The priest then ordered us to return to the kitchen, for said he, “The devil has come for this nun’s soul, and will take it with him,” As we left the room I looked around on my companions and wondered if they believed this absurd story.  I longed to ask them what they thought of it, but this was not allowed.  All interchange of thought or feeling being strictly forbidden, we never ventured to speak without permission when so many of us were present, for some one was sure to tell of it if the least rule was broken.

I was somewhat surprised at first that we were all sent to the kitchen, as but few of us were employed there; but we were soon called back again to look at the corpse.  I was inexpressibly shocked at this summons, for I had not supposed it possible for her to die so soon.  But she was dead; and that was all we could ever know about it.  As we stood around the bed, the priest said she was an example of those in the world called heretics; that her soul was in misery, and would remain so forever; no masses or prayers could avail her then, for she could never be prayed out of hell.  Sins like hers could never be forgiven.

I continued to work in the kitchen as usual for many months after this occurrence, and for a few weeks the sick nun was there a great part of the time.  Whenever we were alone, and sure that no one was near, we used to converse together, and a great comfort it was to us both.  I felt that I had found in her one real friend, to sympathize with me in my grievous trials, and with whom I could sometimes hold communication without fear of betrayal.  I had proved her, and found her faithful, therefore I did not fear to trust her.  No one can imagine, unless they know by experience, how much pleasure we enjoyed in the few stolen moments that we spent together.

I shall never forget the last conversation I had with her.  She came and sat down where I was assisting another nun to finish a mat.  She asked us if we knew what was going on in the house.  “As I came from my room,” said she, “I saw the priests and Superiors running along the halls, and they appeared so much excited, I thought something must be wrong.  As they passed me, they told me to go to the kitchen, and stay there.  What does it all mean?” Of course we did not know, for we had neither seen or heard anything unusual.  “Well,” said she, “they are all so much engaged up stairs, we can talk a little and not be overheard.  I want to know something about the people in the world.  Are they really cruel and cold-hearted, as the priests say they are?  When you was in the world were they unkind to you?” “On the contrary,” I replied, “I would gladly return to them again if I could get away from the convent.  I should not be treated any worse, at all events, and I shall embrace the-first opportunity to go back to the world.”  “That is what I have always thought since I was old enough to think at all,” said she, “and I have resolved a great many times to get away if possible.  I suppose they tell us about the cruelty in the world just to frighten us, and. prevent us from trying to escape.  I am so weak now I do not suppose I could walk out of Montreal even if I should leave the convent.  But if I ever get strong enough, I shall certainly try to escape from this horrible place.  O, I could tell you things about this convent that would curdle the blood in your veins.”