obey, and that, too, without question or complaint.  If we are not willing to do this, it is the duty of the Bishop and the priests to punish us until we are willing.  All who enter a convent renounce forever their own will.”  “But I didn’t come here myself,” said I;” my father put me here to stay a few years.  When I am eighteen I shall go out again.”  “That does not make any difference,” she replied.  “You are here, and your duty is obedience.  But my dear,” she continued, “I advise you never again to speak of going out, for it can never be.  By indulging such hopes you are preparing yourself for a great disappointment.  By speaking of it, you will, I assure you, get yourself into trouble.  You may not find others so indulgent as I am; therefore, for your own sake, I hope you will relinquish all idea of ever leaving the convent, and try to be contented.”  Such was the kind of instruction I received at the White Nunnery.  I did not feel as much disappointed at the information that I was never to go into the world again as she had expected.  I had felt for a long time, almost, indeed, from my first entrance, that such would be my fate, and though deeply grieved, I was able to control my feelings.

The great day at length came for which the Abbess had been so long preparing me.  I say great, for in our monotonous life, the smallest circumstance seemed important.  Moreover, I was assured that my future happiness depended very much upon the answers, I that day gave to the various questions put to me.  When about to be taken to the chapel, St. Bridget begged the priest to be careful and not frighten me, lest it should bring on my fits again.  I was led into the chapel and made to kneel before the altar.  The bishop and five priests were present, and also, a man whom I had never seen before, but I was told he was the Pope’s Nuncio, and that he came a long way to visit them.  I think this was true, for they all seemed to regard him as a superior.  I shall never forget my feelings when he asked me the following questions, which I answered as I had been directed.  “Who do you believe in?” “God.”  “How many persons are there in God?” “Three; the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost” “What world have you lately left?” “The world of sin and Satan.”  “Do you wish to go back and live with your father?” “No Sir.”  “Do you think you can live all your life with us.”  “I think I can, sir.”  He then said, “You will not fare any better than you have hitherto, and perhaps not as well.”  It was with the greatest difficulty that I could control my feelings sufficiently to answer this last question.  But remembering what the Abbess had told me, I suppressed my tears, and choked down the rising sob.  Surely those men must have known that I was telling a falsehood—­that the profession I made was not in accordance with my real sentiments.  For myself, I then felt, and still feel that the guilt was not mine.  The sin did not rest with me.

The Bishop was then told to hear my confession, after which, a priest took some ointment from a small box, and rubbed it on my forehead, and another priest came with a towel and wiped it off.  I was then taken back to St. Bridget, with whom I remained, as long as I was in the White Nunnery.