Then I saw there was only one thing to do. A big stone image stood
near me. Before they could touch me I had fallen on my knees, and
wound my arms so closely round it that they could not unloose them
without absolute violence and injury. I knew that in such a position
it was impossible even to go through the semblance of marrying me. I
felt Armand's hand and the Abbe's try to untwist my arms and unclasp
my hands, but they could not prevail against that grip with which I
held, and I spoke not one word.
At last they drew back, and I heard them say one to the other: 'It
is of no use. She must yield in time. Leave her.'
I heard them all clank out with their spurs, and lock the door, and
then I looked up. There was no other way out of the little convent
chapel, which looked as if it had been unused for years, except
perhaps for an annual mass, but the altar had been dressed in
preparation for the sacrilege that was intended. Then I turned to
the figure to which I had clung, and I was encouraged by seeing that
it bore the emblems of St. Margaret, my own patroness. I knew very
well that my brother and sister would shake their heads, and say it
was a superstitious fancy, if they called it by no harder name; but
they did not understand our feelings towards the saints. Still it
was not to St. Margaret I turned to help me, but to St. Margaret's
Master and mine, when I prayed to be delivered from the mouth of the
dragon, though I did trust that she was entreating for me.
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