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 Langan
John Langan

ExPloring Writing
AcAdemic
unity support
Discover a clearly stated point, or topic support points with specific evidence,
sentence, and make sure all the other and plenty of it.
information in the paragraph or essay is
in support of that point.

coherence sentence skills

organize and connect supporting revise and edit so that sentences
evidence so that paragraphs and essays are error-free for clearer and more
transition smoothly from one bit of effective communication.
supporting information to the next.

Foundation by Langan. Inspiration byYou.

MD DALIM #1208103 08/28/12 CYAN MAG YELO BLK

PersonAl

sEnTEncEs and ParagraPhs

Work

Third EdiTion
Exploring Third EdiTion

Writing
ISBN 978-0-07-353334-6
MHID 0-07-353334-3
90000

9 780073 533346
www.mhhe.com

sEnTEn cEs an d Par ag r aPh s

 BRIEF CONTENTS v

25. End Marks 340

26. Apostrophes 343
27. Quotation Marks 355
28. Commas 366
29. Other Punctuation Marks 380

SECTION V Word Use 386

30. Dictionary Use 387
31. Spelling Improvement 396
32. Omitted Words and Letters 403
33. Commonly Confused Words 408
34. Effective Word Choice 424

PART FOUR Readings for Writers 438

INTRODUCTION TO THE READINGS 440

GOALS AND VALUES 444

EDUCATION AND SELF-IMPROVEMENT 485

HUMAN GROUPS AND SOCIETY 539

APPENDIXES 589

A. Parts of Speech 590

B. ESL Pointers 601
C. Sentence-Skills Diagnostic Test 613
D. Sentence-Skills Achievement Test 618

Credits 623

Index 624

lan33343_fm_i-xxviii_01.indd v 9/14/12 10:08 AM

 Preface xx

PART ONE Writing: Skills and Process 2

1. An Introduction to Writing 4
Understanding Point and Support 5
An Important Difference between Writing and Talking 5
Point and Support in Two Cartoons 6
Point and Support in a Paragraph 8
Writing as a Skill 10
Why Does Your Attitude toward Writing Matter? 10
Writing as a Process of Discovery 12
Keeping a Journal 13

2. The Writing Process 16

How Do You Reach the Goals of Effective Writing? 17
Prewriting 17
Technique 1: Freewriting 17
Technique 2: Questioning 20
Technique 3: Making a List 21
Technique 4: Clustering 22
Technique 5: Preparing a Scratch Outline 23
Writing the First Draft 25
Writing a First Draft: A Student Model 25
Revising 27
Revising: A Student Model 28
Editing and Proofreading 29
Editing Tips 30
Proofreading Tips 30
Editing and Proofreading: A Student Model 31
Tips on Using a Computer 32
Using a Computer at Each Stage of the Writing Process 33
Using Peer Review 35
1. Identification 35
2. Scratch Outline 35
3. Comments 36
Review Activities 36
Prewriting 37
vi

lan33343_fm_i-xxviii_01.indd vi 9/14/12 10:08 AM

 CONTENTS vii

Outlining, Drafting, and Revising 37

Taking a Writing Inventory 39
Chapter Review 40

PART TWO Writing Effective Paragraphs 44

3. Four Steps for Writing, Four Bases for Revising 46
What Are the Steps to Writing Effective Paragraphs? 47
Step 1: Make a Point 47
Step 2: Back Up Your Point 50
Step 3: Organize the Support 67
Step 4: Write Clear, Error-Free Sentences 73
Four Bases for Revising Writing 73
Base 1: Unity 73
Base 2: Support 75
Base 3: Coherence 76
Base 4: Sentence Skills 77

4. Nine Patterns of Paragraph Development 85

Important Considerations in Paragraph Development 86
Knowing Your Subject 86
Knowing Your Purpose and Audience 86
Patterns of Development 87
Exemplification 88
A Paragraph to Consider 89
Writing an Exemplification Paragraph 90
Description 92
A Paragraph to Consider 92
Writing a Descriptive Paragraph 93
Narration 97
A Paragraph to Consider 97
Writing a Narrative Paragraph 98
Process 100
A Paragraph to Consider 100
Writing a Process Paragraph 101
Cause and Effect 104
A Paragraph to Consider 105
Writing a Cause-and-Effect Paragraph 106
Comparison or Contrast 108
Two Paragraphs to Consider 108
Writing a Comparison or Contrast Paragraph 110
Definition 113
A Paragraph to Consider 113
Writing a Definition Paragraph 114

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 viii CONTENTS

Division-Classification 116
Two Paragraphs to Consider 116
Writing a Division-Classification Paragraph 118
Argument 120
A Paragraph to Consider 120
Writing an Argument Paragraph 121

5. Moving from Paragraph to Essay 125

What Is an Essay? 126
Differences between an Essay and a Paragraph 126
The Form of an Essay 126
A Model Essay 127
Important Points about the Essay 128
Introductory Paragraph 128
Supporting Paragraphs 130
Transitional Sentences 130
Concluding Paragraph 131
Essays to Consider 131
Planning the Essay 134
Outlining the Essay 134
Form for Planning the Essay 135
Practice in Writing the Essay 135
Understanding the Two Parts of a Thesis
Statement 135
Supporting the Thesis with Specific Evidence 136
Identifying Introductions 138
Revising an Essay for All Four Bases: Unity, Support,
Coherence, and Sentence Skills 139
Essay Assignments 141

PART THREE Sentence Skills 150

SECTION I Sentences 152

CONNECT WRITING 2.0 PERSONALIZED LEARNING PLAN

CORRELATION GUIDE
U NIT T O P I C I N P E R SON A L I ZE D L E A R N I NG PLAN

Writing Clear Sentences Subjects and Verbs

Coordination
Subordination
Openings

Fixing Common Problems Fragments

Run-Ons

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 CONTENTS ix

6. Subjects and Verbs 153

A Simple Way to Find a Subject 154
A Simple Way to Find a Verb 154
More about Subjects and Verbs 157
Distinguishing Subjects from Prepositional
Phrases 157
Verbs of More Than One Word 158
Compound Subjects and Verbs 159

7. Fragments 162
What Fragments Are 163
Dependent-Word Fragments 163
How to Correct Dependent-Word Fragments 164
-ing and to Fragments 167
How to Correct -ing Fragments 167
How to Correct to Fragments 168
Added-Detail Fragments 170
How to Correct Added-Detail Fragments 170
Missing-Subject Fragments 172
How to Correct Missing-Subject Fragments 172

8. Run-Ons 179
What Are Run-Ons? 180
A Warning: Words That Can Lead
to Run-Ons 180
Correcting Run-Ons 181
Method 1: Period and a Capital Letter 181
Method 2: Comma and a Joining Word 184
Method 3: Semicolon 186
Semicolon Alone 186
Semicolon with a Transition 186
Transitional Words 187
Method 4: Subordination 188
Dependent Words 188

9. Sentence Variety I 195

Four Traditional Sentence Patterns 195
The Simple Sentence 195
The Compound Sentence 196
The Complex Sentence 197
The Compound-Complex Sentence 201
Review of Subordination and
Coordination 202

