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210 indeed I could not—go to England with you. I pine for quiet. Farewell—God bless you!" The paper dropped from Lady Mandeville's hand. "Good God!—what can be done? We cannot suffer her to stay in the convent!" Lord Mandeville took up the note, and read it through twice, with an expression of as much grief, but less surprise than his wife. "To-night nothing can be done—you must see her to-morrow. Ellen, she is too sweet, too good, too kind, to be allowed to sacrifice herself thus." Early next morning was Lady Mandeville at the gate of the convent of Our Lady degli Dolori. Admittance to the Abbess was easily obtained—that to Emily was matter of more difficulty. The rules of the Order—her own desire of seclusion, were alike urged. But Lady Mandeville was not to be denied. The marble paleness of her face more visible from the straight piece of black serge across the forehead; her figure entirely concealed by the loose dark robe—she scarcely knew Emily on her entrance. Prayers, remonstrances, nay, reproaches, were alike in vain. The Abbess had not miscalculated the effect of the yesterday's ceremony—