“When I had contemplated death at the Convent, it always seemed to be a wonderful glorious thing. The nuns always spoke of death as if in dying the doors were opened into a fuller and more glorious life. I thought I would never be afraid to die. The nuns when they were dead had always looked peaceful and very beautiful. I had never felt afraid as some of the other novices were when we went to see their bodies laid out in the Chapel.
‘“When I come to die, I shall be happy and at peace like they are,’ I had thought to myself very often. Now I was not peaceful and happy. I wanted to live. I wanted to see you again, Monseigneur. I could not bear to think that you would know nothing of what had happened to me save that my body, distorted and horrible, would be brought to you from the waters of
