And taking up my Latin Psalter, she read from the hundred and twenty-seventh Psalm: "It is but lost labor that ye haste to rise up early, and so late take rest—for so He giveth his beloved sleep!"
I saw that she was right. Certainly the ague does not clear one's head, and I am apt to have a return of it on any unusual fatigue. So I kissed her good-night, said my prayers once more, and went to bed. I was restless the first of the night, but toward morning I fell asleep and had a most sweet dream. Methought I stood at the gate of a most lovely and well-ordered garden, full of flowers, surpassing all I had ever seen for beauty and sweetness, and bathed in a light such as I never saw in this world of ours. Therein I could see many spirits, walking, talking and singing, clothed all in white, some of them with crowns of radiant stars. I looked eagerly for some one I knew, and saw Sister Bridget among the brightest, and then Amice; but they did not see me nor could I attract their notice. At last my mother came toward me, dressed and crowned like the rest, with her hands filled with roses. Her face was like herself, but more full of peace than I had ever seen it in this life, when it ever wore a shade of care.
"Dear mother," said I, "will you tell me what I shall do?"
"Honor thy father and thy mother!" said she, in her old voice of gentle command.
"But, mother, you did give me to the cloister!" I said, trembling, I knew not why.
"I gave you to God!" said she, and smiled upon me.
"And is not this the same?" I asked.
Her answer was, "They have made the word of God of none effect, through their tradition."
"Can I not come in to you, dearest mother?" I asked, feeling an inexpressible longing to enter that fair Paradise.
"Not yet. Thy place is prepared, but thou hast yet much work to do. See here are roses for thy bridal crown. Go home to thy house and wait thy Lord's time."