Then I thought again of the place I had left; the kindness and sympathy, small though they were, which I had found in some of my late companions in the Convent; the awful mortal sin I had committed in breaking my vows; and the terrible punishment I should receive if taken as a fugitive and carried back. If I should return voluntarily, and ask to be admitted again: what would the Superior say, how would she treat me? Should I be condemned to any very severe penance? Might I not, at least, escape death? But then there was one consideration that would now and then occur to me, which excited the strongest determination never to return. I was to become a mother, and the thought of witnessing the murder of my own child was more than I could bear. Purgatory was doubtless my portion; and perhaps hell for ever--such a purgatory and hell as are painted in the Convent: but there was one hope for me yet. I might confess all my deadly sins sometime before I died, and a Bishop could pardon the worst of them. This was good Catholic doctrine, and I rested upon it with so much hope, that I was not quite driven to despair. In reflections like these, I spent the whole day, afraid to stray from the secluded spot to which I had retreated, though at different times forming momentary plans to leave it, and go in various directions. I ate not a morsel of food, and yet felt no hunger. Had I been well provided, I could have tasted nothing in such a state of mind. The afternoon wasted away, the sun set, and darkness began to come on: I rose and set off again for the city. I passed along the streets unmolested by any one; and reached it a short time before the boat was ready to start. CHAPTER XXII. Start for Quebec--Recognised--Disappointed again--Not permitted to land--Return to Montreal--Landed and passed through the city before day--Lachine Canal--Intended close of my life. Soon after we left the shore, the captain, whom I had previously seen, appeared to recognise me. He came up and inquired if I was not the daughter of my mother, mentioning her name. I had long been taught and accustomed to deceive; and it may be supposed that in such a case I did not hesitate to deny the truth, hoping that I might avoid being known, and fearing to be defeated in my object. He however persisted that he knew me, and said he must insist on my returning with him to Montreal, adding that I must not leave his boat to land at Quebec. I said but little to him, but intended to get on shore if possible, at the end of our journey--a thing I had no doubt I might effect. When we reached Quebec, however I found, to my chagrin, that the ladies' maid carefully locked the cabin-door while I was in, after the ladies had left it, who were six or eight in number.