Lady Rosamond's book

by Lucy Ellen Guernsey

"That she is, that she is, child; but there may be a difference in saints, you know. Well, Mother Superior pitied my grief, and soothed me, and when I was quieted like, she councilled me to watch all night before a shrine in which were some very holy relics—specially part of the veil of St. Clare, our blessed founder."

"'Perhaps the Saint may take pity on you and show you the way out of your present troubles,' said she. 'Fast this day from all food, my daughter, and this night I will myself conduct you to the shrine where you are to watch.'"

"Well, children, I did fast and say my rosary all the rest of the day, till I was ready to drop; and at nine at night the Mother Superior led me to a little chapel off the church, where was the shrine of St. Clare. It was all dark—only looking toward the church I could just see the glimmer of the ever-burning lamp, before the Holy Sacrament of the Altar. Here she left me, and here I was to kneel till daylight, saying my prayers and the seven psalms."

"I don't see how you could kneel so long," said Amice.

"I might lie prone a part of the time, if I would," replied Mother Mary Monica, "and so indeed I did. I don't know what time it was—somewhere before Matins, and I know not whether overcome with fatigue I had not dozed a little, when I was waked by a bright light. I raised myself on my knees, and looking toward the altar, I saw the figure of St. Clare surrounded by a clear but mild radiance, and holding out to me in her hand a nun's veil, while a voice of heavenly sweetness, said to me these words: 'Here, my child, is thy only refuge.' The light faded away, and I sunk down—in a swoon this time, for when some of the Sisters came to seek me at prime, they found me pale and lifeless, while—mark, my daughters—on my head was laid that most sacred relic, the veil of St. Clare—yes, on this unworthy head the blessed veil was laid."

We both looked at the good Mother in a kind of awe.

"Well, I told the good Sisters and my mistress what I had seen. There could be no doubt after that in my mind, especially as two or three days after I had certain news of Jack's death. The King would not hear of my profession at first, but the Prior of the Franciscans took my part, and his Majesty would not have liked setting the whole of the Gray Friars against him; so he gave way, and even paid over my portion, which must have gone hard, for his blessed Majesty was fond of money; and Sir Edward went home riding alone, with a flea in his ear, instead of a bride by his side. Marry him, indeed, with his thin legs and his long lean jaws! So that is the way I was converted, my children, and got my own way, by the help of the Blessed St. Clare, to whom I have always had a particular devotion ever since. And who knows what miracles might be vouchsafed to you, if you were to watch all night before the shrine of our Lady?"

We had no time for any more talk just then, but ever since I have been turning over in my mind what Mother Mary Monica said. It does seem dreadful to me—the thought of watching all night and alone in that dreary place without a light. To be sure, the moon is at the full, and would shine directly into the great window, but then those dreadful vaults, and Sister Bridget's story do so run in my head. Every time the wind shook the ivy or whistled in the loopholes of the stones, I should fancy it a rustle among the graves below, or the grating of that heavy door on its hinges. And then, so cold and damp.

Wretch that I am, to weigh these things one moment in the balance against my dear mother's soul! I feel sure that she could not have died in mortal sin, but to pass without the sacraments, without one moment's warning! Oh, it is dreadful! And then her marrying instead of taking the veil. That I think troubles dear Mother Superior worse than anything. Yes, I am quite resolved. I will watch this very night before the shrine in the garden chapel; but I will tell nobody of my resolve, save Amice and Mother Gertrude. I don't want the whole flock exclaiming, pitying or praising me, or hinting at my setting up for a saint, as some of them do.

[Of course, being now enlightened by Holy Scripture, I do not believe that my dear mother was benefitted by my watching, nor indeed that she needed such benefit; but I will ever maintain that the exertion to overcome my own fears (which were very terrible), for my mother's sake, was of great service to me. 'Twas a true act of self-sacrifice, though done in ignorance, and that not to pile up a stock of merit for myself, but to do good to another.]