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 x CONTENTS

SECTION II Verbs, Pronouns, and Agreement 209

CONNECT WRITING 2.0 PERSONALIZED LEARNING PLAN

CORRELATION GUIDE
U NIT T O P I C I N P E R SON A L I ZE D L E A R N I NG PLAN

Fixing Common Problems Verb Forms

Subject-Verb Agreement
Verb Tense
Pronoun Case
Pronoun Agreement
Pronoun Reference
Shifts in Point of View
Shifts in Verb Tense

Using Words Effectively Unnecessary Passive Verbs

10. Standard English Verbs 210

Regular Verbs: Dialect and Standard Forms 210
Present Tense Endings 211
Past Tense Endings 213
Three Common Irregular Verbs: Dialect and
Standard Forms 214

11. Irregular Verbs 220

A Brief Review of Regular Verbs 220
List of Irregular Verbs 221
Troublesome Irregular Verbs 226

12. Subject-Verb Agreement 231

Words between the Subject and the Verb 232
Verb before the Subject 233
Indefinite Pronouns 234
Compound Subjects 235
Who, Which, and That 236

13. Consistent Verb Tense 241

Keeping Tenses Consistent 241

14. Additional Information about Verbs 245

Verb Tense 245
Present Perfect (have or has 1 past participle) 246
Past Perfect (had 1 past participle) 246
Present Progressive (am, is, or are 1 the -ing form) 246
Past Progressive (was or were 1 the -ing form) 246
Verbals 247
Infinitive 247

lan33343_fm_i-xxviii_01.indd x 9/14/12 10:08 AM

 CONTENTS xi

Participle 248
Gerund 248
Active and Passive Verbs 249

15. Pronoun Reference, Agreement,

and Point of View 252
Pronoun Reference 253
Pronoun Agreement 255
Indefinite Pronouns 256
Pronoun Point of View 258

16. Pronoun Types 263

Subject and Object Pronouns 263
Subject Pronouns 264
Object Pronouns 265
Relative Pronouns 267
Points to Remember about Relative Pronouns 268
Possessive Pronouns 269
Demonstrative Pronouns 270
Reflexive Pronouns 272
Points to Remember about Reflexive Pronouns 272

SECTION III Modifiers and Parallelism 276

CONNECT WRITING 2.0 PERSONALIZED LEARNING PLAN

CORRELATION GUIDE
U N IT T O P I C I N P E R SON A L I ZE D L E A R N I N G P L A N

Fixing Common Problems Adjectives and Adverbs

Misplaced and Dangling Modifiers
Parallelism

Writing Clear Sentences Coordination

Subordination
Openings

17. Adjectives and Adverbs 277

Adjectives 277
What Are Adjectives? 277
Using Adjectives to Compare 278
Points to Remember about Adjectives 278
Adverbs 280
What Are Adverbs? 280
A Common Mistake with Adjectives
and Adverbs 280
Well and Good 281

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 xii CONTENTS

18. Misplaced Modifiers 284

What Misplaced Modifiers Are and How to Correct Them 284

19. Dangling Modifiers 290

What Dangling Modifiers Are and How to Correct Them 290

20. Faulty Parallelism 296

Parallelism Explained 296

21. Sentence Variety II 305

-ing Word Groups 305
-ed Word Groups 306
-ly Openers 307
To Openers 309
Prepositional Phrase Openers 310
Series of Items 312
Adjectives in Series 312
Verbs in Series 314

SECTION IV Punctuation and Mechanics 319

CONNECT READING 2.0 PERSONALIZED READING PLAN

CORRELATION GUIDE
U NIT T O P I C I N P E R SON A L I ZE D L E A R N I NG PLAN

Punctuating Correctly Commas

Apostrophes
End Punctuation
Quotation Marks
Colons and Semicolons
Parentheses
Dashes
Hyphens

Addressing Mechanics Capitalization

Abbreviations
Numbers

22. Paper Format 320

Guidelines for Preparing a Paper 321

23. Capital Letters 325

Main Uses of Capital Letters 326
First Word in a Sentence or Direct Quotation 326
Names and Titles 326
Other Uses of Capital Letters 328
Names and Titles 329
Miscellaneous Categories 329
Unnecessary Use of Capitals 331

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 CONTENTS xiii

24. Numbers and Abbreviations 335

Numbers 335
Abbreviations 337

25. End Marks 340

Period (.) 340
Question Mark (?) 340
Exclamation Point (!) 341

26. Apostrophes 343

Apostrophes in Contractions 344
Four Contractions to Note Carefully 345
Apostrophes to Show Ownership or
Possession 346
Points to Remember 347
Apostrophes versus Possessive Pronouns 349
Apostrophes versus Simple Plurals 349
Apostrophes with Plural Words Ending in -s 351

27. Quotation Marks 355

Quotation Marks to Set Off the Words of a
Speaker or Writer 356
Indirect Quotations 359
Quotation Marks to Set Off the Titles of
Short Works 360
Other Uses of Quotation Marks 362

28. Commas 366

Six Main Uses of the Comma 367
Commas between Items in a Series 367
Commas after Introductory Material 368
Commas around Words Interrupting the Flow
of Thought 369
Commas between Complete Thoughts Connected
by Joining Words 371
Commas with Direct Quotations 373
Commas with Everyday Material 374
Unnecessary Use of Commas 375

29. Other Punctuation Marks 380

Colons (:) 380
Semicolons (;) 381
Dashes (—) 382

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 xiv CONTENTS

Hyphens (-) 383

Parentheses ( ) 383

SECTION V Word Use 386

CONNECT READING 2.0 PERSONALIZED READING PLAN

CORRELATION GUIDE
U NIT T O P I C I N P E R SON A L I ZE D L E A R N I NG PLAN

Using Words Effectively Misspelled Words

Commonly Confused Words
Omitted Words
Slang
Euphemisms
Clichés
Sexist Words
Biased Words
Pretentious Words
Wordy Phrases
Empty Words
Redundant Words
Repetitive Words
Nonstandard Idioms

30. Dictionary Use 387

Spelling 388
Syllabication 388
Pronunciation 389
Vowel Sounds 389
The Schwa ( ) 390
Accent Marks 390
Full Pronunciation 390
Other Information about Words 391
Parts of Speech 391
Principal Parts of Irregular Verbs 391
Plural Forms of Irregular Nouns 392
Meanings 392
Etymology 393
Usage Labels 394
Synonyms 394

31. Spelling Improvement 396

Step 1: Using the Dictionary 396
Step 2: Keeping a Personal Spelling List 397
Step 3: Mastering Commonly Confused
Words 397
Step 4: Using a Computer’s Spell-Checker 397

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 CONTENTS xv

Step 5: Understanding Basic Spelling Rules 397

Step 6: Understanding Plurals 398
Step 7: Mastering a Basic Word List 400

32. Omitted Words and Letters 403

Finding Omitted Words and Letters 403
Omitted Words 404
Omitted -s Endings 404

33. Commonly Confused Words 408

Homonyms 408
Other Words Frequently Confused 415
Incorrect Word Forms 420

34. Effective Word Choice 424

Slang 425
Clichés 426
Inflated Words 427
Wordiness 429

PART FOUR Readings for Writers 438

INTRODUCTION TO THE READINGS 440

The Format of Each Selection 440

How to Read Well: Four General Steps 441

1 Concentrate as You Read 441
2 Skim Material before You Read It 441
3 Read the Selection Straight Through with
a Pen Nearby 442
4 Work with the Material 442

