grasp of the law.  But when it is done by a priest, under the cloak of Religion, and within the sacred precincts of a nunnery, people cry out, when the tale is told, “Impossible!” “What motive could they have had?” “It cannot be true,” etc.  But whether the statement is believed or otherwise, it is a fact that in the Grey Nunnery at Montreal the least exhibition of a humane spirit was punished as a crime.  The nun who was found guilty of showing mercy to a fellow-sufferer was sure to find none herself.

From this time I gained very fast, for the Abbess saw how hungry I was, and she would either put food in my way, or give me privately what I wished to eat.  In two weeks I was able to go to work in the kitchen again.  But those I had formerly seen there were gone.  I never knew what became of the sick nun, nor could I learn anything about the one who ran away with me.  I thought that the men who brought me to St. Regis, were kept there to go after her, but I do not know whether they found her or not.  For myself, I promised so solemnly, and with such apparent sincerity, that I would never leave the nunnery again, I was believed and trusted.  Had I been kindly treated, had my life been even tolerable, my conscience would have reproached me for deceiving them, but as it was, I felt that I was more “sinned against, than sinning.”  I could not think it wrong to get away, if the opportunity presented, and for this I was constantly on the watch.  Every night I lay awake long after all the rest were buried in slumber, trying to devise some plan, by which I could once more regain my liberty.  And who can blame me?  Having just tasted the sweets of freedom, how could I be content to remain in servitude all my life?  Many a time have I left my bed at night, resolved to try to escape once more, but the fear of detection would deter me from the attempt.

In the discharge of my daily duties, I strove to the utmost of my ability to please my employers.  I so far succeeded, that for five weeks after my return I escaped punishment.  Then, I made a slight mistake about my work, though I verily thought I was doing it according to the direction.  For this, I was told that I must go without two meals, and spend three days in the torture room.  I supposed it was the same room I was in before, but I was mistaken.  I was taken into the kitchen cellar, and down a flight of stairs to another room directly under it.  From thence, a door opened into another subterranean apartment which they called the torture room.  These doors were so constructed, that a casual observer would not be likely to notice them.  I had been in that cellar many times, but never saw that door until I was taken through it.  A person might live in the nunnery a life-time, and never see or hear anything of such a place.  I presume those visitors who call at the school-rooms, go over a part of the house, and leave with the impression that the convent is a nice place, will never believe my statements about this room.  Nor can we wonder at their skepticism.  It is exceedingly difficult for pure minds to conceive how any human being can be so fearfully depraved.  Knowing the purity of their own intentions, and judging others by themselves, it is not strange that they regard such tales of guilt and terror as mere fabrications, put forth to gratify the curiosity of the wonder-loving crowd.