But alas! I had not the wings of a dove, and whither should I flee from the furious grasp of my relentless persecutors? Again I must go forth into the "busy haunts of men," I must mingle with the multitude, and what chance had I for ultimate escape? If I left these kind friends, and leave them I must, who would take me in? In whom could I confide? Who would have the power to rescue me in my hour of need? In God alone could I trust, yet why is he so far from helping me? Why are my prayers so long unanswered? And why does he thus allow the wicked to triumph; to lay snares for the feet of the innocent, and wrongfully persecute those whom their wanton cruelty hath caused to sit in darkness and in the shadow of death? Why does he not at once "break the bands of iron, and let the oppressed go free?" The tedious night at length passed away. When I met Mr. Williams in the morning, I told him I could no longer remain with him, for I was sure if I did, I should be suddenly arrested in some unguarded moment, and carried back to Montreal. He urged me to stay, assured me he would never allow them to take me, said that he thought some of going south, and I could go with him, and thus be removed far from all whom I feared. Mrs. Williams, also, strove to persuade me to stay. But, though sorry to appear ungrateful, I dared not remain another night where I felt that my danger was so great. When they found that I was determined to go, Mr. Williams said I had better go to Worcester, Mass., and try to get employment in some farmer's family, a little out of the city. He gave me money to bear my expenses, until I found a place where I could earn my living. It was with a sad heart that I left this hospitable roof, and as I turned away I said in my heart, "Shall I always be hunted through the world in this manner, obliged to flee like a guilty thing, and shall I never find a home of happiness and peace? Must sorrow and despair forever be the portion of my cup?" But no words of mine can describe what I felt at that moment. I longed for the power to sound a warning through the length and breadth of the land, to cry in the ears of all the people, "Beware of Romanism!" Like the patient man of Uz, with whose history I have since become familiar, I was ready to exclaim, "O that my words were now written! O that they were printed in a book! Graven with an iron pen," that the whole world might know what a fearful and bitter thing it is to be a nun! To be subject to the control of those ruthless tyrants, the Romish Priests.