How to Answer the Vocabulary in Context

Questions 442

How to Answer the Reading Comprehension

Questions 443

lan33343_fm_i-xxviii_01.indd xv 9/14/12 10:08 AM

 xvi CONTENTS

GOALS AND VALUES 444

Sister Helen Mrosla

All the Good Things 444

Paul Logan
Rowing the Bus 450

Rick Bragg
All She Has—$150,000—Is Going to a University 457

Mee Her
Bowling to Find a Lost Father 464

Rose Del Castillo Guilbault

The Conveyor-Belt Ladies 470

Firoozeh Dumas
The “F Word” 477

EDUCATION AND SELF-IMPROVEMENT 485

Ben Carson, M.D., with Cecil Murphey

Do It Better! 485

Janny Scott
How They Get You to Do That 494

Grant Berry
A Change of Attitude 503

Beth Johnson
Let’s Get Specific 513

B. J. Penn
Stance 523

Tony Hawk
Do What You Love 527

Edward P. Jones
The First Day 531

HUMAN GROUPS AND SOCIETY 539

Katherine Barrett
Old before Her Time 539

Amy Tan
The Most Hateful Words 548

Bill Wine
Rudeness at the Movies 553

lan33343_fm_i-xxviii_01.indd xvi 9/14/12 10:08 AM

 CONTENTS xvii

Luis J. Rodriguez
Turning Youth Gangs Around 560

Barbara Kingsolver
Somebody’s Baby 569

Al Gore
Consume Less, Conserve More 577

James Weldon Johnson

Outcasts in Salt Lake City 584

APPENDIXES 589
A. Parts of Speech 590

B. ESL Pointers 601

C. Sentence-Skills Diagnostic Test 613

D. Sentence-Skills Achievement Test 618

Credits 623

Index 624

lan33343_fm_i-xxviii_01.indd xvii 9/14/12 10:08 AM

 xviii THE FOUR BASES OF EFFECTIVE WRITING

Listed by Rhetorical Mode

Note: Some selections are listed more than once because they illustrate
more than one pattern of development.

EXEMPLIFICATION
All the Good Things, Sister Helen Mrosla 444
How They Get You to Do That, Jenny Scott 494
Let’s Get Specific, Beth Johnson 513
Stance, B.J. Penn 523
Do What You Love, Tony Hawk 527
Old before Her Time, Katherine Barrett 539
The Most Hateful Words, Amy Tan 548
Rudeness at the Movies, Bill Wine 553

DESCRIPTION
Rowing the Bus, Paul Logan 450
The Conveyor-Belt Ladies, Rose Del Castillo Guilbault 470
The First Day, Edward P. Jones 531
Old before Her Time, Katherine Barrett 539
Rudeness at the Movies, Bill Wine 553
Outcasts in Salt Lake City, James Weldon Johnson 584

NARRATION
All the Good Things, Sister Helen Mrosla 444
Rowing the Bus, Paul Logan 450
All She Has—$150,000—Is Going to a University, Rick Bragg 457
Bowling to Find a Lost Father, Mee Her 464
The Conveyor-Belt Ladies, Rose Del Castillo Guilbault 470
The “F Word,” Firoozeh Dumas 477
Do It Better! Ben Carson (with Cecil Murphey) 485
A Change of Attitude, Grant Berry 503
Do What You Love, Tony Hawk 527
The First Day, Edward P. Jones 531
Old before Her Time, Katherine Barrett 539
The Most Hateful Words, Amy Tan 548
Turning Youth Gangs Around, Luis J. Rodriguez 560
Somebody’s Baby, Barbara Kingsolver 569
Outcasts in Salt Lake City, James Weldon Johnson 584
xviii

lan33343_fm_i-xxviii_01.indd xviii 9/14/12 10:08 AM

Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
uncle, who came in, soon joined in the conversation, and by
easy degrees, and almost without knowing it, they won
from me my whole family history, from beginning to end.

Then my uncle in his turn, began to explain matters, as

he said. I cannot, at this distance of time, recall what he
said exactly, but he made it clearly appear that his
conversion to the Romish Church was a matter of deep
conviction, and an act of quite disinterested faith, which had
brought upon him most unmerited obloquy and persecution.
He told me he had been on his way to the Tour d'Antin to
visit my father, when he had been met by the news of the
demolition of the chateau.

"I hurried down at once," said he. "I had hoped to

induce my dear brother, if not to conform, which indeed,
knowing his disposition, I hardly dared to expect, at least to
withdraw quietly and in safety either to Jersey or Geneva,
from which places he could easily be recalled had it been
desirable. Judge, my dear Genevieve, of my feelings when I
found my brother dead, his house a mass of ruins, and his
wife and child fled no one knew whither. It was believed
that you had put to sea under the guidance of the young
English gentleman, and that you had all perished together.
A fisherman, who had been driven over to Jersey by the
storm, reported seeing a boat bottom upward and some
floating articles of female apparel which confirmed me in
the idea, and I mourned you as dead till I met you last
night. I was at once struck with your resemblance to our
family, and on inquiry found that you were indeed my
niece."

I need not repeat all that was said to me that day.

Suffice it to say that I returned home at night completely
bewitched by these new relatives. I found Aunt Jem a little
out of humor at my staying away so long, but she was
easily pacified by my excuses, and delighted by the boxes
of gloves and of French comfits I had brought her from my
Aunt Zenobie. French gloves were then, as they are now,
very much better than any made in England.

This was the first of many succeeding visits, in the

course of which Monsieur and Madame de Fayrolles gained
more and more of my confidence and regard.

They were very attentive to Aunt Jem also, but she did
not like them as well as I did. I well remember a remark of
hers with which her husband was not at all pleased.

"They are fishing for you, Vevette. They mean to make

a convert of you, and then what will the sailor say?"

"Nonsense, Jem," said my Uncle Charles sharply. "What

interest have they in the matter? Why should you wish to
set Vevette against her father's family?"

"I do not wish it," returned Aunt Jem, looking at once

hurt and surprised, for Uncle Charles, though often moody,
was seldom anything but kind to his wife, of whom he was
both fond and proud. "I am sure it is but natural they
should wish to bring the child to their own way of thinking. I
am not sure but I should like to be of that way myself," she
added, sighing a little. "It is a comfortable kind of faith after
all. One puts one's self into the hands of a priest, and then
one is sure of salvation."

I might have answered that this salvation was a thing

that a devout Roman Catholic never could be sure of, since
his salvation depends not alone upon the all-perfect
Saviour, but upon the offices of a man like himself who may
be altogether a sacrilegious person; but I had become very
shy of speaking upon religious subjects. I still, it is true,
kept up a form of devotion morning and evening, but with
my conscience constantly burdened by unrepented sins
which I would not even confess to be sins, my prayers could
be only the emptiest of forms. My Bible lay unread day after
day, and though I did indeed go to church once every
Sunday, I did not greatly profit by that.

It was a time of great deadness in spiritual matters in

the Church of England, though there were a few faithful
preachers who shone as lights in a dark place. But our
parish clergyman was not one of them. Sometimes he gave
us a disquisition on the heresies of the first ages in the
church, but his sermons in general were either upon the
divine right of kings and the wickedness of those who
ventured in anything to oppose them, or else dry lectures
upon morals to the effect that vice was bad and virtue was
good. I heard about the Theban legionaries till I wished
they had been massacred long before they were, so that
they might have been lost in the mists of antiquity.

