first away. O, Father Bernard,
pray for me!"

'I prayed for one in sore distress, of what nature I could not say; but
the Holy Virgin would know. Bridget held me fast, gasping with
eagerness at the sound of my words. When I had ended, I rose, and,
making the sign of the Cross over her, I was going to bless her in the
name of the Holy Church, when she shrank away like some terrified
creature, and said:

'"I am guilty of deadly sin, and am not shriven."

'"Arise, my daughter," said I, "and come with me." And I led the way
into one of the confessionals of St. Jacques.

'She knelt; I listened. No words came. The evil powers had stricken her
dumb, as I heard afterwards they had many a time before, when she
approached confession.

'She was too poor to pay for the necessary forms of exorcism; and
hitherto those priests to whom she had addressed herself were either so
ignorant of the meaning of her broken French, or her Irish-English, or
else esteemed her to be one crazed--as, indeed, her wild and excited
manner might easily have led any one to think--that they had neglected
the sole means of loosening her tongue, so that she might confess her
deadly sin, and after due penance, obtain absolution. But I knew
Bridget of old, and felt that she was a penitent sent to me. I went
through those holy offices appointed by our church for the relief of
such a case. I was the more bound to do this, as I found that she had
come to Antwerp for the sole purpose of discovering me, and making
confession to me. Of the nature of that fearful confession I am
forbidden to speak. Much of it you know; possibly all.

'It now remains for her to free herself from mortal guilt, and to set
others free from the consequences thereof. No prayer, no masses, will
ever do it, although they may strengthen her with that strength by
which alone acts of deepest love and purest self-devotion may be
performed. Her words of passion, and cries for revenge--her unholy
prayers could never reach the ears of the Holy Saints! Other powers
intercepted them, and wrought so that the curses thrown up to Heaven
have fallen on her own flesh and blood; and so, through her very
strength of love, have bruised and crushed her heart. Henceforward her
former self must be buried,--yea, buried quick, if need be,--but never
more to make sign, or utter cry on earth! She has become a Poor Clare,
in order that, by perpetual penance and constant service of others, she
may at length so