I could not obtain permission to remain watching at the Altar of Repose throughout the Thursday night, and I returned to our cell at midnight.  Scarcely was my head laid on the pillow when I felt a hot stream rise to my lips.  I thought I was going to die, and my heart nearly broke with joy.  But as I had already put out our lamp, I mortified my curiosity until the morning and slept in peace.  At five o’clock, when it was time to get up, I remembered at once that I had some good news to learn, and going to the window I found, as I had expected, that our handkerchief was soaked with blood.  Dearest Mother, what hope was mine!  I was firmly convinced that on this anniversary of His Death, my Beloved had allowed me to hear His first call, like a sweet, distant murmur, heralding His joyful approach.

I assisted at Prime and Chapter most fervently, and then I hastened to cast myself at my Mother’s knees and confide to her my happiness.  I did not feel the least pain, so I easily obtained permission to finish Lent as I had begun, and on this Good Friday I shared in all the austerities of the Carmel without any relaxation.  Never had these austerities seemed sweeter to me; the hope of soon entering Heaven transported me with joy.

Still full of joy, I returned to our cell on the evening of that happy day, and was quietly falling asleep, when my sweet Jesus gave me the same sign as on the previous night, of my speedy entrance to Eternal Life.  I felt such a clear and lively Faith that the thought of Heaven was my sole delight.  I could not believe it possible for men to be utterly devoid of Faith, and I was convinced that those who deny the existence of another world really lie in their hearts.

But during the Paschal days, so full of light, our Lord made me understand that there really are in truth souls bereft of Faith and Hope, who, through abuse of grace, lose these precious treasures, the only source of pure and lasting joy.  He allowed my soul to be overwhelmed with darkness, and the thought of Heaven, which had consoled me from my earliest childhood, now became a subject of conflict and torture.  This trial did not last merely for days or weeks; I have been suffering for months, and I still await deliverance.  I wish I could express what I feel, but it is beyond me.  One must have passed through this dark tunnel to understand its blackness.  However, I will try to explain it by means of a comparison.

Let me suppose that I had been born in a land of thick fogs, and had never seen the beauties of nature, or a single ray of sunshine, although I had heard of these wonders from my early youth, and knew that the country wherein I dwelt was not my real home—­there was another land, unto which I should always look forward.  Now this is not a fable, invented by an inhabitant of the land of fogs, it is the solemn truth, for the King of that sunlit country dwelt for three and thirty years in the land of darkness, and alas! —­the darkness did not understand that He was the Light of the World.[11]