were near I would fear no one whom I may encounter.” “I will go with you, my sister.” “No, Pierre, you cannot.” “And why not?” “Is it not enough for me to bring sorrow to our parents? Would you add to that sorrow by secretly going away also?” “You are right. I ought not to go. You are obeying the decree of Heaven, but I cannot offer that plea. But I know of some one who might go with you.” “Who?” “Uncle Laxart. He also loves you, and he will not have to ask permission of any one.” “But will he go?” “I will speak to him about it.” The next day (in the year 1429)—it was the day of the Three Holy Kings—Joan crossed the snow-covered valley to the Fairy Tree, sprinkled crumbs for the birds as usual, and listened to their grateful songs. Soon afterwards she was lost in deep reverie in the chapel at the cross-roads, and while in this state her enraptured eyes beheld her saints, Catherine and Margaret, in the clouds. “The hour has come, Joan,” she heard them say. “Arise! the Queen of Heaven will be with you.” “But I must go all alone,” she replied. “They will call me an adventuress.” “Not so! Your protector is already at the door.” As Joan arose she saw a man approaching the chapel. With joyous surprise she recognized her uncle, Duram Laxart. “I know all, Joan,” he exclaimed. “I am ready to escort you as soon as you need my protection. I have already been to Vaucouleurs and have seen the knight Baudricourt. Start as soon as you can get ready. We will lodge with Wagner, whom you know.” Before the astonished maiden could reply her uncle was off in the direction of Vaucouleurs. The time for departure had come at last. Deeply agitated, she stood at the door of the chapel, and looked once more with tearful eyes out over the valley. Once more her gaze lingered upon the miraculous spring, the Fairy Tree, and her home at Domremy, and her soul was filled with tender and sacred associations.