As to the moral lectures which formed a great part of

the preaching of the day, they were not like to have any
great influence so long as people saw the king, an open and
shameless contemner of the laws of God and man, publicly
receiving the sacrament, while his attendants meantime
laughed and chatted among themselves as if they had been
in a playhouse, the Duke of York himself setting the
example.

As I said, there were glorious exceptions—men who

shunned not fearlessly to declare the whole council of God,
and to rebuke sin wherever they found it, but these were
not the rule, and they did not come in my way. Sunday was
a long day to us at my aunt's, though we did our best to
shorten it by reading romance and plays, playing at tables,
and seeing company at home.
 My visit to Madame de Fayrolles was soon repeated, and
it came to be an understood thing that I should spend at
least two days in the week with her.

I made the acquaintance of Father Martien, as he was

called, and found him a very polished, agreeable
gentleman. He was a Frenchman by birth, but educated in
Florence. We soon fell upon the subject of Italian literature,
and he ventured gently to criticise my pronunciation, and
offered his services to correct it by reading with me two or
three times a week. I had always been fond of the
language, and accepted the offer with enthusiasm. I hardly
know how we began upon the subject of religion, but we
were in the midst of it before I was aware.

I had been well furnished, like every Huguenot child,

with abundance of answers to every argument that could be
brought forward upon the Romish side; but, alas, the armor
was loose and dented from neglect, and the sword rusty
and out of use. My faith in Christianity itself had been in
some degree shaken by the sneers and arguments I had
heard from Lewis, and also from my Uncle Charles, who was
a worshipper of Mr. Hobbes. I had come to think that one
form of faith was perhaps as good as another—that so long
as men led good lives, their opinions did not very much
matter, and so forth. When I tried to recall my old
arguments I remembered other things which roused my
conscience, and made me wretched, that I was glad to let
them rest again.

I was persuaded to hear mass in the chapel of the

French ambassador, that I might enjoy the music. Aunt Jem
herself went to the chapel of the queen for the same
reason, and I soon discovered that she was leaning the
same way as myself.
 "Surely in vain the net is spread in the sight of any
bird."

One might think so certainly, and yet how often do we

see nets spread in plain daylight, and the silly birds walking
straight into them.

Every day I grew more and more indifferent to the faith

in which I had been educated, and for which my father had
died. Every day I saw new reason to regret the bigotry—so I
learned to call it—which had brought so many misfortunes
upon our family. Every day I grew more attached to my
uncle and aunt, and came more under their influence.

My Aunt Jem even grew a little jealous, and murmured

that it was rather hard she should have so little of my
company, when she had been the means of my coming to
town in the first place; but a little attention from the
ambassador's family, and a few introductions to great
people, and cards to great entertainments, soon reconciled
her to the state of things. As to my Uncle Charles, I am
sorry to write it, but I have good reason to believe that he
was playing into the hands of Monsieur de Fayrolles all the
time. He was deep in debt, and embarrassments of all sorts,
caused by his high play and extravagant style of living, and
I believe that he deliberately turned me over to my French
relations in consideration of being relieved of some of the
most pressing of these liabilities.

One thing held me back from taking the last step to

which I was now being gently urged and persuaded—and
that one thing was my love for Andrew. I still wore his ring,
and still watched vainly and with the sickness of hope
deferred for news of him. The news came at last.
 I was breakfasting in my aunt's bedroom as usual, for
Aunt Jem grew more and more indolent in her habits and
often did not rise till noon. Her health was failing even then,
and she had very bad nights, but she would never confess
that she was ill. She had, however, so far yielded to pain
and weakness as to remain at home for a day or two. I was
breakfasting with her, as I said, and trying to entertain her
with accounts of what I had seen and heard when out with
Madame de Fayrolles the day before, when my uncle
entered the room.

He saluted my aunt with his usual kindness, and then

asked me for a cup of coffee.

"And what is the news at court?" said my aunt.

"Nothing very special, that I know of. One of our ships

from the West Indies has come in, and by the way, Vevette,
I heard of an old friend of yours—"

My heart beat fast, and my hand trembled so that I was

fain to set down my cup of chocolate.

"Your old friend and flame, our good cousin, has done a
very wise thing," he continued, playing the while with my
aunt's little dog. "He has married the daughter of a rich
planter with I know not how many thousand slaves and
acres, and means to settle in those parts as soon as he can
arrange his affairs. What say you, chick? Shall I bespeak a
willow garland for you?"

"I have no occasion for it, thank you," I answered, with

a calmness which surprised myself. "That affair was broken
off by my mother long ago."

"Of course," said my aunt. "Vevette has too much sense

to regret that her cousin should look out for himself. I hope
to see her make a much better marriage than that. She has
improved wonderfully of late, and would grace any station."

"But are you quite sure this news is true?" I asked

quietly. "It will be a great grief to Andrew's mother and
sisters if he should settle abroad."

"I dare say they will reconcile themselves, seeing how

much he gains by it," replied my uncle carelessly. "Besides,
he may not remain abroad always. I dare say in time he will
return to England, rebuild the old tumble-down court at Tre
Madoc, and found a great estate. Report says the young
lady is beautiful as well as rich, and that it was quite a love
match. They believe in such things out there it seems."

"You believed in them once," said my aunt.

"Yes, in old days when you were young, my love; but

there are no such things now, because there are no more
such women."

My poor aunt brightened at this speech and the caress

which accompanied it. All of her that was not spoiled by the
world clung to her husband.

Sorrow in itself has no power for good, but only for evil.
It is only while we look not at the things that are seen, but
at those which are unseen, that it works for us a far more
exceeding and eternal weight of glory.

The things unseen had become to me more unreal than

any dream, and consequently this great blow only hardened
and embittered instead of softening my heart. I said to
myself that there was no truth or trust in anything—that
Andrew was no better than the rest.
 I cast myself loose from all the considerations which
had hitherto restrained me, and gave myself wholly over to
the influence of Monsieur and Madame de Fayrolles, and
especially of Father Martien. Aunt Zenobie, with that
consummate tact which distinguished her, and which I have
sometimes even thought served her instead of a soul, never
alluded to the subject of Andrew's marriage, and never
showed that she had even heard of it, except by redoubling
the amount of petting and caresses she bestowed on me.

Father Martien, on the other hand, hinted delicately at

similar sorrows he had himself undergone in early life, and
spoke of the consolations the church had to offer to
wounded hearts, of the tender sympathy of the mother of
God, and the comfort of having a woman like myself to
whom I might confide all my sorrows, and who could
understand my heart. I aright have said that he who made
the woman's heart was at least as likely to understand it as
any one else, and that women were not, as a general thing,
more tender to women than the other sex.

But the truth was, I was eager to be—I will not say
convinced, but persuaded. My soul was a fountain of bitter
waters—a spring of boiling rebellion against Heaven, and
anger against man. I only wished to divide myself as far as
possible from Andrew and to go where I never need hear
his name. I allowed myself to go constantly to mass with
my aunt, to listen to Father Martien's arguments with
complacency, and to give good hopes to my French friends
that I meant to return to the bosom of the true church.

