gate piers which lean
towards each other, their foundations having given way.

Then I thought Benediction began, and when the congregation sang I sang
also. I heard myself singing:

"_Mater purissima,
Ora pro nobis_."

Down to this moment I thought I had been alone, but now the Reverend
Mother entered my room, and she joined me. I heard her deep rich voice
under mine:

"_Mater castissima
Ora pro nobis_."

Then I thought the _Ora_ ended, and in the silence that followed it I
heard Christian Arm talking to baby on the gravel path below. I had
closed my eyes, yet I seemed to see them, for I felt as if I were under
some strange sweet anaesthetic which had taken away all pain but not all
consciousness.

Then I thought I saw Martin come close under my window and lift baby up
to me, and say something about her.

I tried to answer him and could not, but I smiled, and then there was
darkness, in which I heard voices about me, with somebody sobbing and
Father Dan saying, as he did on the morning my mother died:

"Don't call her back. She's on her way to God's beautiful paradise after
all her suffering."

After that the darkness became still deeper, and the voices faded away,
and then gradually a great light came, a beautiful, marvellous,
celestial light, such as Martin describes when he speaks about the
aurora, and then . . . I was on a broad white snowy plateau, and Martin
was walking by my side.

How wonderful! How joyful! How eternally glorious!

* * * * *

It is 4 A.M. Some of "the boys" will be on their way to my wedding.
Though I have been often ashamed of letting them come I am glad now for
his sake that I didn't try to keep them back. With his comrades about
him he will control himself and be strong.

* * * * *

Such a peaceful morning! There is just light enough to see St. Mary's
Rock. It is like a wavering ghost moving in the vapour on the face of
the deep. I can hear the far-off murmur of the sea. It is like the
humming in a big shell. A bird is singing in the garden and the swallows
are twittering in a nest under the thatch. A mist is lying over the
meadows, and the tree tops seem to be floating between the earth and the
sky.

How beautiful the world is!

Very soon the mist will rise, and the day will break and the sun will
come again and . . . there will be no more night.

[END OF THE NARRATIVE OF MARY O'NEI