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Updated: May 26, 2025
"And supposing there were some thing left in the world for which thou knewest I had cared a favourite dog or cat wouldst thou leave it to starve, or take some care of it?" "I think," was Doucebelle's earnest answer, "I should care for it as though it were my own child." "Then, daughter, see thou dost that for Him who did lose His own life in rescuing thee.
Thou hast been a good, attentive maiden this morning," said Father Nicholas, when the reading was finished. "Then, Father, will you let me off my sums?" was Marie's quick response. Marie hated arithmetic, which was Doucebelle's favourite study. "Nay, my child," said Father Nicholas, in an amused tone; "that is not my business. Thou must ask Father Warner."
The Countess, in the Earl's absence, readily granted his request, and Doucebelle's fear of hurting the feelings of her kind-hearted though careless old friend were no longer a bar in the way of consulting Father Bruno. Father Warner, who was confessing the other half of the household, growled his disapprobation when Doucebelle begged to be included in the penitents of Father Bruno.
Master Aristoteles, the household physician, was an excellent authority on the virtues of comfrey or frogs' brains, but a very poor resource on a theological question. The Earl was not at home. The Countess would be likely to enter into Doucebelle's perplexities little better than Father Nicholas, and would playfully chide her for entertaining them.
Beatrice fully expected Doucebelle's sympathy on the subject of relics, and she was disappointed to find it not forthcoming. Doucebelle was rather inclined to be shocked than amused. The angel's feather, in her eyes, was provocative of any thing rather than ridicule: and Beatrice, who had anticipated her taking the common-sense view of the matter, felt chilled by the result.
Is it is it, because we hid our faces from Him!" And to Doucebelle's astonishment, Belasez covered her face with her apron, and sobbed almost as if her heart were breaking. "Poor Belasez!" said Doucebelle, gently. "It is often better to tell out what troubles us, than to keep it to ourselves." "If thou wert a daughter of Israel, I should tell it thee, and ask thy counsel.
"Oh, there's nothing the matter with her!" said Eva, testily. "She never takes things to heart as I do. She'll do well enough." "Lady, I am very uneasy about dear Margaret," was Doucebelle's contribution. "I am sure she is ill, and unhappy too. I only wish I knew what to do for her." Beatrice looked up with grave eyes. "Lady, I would so gladly say No! But I cannot do it."
Like what king? was the thought in Doucebelle's mind. Not like the one of whom she knew any thing who was responsible before God for that death which was coming on so quietly, yet so surely. Beatrice had left the room a few minutes before, and she was now returning to it through the ante-chamber.
"Dulcie would do it better than I," said Beatrice, "I am a bad hand at beating about the bush. I might do it too bluntly." "Then, Dulcie, do tell her!" pleaded the Countess. "Very well, Lady." But all Doucebelle's unselfishness did not prevent her from feeling that she would almost rather have had any thing else to do.
It was May Day now, and in all the streets were May-poles and May dancers, singing and sunshine. Eva went out early, with a staff of attendants, to join in the festivities. "Why, what good can there be in my staying at home?" she said, answering Doucebelle's face. "Margaret will not be any better because I am here. And then, when I come in at night, I can tell her all about it.
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