Another event occurred about this time, which had the

effect of throwing me still more completely into the hands
of Madame de Fayrolles. My Aunt Jemima died. As I have
before hinted, she had long been ailing, though she had
striven against her malady, and concealed its ravages with
all the force of her will. But no human will is of any avail
when death knocks at the door.

The day came when she was obliged to keep her bed
and acknowledge herself ill, and from that time her decay
was very rapid. It was most pitiable to see how she clung to
that world which was slipping away from her—to the
miserable crumbling idols which she had worshipped, but in
which there was no help. She would be partly dressed every
day, would see those—they were not many—who called
upon her—would hear all the news of the court and the
town. Her gentlewoman Mercer, who, was something of a
religious person in her way—wished her to have a
clergyman come to read prayers, but Aunt Jem refused. She
was not as bad as that, she said; there was plenty of time;
she was not going to die. She would be better when spring
came—in truth, she was much better already.

Alas, poor lady, her death-warrant was signed and the

messenger was at the door. Her end came very suddenly at
last. There was barely time to send for a clergyman, and
when he came, her speech was gone, though she had her
senses and her eyes wandered from one face to another in
agonized appeal for the help which no mortal could give.

Mercer in her hurry had brought not our parish

clergyman, but her own, a serious and I believe truly
religious young man, who tried to direct my aunt's thoughts
and hopes to the only sure foundation, but she hardly
attended, and we could not be sure even that she
understood.

Surely there is no sight of martyrdom for the truth's

sake so terrible, so pitiable, as the death-bed of one who,
having given his whole heart and mind to the world, is
called upon to leave it forever.
 CHAPTER XVIII.
A GREAT STEP.

MY Aunt Jem's death was, of course, a great shock to

me, and might well have opened my eyes as to the course
wherein I was walking, but I would not have them opened.

In the state of mind I was at that time, it seemed to me

only a new injury. I was like one possessed. In the midst of
all my worldliness and backsliding, my heart had clung to
Andrew, and I had believed in his faithfulness and
uprightness. Now he turned out no better than the rest.
There was no truth in anything. My father and mother had
served the Lord faithfully, and how had they been
rewarded? If they had indeed served him aright, would he
not have stretched forth his hand to help and deliver them?

Thus I reasoned, contemning the generation of his

children, and wilfully shutting my eyes to the fact that the
Lord nowhere in the New Testament promises exemption
from sorrow, and the cross in this world as a reward for
faithful service. There is no person so open to the attacks of
Satan as a professed and enlightened Christian who is living
in known and wilful sin.

The first effect of my aunt's death was to throw me

more completely into the hands of Madame de Fayrolles. I
was very unwell after the funeral, and indeed kept my bed
for several days. As soon as I was able to be up, madame
came to me full of affection and of caresses. She informed
me that she and her husband were going to travel to Bath
and to several other watering-places, and that she had
arranged to take me with her. My health and spirits would
be all the better for the change, and my uncle had given his
consent.

"So you have nothing to do but to get ready, and we will

set out in a few days," she concluded. "Have you an
attendant, or shall I provide one?"

Now Mercer had waited upon me since my aunt's death,

my own damsel having gone to a more lucrative place. She
had tended me with the most devoted kindness, and I had
become greatly attached to her; but when I asked her
whether she would accompany me on my journey, to my
surprise and chagrin she flatly refused.

"But why?" I asked.

"Well, Mrs. d'Antin, the truth is this," said Mercer. "I am

fond of travelling, it is true, and I like you. You have always
been a good young lady to me. But—I mean no disrespect—
I do not like that French lady, and I like her attendants still
less. Besides—"

"Well, besides what?" I asked a little impatiently.

"Besides is always the real reason, I find."

"Besides, madame, I should not think it right," added

Mercer, turning very red, though she spoke with great
resolution. "I have lived too much for the follies of this
world as it is. I know I have a liking for them, and am
therefore best out of their way. Some words your blessed
mother said to me when she was here, and I was waiting
upon her, stuck in my mind and first made me think of
something beyond this life, and my poor dear lady's death
has been another warning to me about living for this world.
My sister has a ladies' boarding-school at Hackney, in which
I can invest my savings, and I can be a help to her in
teaching the ladies to work and in looking after their dress
and manners. She will be very glad to have me with her,
and I hope I shall be able to do some good in the world
before I leave it."

"Oh, very well," I said petulantly, "if you prefer teaching

cross and satin stitch to stupid girls, and seeing that they
comb their hair and put on clean linen, to attending upon
and travelling with me—"

"I do not prefer it, madam," answered Mercer. "I choose

it, because I know that I shall be putting myself out of the
way of temptation, and into the way of doing good. Besides,
madame, I am a simple unlearned woman who does not
know how to answer for her faith, and to say the truth, I
would not like to trust myself among a family all made up of
Papists."
 "You are very bigoted," said I, in a superior tone. "Don't
you suppose there are as good Christians among Papists as
you call them, as there are among Protestants? Don't you
believe a Papist can be saved?"

"As to that," answered Mercer readily, "that there are

those among them that live up to their lights, such as they
are, I don't deny, but I don't say nor believe that they are
as good Christians as they would be if their lights were
brighter. As to their being saved, that is no business of
mine. I know that the Scriptures are very hard upon
idolaters, especially those idolaters who might know better."

"But the Papists do not worship images," I said. "The

veneration of holy images is permitted because this
veneration is not paid to the image itself, but to that which
it represents."

"But the second commandment is explicit about that,"

returned Mercer. "That very veneration is forbidden,
because we are not to bow down to them. Besides if there
is nothing in the image itself, why do they venerate one
image so much more than another?"

"Oh, you are a great casuist," said I. "I wonder you do

not take orders instead of going into a school. The long and
the short of it is, you think it will be a fine thing to set up
for yourself and to have a parcel of young ladies to govern."

"You are mistaken, madame," answered Mercer, with

enough of dignity to make me ashamed of my petulance. "If
you were to remain here in London or to go into the
country, even down to that barbarous Cornwall, that my
poor dear lady dreaded so much, I would give up all
thoughts of going into the school, and stay with you as long
as you wished, and that for your dear mother's sake as well
as your own. But into the family of Madame de Fayrolles I
will not go. And I do beg and entreat you, Mrs. Vevette, to
think twice before you do so. Think of what your mother
would say—think!"

But the conversation was here interrupted by a call from

my aunt. She did not seem at all displeased when I told her
of Mercer's decision.

"It is just as well," said she. "Of course, if you wished

for the good woman, and she desired to come, I should say
nothing against it; but it would not have been comfortable
for her or you. But I wonder she should refuse so good an
offer."

"It was a case of conscience, I believe," said I. "She

was afraid of being converted."

"Oh, I understand. Well, petite, it is just as well. I shall

have no difficulty. You shall take my second woman, who
has been well trained and is an accomplished seamstress
and hair-dresser. So, Mrs. Mercer—" as that damsel entered
the room "you will not go with your young lady because you
are afraid of being converted. Does not that in itself show
you how weak your cause is, and how conscious you are of
its weakness?"

Madame spoke smilingly, and Mercer answered also

with a twinkle of the eye.

"If I might venture to put a case, madame?"

"Go on," said my aunt.

"Suppose, madame, one of your own family, a woman

neither very bright nor very learned, should be offered a
service in a Protestant family, where she would be likely all
the time to hear her own faith attacked by an accomplished
Protestant minister—what would your ladyship advise her to
do?"

