I heard no more at that time, but what I did hear set me to wondering what would become of us if any more were taken away. This same constant devotion to the Holy Sacrament must have been great drain on the strength of our little community, as I remember it. It had been established by the Mother Angelique in Port Royal some years before Madame de Longueville and the Bishop of Langris had set up, with this same Mother's assistance, the short-lived sub-order of Daughters of the Holy Sacrament. From morning till night and from night till morning, no matter what might be the weather, a sister was always on her knees in the church, before the altar on which was the consecrated wafer. She might seek relief by lying on her face or by leaning against a post which was placed for that purpose. Hence the sisters usually spoke of "being at the post." (I never heard, by the way, that when our Lord was in this world in bodily presence, he kept the women who ministered to him on their knees before him. Even Mary sat at his feet.) This duty, which was not so very hard divided among forty or fifty people, was certainly a severe burden when it came to be divided among ten or twelve. It makes me vexed whenever I remember how much strength, both of body and mind, our good sisters used to waste on just such performances as these. Sister Augustine had been out of health for many years, and it was not thought she could survive Mother Assistant very long. Nevertheless, she lingered till the snows came again, sometimes confined to the bed, sometimes able to sit up a little. The second week in Advent, she too was laid away to rest in the cemetery. She had been very low and desponding through great part of her illness, indeed, almost in despair. The day that she died, I was sitting with her administering the sips of wine and water every few minutes which seemed all that kept her alive. She had been dozing for half an hour—an unusually long time—and looked so peaceful, I could not find it in my heart to waken her. At last she opened her eyes, and I hastened to give her the usual refreshment. "Thank you, dear child. How kind you are to me!" said she, and then, pressing my hand, "I have had a lovely vision. I saw the dear Saviour stand there at the foot of my bed, and heard him say, 'Her sins, which are many, are forgiven.' It is all clear to me now. He has saved me, and I shall be saved." I saw a change had come over her face, and, in great alarm, I would have called some one, but she held me fast, while her eyes, turned toward the foot of the bed, seemed to behold some glorious vision. In a moment, the clasp of her hand relaxed, her eyes rolled upward—she was gone. I called Mother Prudentia, but Sister Augustine never breathed again. I told the Mother what she had said.