THE day at last came for our embarkation. Our luggage was taken away in the first place, but we were allowed to keep each a basket containing a change of linen and certain other necessaries. Mother St. Stanislaus distributed among us with a lavish hand biscuits, dried fruit, gingerbread, and peppermint comfits, and the good Sister St. Anne smuggled into my own basket a bottle of lavender and a flask of a certain fragrant and spicy cordial which she had a great reputation for making, and which was esteemed a sovereign remedy for indigestion. There was a good deal of indigestion among the nuns of St. Ursula. Poor dear souls! They were all very good to me, and but for the change in my religious views and the hope I still cherished of meeting Andrew once more, I think I could have made myself very content among them. The mothers kissed me and made me various little presents, some of which I have still, especially a medal containing some hairs of St. Ursula, given me by the Superior. They are coarse hairs, and are just the color of the tail of my chestnut mare. I think she sincerely regretted my departure, but I don't think she was at all sorry to get rid of Mother Mary, who was a religious all through, taking a real delight in all sorts of mortifications, and very ready to impose them on others; besides that, she could not for the life of her help wishing to take the management of matters into her own hands, wherever she was. I know she ached to reform the Ursuline Convent from top to bottom, and it was well for the comfort of those concerned that she had not the power to do so. We were taken in close carriages from the convent through the city to the place of embarkation. The ship could not be brought alongside the wharf, and we had to embark a few at a time in the little boats. Mother Mary, who had managed several such affairs, sent her two assistant nuns first to receive the passengers as they came, and herself remained on the wharf till the whole company were dispatched. Desirée and I were among the last. I was burning with impatience, for I saw David in the crowd and close to me, and I longed to slip into his hand a note I had written telling him of the fate of poor Lucille, and begging him to lose no time in escaping to England. At last the chance mine. Poor Louisonne, who was always doing the wrong thing at the wrong time, did the right one for me and slipped into the water. The bustle and alarm—for the poor thing was nearly drowned—drew Mother Mary away for a moment and gave me the desired opportunity. David drew near, and as he brushed by me, I put the note into his hand. Nobody saw me but a good-natured-looking Franciscan, who only smiled and shook his head at me. At last we were all on board and introduced to the cabin, which was to be our lodging for at least six weeks. Oh, what a hole it was!—dirty, ill-lighted, not half furnished.