"Fairly posed," returned my aunt, laughing good-

naturedly. "Well, well, I will not urge you. But at least
accept this little remembrance from me," she added,
drawing out a very elegant little étui, with pencil tablets and
all complete. "It will be useful to you and is valuable in
itself."

Mercer accepted the present with many thanks, and

retired.

"That is a good soul," said my aunt. "What a pity she is

not a Catholic? She might have a real vocation."

The next day I removed to the lodgings which my uncle

and aunt had been inhabiting for some time, and my uncle's
establishment was broken up. He gave me all my poor
aunt's wardrobe, except her most valuable jewels, and I in
turn bestowed upon Mercer such of the things as were likely
to be useful to her, together with a number of books of
devotion which had belonged to Aunt Jem's mother.

Mercer was profuse in her thanks, and we parted the

best of friends. I visited the good woman many years
afterward, and found her at the head of the school which
she had entered, and though an old lady, still hale and
strong, and ruling her little kingdom with a wise and
vigorous hand. I took from among her young ladies, one to
be waiting-gentlewoman to myself and my eldest daughter,
and I have never had reason to regret the choice.

I had written to my Lord Stanton asking permission to

stay for a while with Madame de Fayrolles, and received a
speedy answer, as some one from the neighborhood was
coming direct to London. My lord evidently wrote in a good
deal of irritation, and his letter was to the effect that he had
not the least objection to my residing with Madame de
Fayrolles since from all he could hear, she was a woman of
reputation. He only hoped she had no sons to be bewitched
—this sentence was scratched out, but I could read it. He
sent me some money for my private purse and would remit
more if I needed it. In short, it was plain that my lord
dreaded nothing so much just now as having me returned
on his hands.

Theo, on the contrary, who wrote at the same time,

gave me a most warm and pressing invitation to make my
home with her, as long as I pleased, and she begged me to
think twice before placing myself wholly in the hands of
Madame de Fayrolles. I shall not repeat her arguments,
though they were all good and wise. Indeed, I hardly read
them myself. I could not endure the idea of returning to
Devonshire on any terms.

I found a luxurious apartment prepared for me in the

house Monsieur de Fayrolles had taken for the season, and
here I remained for some two or three weeks, coaxed and
flattered to the top of my bent. Every means was used to
attach me to my new friends, and separate me from old
ones.

Neither my lord nor Theo said a word about Andrew,

and I had not heard a word from Tre Madoc in a long time. I
had asked Mr. Pepys about Andrew, and he admitted that he
had heard the story of his approaching marriage from
excellent authority, and believed it to be true.

From this time I became like one desperate. I put away

my French Bible, so dear as having been my mother's, and
the little brown English prayer-book she had carried off in
our hasty flight from the Tour d'Antin. I could not make up
my mind to destroy them, so I made them into a package,
sealed them up, and committed them to Mercer's care, from
whom I reclaimed them long afterward.

I read only the books of controversy and devotion

supplied to me by Father Martien. I began to use a rosary,
and to fancy that I found comfort and help in praying to the
virgin. I was quite ready to have made a profession of my
new faith at this time, but to my surprise and
disappointment, Father Martien put me off. He said I had
not had time to know my own mind or to receive proper
instruction.

The truth was, I believe, he did not think it would be

very safe either for my uncle or himself. There was in
England a growing jealousy of Roman Catholics and their
influence, a jealousy well founded enough in itself, though it
culminated afterward in the follies and wickedness of the
so-called Popish plot. It would be dangerous to have it
known that a young lady of good family, a ward of my Lord
Stanton's, had been induced to abandon the English for the
Romish Church.

This refusal, however, only increased my eagerness. I

really persuaded myself that I embraced all those dogmas
which I had been educated to regard with horror, as
monstrous and profane. My aunt, while greatly edified by
my devotion, was a little alarmed at it. It was at that time
no part of her plan to have me become a religious, as she
called it. She took me out with her a great deal, and paid
great attention to my dress and manners. Both she and my
uncle were very kind and indulgent, but they contrived to
keep me in a kind of honorable restraint—a restraint so
gentle that I never felt it at all.
 I was not permitted to visit by myself any of the young
ladies of my own age whose acquaintance I had made at
my Aunt Jemima's, and though my friends were made
welcome and treated with great courtesy, yet somehow
their visits gradually fell off, and I saw them no more.

In a few weeks we visited the Bath, as my aunt had

proposed, and remained for some time seeing a good deal
of company. From thence we went to Epsom, at which place
the king was residing, though he kept no court and had
very few about him, save the very most dissolute of his
courtiers, for he had by this time thrown off all pretence to
decency of conduct. It was at Epsom that Monsieur de
Fayrolles received a summons to return at once to France.
It seems he had some sort of command over the household
guards, from which command he had been absent longer
than his royal master approved.

My uncle received this notice in the morning at the

hands of Father Martien, who had come down with some
letters from the French ambassador. In the evening, my
gentlewoman came to me with a message desiring my
immediate presence in my aunt's room. I found her seated
beside her husband, while Father Martien stood behind her
chair. The faces of all three wore a very solemn expression,
and I trembled, I hardly knew why. My aunt bade me be
seated. Zelie placed a chair for me and then at a sign from
her mistress withdrew.

"Genevieve," said my uncle seriously, "the time has

come for you to make a decisive choice as to your future
conduct. We are obliged to return to France immediately.
Will you return with us, embrace the true Catholic faith, and
be to us as a daughter, or will you remain in this land of
heretics, and return to my Lord Stanton, or to his daughter
who has invited you?"
 "Nay, my friend, state the case fairly—that might not be
the alternative," said madame. "Vevette might undoubtedly
be married before we leave England, since Mr. Cunningham
has made application for her hand already. Besides, her
cousin, Mr. Corbet, is as we hear just about to return with
his bride, and I dare say they would not be sorry to give
Vevette a home."

This last news—I hope I do my aunt no injustice when I

say I believe she made it up for the occasion—decided me. I
was not a moment in saying that if monsieur pleased, I
would return to France with him.

"But if you return with us it must be as a Catholic," said

my uncle. "I do not profess to be bigoted, but I cannot, I
dare not, take an open heretic to the court of the most
Christian king."

"Mademoiselle has already confessed to me her desire

of being admitted into the bosom of our holy mother
church," said Father Martien. "Is it not so, my daughter?"

"It is so," I answered quite calmly and resolvedly. "I am

ready to make a profession at any time."

The priest and my aunt were loud in their expressions

of gratitude to all the saints. My uncle merely said:

"That settles the matter then. We shall go to London to-

morrow and from thence set out at once for Paris. There is
no time to consult my Lord Stanton, nor is there any need
of doing so since he has given his consent to your residing
with us."

The next day we went to London, where we remained

less than a week, settling up affairs, paying off servants and
tradespeople, and taking leave of our friends.
 I was in a high state of excitement, and it did not strike
me at the time, but I well remember now that I was hardly
left to myself a moment, and that care was taken that I
should never have the opportunity of speaking alone with
any of my Protestant friends.

My good Mercer came to see me, but she was not

admitted, nor did I know of her visit till long afterward.
There was no need, however, of all these precautions. I was
possessed of only one idea—to separate myself as far as
possible from Andrew, and to get out of the country before
he came into it. I felt as if I could have gone to the ends of
the earth to avoid him.

