The other nun said that she had been once in the world, and every one was kind to her.  “I shall try to get out again, some day,” said she, “but we must keep our resolutions to ourselves, for there is no one here, that we can trust.  Those whom we think our best friends will betray us, if we give them a chance.  I do believe that some of them delight in getting us punished.”

The sick nun said, “I have never exposed any one and I never will.  I have the secrets of a great many hid in my breast, that nothing shall ever extort from me.”  Here she was interrupted, and soon left the room.  I never saw her again.  Whether she was under punishment, or was so fortunate as to make her escape, I do not know.  As no questions could be asked, it was very little we could know of each other.  If one of our number escaped, the fact was carefully concealed from the rest, and if she was caught and brought back, no one ever knew it, except those who had charge of her.  The other nun who worked in the room with me, watched me very closely.  Having heard me declare my intention to leave the first opportunity, she determined to go with me if possible.

CHAPTER XI.

The joy of freedom.

At length the long sought opportunity arrived, and with the most extatic joy we fled from the nunnery.  The girl I have before mentioned, who wished to go with me, and another nun, with whom I had no acquaintance, were left in the kitchen to assist me, in taking charge of the cooking, while the rest of the people were at mass in the chapel.  A chance presented for us to get away, and we all fled together, leaving the cooking to take care of itself.  We were assisted to get out of the yard, but how, or by whom, I can never reveal.  Death, in its most terrible form would be the punishment for such an act of kindness, and knowing this, it would be the basest ingratitude for me to name the individual who so kindly assisted us in our perilous undertaking.

How well do I remember the emotions that thrilled my soul when I found myself safely outside the walls of that fearful prison!  The joy of freedom—­the hope of ultimate success—­the fear of being overtaken, and dragged back to misery or death, were considerations sufficiently exciting to agitate our spirits, and lend fleetness to our steps.  With trembling limbs, and throbbing hearts we fled towards the St. Lawrence river.  Following the tow-path, we hastened on for a few miles, when one of the nuns became exhausted, and said she could go no further.  She was very weak when we started, and the excitement and fatigue produced serious illness.  What should we do with her?  We could not take her along with us, and if we stopped with her, we might all be taken and carried back.  Must we leave her by the way-side?  It was a fearful alternative, but what else could we do?  With sad hearts we took her to a shed near by, and there we left her to her fate, whatever it might be; perchance to die there alone, or what was still worse, be carried back to the convent.  It was indeed, a sorrowful parting, and we wept bitter tears together, as we bade her a last farewell.  I never saw or heard from her again.