University of Virginia Library

9. CHAPTER IX.

Towards noon of the day on which the council
held their session, a troop of maidens was seen issuing
from the chapel. Their number might have been
eight or ten. The orderly step with which they departed
from the door was exchanged for a playful
haste in grouping together when they got beyond the
immediate precincts of the place of worship. Their
buoyant carriage and lively gesticulations betokened
the elasticity of health which was still more unequivocally
shown in their ruddy complexions and well
rounded forms.

Their path lay across the grassy plain towards the
town, and passed immediately within the space embowered
by an ancient, spreading poplar, scarce a
hundred paces in front of the chapel. When the bevy
reached this spot, they made a halt and gathered
around one of their number, who seemed to be the
object of a mirthful and rather tumultuary importunity.
The individual thus beset was Blanche Warden.
Together with a few elderly dames, who were
at this moment standing at the door of the chapel in

parley with father Pierre, this troop had constituted
the whole congregation who had that morning attended
the service of the festival of St. Bridget.

“Holy mother, how I am set upon!” exclaimed
Blanche, as, half smiling and half earnest, she turned
her back against the trunk of the tree. “Have I not
said I could not? Why should my birth-day be
so remembered that all the town must be talking
about it?”

“You did promise,” said one of the party, “or at
least, Mistress Alice promised for you, full six months
ago, that when you came to eighteen we should have
a merry-making at the Rose Croft.”

“It would not be seemly—I should be thought
bold,” replied the maiden, “to be turning my birth-day
into a feast. Indeed, I must not and cannot,
playmates.”

“There is no must not nor cannot in our books,
Blanche Warden,” exclaimed another, “but simply
we will. There is troth plighted for it, and that's
enough for us. So we hold to that, good Blanche.”

“Yes, good Blanche! gentle Blanche! sweetheart,
we hold to that!” cried the whole party, in a clamorous
onset.

“Truly, Grace Blackiston, you will have father
Pierre checking us for noisy behaviour,” said the
maiden. “You see that he is now looking towards
us. It is a pretty matter to make such a coil about!
I marvel, has no one ever been eighteen before!”

“This day se'nnight,” replied the arch girl to whom
this reprimand was addressed, “will be the first day,

Blanche Warden, the Rose of St. Mary's has ever
seen eighteen; and it will be the last I trow: and
what comes and goes but once in the wide world
should be accounted a rare thing, and rarities should
be noticed, sweetheart.”

“If I was coming eighteen,” said a damsel who
scarce reached as high as Blanche's shoulder, “and
had as pretty a house for a dance as the Rose Croft,
there should be no lack of sport amongst the towns-people.”

“It is easy to talk on a two year's venture, little
Madge,” replied Blanche; “for that is far enough off
to allow space for boasting. But gently, dear play-mates!
do not clamour so loud. I would do your
bidding with good heart if I thought it would not be
called something froward in me to be noising my age
abroad, as if it was my lady herself.”

“We will advise with father Pierre and Lady
Maria,” responded Grace Blackiston; “they are
coming this way.”

At this moment the reverend priest, and the ladies
with whom he had been in conversation, approached.
The sister of the Proprietary was distinguished as
well by her short stature and neat attire, as by her
little Indian attendant, who followed bearing the lady's
missal. The tall figure of father Pierre, arrayed in his
black tunic and belt, towered above his female companions.
He bore his square bonnet of black cloth
in his hand, disclosing a small silk cap closely fitted
to his crown, fringed around with the silver locks

which, separating on his brow, gave the grace of
age to a countenance full of benignity.

The presence of the churchman subdued the eager
gaiety of the crowd, and two or three of the maidens
ran up to him with an affectionate familiarity to
make him acquainted with the subject of their contention.

“Father,” said Grace Blackiston, “we have a complaint
to lodge against Mistress Blanche for a promise-breaker.
You must counsel her, father, to her
duty.”

“Ah, my child! pretty Blanche!” exclaimed the
priest, with the alacrity of his native French temper,
as he took the assailed damsel by the hand, “what
have they to say against you? I will be your friend
as well as your judge.”

“The maidens, father,” replied Blanche, “have
taken leave of their wits, and have beset me like madcaps
to give them a dance at the Rose Croft on my
birth-day. And I have stood on my refusal, father
Pierre, as for a matter that would bring me into censure
for pertness—as I am sure you will say it would
—with worshipful people, that a damsel who should
be modest in her behaviour, should so thrust herself
forward to be observed.”

“And we do not heed that, father Pierre,” interrupted
Grace Blackiston, who assumed to be the
spokeswoman of the party, “holding it a scruple more
nice than wise. Blanche has a trick of standing back
more than a maiden needs. And, besides, we say
that Mistress Alice is bound by pledge of word, and

partly Blanche, too—for she stood by and said never
a syllable against it—that we should have good cheer
and dancing on that day at the Rose Croft. It is the
feast of the blessed virgin, Terese, and we would fain
persuade Blanche that the festival should be kept for
the sake of her birth-day saint.”

“My children,” said the priest, who during this
debate stood in the midst of the blooming troop, casting
his glances from one to another with the pleased
expression of an interested partaker of their mirth, and
at the same time endeavouring to assume a countenance
of mock gravity, “we will consider this matter
with impartial justice. And, first, we will hear all
that Mistress Blanche has to say. It is a profound
subject. Do you admit the promise, my child?”

“I do not deny, father Pierre, that last Easter,
when we met and danced at Grace Blackiston's,
my sister Alice did make some promise, and I said
nothing against it. But it was an idle speech of
sister Alice, which I thought no more of till now;
and now should not have remembered it if these wild
mates of mine had not sung it in my ear with such
clamour as must have made you think we had all
gone mad.”

“It is honestly confessed,” said father Pierre;
“and though I heard the outcry all the way to the
church door, yet I did not deem the damsels absolutely
mad, as you supposed. I am an old man, my
child, and I have been taught by my experience, in
what key seven, eight, or nine young girls will make
known their desires when they are together: and,

truly, it is their nature to speak all at the same time.
They speak more than they listen—ha, ha! But we
shall be mistaken if we conclude they are mad.”

“Blanche, love,” interposed the Lady Maria, “you
have scarce given a good reason for gainsaying the
wish of the damsels. Have a care, or you may find
me a mutineer on this question.”

“That's a rare lady—a kind lady!” shouted several.
“Now, Blanche, you have no word of denial
left.”

“I am at mercy,” said the maiden, “if my good
mistress, the Lady Maria, is not content. Whatever
my sister Alice and my father shall approve, and
you, dear lady, shall say befits my state, that will I
undertake right cheerfully. I would pleasure the
whole town in the way of merry-making, if I may
do so without seeming to set too much account upon
so small a matter as my birth-day. I but feared it
would not be well taken in one so young as I am.”

“I will answer it to the town,” said the Lady
Maria. “It shall be done as upon my motion; and
Mistress Alice shall take order in the matter as a
thing wherein you had no part. Will that content
you, Blanche?”

“I will be ruled in all things by my dear lady,”
replied the maiden. “You will speak to my father?”

“It shall be my special duty to look after it forthwith,”
responded the lady.

“Luckily,” said father Pierre, laughing, “this
great business is settled without the aid of the
church. Well, I have lost some of my consequence

in the winding up, and the Lady Maria is in the
ascendant. I will have my revenge by being as
merry as any of you at the feast. So, good day, mes
enfans!”

With this sally, the priest left the company and
retired to his dwelling hard by the chapel. The
Lady Maria and her elderly companions moved
towards the town, whilst the troop of damsels with
increased volubility pursued their noisy triumph,
and with rapid steps hastened to their several
homes.