But, dear Lord, Thy child has understood Thou art the Light Divine; she asks Thy pardon for her unbelieving brethren, and is willing to eat the bread of sorrow as long as Thou mayest wish.  For love of Thee she will sit at that table of bitterness where these poor sinners take their food, and she will not stir from it until Thou givest the sign.  But may she not say in her own name, and the name of her guilty brethren:  “O God, be merciful to us sinners!"[12] Send us away justified.  May all those on whom Faith does not shine see the light at last!  O my God, if that table which they profane can be purified by one that loves Thee, I am willing to remain there alone to eat the bread of tears, until it shall please Thee to bring me to Thy Kingdom of Light:  the only favour I ask is, that I may never give Thee cause for offence.

From the time of my childhood I felt that one day I should be set free from this land of darkness.  I believed it, not only because I had been told so by others, but my heart’s most secret and deepest longings assured me that there was in store for me another and more beautiful country—­an abiding dwelling-place.  I was like Christopher Columbus, whose genius anticipated the discovery of the New World.  And suddenly the mists about me have penetrated my very soul and have enveloped me so completely that I cannot even picture to myself this promised country . . . all has faded away.  When my heart, weary of the surrounding darkness, tries to find some rest in the thought of a life to come, my anguish increases.  It seems to me that out of the darkness I hear the mocking voice of the unbeliever:  “You dream of a land of light and fragrance, you dream that the Creator of these wonders will be yours for ever, you think one day to escape from these mists where you now languish.  Nay, rejoice in death, which will give you, not what you hope for, but a night darker still, the night of utter nothingness!” . . .

Dear Mother, this description of what I suffer is as far removed from reality as the first rough outline is from the model, but I fear that to write more were to blaspheme . . . even now I may have said too much.  May God forgive me!  He knows that I try to live by Faith, though it does not afford me the least consolation.  I have made more acts of Faith in this last year than during all the rest of my life.

Each time that my enemy would provoke me to combat, I behave as a gallant soldier.  I know that a duel is an act of cowardice, and so, without once looking him in the face, I turn my back on the foe, then I hasten to my Saviour, and vow that I am ready to shed my blood in witness of my belief in Heaven.  I tell him, if only He will deign to open it to poor unbelievers, I am content to sacrifice all pleasure in the thought of it as long as I live.  And in spite of this trial, which robs me of all comfort, I still can say:  “Thou hast given me, O Lord, delight in all Thou dost."[13] For what joy can be greater than to suffer for Thy Love?  The more the suffering is and the less it appears before men, the more is it to Thy Honour and Glory.  Even if—­but I know it to be impossible—­Thou shouldst not deign to heed my sufferings, I should still be happy to bear them, in the hope that by my tears I might perhaps prevent or atone for one sin against Faith.