arise in your might, and demand that these convent doors
be opened, and "the oppressed" allowed to "go free"? Or
if this be denied, sweep from the fair earth, the
black-hearted wretches who dare, in the very face of
heaven, to commit such fearful outrages upon helpless,
suffering humanity? How long--O how long will you suffer
these dens of iniquity to remain unopened? How long permit
this system of priestly cruelty to continue?

But I am wandering from my story. Would that I might
forever wander from it--that I might at once blot from
memory's page, the fearful recollection that must follow
me to my grave! Yet, painful as it is to rehearse the
past, if I can but awaken your sympathy for other sufferers,
if I can but excite you to efforts for their deliverance,
it is all I ask. I shall have my reward. But to return
to my story.

The Abbess saw how deeply I was grieved, and immediately
left the room. St. Bridget told me not to cry, for she
would be a mother to me as long as I remained with her,
and she was true to her promise. Another sister, who
sometimes came to my room, I believe was crazy. She would
run up to my bed, put her hand on me, and burst into a
loud and hearty laugh. This she repeated as often as she
came, and I told the Abbess one day, I did wish that
sister would not come to see me, for she acted so strange,
I was afraid of her. She replied, "do not care for her;
she always does just so, but we do not mind her; you must
be careful what you say," she continued, "for if you