“This is the second time I have tried to get you away, and you refuse to come. Now, mind, I shall never come to see you again, or write to you, but you will live to repent the day you ever shut yourself up in a convent, and remember that I will have nothing more to do with you while you are here; but if ever you should want a home, while I have one, it is yours also.”
“Father Ignatius will get tired of you some day, then what will you do if your mother is no more?”
My reply was (remembering what a great pet he made of me, and also how I had read and been told that “the love of spiritual parents was so much stronger than that of any earthly parent”):
“You are, dear mother, very kind; but I am sure the reverend Father will never change.”
This wrench from all home-ties well nigh broke my heart; yet I dared not even think of leaving the convent, though in my heart of hearts I deeply wished I had never taken up that “golden plough.” Ah! had I only not taken it up, there would have been no sin in wishing for home again; but now it was far different, for it seemed to me, at the time, that in God’s great goodness the path had been shown to me down which I must walk, and that I must with determination choose the good, and cast aside every thought of returning to the world. And so I chose what I had been taught was the good, and no one until now knows the bitter struggle I passed through. How often did I recall this day, or rather I could not drive it from my memory whilst sleeping or waking! It often drove sleep from my eyes, and my constant thought was, “If only I could put my arms round my mother’s neck, and kiss her just once more!”
At last all was arranged for me to take the black veil, and I even had orders to write for my mother to come and see this imposing ceremony, as it is really a novice’s entire _death_ to the world, and we are allowed to see our nearest relative before we die. I was told I might go into the visitor’s room to see my mother if she came; but though my Superior said it was _lawful_ to see her, yet she _advised me not to go_, as it might prove a cause of great distraction. When I was first told I might go into the room where my mother was to come, my heart leaped for joy. “Now,” I thought, “I shall be able to kiss her once again.” But then I remembered all the advice I had been given, and I wanted to be “perfect”; so, for the love of Jesus, as _I thought_, I gave up the privilege and joy of kissing my own dear mother!