As I knew not when I should see my Tuscan friend again, I begged the privilege of seeing her for a few moments.  I was anxious to ask her prayers and sympathy, and to put her on her guard, for should the priests discover her New Testament, they would punish her as they did me, or as they intended to do to me.  But this favor was denied me, and I could not write to her, for all letters of the scholars in the convents, are opened under the pretence to prevent them from receiving love-letters.  The Romish church keeps all her dark plans a secret, but never allows any secret to be kept from the priests.

I went into my room to bid farewell to my home forever.  I fell on my knees and prayed to God for his dear Son’s sake to help me, to give me patience, and to keep me from the sin of suicide.  The more I thought of my utterly unprotected situation and of the savage disposition of my foes, the priests, the more I thought of the propriety of taking my own life, rather than live in a dungeon all my days.  Such was the power of superstition over our domestics that they looked upon me as one accursed of the church, a Protestant heretic, and not one of them would take my hand or bid me good bye.  At tea-time I was not allowed to sit at table with father, mother, and the confessor, as formerly.  But I had my supper sent up to my room.

A short time after the bell rang for vespers, the carriage being ready, my father and the confessor with myself and one small trunk got into the best seats inside, and rode off at a rapid rate.  I kept my veil over my face, and said not a word neither did I shed a single tear; my sorrow, and indignation was too deep for utterance or even for tears.  The priest and my father uttered not a word.  Perhaps my father’s conscience made him ashamed of such vile work—­that of laying violent hands on a defenceless girl of eighteen years of age, for no crime whatever, only the love of liberty and pure Bible religion.  But if the priest was silent, his vile countenance indicated a degree of hellish pleasure and satisfaction.  Never did piratical captain glory more in seeing a rich prize along side with all hands killed and out of the way, than my reverend confessor; yet a short time before he said he loved me as a daughter.  Yes, he did love me, as the wolf loves the lamb, as the cat loves the mouse and as the boa constrictor the beautiful gazelle.  To my momentary satisfaction we entered the big gate of St. Ursula, for although I knew I should suffer there perhaps even death, there was some satisfaction in seeing a few faces that I had seen in my gay and happy days, now alas! forever gone by!  I was somewhat grieved by the cold reception I received.  All seemed to look upon me with horror.  But none of these things moved me; I looked to God for strength, for I felt that He alone could nerve me for the conflict.  The hardest blow of all was, my dear father left me at the mercy of the priest without one kind look or word.  He did not even shake hands with me, nor did he say farewell.