13
"Tell me, Friar," she cried, "what mean you?—what means he?"
"Maiden," cried Father Ambrose,—"he who writes you thus has won upon me, by earnest prayer to breathe his vows to you—and I proffered him my service: you have confessed to me your love—that too has swayed me: a virtuous wife is a better title, than an unblessed nun."
Scarcely knowing what she did, Rosamond took the required vow.
"'Tis well," cried Ambrose; "Heaven knows, 'tis for its service that I venture thus; tomorrow night, when all is hushed and still, feign you a sudden cause to quite your couch, and reach the portal window, from thence a ladder slung shall give you safe to him I shall send to guard thee?"
"My father! my mother!" exclaimed Rosamond; "what will they say?"
"Time shall content them. In the church's name I do pronounce to thee, that less of sin is in thy flying hence than tarrying here; therefore be comforted."
"May I not write to them, to say that I have gone, but am not yet unworthy of their care?"
"No; I forbid it. I will calm their fears. Leave all to me."
