Seven generations of men have passed away since then. The house of Repentigny has disappeared from their native land. Their name and fame lie buried in oblivion, except in that little Chapel of the Saints where their lamp still burns brightly as ever. The pious nuns of St. Ursule, as the last custodians of the traditions of New France, preserve that sole memorial of the glories and misfortunes of the noble house,--the lamp of Repentigny.
Amelie and Heloise remained long in the Chapel of Saints, kneeling upon the hard floor as they prayed with tears and sobs for the soul of the Bourgeois and for God's pity and forgiveness upon Le Gardeur.
To Amelie's woes was added the terrible consciousness that, by this deed of her brother, Pierre Philibert was torn from her forever.
She pictured to herself his grief, his love, his despair, perhaps his vengeance; and to add to all, she, his betrothed bride, had forsaken him and fled like a guilty thing, without waiting to see whether he condemned her.
An hour ago Amelie had been the envy and delight of her gay bridesmaids. Her heart had overflowed like a fountain of wine, intoxicating all about her with joy at the hope of the speedy coming of her bridegroom. Suddenly the idols of her life had been shattered as by a thunderbolt, and lay in fragments around her feet.
The thought came upon her like the rush of angry wings. She knew that all was over between her and Pierre. The cloister and the veil were all that were left to Amelie de Repentigny.
"Heloise, dearest sister!" exclaimed she, "my conscience tells me I have done right, but my heart accuses me of wrong to Pierre, of falseness to my plighted vows in forsaking him; and yet, not for heaven itself would I have forsaken Pierre. Would that I were dead!
Oh, what have I done, Heloise, to deserve such a chastisement as this from God?"
Amelie threw her arms around the neck of Heloise, and leaning her head on her bosom, wept long and without restraint, for none saw them save God.
"Listen!" said Heloise, as the swelling strain of the organ floated up from the convent chapel. The soft voices of the nuns mingled in plaintive harmony as they sang the hymn of the Virgin:
"Pia Mater! Fons amoris!
Me sentire vim doloris Fac, ut tecum lugeam!"
Again came the soft pleading notes of the sacred hymn:
"Quando corpus morietur, Fac ut animae donetur Paradisi gloria! Amen!"
The harmony filled the ears of Amelie and Heloise, like the lap of the waves of eternity upon the world's shore. It died away, and they continued praying before Our Lady of Grand Pouvoir.
The silence was suddenly broken. Hasty steps traversed the little chapel. A rush of garments caused Amelie and Heloise to turn around, and in an instant they were both clasped in the passionate embrace of the Lady de Tilly, who had arrived at the Convent.
"My dear children, my poor, stricken daughters," exclaimed she, kissing them passionately and mingling her tears with theirs, "what have you done to be dashed to the earth by such a stroke of divine wrath?"
"Oh, aunt, pardon us for what we have done!" exclaimed Amelie, "and for not asking your consent, but alas! it is God's will and doing!
I have given up the world; do not blame me, aunt!"
"Nor me, aunt!" added Heloise; "I have long known that the cloister was my sole heritage, and I now claim it."
"Blame you, darling! Oh, Amelie, in the shame and agony of this day I could share the cloister with you myself forever, but my work is out in the wide world, and I must not withdraw my hand!"
"Have you seen Le Gardeur? Oh, aunt! have you seen my brother?" asked Amelie, seizing her hand passionately.
"I have seen him, and wept over him," was the reply. "Oh, Amelie! great as is his offence, his crime, yes, I will be honest calling it such,--no deeper contrition could rend his heart had he committed all the sins forbidden in the Decalogue. He demands a court martial to condemn him at once to death, upon his own self-accusation and confession of the murder of the good Bourgeois."
"Oh, aunt, and he loved the Bourgeois so! It seems like a hideous dream of fright and nightmare that Le Gardeur should assail the father of Pierre Philibert, and mine that was to be!"
At this thought the poor girl flung herself upon the bosom of the Lady de Tilly, convulsed and torn by as bitter sobs as ever drew human pity.
"Le Gardeur! Le Gardeur! Good God! what will they do with him, aunt? Is he to die?" cried she imploringly, as with streaming eyes she looked up at her aunt.
"Listen, Amelie! Compose yourself and you shall hear. I was in the Church of Notre Dame des Victoires when I received the tidings. It was long before the messenger found me. I rose instantly and hastened to the house of the Bourgeois, where its good master lay dead in his bloody vesture. I cannot describe the sad sight, Amelie! I there learned that the Governor and La Corne St. Luc had been to the house of the Bourgeois and had returned to the Castle."
"Oh, aunt, did you see him? Did you see the good old Bourgeois?
And you know he is dead?"
"Yes, Amelie, I saw him, and could have wished my eyesight blasted forever after. Do not ask me more."
"But I must, aunt! Did you see--oh, why may I not yet utter his dear name?--did you see Pierre?"
"Yes, Amelie. Pierre came home unexpectedly while I was weeping over the dead corpse of his father. Poor Pierre! my own sorrows were naught to his silent grief! It was more terrible than the wildest outburst of passion I ever saw!"
"And what did he say? Oh, aunt, tell me all! Do not spare me one word, however bitter! Did he not curse you? Did he not curse me?
And above all, Le Gardeur? Oh, he cursed us all; he heaped a blasting malediction upon the whole house of Repentigny, did he not?"
"Amelie, be composed! Do not look at me so wildly with these dear eyes, and I will tell you." Her aunt tried to soothe her with fond caresses.
"I will be composed! I am calm! Look now, aunt, I am calm!" exclaimed the grief-stricken girl, whose every nerve was quivering with wild excitement.