“What did the Vicar mean?” and I said to the Mother, “Have you really been cured Mother mistress?” (It was then that I discovered that only the Mother Prioress knew of it.)
“Yes; have you not noticed it,” she replied.
I had to confess that I had not noticed it, and, what is more, I never did, for she still limped, and still does. In fact, I once said, “Mother mistress, is it not strange that our Lady did not quite cure you? It would have been so much nicer if she had!” She replied, “Yes, but I must be grateful for what she has done.”
Now I really did then believe she had done something, but what it really was I could not make out, as I saw no difference in her whatever. In fact, many times have I seen the poor nun flushed with pain at the exertion of moving. Most probably the abscess had run its course and closed naturally just about the time when the rhubarb leaf arrived; and as to the raising of the limb which she had been unable to do for thirty-eight years, we all know how easy it is for some persons to imagine almost anything. But all I have to say is, she was about the same when I last saw her as when I first saw her; and if any one went to see her, they would see for themselves that she still limps. While she was a novice, she had a bad attack, after which a crutch was procured for her, which she used once or twice, and then went back to her old stick; but both crutch and stick had been given up long before the apparitions, though occasionally she would take the stick to go up the hill with, to the summer-house (and I often wished I had one, for it was a tiring climb). Nevertheless the stick and the crutch are now laid at the “Shrine of our Lady of Llanthony” as “memorials of God’s wonders!”
I remember how I have looked at this stick and crutch, and thoughts passed through my mind which I need not mention.
Since I finally left the convent, I have been told that a certain young man acknowledged to a priest that he had enacted the whole of the apparition with a magic lantern, and that the priest had written to Father Ignatius, advising him not to say anything more on the subject, or else he would make known how the whole thing came about, or words to this effect. Probably the young man was the railway clerk, who witnessed the boys’ excitement on the subject, for nowhere do you hear of his having seen the apparition himself. Doubtless he was too busy amusing the others. Now I do not say positively the apparitions were produced by a magic lantern, but I was told so, and I think this is the general opinion.
CHAPTER XVII.
LIBERTY.
I cannot but add a chapter in which I shall especially endeavour to give a word of counsel and warning to all who may in any degree be looking upon convent life, whether in the Church of England or in the Church of Rome, with a favourable eye. I may say sincerely this book has been written with this object. And if, in doing what seemed to me so bounden a duty, I have hurt the feelings of any who are mentioned in its pages, it was not with the object of doing so that I was led to speak out the truth. My prayer for them is that they may be brought out into the same liberty that I, through God’s infinite mercy, am now in the enjoyment of. I can truthfully say that in doing this I have fully counted the cost, and it has already cost me no small amount of pain. I have spoken the truth, and I have endeavoured to do so in no vindictive manner, but in love. Distinctly this book has been written to warn all against making the terrible mistake in life that I made. Had I but listened to and obeyed my mother, her advice would have saved me from wasting (I can use no other word, though God will doubtless overrule this mistake for my own good, and for the good of others) the best and youngest years of my life, and have prevented me from enduring years of mental suffering and misery. But when I went astray on the path that seemed so attractive and pleasant, I was very young; I was but fifteen years of age, and like, I fear, so many young and inexperienced people, I was foolish, self-willed, and fancied that I was better able to judge for myself than others were to judge for me. And so I was led to deliver myself over to the tender mercies of High Church Fathers and Mothers. I was simply bewitched by their “fair speeches,” high professions of sanctity, and solemn assurances of the happiness belonging to the cloistered life.