Besides I was delighted with the prospect of seeing

Paris and Versailles, and that court my aunt described to me
in such glowing colors. I conceived that I should be a
person of a good deal of importance, and even began to
have dreams of a grand alliance. As to love, I said to myself
it was all sentimental nonsense, just fit for boys and girls. I
had got over all that. In short, my heart was given to the
world. That was the god of my idolatry, and it paid me the
wages it usually bestows upon its votaries.

We were favored with a passage in a king's ship, and

therefore fared better than most people do in crossing the
channel, but we had a rough time. Every member of our
party was sick but myself, and I had my hands full with
waiting upon my aunt, who fell into all sorts of terrors and
fits of the nerves, and was sure we were going to be
drowned. However, we reached Calais in safety, and after
waiting a day or two to refresh ourselves, we took the way
to Paris.

Whether it was that I had been so long away from

France that I had forgotten how it looked, or that Normandy
had been in a more flourishing condition than the other
provinces, or finally, that I contrasted what I now saw with
what I had seen in England, I cannot tell; but certainly the
country looked terribly forlorn to me. There was little tillage,
and what there was seemed by no means flourishing; the
people had a crushed, oppressed, half-fed look which was
very sad to see. Even when the vintage was going on there
seemed very little rejoicing.

Once, taking a by-road to avoid a hill, we came upon

what must have been a flourishing vineyard a day or two
before, but the vines were crushed and torn from their
supports, and lay withering upon the ground, the beautiful
grapes were scattered and spoiled, while two or three
women with faces of blank despair were trying to rescue
some of the fruit from the general destruction.

"Oh, the poor people!" I exclaimed. "What has

happened to them?"

"A boar hunt probably," said my uncle indifferently.

"But why should that have wrought such ruin?" I asked.

"Because, little simpleton, the boar would as soon go

through a vineyard as anywhere else, and when he does it
is needful that the hunt should follow him, which is not very
good for the vineyards."

"And so for the sake of some great man's pleasure of an

hour or two the poor man's heritage is destroyed," said I
indignantly. "What a shame! What wickedness!"

"Tut, tut! Petite! Remember that we are not now in

England where every clown can bring his lord to justice, but
in France where nobles have privileges. But I wonder where
the owner is. Where is your husband, my good woman?" he
called out, as we came opposite the workers.

"Alas, monsieur, I do not know," answered the poor

woman, with streaming eyes. "Monsieur the marquis was
hunting yesterday and took a short cut through our
vineyard to arrive the sooner, and my husband was so ill-
advised as to utter some harsh words and maledictions
which the marquis overheard; so he bade the huntsmen
take him away and teach him better manners. Since then I
have not seen him, and Heaven knows what has become of
him. Oh, monsieur, if you would but intercede for us; I am
sure my husband meant no harm."

"He should be more careful with his words," returned

my uncle. "My good woman, I am not acquainted with your
marquis, and cannot therefore take the liberty of speaking
for your husband; but there is some money for you. Drive
on, postilion."

My heart was sick with the injustice and tyranny, the

effects of which I had just seen, but my aunt and uncle
seemed to think little of it, and indeed I saw enough more
sights of the same kind before we reached Paris. The simple
truth was and is, that in France the common people have no
rights whatever, but are absolutely at the mercy of their
lord. Their crops, the honor of their families, their very
lives, depend upon his humor, and how great soever may be
the wrong, there is no redress.

I had seen little of this sort of thing in Normandy. The

only great proprietor near the tour, besides my father and
Monsieur Le Roy, who were both Huguenots, was a
gentleman of great kindness, and one who made a
conscience of dealing justly with his people. I was heart-sick
before we reached our destination, and wished twenty times
I were back in England.

We arrived in Paris at last, and I found myself dazzled

by the splendid buildings and the grand equipages which
met my eyes on every hand. The streets, it was true, were
quite as dirty as London, but there was no fog or coal
smoke to obscure the air or blacken the house fronts. My
aunt was in the best of spirits at being once more in her
dear native city, but I could not help thinking my uncle
rather grave and preoccupied. As to Father Martien, he was
always the same under every circumstance, and I have no
doubt would have preserved the same calm countenance
whether he were watching the agonies of a heretic on the
wheel, or being himself served with the same sauce by the
Iroquois.

My uncle had a fine hotel in a fashionable situation, and

as a courier had been sent before us we found everything
ready for our reception. I was assigned a small room which
looked into a court, and had no exit but through my aunt's
reception-room. It was prettily furnished enough, but I took
a dislike to it from the first, because it reminded me of my
little turret-room at the Tour d'Antin, which I would have
preferred of all things to forget.

I had looked forward to Paris as a scene of gaiety and

splendor far beyond anything I had ever seen, and so it
was, but I very soon found that the gaiety and splendor
were not for me. It was not that my aunt meant to be
unkind; on the contrary, at that time she was amiability
itself, but in France a young lady of good family lives before
her marriage in a state of as much seclusion as if she were
in a convent. In fact, almost every French young lady is
placed in a convent at a very early age, from which she only
emerges to be married to the man not of her own, but of
her parents' choice, whom she perhaps never saw more
than twice and never a moment alone, till she was married
to him.

I could not complain of being treated as other girls

were, but I must confess I found the life a very dull one. My
aunt lost no time in securing for me the services of a music
and a dancing master, and she often took me out with her
in the coach, but I had no companions of my own age. I
was not at all well. I had been accustomed to a great deal
of exercise all my life, and that in the fresh air, and the
state of excitement in which I had been kept for such a
length of time began to tell on me.

I slept very little and was troubled by frightful dreams,

which almost always took me back to the Tour d'Antin, and
the dangers I had undergone there, or, what was still worse,
I read and worked and prayed with my mother, and then
waked to an intolerable sense of want and desolation. I told
Father Martien of these dreams. He looked grave,
pronounced them direct temptations of the devil, and said
he feared I had some sin or some concealment yet upon my
conscience which gave the evil spirit power over me. I
assured him that such was not the case; but he still looked
grave, bade me search my conscience anew, advised a
retreat, and gave me to read the "Four Weeks' Meditations
of Saint Ignatius."

This retreat and course of study were to be my final

preparation for the public profession which I was to make.
In the course of it, I secluded myself entirely in my room,
which was so far darkened that I had only light enough to
read. I fasted rigorously, saw no company, was allowed no
recreation, and no employment save my rosary and my
book of meditations. And such meditations—full of the
grossest and most material images of death and its
consequences—the decay of the senses, the desolation of
the sick-room and the dying-bed, the corruption of the
body, the flames and brimstone, the wheels and spits of
purgatory and hell! In the midst of all this, the penitent is
invited to pause and resolve seriously upon his or her
vocation, just at the time and in the state when she is most
incapable of judging reasonably of anything. No wonder the
book has been instrumental in leading so many into the
cloister.

I finished my month's retreat and was admitted into the

fold of the Holy Catholic Church, as she dares to call herself,
in the chapel of the king himself, who had taken a great
interest in my story. I should like to give my reader an
account of this important passage of my life, but in truth I
remember very little about it. I have an indistinct
recollection of knocking at a closed door and requesting
admission to the church, of various chants and prayers, of
censers and waxen tapers, but it is all like a confused
dream. In fact, I was already very ill, though nobody
suspected it. I recollect receiving a great many
congratulations, and being saluted by the king himself, who,
having been converted himself (save the mark), took a
great interest in all converts.

