“The mercy?” I repeated.
“Yes,” she said fervently. “To be punished, and yet the very punishment to contain the power to pray on still—to speak to God—to plead with him for souls, the souls he died for on the cross. What though one were shut for all time in Friar’s Rock, if one trusted that at the end the Vision of God would be his for ever, and till then could and must ask him continually to have mercy on immortal souls? Or who would not live that living death in Dol des Fées to live it in prayer at the altar, and to die a martyr’s death?
“Joanne, my darling, what, after all, are sorrow and death and separation and loneliness to us who can speak to God? In him we are all brought near. His blood makes each of his children dear to those who love him. Day by day to forget self in them, in him; day by day to let grief or pleasure grow less and less in one absorbing prayer that his kingdom come; day by day to lose one’s self in him—that is living, and that is loving. I cannot mourn much for my precious ones that are only absent from my sight, but safe and present with him; my tears are for souls that are not safe, the wide world over; and I cannot miss much what I have never really lost. A thousand times Friar’s Rock speaks to me, and this is what it says:
“‘If thou, Lord, wilt mark iniquities, Lord, who shall stand it?
“‘For with thee there is merciful forgiveness; and by reason of thy law I have waited—for thee, O Lord.
“‘From the morning watch even until night, let Israel hope in the Lord.
“‘Because with the Lord there is mercy, and with him plentiful redemption.
“‘And he shall redeem Israel from all his iniquities.’”
It was years ago, as I have said, that Anne d’Estaing told me this legend. Since then, her parents have died, the château has passed into other hands, she is head of a convent in Bretagne, and I—I lie here, the last of my name, a hopeless invalid, with not a penny to call my own. Rich once, and young, and fair, and proud; sad once, and doubting how to bear a lonely future, I know the meaning of Anne’s story now. “I have waited for thee, O Lord! And he shall redeem Israel from all his iniquities.”
While I wait for him, I pray. It does not grieve me that I do not hear from Anne. La Mère Angélique is more to me, and nearer to me, than when, in days long past, we spoke face to face. For I know we meet in the sure refuge of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, and that, with saints on earth and saints in glory, and the souls beneath the altar, we pray together the same prayer—“Thy kingdom come.”