priest came out of the church in his white surplice and stole,
and we all gathered in the porch for the preliminary part of the
sacrament.

What an experience it was! Never since my marriage had I been in a state
of such spiritual exaltation.

The sacristan, showing me some preference, had put me in the middle of
the row, immediately in front of the priest, so what happened to the
other children I do not know, having eyes and ears for nothing but the
baptism of my own baby.

There were some mistakes, but they did not trouble me, although one was
a little important.

When the priest said, "What name give you this child?" I handed the
Rector's card to the sacristan, and whispered "Isabel Mary" to the
godmother, but the next thing I heard was:

"Mary Isabel, what dost thou ask of the Church of God?"

But what did it matter? Nothing mattered except one thing--that my
darling should be saved by the power of the Holy Sacrament from the dark
terrors which threatened her.

Oh, it is a fearful and awful thing, the baptism of a child, if you
really and truly believe in it. And I did--from the bottom of my heart
and soul I believed in it and trusted it.

In my sacred joy I must have cried nearly all the time, for I had taken
baby's bonnet off, I remember, and holding it to my mouth I found after
a while that I was wetting it with my tears.

When the exorcisms were over, the priest laid the end of his stole over
baby's shoulder and led her (as our prayer books say) into the church,
and we all followed to the baptistery, where I knelt immediately in
front of the font, with the old godmother before me, the other mothers
on either side, and a group of whispering children behind.

The church was empty, save for two charwomen who were sweeping the floor
of the nave somewhere up by the dark and silent altar; and when the
sacristan closed the outer door there was a solemn hush, which was
broken only by the priest's voice and the godparents' muttered
responses.

"Mary Isabel, dost thou renounce Satan?"

"I do renounce him."

"And all his works?"

"I do renounce them."

"And all his pomps?"

"I do renounce them."

The actual baptism was like a prayer to me. I am sure my whole soul went
out to it. And though I may have been a sinful woman unworthy to be
churched, I know, and God knows, that no chaste and holy nun ever prayed
with a purer heart than I did then, kneeling there with my baby's bonnet
to my mouth.

"Mary