By this trial, the Divine Master wished to put the finishing touches to her purification, and thus enable her not only to walk with rapid steps, but to run in her little way of confidence and abandonment.  Her words repeatedly proved this.  “I desire neither death nor life.  Were Our Lord to offer me my choice, I would not choose.  I only will what He wills; it is what He does that I love.  I do not fear the last struggle, nor any pains—­however great—­my illness may bring.  God has always been my help.  He has led me by the hand from my earliest childhood, and on Him I rely.  My agony may reach the furthest limits, but I am convinced He will never forsake me.”

Such confidence in God, of necessity stirred the fury of the devil—­of him who, at life’s close, tries every ruse to sow the seeds of despair in the hearts of the dying.

“Last night I was seized with a terrible feeling of anguish,” she confessed to Mother Agnes of Jesus on one occasion; “I was lost in darkness, and from out of it came an accursed voice:  ’Are you certain God loves you?  Has He Himself told you so?  The opinion of creatures will not justify you in His sight.’  These thoughts had long tortured me, when your little note, like a message from Heaven, was brought to me.  You recalled to me, dear Mother, the special graces Jesus had lavished upon me, and, as though you had had a revelation concerning my trial, you assured me I was deeply loved by God, and was on the eve of receiving from His Hands my eternal crown.  Immediately peace and joy were restored to my heart.  Yet the thought came to me, ’It is my little Mother’s affection that makes her write these words.’  Straightway I felt inspired to take up the Gospels, and, opening the book at random, I lighted on a passage which had hitherto escaped me:  ’He whom God hath sent speaketh the Words of God, for God doth not give the Spirit by measure.’[7] Then I fell asleep fully consoled.  It was you, dear Mother, whom the Good God sent me, and I must believe you, because you speak the Words of God.”

For several days, during the month of August, Therese remained, so to speak, beside herself, and implored that prayers might be offered for her.  She had never before been seen in this state, and in her inexpressible anguish she kept repeating:  “Oh! how necessary it is to pray for the agonising!  If one only knew!”

One night she entreated the Infirmarian to sprinkle her bed with Holy Water, saying:  “I am besieged by the devil.  I do not see him, but I feel him; he torments me and holds me with a grip of iron, that I may not find one crumb of comfort; he augments my woes, that I may be driven to despair. . . .  And I cannot pray.  I can only look at Our Blessed Lady and say:  ‘Jesus!’ How needful is that prayer we use at Compline:  ’Procul recedant somnia et noctium phantasmata!’ (’Free us from the phantoms of the night.’) Something mysterious is happening within me.  I am not suffering for myself, but for some other soul, and satan is angry.”  The Infirmarian, startled, lighted a blessed candle, and the spirit of darkness fled, never to return; but the sufferer remained to the end in a state of extreme anguish.