CHAPTER XXIII.

Flight and recapture.

Four happy weeks I enjoyed unalloyed satisfaction in the bosom of this charming family.  It was a new thing for me to feel at home, contented, and undisturbed; to have every one around me treat me with kindness and even affection.  I sometimes feared it was too good to last.  Mrs. Branard in particular, I shall ever remember with grateful and affectionate regard.  She was more like a mother to me, than a mistress, and I shall ever look back to the time I spent with her, as a bright spot in the otherwise barren desert of my life.  Better, far better would it have been for me had I never left her.  But I became alarmed, and thought the convent people were after me.  It was no idle whim, no imaginary terror.  I had good cause to fear, for I had several times seen a priest go past, and gaze attentively at the house.  I knew him at the first glance, having often seen him in Montreal.

Then my heart told me that they had traced me to this place, and were now watching a chance to get hold of me.  Imagine, if you can, my feelings.  Had I suffered so much in vain?  Would they be allowed to take me back to those fearful cells, where no ray of mercy could ever reach me?  I could not endure the thought.  Frightened, and almost beside myself, I resolved to make an effort to find a more secure place.  I therefore left those kind friends in the darkness of night, without one word of farewell, and without their knowledge.  I knew they would not allow me to go, if they were apprised of my design.  In all probability, they would have ridiculed my fears, and bade me rest in peace.  How could I expect them to comprehend my danger, when they knew so little of the machination of my foes?  I intended to go further into the state, but did not wish to have any one know which way I had gone.  It was a sad mistake, but how often in this world do we plunge into danger when we seek to avoid it!  How often fancy ourselves in security when we stand upon the very brink of ruin!

I left Mr. Branard’s in the evening, and called upon a family in the neighborhood whose acquaintance I had made, and whom I wished to see once more, though I dared not say farewell.  I left them between the hours of nine and ten, and set forward on my perilous journey.  I had gone but a short distance when I heard the sound of wheels and the heavy tread of horses’ feet behind me.  My heart beat with such violence it almost stopped my breath, for I felt that they were after me.  But there was no escape—­ no forest or shelter near where I could seek protection.  On came the furious beasts, driven by no gentle hand.  They came up with me, and I almost began to hope that my fears were groundless, when the horses suddenly stopped, a strong hand grasped me, a gag was thrust into my mouth, and again the well-known box was taken from the wagon.  Another moment and I was securely caged, and on my way back to Montreal.  Two men were in the wagon and two rode on horseback beside it.  Four men to guard one poor nun!