Conclusion

A sun hath set-a star hath risen,
O, Geraldine! since arms of thine
Have been the lovely lady's prison.
COLERIDGE.

Popular fame had erred in assigning to Eveline Berenger, after the
capture of her castle, any confinement more severe than that of
her aunt the Lady Abbess of the Cistertians' convent afforded. Yet
that was severe enough; for maiden aunts, whether abbesses or no,
are not tolerant of the species of errors of which Eveline was
accused; and the innocent damosel was brought in many ways to eat
her bread in shame of countenance and bitterness of heart. Every
day of her confinement was rendered less and less endurable by
taunts, in the various forms of sympathy, consolation, and
exhortation; but which, stript of their assumed forms, were
undisguised anger and insult. The company of Rose was all which
Eveline had to sustain her under these inflictions, and that was
at length withdrawn on the very morning when so many important
events took place at the Garde Doloureuse.

The unfortunate young lady inquired in vain of a grim-faced nun.
who appeared in Rose's place to assist her to dress, why her
companion and friend was debarred attendance. The nun observed on
that score an obstinate silence, but threw out many hints on the
importance attached to the vain ornaments of a frail child of
clay, and on the hardship that even a spouse of Heaven was
compelled to divert her thoughts from her higher duties, and
condescend to fasten clasps and adjust veils.

The Lady Abbess, however, told her niece after matins, that her
attendant had not been withdrawn from her for a space only, but
was likely to be shut up in a house of the severest profession,
for having afforded her mistress assistance in receiving Damian de
Lacy into her sleeping apartment at the castle of Baldringham.

A soldier of De Lacy's band, who had hitherto kept what he had
observed a secret, being off his post that night, had now in
Damian's disgrace found he might benefit himself by telling the
story. This new blow, so unexpected, so afflictive--this new
charge, which it was so difficult to explain, and so impossible
utterly to deny, seemed to Eveline to seal Damian's fate and her
own; while the thought that she had involved in ruin her single-
hearted and high-soul'd attendant, was all that had been wanting
to produce a state which approached to the apathy of despair.
"Think of me what you will," she said to her aunt, "I will no
longer defend myself--say what you will, I will no longer reply--
carry me where you will, I will no longer resist--God will, in his
good time, clear my fame--may he forgive my persecutors!"

After this, and during several hours of that unhappy day, the Lady