“Strange that no friend has come after me? No one caring for my fate—even to inquire! And he—no, that is not strange—only sadder, harder to think of. How could I expect, or hope, he would?
“But surely it is not so? I may be wronging them all—friends—relatives—even him? They may not know where I am? Cannot! How could they? I know not myself! Only that it is France, and in a nunnery. But what part of France, and how I came to it, likely they are ignorant as I.
“And they may never know! Never find out! If not, oh! what is to become of me? Father in Heaven! Merciful Saviour! help me in my helplessness!”
After this frenzied outburst a calmer interval succeeds; in which human instincts as thoughts direct her. She thinks:—
“If I could but find means to communicate with my friends—make known to them where I am, and how, then—Ah! ’tis hopeless. No one allowed near me but the attendant and that Sister Ursule. For compassion from either, I might just as well make appeal to the stones of the floor! The Sister seems to take delight in torturing me—every day doing or saying some disagreeable thing. I suppose, to humble, break, bring me to her purpose—that the taking of the veil. A nun! Never! It is not in my nature, and I would rather die than dissemble it!”
“Dissemble!” she repeats in a different accent. “That word helps me to a thought. Why should I not dissemble? I will.”
Thus emphatically pronouncing, she springs to her feet, the expression of her features changing suddenly as her attitude. Then paces the floor to and fro, with hands clasped across her forehead, the white attenuated fingers writhingly entwined in her hair.
“They want me to take the veil—the black one! So shall I; the blackest in all the convent’s wardrobe if they wish it—aye, crape if they insist on it? Yes, I am resigned now—to that—anything. They can prepare the robes, vestments, all the adornments of their detested mummery; I am prepared, willing, to put them on. It’s the only way—my only hope of regaining liberty. I see—am sure of it!”
She pauses, as if still but half resolved, then goes on—
“I am compelled to this deception! Is it a sin? If so, God forgive me! But no—it cannot be! ’Tis justified by my wrongs—my sufferings!”