I thought I should never go to sleep, but the sound of the falling water, the softly murmuring voices of the priest and the two mothers saying the litanies, and the gentle swaying of the suspended lamp lulled me at last into a slumber. I dreamed that I was trying to reach something from the upper shelf of a certain dark storeroom cupboard, when some one violently slammed the door on me. The noise awoke me with a start. All the sisters were on their feet in an instant, but the gesture of the abbess imposed silence, and not a word was said. We heard a shout of—"Open in the king's name—" And then a furious attack upon the great gate which led from the outer court into the garden. It sounded frightfully near. In a moment it fell, and we could hear the footsteps of our enemies, as it seemed, over our heads. They may have been so for ought I know. We were all on our knees by this time before the little altar—some on their faces. Only the Superior stood erect and calm. The noise partially died away—I suppose while the ruffians were searching for us. Then they gathered again in the court with every expression of anger and disappointment. We could hear every word that was said. They had evidently pushed off the cover of the old well, and one of them dropped a great stone into it. The noise which resounded through the vaults was awful beyond description. "Our birds are flown!" said a voice. "And they have stripped their nest pretty completely." "They are not flown—they have only gone to earth!" said another voice, which I thought I had heard before. "Follow me, and we will soon have them out." In a few minutes we heard the noise of a door forced, and heavy, armed heels noisily descending. The sisters gathered closer around the superior. "They have found the entrance under the great stairs," said the superior. "Keep perfectly still, and fear nothing, but pray for the souls of our enemies. They do but rush on their own destruction." Mother Prudentia whispered a few words to the superior, and, receiving a nod in return, took up a lantern and glided away so suddenly that, though I was watching eagerly, I could not have told for my life which way she went. There was evidently a good deal of hesitation among the enemy, for I heard the same voice proclaim loudly: "A purse of gold for the one who unearths the old cats. There! I see the gleam of a lantern even now." It could have been but two or three minutes, before we heard a sudden splash, followed in a second by another and a horrible scream of mortal anguish, which echoed and re-echoed as if a hundred demons were mocking the drowning wretches. There was one half-strangled cry for help—a rush—and then all was still for a few minutes, till Mother Prudentia returned to us with her lantern, and her shoes covered with mud and slime.