The next morning found me in the stupor of such a

fever as I had suffered in Jersey, and for two or three weeks
I lay between life and death, unconscious of everything. At
last, however, the disease took a turn, and I was
pronounced out of danger.

For some time longer, I lay quietly in my bed, slowly

gaining strength and the ability to think connectedly. I was
indeed like one waking from a long dream, and I began to
realize what I had done. All the instructions I had received
in my youth—the very psalms I had learned from my foster-
mother—returned upon me, and would not be put aside. My
eyes were opened, and I was compelled to see and to own
that I had deliberately sold myself to the world, and that
unless I could find a place of repentance—which did not yet
appear to me—I must reckon upon paying the price of the
bargain, namely, my immortal soul.

Little did my aunt and my nurse guess, while I lay so

quietly with closed eyes, what was going on within. I would
have given worlds to weep, but I had no tears. Neither
could I pray. My heart was dry as dust, and the unmeaning
repetitions which had served me instead of prayers now
inspired me with nothing but weariness and disgust. Oh,
how I hated that image of the Virgin which stood opposite
my bed, dressed in laces and satin, and wearing my own
mother's pearl clasp! I had myself given it away for this
purpose in one of my fits of devotion. If I had dared, I
would have crushed the simpering waxen baby under my
feet.

The stronger I grew, the more wretched I found myself.

I was obliged to go to confession, but Father Martien's
threats and cajoleries had no more effect upon me than to
make me hate him, as the one who had led me into the
snare from which I could see no escape, unless it were such
a martyrdom as my father's, or the slower hidden agonies
of a convent prison. For these I was by no means prepared,
and I well knew they were what awaited me if I allowed my
change of feeling to become known.

The king, as I have hinted, had been converted by the

jubilee which had taken place some years before. He was
still in the fervor of his first love, and as his spiritual guides
could not succeed in making him give up Madame de
Montespan and company, they compromised by urging him
on to more and greater acts of severity against the so-
called heretics. One might be an unbeliever even to denying
the existence of a God at all, but to be a Huguenot, or even
a Jansenist, was an unpardonable sin. Two or three great
men, indeed, who were necessary to him by their talents as
soldiers or statesmen, were allotted a sort of protection, but
even these soon found their lives unbearable, and either
conformed like Turenne afterward, or fled from the
kingdom.

For a young girl like myself, away from all near friends,
and, above all, one who had only lately conformed, there
would be no hope. Even a suspicion of relapse would lead at
once to a convent with all its possible horrors. No, there
was no escape. I had left my Lord, and he had left me. I
had denied him, and he would deny me. I must go on as I
had begun, and that to the bitter end.

It was not one of the least of my troubles that I felt all

my love for Andrew revive again. I began to doubt the truth
of the stories I had heard, and to wonder whether they had
not been invented for the very sake of entrapping me.
Doubt soon grew into conviction, and, reasonably or
unreasonably, I no more believed that Andrew was married
than that I was. No, he would return in a year—return to
claim me and to find that I was lost to him, to truth, and
heaven forever.

It was in the church where I was kneeling for the first

time since my illness that this thought came to me, and I
cast myself on the ground and groaned almost aloud. My
aunt observed the movement, as indeed nothing escaped
her eyes, and when she returned she remarked upon it,
saying that such a display of devotion, however
commendable in private, was not in good taste in such a
public place, and that I would do well to restrain myself.
 About this time Father Martien was called away, and I
made my confessions to a fat old priest at our parish
church, who, I am persuaded, used to doze through half the
time of confession and take snuff the other half. He was
very kind, however, and gave me easy penances and
plentiful absolutions. My religion had by this time become
the merest form, kept up to save appearances, but now and
then would recur the thought that perhaps Father Martien
was right after all, and if so why I was living in mortal sin, a
sacrilegious person for whom millions of ages in purgatory
would be of no avail. Thus I was tossed from one doubt to
another, and found comfort nowhere.

The discomfort of my mind could not but react upon my

body. I grew pale, sallow, and was miserably unwell. My
aunt lamented the loss of my beauty, and predicted that I
should never find a husband. A husband indeed was what I
now feared most of all. I determined that I would die before
I would accept one, and then came the thought that not
death would be the alternative but a convent. No, there was
no hope anywhere.

CHAPTER XIX.
ANOTHER CHANGE.
 WE remained in the neighborhood of Paris all that
winter, sometimes at Fontainebleau, sometimes in the city
itself, for, as I have said, my uncle had some office or
command which kept him about the court.

My aunt had her balls and assemblies, her grand

banquets and little suppers, and must have spent a great
deal of money. I rarely saw anything of this gaiety, though I
went out with my aunt in the carriage, and now and then,
when she had a small assembly, I was allowed to sit at her
elbow and look on, though I was not expected to speak
unless spoken to, and then only in the shortest, most
restrained manner.

Of the court I saw nothing. My aunt had hoped, I

believe, to procure some place for herself, but in that she
did not succeed. Still she was often at the court, and was
liked by the king for her wit and sprightliness. When she
was away, my only society was my maid Zelie, whom I had
never liked, and now thoroughly distrusted, believing her to
be a spy upon me, my aunt's lapdog and her parrot.

My only recreation was in reading the very few books

which were thought proper for a young lady, my music, and
my embroidery, and I only went out to go to church,
whither I was attended by Zelie or an older woman who had
been my aunt's nurse, and who, having been a Huguenot in
her youth and then converted, was of course doubly zealous
and devoted. Oh, to what a slavery had I brought myself!
With what impassioned longing I looked back to the days
when I used to climb the hill at Tre Madoc to attend to my
little school or run down to the beach to watch the pilchard-
fishing, and of those earlier times in Normandy when I
played with Lucille and David in the orchards, or helped to
pile up the golden and rosy apples for the eider-mill!

I would gladly have changed places with the poorest old

woman in Cornwall for the privilege of walking abroad
unfettered, and weeping my fill unwatched. I would have
given all the costly furniture of our hotel, had it been mine,
for half a dozen loose leaves of my mother's old prayer-
book, for it was one of my great troubles that I could not
remember the words of Scripture. I suppose it might have
been some odd effect of my illness, but while my memory
had become clear as to other things, it was in that respect
almost a blank. In the state of mind I then was, I regarded
this forgetfulness as a direct judgment from Heaven, and an
express proof and mark of my reprobation. I thirsted for the
water of life. I read again and again the few psalms and
meagre bits of scripture contained in my books of devotion.
That fountain was to be once more unsealed for me, but not
till I had drank my fill of the bitter waters and broken
cisterns for which I had forsaken it.

Meantime affairs were not going well with my uncle. I

was told nothing, but I gathered from things that I
overheard and from hints dropped in my presence that he
had lost the favor of his royal master in the first place by
outstaying his leave in England, and though he had hoped
to make his peace by the presentation of a new convert to
the Catholic faith, the offering had not been altogether
sufficient. Court favor is of all earthly things one of the most
uncertain.

My uncle had been a friend of the unhappy Madame de

Valliere, who, at this time under the name of Sister Louise
de la Misericorde, was striving to expiate her errors by a life
of more than ordinary austerity among the Carmelite nuns
of Paris. He had had the imprudence to speak