Next morning the lady informed me that I could not remain with her in safety, but she had a sister, who lived about half a mile distant, with whom I could stop until my feet were sufficiently healed to enable me to resume my journey. She then sent for her sister, who very kindly, as I then thought, acceded to her request, and said I was welcome to stay with her as long as I wished. Arrangements were therefore made at once for my removal. My kind hostess brought two large buffalo robes into my chamber, which she wrapped around my person in such a way as to shield me from the observation of the servants. She then called one whom she could trust, and bade him take up the bundle and carry it down to a large covered wagon that stood at the door. I have often wondered whether the man knew what was in that bundle or not. I do not think he did, for he threw me across his shoulder as he would any bale of merchandise, and laid me on the bottom of the carriage. The two ladies then entered, laughing heartily at the success of their ruse, and joking me about my novel mode of conveyance. In this manner we were driven to the sister's residence, and I was carried into the house by the servants, in the same way. The landlady stopped for a few moments, and when she left she gave me cloth for a new dress, a few other articles of clothing, and three dollars in money. She bade me stay there and make my dress, and on no account venture out again in my nun dress. She wished me success in my efforts to escape, commended me to the care of our heavenly Father, and bade me farewell. She returned in the wagon alone, and left me to make the acquaintance of my new hostess.

This lady was a very different woman from her sister, and I soon had reason to regret that I was in her power. It has been suggested to me that the two ladies acted in concert; that I was removed for the sole purpose of being betrayed into the hands of my enemies. But I am not willing to believe this. Dark as human nature appears to me—accustomed as I am to regard almost every one with suspicion—still I cannot for one moment cherish a thought so injurious to one who was so kind to me. Is it possible that she could be such a hypocrite? Treat me with so much tenderness, and I might say affection, and then give me up to what was worse than death? No; whatever the reader may think about it, I can never believe her guilty of such perfidy. I regret exceedingly my inability to give the name of this lady in connection with the history of her good deeds, but I did not learn the name of either sister. The one to whom I was now indebted for a shelter seemed altogether careless of my interests. I had been with her but a few hours when she asked me to do some washing for her. Of course I was glad to do it; but when she requested me to go into the yard and hang the clothes upon the line, I became somewhat alarmed. I did not like to do it, and told her so; but she laughed at my fears, overruled all my objections, said no one in that place would seek to harm or to betray me, and assured me there was not the least danger. I at last consented to go, though my reason, judgment, and inclination, had I followed their dictates, would have kept me in the house. But I did not like to appear ungrateful, or unwilling to repay the kindness I received, as far as I was able; still I could not help feeling that it was an ungenerous demand. She might at least have offered me a bonnet or a shawl, as a partial disguise; but she did nothing of the kind.

When I saw that I could not avoid the exposure I resolved to make the best of it and get through as quickly, as possible; but my dress attracted a good deal of attention, and I saw more than one suspicious glance directed towards me before my task was finished. When it was over I thought no more about it, but gave myself up to the bright anticipations of future happiness, which now began to take possession of my mind.

That night I retired to a comfortable bed, and was soon lost to all earthly cares in the glorious land of dreams. What unalloyed happiness I enjoyed that night! what impossible feats I performed! Truly, the vision was bright, but a sad awaking followed. Some time in the night I was aroused by the flashing of a bright light from a dark lantern suddenly opened. I attempted to rise, but before I could realize where I was, a strong hand seized me and a gag was thrust into my mouth. The man attempted to take me in his arms, but with my hands and feet I defended myself to the best of my ability. Another man now came to his assistance, and with strong cords confined my hands and feet, so that I was entirely at their mercy. Perfectly helpless, I could neither resist nor call for help. They then took me up and carried me down stairs, with no clothing but my night-dress, not even a shawl to shield me from the cold night air.

At the gate stood a long covered wagon, in form like a butchers cart, drawn by two horses, and beside it a long box with several men standing around it. I had only time to observe this, when they thrust me into the box, closed the lid, placed it in the wagon, and drove rapidly away. I could not doubt for a moment into whose hands I had fallen, and when they put me into the box, I wished I might suffocate, and thus end my misery at once. But they had taken good care to prevent this by boring holes in the box, which admitted air enough to keep up respiration. And this was the result of all my efforts for freedom! After all I had suffered in making my escape, it was a terrible disappointment to be thus cruelly betrayed, gagged, bound, and boxed up like an article of merchandise, carried back to certain torture, and perchance to death. O, blame me not, gentle reader, if in my haste, and the bitter disappointment and anguish of my spirit, I questioned the justice of the power that rules the world. Nor let your virtuous indignation wax hot against me if I confess to you, that I even doubted the existence of that power. How often had I cried to God for help! Why were my prayers and tears disregarded? What had I done to deserve such a fife of misery? These, and similar thoughts occupied my mind during that lonely midnight ride.

We arrived at St. Regis before the first Mass in the morning. The box was then taken into the chapel, where they took me out and carried me into the church. I was seated at the foot of the altar, with my hands and feet fast bound, the gag still in my mouth, and no clothing on, but my night-dress. Two men stood beside me, and I remained here until the priest had said mass and the people retired from the church. He then came down from the altar, and said to the men beside me, "Well, you have got her." "Yes Sir," they replied, "what shall we do with her?" "Put her on the five o'clock boat," said he, "and let the other men go with her to Montreal. I want you to stay here, and be ready to go the other way tonight" This priest was an Indian, but he spoke the English language correctly and fluently. He seemed to feel some pity for my forlorn condition, and as they were about to carry me away he brought a large shawl, and wrapped it around me, for which I was truly grateful.

At the appointed time, I was taken on board the boat, watched very closely by the two men who had me in charge. There was need enough of this, for I would very gladly have thrown myself into the water, had I not been prevented. Once and again I attempted it, but the men held me back. For this, I am now thankful, but at that time my life appeared of so little importance, and the punishments I knew were in reserve for me seemed so fearful, I voluntarily chose "strangling and death rather than life." The captain and sailors were all Romanists, and seemed to vie with each other in making me as unhappy as possible They made sport of my "new fashioned clothing," and asked if I "did not wish to run away again?" When they found I did not notice them they used the most abusive and scurrilous language, mingled with vulgar and profane expressions, which may not be repeated. The men who had charge of me, and who should have protected me from such abuse, so far from doing it, joined in the laugh, and appeared to think it a pleasant amusement to ridicule and vex a poor helpless fugitive. May God forgive them for their cruelty, and in the hour of their greatest need, may they meet with the kindness they refused to me.

At Lachine we changed boats and took another to Montreal. When we arrived there, three priests were waiting for us. Their names I perfectly remember, but I am not sure that I can spell them correctly. Having never learned while in the nunnery, to read, or spell anything except a simple prayer, it is not strange if I do make mistakes, when attempting to give names from memory. I can only give them as they were pronounced. They were called Father Kelly, Dow, and Conroy. All the priests were called father, of whatever age they might be.

As we proceeded from the boat to the Nunnery, one of the priests went before us while the others walked beside me, leading me between them. People gazed at us as we passed, but they did not dare to insult, or laugh at me, while in such respectable company. Yet, methinks it must have been a ludicrous sight to witness so much parade for a poor run-a-way nun.