By this time the consternation in the enemy’s camp was all that the sorceress could desire.  Jean’s capture had been ascertained, and all the particulars respecting his coming fate were known by means of spies.  Haco shook his head at the proposals of rescue made by spirited youths.  “Success would be hopeless,” he said; “failure would be fatal to those whose lives are precious to us.  If he dies we will brace every nerve to avenge him, but we must be patient, and await their onslaught.  Then will come our turn! then will we spring at their dastard throats! then shall they drink freely of their own gore!” If the man of the sword thought the case hopeless, what could the men of the cloister do?  They did all in their power—­prayed ceaselessly, fasted, did penance under the guidance of Father Austin; but nevertheless the fatal morning arrived.

Hilda knew her lover’s danger.  When he failed to return, and when Haco, arriving from Lihou, admitted that he had not been seen at the monastery, her heart sank; she, better than any of those around her, knew the stern, implacable patriotism and fanaticism of Judith’s nature; she fully realized the savage dispositions of her countrymen, their contempt of human life, and their brutal treatment of captives.  She had some conception of their fearful orgies, and she shuddered when her mind touched, not daring to dwell, on Jean’s possible fate.  She had sufficient presence of mind to bear up bravely before Haco, who had no suspicion that she had a perception of the terrible truth from which even his rent and seared feelings shrank; nor did she reveal to Father Austin, during a short visit which he paid her at great risk this inner serpent which was devouring her young heart.  Sister Theresa and her fellows marvelled at her as on the morning of the fatal day she passed between them, her eyes rapt in contemplation, her look serene and calm, though beneath the surface lay a depth of unutterable woe, sinking, receding, chill as the dark, haunted, bosom of an unfathomable mountain lake.

She sought her own cell and begged to be left alone.  Then the full heart burst the bounds imposed by the strong will.  She placed before her the little Madonna, from which she never parted, and fell on her knees.  She prayed till noon, and her prayer continued still; it was not simply a woman’s supplication:  her whole essence was poured out before the Holy Mother, who was the object of her special adoration.  This girl had never known evil:  for nineteen years her mind had rippled on, sparkling with good deeds, little bright thoughts, gentle inspirations sweetly obeyed; then first streamed in the warm current of human love, followed by the rapid thrilling rush of the flow of Divine awakening.  The little stream had become a torrent; but one in which every element was pure, for its component parts were faith in God, trust in man, the will to act, the power to bear, contentment in joy and resignation in sorrow.