But Eudoxia was not to be shaken; though she admitted that Mary's project
was not so entirely crazy as it had at first appeared.

At this the little girl began again; after reminding Eudoxia once more of
her oath, she went on to tell her of the doom she herself hoped to escape
by setting out on her errand. She told Eudoxia of her meeting with the
bishop, and that even Joanna was uneasy as to her future fate. Ah! that
life within walls under lock and key seemed to her so frightful--and she
pictured her terrors, her love of freedom and of a busy, useful, active
life among men and her friends, and her hope that the great general,
Amru, would defend her against every one if once she could place herself
under his protection--painting it all so vividly, so passionately, and so
pathetically, that the governess was softened.

She clasped her hands over her eyes, which were streaming with tears, and
exclaimed: "It is horrible, unheard-of--still, perhaps it is the best
thing to do. Well, go to meet the governor,--ride off, ride off!"

And when the sweet, warm-hearted, joyous creature clang round her neck
she was glad of her own weakness: this fair, fresh, and blooming bud of
humanity should not pine in confinement and seclusion; she should find
and give happiness, to her own joy and that of all good souls, and unfold
to a full and perfect flower. And Eudoxia knew the widow well; she knew
that Joanna would by-and-bye understand why she helped the child to
escape the greatest peril that can hang over a human soul: that of living
in perpetual conflict with itself in the effort to become something
totally different from what, by natural gifts and inclinations, it is
intended to be.