After long and anxious thought--and he might say prayer--it had been
decided that I should be sent away to a Convent. It was to be a Convent
of the Sacred Heart in Rome. He was to take me to Rome himself and see
me safely settled there. And they (meaning my father and Aunt Bridget)
had promised him--faithfully promised him--that when the holidays came
round he should be sent to bring me home again. So there was nothing to
fear, nothing to worry about, nothing to . . . to . . .
My mother listened as long as she could, and then--her beautiful white
face distorted by pain--she broke in on the Father's message with a cry
of protest.
"But she is so young! Such a child! Only seven years old! How can any
one think of sending such a little one away from home?"
Father Dan tried to pacify her. It was true I was very young, but then
the Reverend Mother was such a good woman. She would love me and care
for me as if I were her own child. And then the good nuns, God bless
their holy souls. . . .
"But Mary is all I have," cried my mother, "and if they take her away
from me I shall be broken-hearted.
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