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 me to endure afflictions thus. Is it religion that supports you?" "Religion!" St. Clare sighed.

"Yon bright heaven," she said, uplifting her eyes, "is not for me. The time has been, when, like you, I could have wept, and bowed beneath the chastening rod of adversity; but it is past. Turn you, and repent lady; for you are but young in sin, and the heart alone has wandered. Turn to that God of mercy, and he will yet receive and reclaim you." A tear started into her eyes, as she spoke. "I must journey on; for the time allowed me is short. Death walks among us even now. Look at yon lordly mansion—your father's house. Is it well defended from within? Are there bold hearts ready to stand forth in the time of need? Where is the heir of Delaval:—look to him:—even now they tear him from you. The fiends, the fiends are abroad:—look to your husband, lady—the gallant Earl of Avon