Thus we may well hope that the most merciful Lord provided for their eternal salvation during their mortal illness, and then took them, lest wickedness should alter their understanding,[1] and at the same time provided for the mother by opening to her a way into a new life far removed from the world and so long the object of her wishes, a life altogether spiritual and by anticipation blessed. The brave woman did not weep, and although at the time of her husband's tragic end she was dissolved in tears through fear about the salvation of his soul and the souls of his murderers, yet at the deaths of her children she only thanked her God who had taken them away from the dangers of sin and the risk of another more dreadful death--that of the soul. It is difficult to discover how long Rita had to struggle with her vengeful children, or how long she remained in the world after they had passed to eternity. It seems certain, however, that the time she lived as a widow was short. But we know that during that period she placed all her confidence in God, and that she was engaged night and day in the practice of most perfect prayer,[2] according to St. Paul's instruction to widows. She bore the cross with Jesus Christ, and lived a life of perpetual self-denial. More than ever she kept her body in subjection by scourgings and continued fasting, and she distributed to the poor that part of her food which her abstinence spared. She rejoiced in performing works of mercy, and was, in a word, all love towards God and her neighbour, and in no way solicitous about herself. Amongst other instances of her heroic charity we read that, happening one day upon a poor man half naked and trembling with cold, she took one of her own garments and gave it to him, and went on her way rejoicing that God had given her the opportunity and the grace to deprive herself of what she herself needed in order to help one of the poor of the Lord. Her dress was of coarse serge, and was a dark blue in colour, and during the severity of the winter she added a rough cloak. She always wore sackcloth that she might always be doing penance. In retirement alone she found her consolation and joy; and no sooner were her children dead than her old burning desire to enclose herself once for all within the cherished shadows of the cloister sprang into life again. We may relate an incident which gave a new impetus to her vocation, as it is told by an ancient writer: Having gone one day from Rocca Porena to Cascia, she went into the church of the Augustinian nuns whilst Mass was being said, and there she felt as if those words of our Saviour were being imprinted on her mind, 'I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life'--words which then passed into her heart to pierce it with the Divine love which spoke to her and invited her.