me much longer in this world?  Will He not soon come to fetch me?” She smiled sweetly, and answered, “Yes, soon . . . very soon . . .  I promise you.”  “Dear Mother,” I asked again, “tell me if He does not want more from me than these poor little acts and desires that I offer Him.  Is He pleased with me?” Then our Venerable Mother’s face shone with a new splendour, and her expression became still more gracious:  “The Good God asks no more of you,” she said, “He is pleased, quite pleased,” and, taking my head between her hands, she kissed me so tenderly that it would be impossible to describe the joy I felt.  My heart was overflowing with gladness, and, remembering my Sisters, I was about to beseech some favour for them, when, alas!  I awoke.  My happiness was too great for words.  Many months have passed since I had this wonderful dream, and yet its memory is as fresh and delightful as ever.  I can still picture the loving smiles of this holy Carmelite and feel her fond caresses.  O Jesus!  “Thou didst command the winds and the storm, and there came a great calm."[10]

On waking, I realised that Heaven does indeed exist, and that this Heaven is peopled with souls who cherish me as their child, and this impression still remains with me—­all the sweeter, because, up to that time, I had but little devotion to the Venerable Mother Anne of Jesus.  I had never sought her help, and but rarely heard her name.  And now I know and understand how constantly I was in her thoughts, and the knowledge adds to my love for her and for all the dear ones in my Father’s Home.

O my Beloved! this was but the prelude of graces yet greater which Thou didst desire to heap upon me.  Let me remind Thee of them to-day, and forgive my folly if I venture to tell Thee once more of my hopes, and my heart’s well nigh infinite longings—­forgive me and grant my desire, that it may be well with my soul.  To be Thy Spouse, O my Jesus, to be a daughter of Carmel, and by my union with Thee to be the mother of souls, should not all this content me?  And yet other vocations make themselves felt—­I feel called to the Priesthood and to the Apostolate —­I would be a Martyr, a Doctor of the Church.  I should like to accomplish the most heroic deeds—­the spirit of the Crusader burns within me, and I long to die on the field of battle in defence of Holy Church.

The vocation of a Priest!  With what love, my Jesus, would I bear Thee in my hand, when my words brought Thee down from Heaven!  With what love would I give Thee to souls!  And yet, while longing to be a Priest, I admire and envy the humility of St. Francis of Assisi, and am drawn to imitate him by refusing the sublime dignity of the Priesthood.  How reconcile these opposite tendencies?[11]