At
six I had entered a convent.
"Nobody in the outer world ever knew what had become of me, and neither
did I know what happened at home after I left it. The rule of the
convent was very strict. Sometimes, after morning prayers, the Superior
would say, 'The mother of one of you is dead--pray for her soul,' and
that was all we ever heard of the world outside.
"But nature is a mighty thing, my child, and after five years I became
restless and unhappy. I began to have misgivings about my vocation, but
the Mother, who was wise and human, saw what was going on in my heart.
'You are thinking about your father,' she said, 'that he is growing old,
and needing a daughter to take care of him. Go out, and nurse him, and
then come back to your cell and pray.'
"I went, but when I reached my father's house a great shock awaited me.
A strange man was in the porter's lodge, and our beautiful palace was
let out in apartments. My father was dead--three years dead and buried.
After my disappearance he had shut himself up in his shame and grief,
for, little as I had suspected it and hard and cruel as I had thought
him, he had really and truly loved me.
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