One morning, when it was time to rise, I had a presentiment that Sister Magdalen was no more.  The dormitory was quite in darkness, no one was leaving her cell.  I decided, however, to go in to Sister Magdalen, and I found her dressed, but lying dead on her bed.  I was not in the least afraid, and running to the Sacristy I quickly brought a blessed candle, and placed on her head a wreath of roses.  Amid all this desolation I felt the Hand of God and knew that His Heart was watching over us.  Our dear Sisters left this life for a happier one without any struggle; an expression of heavenly joy shone on their faces, and they seemed only to be enjoying a pleasant sleep.  During all these long and trying weeks I had the unspeakable consolation of receiving Holy Communion every day.  How sweet it was!  For a long time Jesus treated me as a spoilt child, for a longer time than His more faithful Spouses.  He came to me daily for several months after the influenza had ceased, a privilege not granted to the Community.  I had not asked this favour, but I was unspeakably happy to be united day after day to my Beloved.

Great was my joy in being allowed to touch the Sacred Vessels and prepare the Altar linen on which Our Lord was to be laid.  I felt that I must increase in fervour, and I often recalled those words addressed to deacons at their ordination:  “Be you holy, you who carry the Vessels of the Lord.”

What can I tell you, dear Mother, about my thanksgivings after Communion?  There is no time when I taste less consolation.  But this is what I should expect.  I desire to receive Our Lord, not for my own satisfaction, but simply to give Him pleasure.

I picture my soul as a piece of waste ground and beg Our Blessed Lady to take away my imperfections—­which are as heaps of rubbish—­and to build upon it a splendid tabernacle worthy of Heaven, and adorn it with her own adornments.  Then I invite all the Angels and Saints to come and sing canticles of love, and it seems to me that Jesus is well pleased to see Himself received so grandly, and I share in His joy.  But all this does not prevent distractions and drowsiness from troubling me, and not unfrequently I resolve to continue my thanksgiving throughout the day, since I made it so badly in choir.

You see, dear Mother, that my way is not the way of fear; I can always make myself happy, and profit by my imperfections, and Our Lord Himself encourages me in this path.  Once, contrary to my usual custom, I felt troubled when I approached the Holy Table.  For several days there had not been a sufficient number of Hosts, and I had only received a small part of one; this morning I foolishly thought:  “If the same thing happens to-day, I shall imagine that Jesus does not care to come into my heart.”  I approached the rails.  What a joy awaited me!  The Priest hesitated a moment, then gave me two entire Hosts.  Was this not a sweet response?