Cepeda were not realized. He does not sleep in death beside his sainted sister. The remains of St. Teresa are at Alba de Tormes, where she died, in a shrine of jasper and silver given by Ferdinand VII. It stands over the high altar of the Carmelite church, thirty feet above the pavement, where it can be seen from the choir of the nuns, and approached by means of an oratory behind, where they go to pray. Her heart, pierced by the angel, is in a reliquary below.
We left Avila with regret. Few places take such hold on the heart. For those to whom life has nothing left to offer but long sufferance it seems the very place to live in. The last thing we did was to go to the brow of the hill by San Vicente, and take a farewell look at the convent of the Incarnation, where still so many
“Willing hearts wear quite away their earthly stains”
in one of the fairest, happiest of valleys. How long we might have lingered there we cannot say, had not the carriage come to hurry us to the station. And so, taking up life’s burden once more, which we seemed to have laid down in this City of the Saints, we went on our pilgrim way, repeating the lines St. Teresa wrote in her breviary:
| “Nada te turbe, | Let nothing disturb thee, |
| Nada te espante, | Let nothing affright thee; |
| Todo se pasa. | All passeth away. |
| Dios no se muda. | God alone changeth not. |
| La pacienza | Patience to all things |
| Todo se alcanza, | Reacheth, and he who |
| Quien a Dios tiene, | Fast by God holdeth, |
| Nada le falta; | To him naught is wanting; |
| Solo Dios basta.” | Alone God sufficeth. |
“Some sing of Oliver, and some of Roldan:
We sing of Zurraquin, the brave partisan.”
“Some sing of Roland, and others Oliver: