Consequently, there is no one to bear direct testimony to the truth of her statements. Even now, methinks, I see your haughty brow contract, and your lip curl with scorn, as with supreme contempt you throw down these pages and exclaim, "'Tis all a fiction. Just got up to make money. No proof that it is true." No proof do you say? O, that the strong arm of the law would interpose in our behalf!--that some American Napoleon would come forth, and break open those prison doors, and drag forth to the light of day those hidden instruments of torture! There would then be proof enough to satisfy the most incredulous, that, so far from being exaggerated, the half has not been told. Sons of America! Will you not arise in your might, and demand that these convent doors be opened, and "the oppressed" allowed to "go free"? Or if this be denied, sweep from the fair earth, the black-hearted wretches who dare, in the very face of heaven, to commit such fearful outrages upon helpless, suffering humanity? How long--O how long will you suffer these dens of iniquity to remain unopened? How long permit this system of priestly cruelty to continue? But I am wandering from my story. Would that I might forever wander from it--that I might at once blot from memory's page, the fearful recollection that must follow me to my grave! Yet, painful as it is to rehearse the past, if I can but awaken your sympathy for other sufferers, if I can but excite you to efforts for their deliverance, it is all I ask. I shall have my reward. But to return to my story. The Abbess saw how deeply I was grieved, and immediately left the room. St. Bridget told me not to cry, for she would be a mother to me as long as I remained with her, and she was true to her promise. Another sister, who sometimes came to my room, I believe was crazy. She would run up to my bed, put her hand on me, and burst into a loud and hearty laugh. This she repeated as often as she came, and I told the Abbess one day, I did wish that sister would not come to see me, for she acted so strange, I was afraid of her. She replied, "do not care for her; she always does just so, but we do not mind her; you must be careful what you say," she continued, "for if you speak of her before any of the sisters, they may get you into trouble." When I began to get better, I had a sharp appetite for food, and was hungry a great part of the time. One of the sisters used to bring me a piece of bread concealed under her cape and hide it under my pillow. How she obtained it, I do not know, unless she saved it from her own allowance. It was very easy for her to hide it in this way, for the nuns always walk with one hand under their cape and the other by the side. Truly, in this instance, "bread eaten in secret" was "pleasant." Of all the luxuries I ever tasted, those stolen bits of bread were the sweetest.